Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  ‘If there’s anyone alive who can still remember.’ Dave glanced back at the volcano. It was almost symmetrical, like an ancient pyramid from prehistoric times. The summit looked flat as though clipped by a gigantic blade. His thinking was disturbed as a native plantation worker jogged into the camp carrying a message.

  Jan was closest; she opened an envelope marked ‘Rimbula Plantation’ and began reading.

  Jake spoke with the messenger then hacked the top off a coconut. They shared the milk and Jake politely questioned him about Rimbula Plantation and the Sangami.

  Jan finished reading and turned to Dave. ‘Bruno Kless has arrived back early. We’ve been invited to his plantation this afternoon.’

  ‘Short notice.’ Dave paused, suspicious. ‘Better grab our chance before he changes his mind. You want to come, Fang?’

  ‘Yeah, I wanna meet this Kless. Bring Jake along as well, he can ask the workers there about the Sangami cult.’

  Dave nodded in agreement. ‘We better keep Seiji out of this till we find out more.’

  ‘We can’t leave him alone in camp,’ said Jan.

  ‘We’ll make sure he’s safe out on the Lahara.’ Dave glanced at the flickering thunderheads towering over the volcano. ‘The messenger reckons the plantation’s about a half-hour walk along the beach from here, but the weather doesn’t look good. We’ll take your Thunderbox, Fang.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Fang as he stared prophetically into the lowering sky. ‘I think there’s a storm building up.’

  36

  The coast road branched off to a bamboo gate in a brushwood-fenced compound. Crossed spears decorated the gate and a varnished wood sign announced ‘RIMBULA PLANTATION’.

  A judas panel slid back, exposing the brutish face of an islander. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘We were invited over by Mr. Kless,’ Dave explained. ‘Dave Stark and company.’

  The gate opened to reveal a sprawling residence elevated on pylons. It dominated a grassy hillock at the beachfront and held commanding views across the Bismarck Sea.

  The Karkar guard closed the gate behind them. ‘Mr. Kless is due back any moment. Park over there with the other vehicles near the garden.’

  Hibiscus and casuarina abounded in a variety of hues in the manicured gardens. Vivid purple and pink bougainvillea shared terraces with orchids and frangipani.

  Fang idled the Thunderbox along a corridor of enormous fan palms. Coconut and Areca palms towered over all sides of the estate house. ‘That guard was carryin’ a Mauser M96 automatic. You got your Colt?’

  Dave did not expect trouble. ‘Against a Mauser? No. Left it with Seiji. Only wear it in the bush. You got yours?’

  ‘Nope. Forgot to take it off when I flew into Moresby. Security guards charged me and confiscated it.’

  From the ocean garden carpark they could see the broad verandah that overlooked the beach and pier. Papaya and mango trees shaded a number of women reclining casually in bamboo furniture. An occasional tall Asian peacock chair of woven cane added a touch of grace.

  Fang peered at the scantily-clad beauties. ‘If Joe’s right, all these girls are hookers.’

  Jan intervened. ‘… And if Joe is right, that’s the least of our worries. This guy could be dangerous—prostitution, drug smuggling and gun-running.’ She deliberately glanced at Fang.

  Activity increased on the beach and verandah. Senior staff made a fuss as a large black speedboat roared around the point and dropped smoothly off the plane.

  ‘Something’s happening,’ said Dave.

  The speedboat wallowed briefly in its own bow wave, then idled gracefully up to the private pier. A swarthy man in a white shirt stepped from behind the wheel. A huge coal black islander stood by his side. The driver left the big islander to tie up and hurried off toward the house, followed by a string of fussing staff.

  ‘Gotta be Kless.’ Fang glanced back at the speedboat. ‘Check that out. Ten metres of pure grunt. Big V8 with Hamilton jet units, I’d say. Looks like it’s doin’ eighty knots just sittin’ there.’

  Jan turned to Jake. ‘Does that look like the boat that followed you from Madang?’

  ‘It was too far away to tell,’ he shrugged.

  They noticed that all the house and garden staff were exceptionally beautiful women. A shapely Papuan with a halo crown of frizzy dark hair busily slashed the lawn with a curved sarif blade. Within ten minutes, a diminutive Sepik girl, probably late teens, walked over and smiled broadly. ‘Welcome to Rimbula Plantation. You’re here to see Mister Kless?’

  ‘Yes, Dave Stark and friends. We were invited over.’

  A broad overdone staircase led up to the verandah. A simple set of ten steps would have sufficed. Hand carved totems formed handrails. Each upright post consisted of intricately carved warrior figurines with grasped weapons.

  The Sepik girl escorted them to the front door. Two huge vertical totems crowded with mythic ceremonial spirits of legends and battles flanked the entrance. Another pretty girl answered the door and led them to the foyer. ‘Please come in. Mister Kless will be with you shortly.’ Her eyes were almost oriental, her hair Polynesian and she boasted a trim but busty figure—without doubt a Trobriand islander.

  Dave smirked as Jake underwent a transformation. His normal slouch straightened. He was taller, chest out, stomach in as he smiled and chatted with the attractive Trobriand girl.

  Bruno Kless entered and dominated the room with a strange earthy charisma. His mixed-race heritage blessed him with Teutonic good looks. His smooth naturally tanned skin glowed with good health. He quickly scanned and assessed his visitors. A broad smile spread across his face, exposing perfectly straight white teeth below a wide close-cropped moustache. ‘Good afternoon everyone and welcome to Rimbula Plantation,’ he said as they casually introduced themselves.

  Dave saw Kless’s gaze fixed on Jan. ‘Thanks for your invitation.’ He fancied Jan’s captivating beauty was the deciding factor in taming Kless’s reputed arrogance.

  ‘And how may I help you, Mr. Stark?’ Kless queried brusquely. His large intelligent eyes looked lively and almost black in colour.

  ‘Joe Wallis tells us you’re an expert on the Sangami Fire Cult. We’d like permission to briefly transit your estate so we can visit them.’

  ‘The Sangami tribe—it’s a delicate situation,’ he replied. ‘We’ll need to discuss a few things.’ His initial warmth was lost to a sudden reluctance.

  Fang broke the hesitant silence. ‘I see you have a personal jetboat in your fishing fleet.’

  ‘Yes, one of my favourite toys, but also quite practical. If the airstrip’s closed due to bad weather, I can be in Madang in thirty minutes. In the wet season, the road is often washed away between here and Kaviak. With the jetboat, I’m only ten minutes from the airstrip in an emergency. Are you familiar with Hamilton jet boats, Mr. Mitchell?’

  ‘I had a single jet fifteen footer a few years back. The quickest and most manoeuvrable boat I’ve ever owned.’

  ‘They certainly are. Living in the shadow of a volcano encourages one to invest in such speedy transport. Right, let’s have coffee in the lounge. My own homegrown brew of course.’ Kless smiled proudly, then led his visitors to the main living room.

  Ornate artefacts worthy of a museum decorated narrow solid wall sections upholstered with decorative pit-pit grass. Cleverly thatched in two distinct tones, it created fascinating herringbone patterns. Huge elaborately carved storyboards from the Murik Lakes hung above sinister black masks from the Chambris area of the Sepik Plains. Morobean and Madang carved idols and figurines with eyes of Cowry shells stood against the walls.

  Fang paused at a huge bookshelf, impressed by the comprehensive collection of Pacific history books and war records. ‘Mind if I browse through your library?’

  ‘Feel free. Meanwhile the rest of us can get comfortable.’

  Combat arrows and spears hung in large fans alongside displays of ceremonial weapons. All sported intricately carved
barbs of fire-hardened black palm.

  A screen partly concealed one corner of the room, the entrance guarded by a huge carved crocodile. It’s back was shaped into a bench for four, the jaws hung agape, studded with real crocodile teeth. The sound of women’s voices came from beyond the screen.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ smiled Kless. ‘Some of my staff relaxing.’

  A big muscular man sat quietly at the bamboo bar. His skin looked coal black, almost certainly a Buka islander. The giant looked tough and ignored the others in the room. He silently joined the women behind the screen. A small machine pistol swung from webbing at his hip. Jake elected to take up the vacated stool at the bar. A single-edged razor blade lay on the bar alongside a mirror lightly dusted with white powder.

  ‘Recognise the gun, Fang?’ Dave queried.

  ‘Yep, Uzi 9mm sub-machine gun. Foldin’ wire stock, 18 inches long and weighs less than nine pounds. A 25 round magazine, capable of firing 650 rounds a minute with limited accuracy up to 200 metres.’

  Kless listened, clearly impressed. ‘You know your weapons, Mr. Mitchell.’

  ‘Are automatic weapons necessary out here?’ Dave challenged.

  ‘With the current state of emergency and martial law, I thought it prudent to ensure my property is protected.’

  They sat down and Jan reopened the conversation. ‘Is that your Cessna Skymaster parked at the airstrip?’

  Kless did not answer directly. Instead he motioned to a shapely light-skinned Tolai woman, who was watering macrame-suspended coleus. She moved off to prepare coffee. ‘Why, yes. Another of my toys. Excellent for fish spotting for my small fishing fleet.’ Kless lived in overt luxury and flaunted his wealth and power at every opportunity.

  ‘Were you flying it in the Finisterre Ranges two weeks ago?’ Jan probed.

  ‘Two weeks ago? No, although I charter it out often. I can’t remember who had it at that time. My manager looks after all that,’ he added evasively.

  The siting of the house captured the sea breeze both under and through the building. A gentle trade wind wafted across the open glass louvres. It carried the fragrance of frangipani into the opulence of the room. The Tolai girl returned, and the strong aroma of freshly brewed Arabica coffee overpowered nature’s floral perfume.

  Kless waited as the woman poured coffee. ‘My own blend from my highland plantation,’ he repeated smugly.

  ‘Did you by chance charter your plane to a Japanese man?’ Jan persisted.

  Kless hesitated before his charm returned. ‘As I said, I don’t deal directly with the customers. On occasions I charter it to Japanese groups.’ He called for a selection of spirits and crystal port glasses before settling back into his favourite lounge chair. It resembled a throne, supported by uprights in the form of carved human figures. The armrests exposed a wonder of intricate carving. Crocodiles consumed the tails of twisted pythons, like macabre daisy chains. ‘I hear you’re diving on the old Jap barge at Kulili,’ he probed changing the subject. ‘Obviously it’s beyond salvage. What are you after?’

  Dave responded vaguely. ‘Simply the remains of a Japanese officer who went missing during the war … and possibly some valuable personal belongings—a Samurai sword and other family things.’

  Kless stared at him. ‘What about the gold?’

  Dave paused, caught out and suddenly speechless. He cursed himself silently—he had been forewarned of Kless’s cunning. ‘Gold … Oh, yes, we’ve heard rumours that it might’ve been carrying bullion. We haven’t found anything to support the theory. What do you know about it?’

  ‘As you said, just a rumour. The military went through the barge wreck after the war and removed all bodies and valuables. I can assure you there’s no gold on board. I believe they found a little, but it was cleaned out years ago.’

  Dave hesitated. ‘Where did it go? We thought some could still be on board. Any help you can give us would be well rewarded.’

  ‘Nobody knows. In the sixties some old calico bags stamped ‘Bulolo Gold’ were found near Kulili Point. I’d say the Japs took it with them.’ The comment had a finality about it. He again busied himself pouring drinks.

  Dave felt dejected and downed his drink with undeserved haste. It seemed they had found the barge only to discover it a dead end.

  37

  Kless was greedily preoccupied gazing at Jan but Dave pushed for permission to visit the Sangami. ‘What do you know about the Fire Cult?’

  Kless seemed to assess women with the mercenary finesse of a stockman evaluating cattle. Jan did look incredibly alluring and obviously intrigued him. Scarlet streaks highlighted her dark hair. Though dressed in denim, she displayed the beauty and grace of a princess. Kless ogled like a child craving a new toy. ‘The Sangami and the Fire Cult? Just a few harmless jungle bunnies really. I’d prefer you didn’t bother them.’

  Jan was a worldly woman and ignored his leer. ‘The Japanese man who’s contracted us insists we follow all clues that could lead to finding the remains of his father. The history of this cult goes back a long way. We know soldiers were captured by the Sangami during the war and suffered some strange ritual death on the volcano.’

  ‘You’d be lucky to find any sort of trail or clue now,’ Kless chuckled cautiously. ‘Anyway, their activities have been toned right down.’

  ‘We’ve heard otherwise. Their chief is feared and revered ‘round the island and the natives say the rites still go on, particularly at the time of the full moon.’

  Kless looked uncomfortable and did not answer right away. ‘As I said, Miss Harper, I’d prefer they were left alone.’

  Dave rejoined the conversation and pressured him. ‘We realize that, but we have an obligation. Do you have some sort of arrangement with them?’

  ‘No. I’m just concerned they’re not exposed to western media hype. Next thing we’ll have everyone from National Geographic to Sixty Minutes trekking through here.’ His wit was forced.

  Dave proceeded carefully. ‘I take it then we have permission to visit them by way of your estate.’ A hesitation. ‘Rather than the long way over the volcano,’ he added, not as a threat, but reminding Kless of his options.

  ‘Of course,’ said Kless reluctantly. ‘With some minor provisos.’

  ‘Provisos?’ queried Jan, her eyes riveted to Kless’s handsome face.

  ‘I’d prefer you visit them at a time I nominate. It’ll be in the next few days if you like and though you’re looking for wartime clues, I don’t want you discussing the tribal rituals with any of the Sangami. I would also expect you to be in and out within two days.’

  ‘Are you sure you have no connection?’ Jan probed. ‘You almost sound like their agent or road manager.’ She flashed a captivating smile to diffuse her sarcasm. It exposed her perfect teeth and could melt the heart of the most hardened pessimist.

  Kless contained his rage and maintained his composure. ‘No, nothing like that. As you said they go back a long way here. It’s almost a family thing.’ He drained his glass and quickly refilled it.

  As Dave and Jan quietly discussed the offer and their options, Kless took the opportunity to study Jan again. ‘Miss Harper, I’m guessing, but were your parents English? And are you of Spanish descent?’ Kless slurred slightly as he again attempted to change the subject.

  Jan stared at him, caught unawares by his insight. ‘Why yes, and my grandmother was Spanish! How did you know?’ Her vibrant eyes sparkled; the colour of quality aged cognac.

  ‘Aha, it’s my business to know these things,’ Kless bragged, gesturing at the women out of sight in the corner lounge. They remained shielded by an elaborate rattan screen and a dangling curtain of interlinked Wuvulu wood chains. Each entire chain had been laboriously hand-carved from single lengths of rare black ebony.

  As if on cue, an Asian girl entered through the partition curtain. She looked statuesque and exotically beautiful. Her perfect ivory skin glowed and she exposed as much of it as modesty would allow with a black silk cocktail
dress that barely reached from cleavage to crotch. A necklace of gleaming pearls and black high heels added a touch of sophistication. The girl looked instantly familiar—the image of Tiana. She seemed drunk or even drugged, with no recognition in her eyes.

  Fang stared awe-struck, wondering how two beautiful women could look so alike.

  The girl moved discreetly to the bar, agitated and nervous. She rummaged behind the bar and lifted out a silver coffeepot. In reality it resembled a chrome conical urn, flat based with a slender side spout. Her dainty fingers trembled as her long scarlet nails clawed a cigarette apart. Everyone watched in fascination as she openly mixed the tobacco with hash from a small sachet, then sprinkled in some white powder. Now making only token efforts to hide her craving and ignoring the strangers in the room, she compressed the ingredients into a tightly compacted conical plug.

  Kless continued talking, trying vainly to lead the group’s attention away from the desperate girl as she wedged the plug into the end of the urn’s side spout. She plunged her full red lips anxiously over the top mouthpiece, then lit the concoction. The plug flared and sizzled as she sucked evenly and greedily. The base of the urn contained a filtration fluid and it caused a long grotesque gurgling as she inhaled. The room fell silent; everyone mesmerised by the sight of this beautiful young girl sucking at the urn, oblivious to all else.

  Kless broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Another of my specialty crops. New Guinea Gold, fresh volcanic soil, fed on the finest fertilisers and tempered by the salty sea breeze. An exceptional blend.’

  No one responded to his lewd boast, all still watching the bizarre scene at the bar. The girl did not stop sucking and inhaling until the glowing plug expired. Finally, she lifted her pretty face off the urn; eyes closed, and held the smoke for nearly a minute. Gradually her sensuous lips parted in ecstatic relief, allowing the pacifying smoke to drift lazily from her mouth. The unmistakable pungent smell of marijuana pervaded the room.