Island in the Sky

by R. B. Shaw

  It was mid-afternoon when we left the Blitzwagon and useable parts at the Tarangau workshop. Pete was back from Prinzberg with the 402 and he dropped us off at the Tarangau mess quarters. Before leaving, he explained that no evidence of sabotage had been found with the ditched 402. It had been ferry-flown to Goroka the previous day using parts on loan from another airline. It seems the ditching was a genuine case of pilot error, the strip muddy and the aircraft grossly overloaded.

  Jan was pleased with the temporary room we found her and was checking the splendid mountain views from the front porch. Fang phoned a friend in Lae and arranged for his much-modified V8-powered Landcruiser to be driven to Goroka. A battered company stationwagon was available, but Fang’s life would be empty without his beloved and aptly named ‘Thunderbox’.

  We all turned as a red and yellow Tarangau Airlines Landrover pulled into the muddy drive. Lance was driving. He looked haggard. As he stepped through the door, I couldn’t help noticing how much weight he had lost while we were in Tepsugl. He shook hands, greeted Fang warmly and nodded to Jan as we introduced her. His sunken troubled eyes immediately returned to mine and then glanced back at Fang and Jan.

  “Dave, could I speak to you for a minute? In private.” He apologised to Fang and Jan. They diplomatically busied themselves with unpacking our gear as Lance and I conversed.

  “Fang said they grounded you till further notice?”

  Lance slumped into a chair. “Yeah, that’s right. Now what did you find on the mountain?”

  “Enough to prove your whole story is true, as weird as it sounds.”

  His eyes lit up. “Thank Christ for that, I was beginning to doubt my sanity. Ever since I got out of hospital I’ve been treated like the village idiot.”

  I laughed as his familiar personality surfaced.

  It took an hour before I had recounted the details of our investigation and salvage. Lance wasn’t interested in the salvage, Tepsugl or the strange legends, proof of his statement his only concern.

  “I won’t hand the bullet to the police as yet, Lance. We know you were shot at, that’s all we need at this stage. I’m not confident of finding anything suspicious with the compass. I checked it with the chopper on the mountain and it was spot on.”

  “Well, if nobody tampered with it, they must have planted a magnet behind the panel to bias the indication.” Lance’s mood again turned sour.

  “With the aircraft upside down I had no trouble searching under the panel. Nothing.”

  Lance was working himself into a rage. “Those bastards from that khaki chopper must have removed it from the wreck between the time I left and the time you arrived.”

  I was about to ask why anyone would deliberately send a 206 off-course with a worthless cargo of pipes, sheet metal, tinned fish and coffee beans, but Lance had been under a lot of pressure and it was beginning to show. “What’s wrong, mate?” I asked. “I thought you’d be a little happier now.”

  “I’m still wondering what happened on the mountain … why the hell they’d want to shoot me? Where did the bloody helicopter come from?”

  “Who knows? Mysterious khaki helicopter looking for something in the mountains and armed crews desperate enough to kill anyone aware of their presence? None of it seems to add up, but we’ve got a lot of homework to do. Someone’s got something to hide—and I’ve got an idea what it is—but I need more time.”

  “Well, for Christ’s sake let me know when you find out. I’ve got a debt to repay.” Lance bid us all farewell and trudged angrily out to his car without further comment.

  Adrian telephoned; he was impatient for results of my investigation so far. I had meant to report, but decided to keep him in the dark so we could probe further into the Dutch gold. Briefly I described the salvage on the mountain and told him I was awaiting checks on the compass. He was unhappy with my inconclusive results in the Tarangau Airlines sabotage issue and hinted that I seemed to be stalling for time. With more important tasks on my mind, maybe I was. The fact that sabotage had been ruled out in both Lance’s crash landing and the 402 satisfied him at this stage and I promised to report further. After hanging up, I immediately rang Jake and asked him to drop by the mess as soon as possible.

  Jake was surprised at my plan, but looked forward to the unexpected fully paid holiday. As I detailed his duty on site, I made him aware of the problems involved. A check at each local trade store should establish which villages bartered chiefly in gold. A few generous bribes at the suspect villages might bring at least one clue to light.

  I handed Jake one hundred ten-kina notes. “This should be enough to make a few people talk,” I said in Pidgin. As I dropped him at the airport, he was still confused. With over a thousand dollars in his possession, I seriously wondered if I’d ever see him again.

  Fang and I held back our scheme from Lance for over a week. We agreed that tonight we would put our plan to him. As I returned to the mess, I noticed Fang’s Thunderbox had arrived from Lae. The orange 4WD Landcruiser had monstrous wide wheels with chunky mud tyres and a power winch on the front bumper. A stout water-pipe bull bar protected the forward area, making the squat ungainly vehicle look like a cross between a steamroller and a futuristic lunar transport. Fang acknowledged my arrival with a grunt and continued tuning the powerful Chevy V8 and twin four-barrel carburettors.

  “All my own work,” he said with a smug grin and gave the engine another rev.

  “Jan’s leaving for Sydney next week,” I announced.

  “Did you mention our private meeting to her?”

  “Yeah, she’s upstairs in her room. Said she had some packing to do anyway.”

  Fang smiled. “Never mind, Blossom, easy come, easy go.”

  The afternoon was chilly, and after Lance arrived at the mess, we moved inside to tell him what we had in mind. He had been reinstated; the aviation agency proved that the bulk of iron pipes had a magnetic influence on the compass of his wrecked 206. It had been that way from the time they were loaded at Goroka till he crashlanded on Mt Wilhelm. According to his own statement, the first time he used the compass was when he lost sight of terrain over a low stratus cloud layer.

  Lance was quick to join our scheme and we advised him of developments and the spread of the pre-War Dutch coins through the Ramu and Bismarck foothills. We related the story of the Dutch naval captain and the Indonesian soldier at Tepsugl in 1942 and why we assumed them to be crew members of a wrecked bullion ship somewhere in the Ramu. Lance was riveted to every word as the sabotage subject was raised, and how coincidentally the gold coin area was roughly overlapped by the region experiencing isolated aircraft sabotage. We deduced that the mysterious helicopter was also searching the Ramu for gold, but had been restricted by the recent increase in Tarangau operations.

  “It’s possible these Malays are responsible for the sabotage and are desperate enough to kill to achieve their objective.”

  “Why would they be snooping around Mt Wilhelm?” Lance asked.

  “They may have a base up there somewhere?”

  “I think you’re right. There must be a hundred square kilometres of uninhabited terrain above 11 000 feet. You could hide an army up there.”

  “Well, Lance, now you’re flying again, I suggest you divert that way when possible and watch for any leads, especially unidentified helicopters.”

  Lance was after revenge. “Yeah, I’ll be in that all right. Sooner or later I’ll catch up with that chopper.”

  “It may not be related, but, besides the other clues, there’s a strange legend we heard at Tepsugl. It refers to an ‘ark’ or ship wrecked in the mountains, containing a fortune in gold. This could be a reference to a Dutch ship, beyond the mountains in the Ramu region. The tale was probably carried over the ranges, so the Digendi have simply assumed the ‘ark’ is in the mountains. Even Father James admits the legend was confused with his Bible teachings of Noah’s Ark.”

  “So if your theory is correct,” said Lance, “There’s a wartime
Dutch bullion ship wrecked somewhere along the banks of the upper Ramu River?”

  There was a brittle silence. I lit a small cigar and continued. “This brings us to our next step—air and ground patrols, if necessary, for the navigable length of the Ramu.”

  “Oh shit, easy to say, isn’t it?” said a still sceptical Fang.

  “But everything fits. Just bear with me a moment and listen to my theory. The Japs advance along the Malay Peninsula, attack the Dutch East Indies and the allies are unable to stop the invasion. The Dutch destroy their bases and oilfields and fight a rear-guard action. They then evacuate all their VIPs, gold bullion and treasures to an allied area, as anything buried might be discovered. The Japs take a mighty encircling step and overrun Rabaul. The Dutch bullion ship, en route to New Guinea from, say, Java, was then isolated in the Solomon Sea. The Dutch captain decides to take refuge in the unexplored interior of New Guinea, up the Ramu River. Japanese aircraft attack and cause the ship to be abandoned. The Dutch Naval captain was then forced to trek through the mountains, eventually arriving at Tepsugl.”

  Fang expanded the theme. “Better take the tides into account too,” he said. “Could mean a drop in water level.”

  He was right. The ship may have been sunk and was exposed only at low tide in the dry season. It was clear a lot of research would be necessary.

  “Lance, we’ve enough evidence to clear you.” I indicated my briefcase. “We have the serial number of a stolen helicopter, maps with Malay scribble and a bullet. We can hand the whole lot over to the police, or continue our own investigation, with all its risks, but also its possible ‘fringe benefits.’”

  In the end, we agreed to say nothing and to continue our search—but further discussion was interrupted when Fang stood up abruptly and hurled a bottle of beer straight past me. It burst with a loud crash and stream of froth, smashing a glass window louvre.

  “What the hell are you up to?” I screamed.

  “There’s some bastard listening outside the window!” he shouted, running across the room.

  We all dashed outside, only to find the intruder gone. The fly mesh was slashed and the louvres forced open. Fang was wrapping his belt around his knuckles.

  “Let’s find the bastard!”

  Lance gestured impatiently. “No, just another Peeping Tom I’d say.” I stood on the beer-soaked steps and looked through the hole—the eavesdropper would’ve heard everything. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt we were being observed. We would have to be careful—the incident might be more serious than Lance thought.

  Just then the phone rang. Fang answered it and spoke briefly before hanging up. “Jake’s back. He’s over at the airport. I’ll go and get him. Sounds excited.”

  While Fang was out, Lance and I discussed the incident and our plans until the roar of Fang’s Thunderbox announced his return.

  His excitement was obvious as he entered; he indicated Jake. “Jake, tell Dave what you told me about the helicopter.”

  At the mention of helicopter, Lance and I were suddenly alert. “A green helicopter?”

  “Yes,” said Jake in Pidgin. “When I was talking to the locals about gold, a bush kanaka told me that two Chinese in army uniform were also asking about gold. Later on, they left in a miksmasta bilong Jisas Krais.”

  “What was that?” said Lance.

  “Mixmaster belong Jesus Christ—old Pidgin for helicopter,” I explained.

  Lance gave me a fiercely confident look. “Those bastards from Mt Wilhelm again. So it’s definitely gold they’re after!”

  Jake smiled smugly and continued his story in Pidgin until Lance interrupted. “What did he say?”

  “They’ve got plenty of gold alright, but no one talked about it except one youth he bribed. Jake told them the gold was too pure and said it must have been melted from a gold ingot like a bar of soap. The youth didn’t reply and suddenly became quite frightened at Jake’s insight.”

  By now Fang was incredulous but kept quiet while Jake continued his report. Lance was staring at me impatiently, awaiting a translation.

  “Jake asked the youth if the bars were as big as tinned meat and was told smaller. One man stored a bar in a tobacco tin. Jake said the youth could just lift a bar in one hand. When asked how many bars were in the area, he was told ‘plenty’, and ‘numerous’ gold coins stamped with a woman’s head.”

  “Go on, Jake, what else?” said Fang excitedly. When Jake asked if the bars came from a ship, the startled youth went silent, again stunned by Jake’s insight.

  “Did you get one of the coins?” I asked Jake. He didn’t answer, but dropped a shiny golden ten guilder piece onto the table with a heavy thump. The coin rolled erratically toward me, toppled and rattled to a standstill, the stamped profile of Queen Wilhelmina lying uppermost.

  “Good work, Jake. Did you collect some samples?” I called in Pidgin.

  “Plenty,” he replied. “Over 800 kinas’ worth.”

  When I asked Jake if any of the nuggets looked artificially cast, he was unsure but presented me with some nuggets and dust samples in pill vials labelled with place of origin. He related that tribesmen of Bundi, Nukara, Faita and Usino were very hostile towards the subject of gold.

  I pondered Jake’s comments for a moment. “All between the Ramu River and the Bismarck foothills. Cuts our suspect area down a bit. First chance I get I’ll examine these gold samples.”

  The discussion continued for a while, and then broke up when we agreed to make further moves after Lance made an aerial photographic survey of the Ramu. As Lance departed, I stowed the vials in my briefcase and told him I’d notify him of any further developments.

  I showered, picked up my briefcase and unlocked the bathroom door. Jan’s door was closed and the room was quiet. Fang was face down on his bed asleep. I had settled into my room to study the various samples of gold, when suddenly the lights went out. I lit a candle and looked outside. A dark town, Goroka regularly had blackouts. I cursed, anxious to inspect the samples, so persevered by candlelight. My disappointment was complete when I found that all the nuggets, none larger than a thumbnail, appeared to be quite naturally formed with normal impurities speckled over the surfaces.

  Somewhat frustrated by this anticlimax, I poured a beer, lit a cigar and began examining the pill vials with their small samples of gleaming powdered gold. Over and over again, I studied the grains of gold under the magnifying glass. They were of mixed sizes, granular or spherical in shape. It was the vial from Nukara, with half a thimble-full of gold dust, which somehow seemed different to the others. At first, the dust’s ragged but uniform size caught my attention. I brought the candle near to the magnifying glass and closely examined the chunky angular facets; some grains were actually elongated rolled flakes.

  My eyes were strained now and so was my thinking. I stubbed out my cigar and opened another beer. As I was rolling the dust between my fingers, a simple revelation came to me. To confirm my theory, I found a bar of solder and a file in my toolbox and excitedly began filing dust onto a sheet of paper. The grains of solder matched the Nukara gold dust; they were identical in shape and size. The gold dust before me was the result of filings from a gold bar.

  I now suspected that some of the nuggets might have been melted from ingots. A ladle of molten gold poured onto bare earth would certainly form nuggets with impurities. This lengthy and complicated process had probably given way to the simplicity of filing dust from a bar for quick cash. I then borrowed Jake’s tobacco tin and, after measuring it, made some quick calculations. I lay back on the bed, put the candle on the bedside table and again perused the gold vials. The nearby wardrobe was typical of the tropics, horizontally angled slats floor to ceiling, allowing plenty of ventilation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash inside. Due to my reclined position, the wardrobe interior was faintly revealed by the low candlelight.

  I froze, completely horrified. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—a knife half hidden by clothing
, an extended thumb at the base of the bright upturned blade. I was transfixed, sweat beads forming on my face in the chilly room. I tried not to panic. Was there something I could use as a weapon? I could think of nothing but a writing desk.

  It was now or never. I sprang off the bed, seized the desk and crashed it forcibly through the thin wood slats at waist level. Amid the sound of splintering ply, there was a gasp, and something metallic fell to the floor. In the dim light, I kicked the broken slats from the frame and swung a clenched double fist to the base of the neck of the gasping figure. The intruder had pretended injury and suddenly caught me by surprise with a vicious crotch kick that left me in breathless agony. I fell back against the wall, panting, and nearly blacked out from an endless assault of brutal kicks and knees thrusts to the groin. The pain was indescribable as I dropped unconscious to the floor. It must have been only seconds, but by the time I regained my senses, the intruder and briefcase were gone.

  Jan appeared. “Dave, what was all the noise? Are you okay?”

  I jumped to my feet, then collapsed again in agony. “Some prick kicked me in the nuts and pinched the briefcase and gold.”

  Jan was stunned. “Gold, what gold?”

  I stood up again and limped to the stairs. “Never mind. Get Fang off his arse!” I had no time for explanations.

  Fang was in a shocking mood. “What the stuffin’ hell are you up to, Blossom?”

  “Shut up and listen. Someone’s snatched the gold and briefcase. Get downstairs and stoke up your Cruiser.”

  As we ran outside, Jan quickly informed us that she had seen my assailant escaping over the fence and along a nearby bush track. Fang idled the Thunderbox up the gradient as I probed the foliage with a torch. Fresh tyre tracks in the mud indicated that a vehicle had recently driven along the dead-end track. We picked a narrow section of the road and angled the Cruiser across as a road block. This effectively sealed the track except for a small gap to a culvert and a larger gap to a barbed wire fence.

  Fang switched off the engine and leaned out. “Did you hear a car?”