It just didn’t make sense. That he could achieve a temporary success was obvious. He appeared to have done that already. But how could he possibly hope to build on it to the point where Bougainville could successfully achieve a unilateral declaration of independence? There had to be some advantage for him, something that he was certain he could negotiate before the initial success of the plan collapsed under the longer-term strain of forces that must in the end prove too powerful for him. But what? Perhaps he didn’t see it that way. Perhaps he believed that the people of Bougainville and Buka would combine to make the whole thing politically possible.
It was a fascinating possibility, and toying with it in my mind, I began to wonder how I could turn it to my own advantage. Providence had brought me to this island at a moment of intense political activity when events would produce either change or chaos. Whichever it was, there would be opportunities. A selfish point of view, perhaps, but when you’re out of a job and looking for openings in a new world, it’s not unnatural to relate events to your own personal problems. By the time we reached the intersection with the Kieta road I had more or less made up my mind.
There was no road block now, and no guard. With the mine road blown there was no need. The time was 02.17. Four hours since Tooley would have sent his telex. I wondered what he would have said, what they would think of it at Port Moresby. Or would he notify his own head office in Melbourne and leave them to inform the PNG government? The latter probably, in which case nobody would do anything about it till morning. It would probably be midday before Port Moresby appreciated the situation, and then, even if they were able to establish communications with the mine, they would still have to convince themselves that it had really happened, and only then would they start considering what should be done about it. It could be thirty-six hours at least before any positive action was taken.
I was thinking about that as we approached Anewa. A lot could happen in thirty-six hours.
The dark rainforest walls that had hemmed us in since we had struggled up on to the road fell back. We were into a clearing, the tarmac shining wet under the stars, and round a bend storage sheds black in shadow. It was cooler now, a faint smell of the sea and the sweat on my body ice-cold. A bridge over a stream, another bend and the road straightening out with the power station’s fuel oil tanks looming above us, everything dark except for the double flash of the light tower on Takanupe Island marking the passage seaward. Perenna paused, her head on one side, listening. ‘I thought I heard the sound of a generator.’
We had just passed the second fuel tank, and through the gap between that and the next I could see the huge bulk of the power station itself. It stood in total darkness. ‘Maybe it’s the ship.’ I was close beside her, staring at the road ahead. Beyond the last tank was the sea. It was lighter there, the road bending round to the left to pass in front of the power station. I was wondering where they would have set up their guard post.
She seemed to read my thoughts, for she said, ‘If we keep to the road, we’ll walk straight into a trap.’
But there was nowhere else we could go, the sea and the stream to our right, and the fuel tanks to our left surrounded by a wire fence.
‘They’ll probably have control of the ship anyway.’ Now that we had reached the port I wasn’t at all sure what to do for the best.
‘I don’t care whether they’ve got the ship or not.’ She was tired, and her voice sounded petulant. ‘I just want to get back on board. To my bunk, a shower, familiar surroundings, Jona.’
We went on, moving cautiously under the shadow of the last fuel tank. We could hear the sea, a soft lapping of tiny wavelets. And then, round the bend, suddenly there was the glimmer of lights and the familiar, homely shape of the LCT. It was no longer at the slipway, but tied up alongside the loading wharf. ‘It’s still there.’ She said it in a tone of weary relief, and she quickened her pace.
The road all the way to the ship was clear under the stars, and it was empty, no vehicles, no sign of movement, nothing, and the power station a huge black block above it with no sign of life. I thought we’d make it then as we hurried on past some small buildings and into the shadow of the power station. Several company cars were parked in front of it, and with the whole building silent and dead, they had an abandoned air like cars in a film sequence depicting some nuclear disaster. I was wondering what had happened to their drivers, to all the men who would have been on the night shift, when the trap was sprung. A powerful spotlight blazed blindingly out from the ship, and turning away from the glare of it, I saw a torch signalling from one of the small buildings back down the road and figures with guns in their hands running towards us.
I put my hands up, told Perenna to do the same and waited. There were five of them, and when they were close to us they slowed to a walk, talking excitedly among themselves. One of them seemed to know who we were. He spoke briefly to Perenna in Pidgin, all the time watching me as though I were some sort of prize exhibit. ‘We’re to go to the ship,’ she said. The blacks hemmed us in, and we started walking. ‘It seems there’s been a search party out looking for you.’
‘For me? Why me?’
She spoke to the tall, rather stately looking man who seemed to be the leader. The name Holland was mentioned several times; then she shook her head. ‘He doesn’t know. Only that they need you for something.’ The spotlight had been switched off, and I could make out the figure of a man moving along the wharf towards us.
It proved to be Teopas, and when he reached us, he said, ‘We wait here now.’
‘Why?’ Perenna demanded. ‘Where’s my brother? Is Captain Holland out looking for us?’
He shook his head, his eyes sullen. ‘Your brother not well.’
‘Not well? What’s happened?’ She tried to push past him, but he held her back. ‘I must go on board – now.’ Her voice sounded wild, tiredness and alarm combined as she tried to wrench her arm free.
‘Mr Hans speak with me on the radio. You do not go to the ship until he has talk with you.’ He was looking at me now. ‘So we wait here. Okay?’
I nodded, and the two of us stood there waiting in an uneasy silence, the islanders talking quietly amongst themselves. Twice I asked Teopas why Holland wanted me, why the ship had been moved from the slip to the loading wharf, but he ignored my questions, standing with his back to me, his gaze fixed on the Anewa approach road.
About ten minutes later the loom of headlights showed beyond the fuel tanks. It was a car, driven fast, its headlights sweeping the bay as it came round the bend, then blazing straight at us. Perenna’s face, picked out in the full glare, was white and very tense, her eyes closed, her lips moving wordlessly. I had no doubt who would be in that car, nor had she, and again I was conscious of the powerful effect he seemed to have on her.
The car stopped, and he got out, the red hair limned by the lights, the same jaunty, commanding air as he stood for a moment talking to Teopas. Then he came towards us, glancing briefly at Perenna before turning to me, his face in shadow. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ There was anger in his voice, the anger of a man under considerable strain. ‘I’ve had to waste an hour looking for you. Well, where were you?’
‘Up at the mine.’
Something had clearly gone wrong, and I thought that might provoke him. But all he said was: ‘I see.’ He was silent a moment, looking at the two of us. ‘You walked out, then. How?’
‘By the old tote road.’
‘Why not the highway?’
‘You’ve blown that, and there were guards there.’
He stared at me hard. ‘So you know what’s going on?’ And then his tone suddenly changed. ‘Well, that makes it easier.’ He was forcing himself to relax. ‘I said I might be able to give you command of a ship. You can have command of one right now.’
‘Is that why you’ve been looking for me?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded towards the wharf with the LCT lying alongside. ‘I want you to take her out right away, a run
up the coast to Buka.’
I heard Perenna give a little gasp. Then she had moved between us. ‘Where’s Jona? What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s drunk.’ His voice came in a whiplash, full of contempt. ‘He’s no good, Perenna. No guts.’ Her shoulders sagged, and he stepped past her, facing me. ‘Well, now’s your chance. If you want a job with the Holland Line …’ He stood there, staring at me.
No point in asking him why he needed the ship taken to Buka so urgently, I’d find that out soon enough. And if I refused … I could see his face now, tired and edgy, full of nervous tension, and his eyes lit by an inner glow, excitement overriding exhaustion, the adrenalin still running. ‘Well?’ His hand reached out impatiently, gripping my arm, propelling me towards his car.
‘Why not Luke?’ I asked. ‘Or Mac?’
‘Don’t trust them,’ he snapped.
It was no moment to obstruct the man, the whole island in his grasp and only a skipper needed to take the ship up to Buka. ‘What’s it worth to you?’
He laughed then, a sudden explosion of nervous relief. ‘A future. That’s what I’m offering you.’
‘Cash,’ I said quietly, and I saw Perenna’s mouth open, anger chasing disbelief.
‘No cash,’ he snapped. ‘Just a stake in something big. Bigger than you’ll ever be offered again.’
‘And the cargo?’ It was the cargo that would dictate my terms.
He jerked me round, his face thrust close to mine, and suddenly that description of his father flashed into my mind again. ‘Yes or no? Make up your mind.’ He saw my hesitation, his eyes suddenly smiling as he released my arm. ‘You’ll know about the cargo soon enough, so let’s go.’ He nodded to the car.
Behind me I heard Perenna say, ‘It’s Jona’s ship.’
‘Is it?’ He laughed, pulling open the rear door and jerking his head for the two of us to get in. Teopas sat in the front with him, and as he drove off, he said, ‘What’s happened here tonight has been brewing a long time. You’d have to have lived with these people to understand. It’s their whole future. Just remember that. Also that I’m a businessman. I’m involved only to the extent that—’ His words were cut short by the sound of a shot. Even above the noise of the car I heard the clang of the bullet on steel, the whine of its ricochet, followed by shouts and then the sudden staccato rattle of automatic fire, a noise like calico ripping. A single scream was followed by an appalling silence.
‘Shit!’ Hans Holland thrust his foot down, swinging the car fast round the end of the slipway and out on to the open area of the loading wharf. No sound now, no movement, the ship still and silent except for the hum of its generator as we drew up at the gangway and tumbled out. Teopas was first on board, talking to one of the crew, who was holding a machine pistol pointed down into the tank deck. A thin wisp of blue smoke curled up from the short barrel. ‘Some polis,’ Teopas reported. ‘They try to climb out.’
By then I was across the gangway and looking down at the cargo held captive in the tank deck. There must have been upwards of a hundred men down there, police and officials, all of them black, no whites. The loading lights were on, and they were standing very still, well clear of the ladders, most of them facing aft so that the whites of their eyes flickered in the glare. At the foot of one of the starboard ladders three men lay in a pool of blood, one of them with his face smashed in, still kicking out with his feet, his back arching. Nobody took any notice. Half the crew seemed gathered on the catwalks, all armed and chattering away like sparrows. Death meant nothing to them. It seemed to mean nothing to me either, not for that moment, the whole scene strangely unreal. Even the human cargo on the tank deck seemed determined to ignore it, a space left round the bodies as though the cause of death could be contagious, their minds, all their attention, focused on the after part of the ship as Hans Holland stepped forward into the gleam of the deck lights.
He moved fast, almost dancing forward on the balls of his feet, like a ballet dancer, or an actor making his entrance, then standing, suddenly quite still, staring down at the mass of men below him, his silence, and his stillness, increasing the effect. He spoke to them briefly, in their own tongue, his voice high and harsh, then silence again, staring down at them, allowing time for the words to sink in. Finally he turned abruptly and moved out of the glare back to where I was standing. I’ve told them – the next man trying to escape, they will all be shot.’ He nodded to the guards posted on the catwalks. ‘They’ll see to it you have no trouble. They’ve been well trained.’
‘Who trained them for you?’ The question was a prevarication, an avoidance of the one I knew I had to ask.
He shrugged, gave a little bark of laughter. ‘Vietnam left a useful legacy of unemployed deserters floating around in the Pacific.’
‘And the rest of those men down there … ’ My voice trembled. ‘What are you going to do with them?’
‘That’s your problem.’ He was already climbing the ladder to the wheelhouse, Teopas close behind him. He paused, looking down at me over the handrail. ‘Till you reach Queen Carola. There you land them on Hetau and the Co-operative takes over. Got it? And you return here with whatever cargo they give you.’ He went on up to the wheelhouse, still issuing instructions to Teopas. I followed, pausing on the bridge wing. Perenna had gone in search of her brother. I was alone for a moment, looking down at my cargo and the guards with their pistols, the same Japanese machine pistols we had uncovered in those crates. God! It had been neatly organised, and Jona Holland just about the only hitch.
I was still standing there when they brought him out, drunk and barely conscious, his eyes glazed as I tried to speak to him. They carried him down to the car, and Perenna went with them. Hans Holland was suddenly back at my side. ‘Just remember this,’ he said, his vitality brimming over. ‘A few days, and Bougainville will be independent. Then we can expand, raise money, buy ships, get moving.’ And he wasn’t talking like that to bolster his courage.
‘You really believe you’ll get away with it?’
He laughed, clapping me on the shoulder, his mood infectious. ‘Think about it on the run up to Carola. The whites employed at the mine, the redskins from PNG, all of them locked in on this island, hostages for the reasonable behaviour of the other parties to the independence negotiations. And when it’s all settled, I’ll have the contracts for the shipping out of the concentrates. Think about that, too. You could do very well out of this night’s work.’ And he added, ‘But just in case you don’t see it that way, Teopas will be sailing with you.’ He stared at me a moment, a hard, calculating look, then turned abruptly and went down to the car.
The ship’s engines had already started up, the deck vibrating under my feet, and there were men up for’ard standing by the warps. Teopas came out of the wheel-house. ‘Let go now, Kepten?’ His broad face grinned at me from under the beetling brow and the mop of fuzzy hair.
I nodded and went into the wheelhouse. Luke was already there, looking sullen. ‘You take her out,’ I said to give him something to keep him occupied. One of the Buka crewmen was standing beside the helmsman with a machine pistol gripped in both hands, the same man who had let loose that shattering deadly burst of fire. There would be another in the engine-room; even the men hauling in the warps were armed.
The time was 03.21 as we steamed out of Anewa Bay, the stars still bright, the sea calm with a light breeze from the north-east. We cleared Bara shoal on a backbearing, passed the Takanupe light close to port, and quarter of an hour later, we were out through the gap between the Kuruki and Banaru reefs and had turned on to our course of 325° to pick up Cape L’Averdy at the north-eastern end of Bougainville. The black outline of the mountainous spine of the island was clear against the stars, and in less than an hour we could identify the volcanic mass of Bagana and the higher peak of Balbi beyond it.
In ordinary circumstances it would have been a night to dream about, the sea so quiet and the ship ploughing serenely through the diamond-bright velve
t of the darkness under the Southern Cross. But the armed crewman in the wheelhouse, the others on the catwalks, the mob of captives huddled like slaves on the tank deck … everywhere I looked there was something to remind me of the situation we had left behind. The simplicity of it, the speed, the organisation! In just a few hours it had all been over, the copper mine unprepared and held in pawn, the Administration, all the services, taken over, the airport out of action. An armed landing at Kieta or Anewa, anywhere along the coast, would be met now by a warning that the lives of Australian and other expatriates would be at risk. And Perenna and her brother, would they be at risk, too? Were they now hostages for the safe delivery of my human cargo to that island off the Queen Carola anchorage?
I learned a lot about myself that night, my mood introspective, which is something quite unnatural to me. Normally I act without too much thought, taking things as they come. But now there was Perenna. For the first time in my life I was emotionally involved with another human being, and it made a difference – made me think.
In the darkened silence of the wheelhouse, the course set and nothing else to do but let thoughts chase one another through my mind, I found myself in a state of uncertainty. I knew I ought to do something, try to gain control of the ship, free the human cargo. It was Perenna’s ship as much as her brother’s, her name on the stern, her capital locked up in it. But then there were moments when I was able to persuade myself that the whole thing was a political matter where the divisions between right and wrong are blurred and principles depend upon circumstances. When a man like Hans Holland takes the plunge, risking all on one wild attempt to alter the balance of forces to his personal advantage, then I suppose there are always people like me who will throw overboard any principle they ever had in the hope of bettering themselves.
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