by Jake Avila
‘That blond faka is a devil,’ young Willy Makua had spat, holding the charred legs of a man whose upper body was indistinguishable from roadkill. He’d thrown the remains into the pit and wiped his hands on his combat fatigues.
‘Is Kaboro really letting him go, sarge?’
‘It’s not his decision, Makua. He takes orders, just like you and me.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Shut up, Makua!’
Singkepe had pretended not to notice the finger raised at his back. Getting shafted was part of service life. It was pointless to question it.
When every trace of the men and their primitive weapons was in the pit, he’d unscrewed the caps on a 200-litre drum of petrol and tipped it over. Petrol gushed over the macabre heap of legs, arms, bared teeth and staring eyes, distorting the air in a shimmering, fumey haze.
Lighting the match, Singkepe asked God to forgive him.
Chapter 23
‘Kaboro, why are you burning the bodies?’
Nash stood in the doorway of the bridge, breathing shallowly through his mouth to block out the ghastly smell as the thick smoke filled the air.
‘Please, I must concentrate on the ship.’
Kaboro’s filthy uniform was now also stained with blood, and although he was focusing on the controls, his eyes were glazed, like those of a functioning alcoholic or a sleepwalker who’d ended up in the wrong bedroom.
‘What are your orders? Where are we going?’
Kaboro increased power and the Albany began vibrating in protest. Nash could see Singkepe down on the bow, shaking his head to indicate no separation.
‘Why won’t you answer me?’
Kaboro thrust the throttles to maximum. The shaking increased to a frightening degree. A tin cup fell off the chart table and clattered to the floor. Pens danced up and down in their holder. The bridge windows blurred. Sweat was beading on Kaboro’s brow. He loosened off the throttles, and then applied full power again.
‘Damn it, Kaboro!’ Nash roared over the din. ‘How much are they paying you to sell out?’
Singkepe’s arm shot into the air and Nash felt the deck lurch under his feet, as the ship slipped off the bank. Kaboro engaged forward thrust to arrest momentum. Then, he spun the helm and worked the throttle to hold her in the narrow channel. Easing her forward, he took her out to deeper water.
Footsteps sounded outside and Sura arrived with Boerman, grinning like a schoolyard bully let off with another warning. Nash felt physically ill. It was as if the Albany had just split her bottom in a wild swell, and a sea of chaos was about to rush in and swallow them whole.
He turned to Kaboro.
‘Tell me this isn’t some sick joke?’
Boerman chortled. ‘The only sick joke around here is you, Nash.’
Sura looked radiantly triumphant. ‘Lieutenant, kindly convey to Mr Nash the outcome of your communication with Sir Julius.’
Kaboro kept his eyes on the river.
‘You are confined to quarters until your services are no longer required, Mr Nash. Then, at a suitable time and place, you will be escorted to the nearest international departure point and be required to leave Papua New Guinea.’
It was preposterous. Insane. Outrageous.
‘So, I’m to be an indentured slave and you’ll just sail on like nothing’s happened?’ Nash could hear the desperation in his voice. ‘I can’t believe this, Kaboro. I thought you were a man of honour.’
For the first time, Kaboro made eye contact. It was a look full of devastation.
‘My personal judgement doesn’t come into this, Mr Nash.’
‘Bullshit it doesn’t! We just watched this fucking maniac commit mass murder. Come on, man, stay the course. The men will follow you. I will follow you. We’ll testify –’
‘You keep talking,’ Boerman jeered, ‘but you don’t seem to realise no one gives a shit!’
Bunching his fists, Nash stared at Sura.
‘Shut your Jaap, or I’ll shut him for you.’
When Boerman lunged as expected, Nash dropped to one knee and swung his right fist into the Afrikaner’s groin. It was like hitting a bowl of jelly. In an explosion of breath, the big man crumpled to his hands and knees.
‘That’s for the poor sods you murdered today.’
He threw a savage knee at the Afrikaner’s unprotected face, but the big man dropped his head to take the bone-jarring impact on his craggy forehead. With a gasp of pain, Nash tried again, but Boerman was too fast. With one giant hand he caught Nash’s weight-bearing leg and upended him. Nash slammed down hard and flat on his back. In a flash, Boerman was on top of him, snarling like a pit bull. The enraged man’s size and weight were irresistible. Pinning Nash with his knees, Boerman took him by the throat with his left hand and squeezed so hard that Nash thought his trachea was about to break. With a roar of triumph, Boerman raised his huge right fist like a piledriver.
It was Sura who saved his life. Before the Afrikaner could deliver the killing blow, she wrapped herself around his mighty arm like a pole dancer. Somehow her screams penetrated the red mist inside Boerman’s skull. Abruptly, the killing rage left him, and he looked at her with a bewildered and disappointed expression on his bloody face.
‘Go to the cabin, Jaap,’ ordered Sura, ‘and wait for me there.’
At the helm, Kaboro had not moved a muscle.
‘Lieutenant, make your speed full ahead.’ Sura looked down at Nash. ‘The only reason you are alive is because you have a use to me. From now on, keep your mouth shut and do as you are told, and maybe it will stay that way.’
Sergeant Singkepe was waiting in the doorway. He gave Nash an apologetic nod, but the FN was still firmly pointed in his direction.
Boerman slammed his huge right fist into the metal wardrobe. Then his left. With a loud roar, he unleashed a flurry of blows, until the door was a crumpled mess hanging from one hinge.
‘Feeling better?’ Sura observed him dispassionately from the cabin doorway.
‘Don’t mock me!’ he exploded, whirling around to face her.
‘Get yourself under control, Jaap.’
‘You should have let me kill that fucking devil. I could have pounded his smug face into pulp!’
‘We need him. Just like we need the others to keep him working.’
‘No – You need him.’ He took a menacing step towards her. ‘Ever since your meeting . . . I’ve seen the way you look at him.’
She burst into a loud peal of laughter. ‘Oh, you great big fool, where on earth did you get that idea?’
Disarmed, he suddenly looked like a sheepish teenager, and she reached up to ruffle his hair.
‘The only white man I’ve ever been interested in is you. But, for sure, you’re not so pretty.’ She frowned at the bleeding split on his forehead. ‘Especially now!’
With a growl he lifted her up, burying his face in her neck. She could still smell the battle on him – the blood, sweat and cordite. The rawness of it thrilled her, and for a moment she wanted him right there. But there was a more immediate need.
Placing her tiny hands on each side of Boerman’s broad face, she stared into his china blue eyes.
‘Do you trust me, Jaap?’
He blinked. ‘With my life.’
‘I want you by my side, but you need to know your place.’
‘But –’
She placed her finger across his lips. ‘No more buts. Whenever you take matters into your own hands you jeopardise my future. There cannot be any more mistakes. Do you understand?’
‘You’d let me go?’ His voice was a groan. ‘Please, Sura . . .’
‘Put me down, Jaap.’
On the verge of tears, he obeyed.
His eyes opened wide as she began undoing his belt. Pushing him down on the narrow bed, she worked the big man skilfully with both hands. Although temperamental, Jaap was a magnificent tactical weapon. And, as with any good weapon, he required regular servicing, something the daughter of a
military man understood full well.
While Jaap bucked and moaned, Sura evaluated their chances. Despite all the setbacks and the unfortunate synchronicity of Doctor Carter ending up on this ship, the truth was they were still on track. Thanks to Sir Julius Michaels’ insatiable greed, Kaboro and his goons were blundering about in the dark, and with Goki out of the picture, her father was, too, although for how long? Just thinking about that question unconsciously tightened her grip, and Jaap came with a gasping shudder.
She was washing her hands in the small sink, when the chime of an incoming Skype call jarred them both.
‘It’s my father,’ she groaned, overcome with superstitious dread at having inadvertently awakened his dark presence merely by thinking of him. ‘We must have signal.’
‘Disable the vision,’ Boerman hissed, doing up his pants. ‘Quickly.’
‘Sura, are you there? Sura?’
‘Yes, Father.’ She blamed the lack of picture on the quality of the mobile hotspot.
‘What on earth is going on out there?’ The demand sounded tinny through the small speaker. ‘I’ve just had a disturbing call from Sir Julius.’
Sura unconsciously bared her teeth. Of course, the greedy old crook would have rung.
‘We had a minor incident, Father. The boat ran aground. The soldiers had to fight off an attack.’
‘Stop lying,’ he snarled. ‘I told you this was a covert mission. I told you to leave this to the experts.’
Sura met Boerman’s eye.
‘Father, I can explain.’
‘Indeed, you have much to explain.’ The disembodied voice was silky. ‘Start with why Goki is not answering my calls?’
‘He was injured in the grounding, and I’m afraid he died of his wounds en route to hospital.’
There was a sharp intake of breath.
‘Why wasn’t I informed of this? Goddamn it, Sura. I know you’re up to something.’
‘Father, please stay calm and listen to me. Everything is now under control and we are back on track, proceeding with the plan.’
Seeing Jaap looking at his feet, Sura was bitterly reminded that she was another person whenever she dealt with her father. His blunt force was impossible to resist, and her voice took on a wheedling register that she truly despised.
‘Father, can you hear me? You really need to trust me on this.’
‘Trust you?’ He spat the words with venom. ‘How dare you lecture me. I should have put Tommy in charge. In fact, I think I will now.’
‘Oh, really? By the time you get him sober, we will have already crossed the border.’ Sura tried to stop herself there, but the rage bubbling up would not be contained. ‘Fuck you and your empty threats, Father. There’s nothing you can do, so why don’t you just shut up for once in your life and put your faith in me?’
Sura’s heart was pounding. She had only ever once raised her voice to him, and the beating he had administered with a crop had been so savage that she couldn’t sit down for a week.
Abruptly General Suyanto hung up.
‘Not good,’ said Boerman grimly.
His pessimism seemed like a betrayal, but there was no time for second thoughts.
‘My father is a pragmatist. For now, he will have no choice but to accept the fait accompli and seek retribution later. By then, of course, we’ll be long gone.’
Boerman’s slow nod suggested he knew that she was putting a brave face on it. From now on, they were on borrowed time.
Chapter 24
The ship was travelling upriver at near flank speed, despite the unpleasant vibration from the damaged stabiliser, which was creating drag. Mia Carter peered anxiously out of the porthole at the green jungle passing by. There was no sign of life on deck, and Rob Nash had been gone for too long. Something was wrong.
‘Frank, I need to leave you for a while.’
She paused to check the damp towel on his forehead and was puzzled to find it bone-dry. Douglas’s skin felt like a paving stone in the hot sun. Mia frowned. It was much too early for infection to have set in. Rewetting the towel, she patted the still-unconscious man gently on the arm.
‘Hang in there. I won’t be long.’
When she opened the mess door, two spectres stared back at her. Mia cried out in alarm before she realised it was Singkepe’s troopers, their uniforms covered in soot, reeking of petrol and crematorial smoke. The taller one’s face was hatchet-grim.
‘Go back inside.’
‘But I need to see Lieutenant Kaboro.’
‘It is not possible.’
‘Excuse me, but my friend needs urgent medical attention. I must speak to the lieutenant.’
As Mia tried to push past, the tall guard stiff-armed her backwards, and slammed the steel door in her face.
‘Hey!’ she shouted angrily, trying the door again, but he was holding the handle on the other side. She banged on the door several times, tried it again, but fear soon tempered her anger. Somehow, the Indonesians must have got to Kaboro and regained control of the ship.
A sudden vision of Rob’s lifeless body floating in the ship’s wake chilled her until she shook herself out of it. They hadn’t brought him all this way for nothing. But where did that leave her and Frank?
Two long hours passed. Too frightened to test the door again, Mia kept checking the portholes, but there was no activity on deck and, if anything, the jungle looked thicker and wilder. All she could do was monitor Frank Douglas, who continued to worsen.
There was no medical explanation for his condition. His thrashing convulsions reminded Mia of dengue fever, but his temperature had mysteriously returned to normal, and there was no vomiting. She could detect no whiff of corruption either; the wound site was draining freely, and the adjacent glands were not enlarged.
Mia was dribbling a little water down Douglas’s throat when Singkepe arrived, firmly shutting the door behind him.
‘Sergeant, please tell me what is going on.’
‘No talking,’ he said flatly. ‘Orders.’
‘Lieutenant Kaboro’s orders?’
Singkepe went into the galley and began throwing chips, Coca-Cola, chocolate bars and cans of Spam into a cardboard box. Covered in stinking soot, the set of his wide shoulders suggested he was angry.
‘There’s juice under the cupboard,’ she volunteered. ‘And more bread in the freezer.’
His grunt of acknowledgement encouraged her.
‘Look, Sergeant, I don’t understand what is happening here, and maybe you and Lieutenant Kaboro don’t know either. But you must know we’ve done nothing wrong. Please help us.’
Singkepe picked up his loaded box.
‘Oh, come on, Sergeant,’ she groaned. ‘At least tell me if Rob is all right.’
The burly NCO hesitated. Mia knew Nash was popular with the men. When Singkepe inclined his head a fraction, she felt a rush of elation and relief.
She was about to ask another question when a series of violent convulsions began jolting Douglas as if he was hooked up to a power point. Mia went to his side as the comatose man fitted, making sure he was not vomiting or choking on his tongue. Singkepe appeared interested, despite himself, and came over for a closer look.
‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ Mia listed Douglas’s unusual symptoms.
Singkepe nodded thoughtfully. ‘Traditional weapons are powerful. I’ve seen a slash from a pig jaw axe kill a big man in three days, while an old lady from my village got chopped up with a rusty machete and lived with 350 stitches.’ His dense monobrow furled as he looked more closely at the trembling man. ‘You got the arrow out of him, then?’
‘Yes, would you like to see it?’
He put the box on the table, and Mia passed him the dish containing the grisly claw. It was as if she had just presented him with his mother’s decapitated head. Singkepe stepped back, shaking and pale with fear.
‘Get it away from me!’
Mia had forgotten that superstition and belief in magic were comm
on to many Papuans, and not just those in remote villages.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘That’s very bad medicine.’ Singkepe made the sign of the Cross twice in quick succession. ‘He gonna die for sure.’
‘Why bad medicine?’
‘Cassowary are female spirit ancestors. They are eating his manhood from the inside. They won’t stop.’ He shuddered. ‘Not until nothing is left.’
Singkepe’s fear of the claw was as real to him as her fear of his gun. Mia had seen with her own eyes how the awful power of ‘pointing the bone’ could kill healthy individuals within a week. But those afflicted believed they were cursed, so how did this apply to an old cynic like Douglas, who was surely immune to autosuggestion?
‘You’re saying there’s nothing I can do, then?’
Singkepe paused. ‘You could get the curse lifted, but this is very, very hard.’
‘You mean . . . a witch doctor?’
He nodded reverently. ‘A very, very powerful one.’
Mia had met a few witch doctors in her time. They appeared to be charlatans waving feathers and bones over hapless patients, who all too often died needlessly. What Douglas needed was a medical facility and powerful antibiotics. That was real magic.
‘Sergeant. Will you please tell Lieutenant Kaboro we need to get Mr Douglas urgent help or he is going to die.’ He nodded assent and Mia took the opportunity to make another appeal. ‘We’re not your enemy,’ she whispered. ‘If there is any way you can help us, please do it now before it is too late.’
He stiffened at the touch of her hand on his arm, and reluctantly she let go.
When the door closed, Mia allowed herself a moment to process the fear building inside her. The world of laws and known boundaries was slipping away, and without the tools to fight it she was like a spectator to her own demise, utterly powerless. A hot rush of longing filled her as she thought of her parents’ love, and for a moment she surrendered to the warmth of its comforting embrace, but as the tears threatened, she understood giving in to the emotion would merely paralyse her, and so she pushed it back down and checked Douglas’s pulse instead.