Lovell banked the Beechcraft steeply as he came in over Goroka, levelled out and touched down on the Highlands airstrip. Wednesday, 1400 hours. There was no cross-wind: the airsock drooped like a condom and the smoke from the jungle villages hung motionless above the dense trees.
He taxied around to a forgotten corner of the airfield and stepped down from the cockpit. At once perspiration broke out on his skiri, sticky under his clothing. Some children gathered around him, waiting. He dug into his satchel, tossed brightly coloured gobstoppers above their heads. The children shrieked and scattered, snatching the sweets from the air and scrabbling for them on the ground.
As usual, Pius Agaky was waiting for him by the Nissen hut where empty drums and out-of-date spare parts were housed. As usual he was shoeless, dressed in shorts and a white T-shirt. His beard, moustache and hair were close-cropped, black on skin the colour of cinnamon. He extended a massive hand. They shook, and Lovell handed over the satchel.
Pius, he said, Im afraid I couldnt scrape all the money together for this consignment. Ill have to owe you the balance, okay? You know my moneys good.
This changes things, Pius said.
He looked over Lovells shoulder, and Lovell turned, thinking Agakys men had started packing cannabis resin into the Beechcrafts hold and he was signalling them to stop. But the place was empty. The children were running away and a pig had wandered onto the landing strip but otherwise the field was deserted.
Then Lovell saw Saun, Taiang, Daru, the men who always loaded the Beechcraft, watching and waiting in the shade of nearby trees. They were all but invisible, some distance away, but he knew that if he made a run for it theyd get to the Beechcraft before he did.
Come on, Pius, we can sort it out.
Pius called something and his men came at a run from the trees. They took Lovells arms and led him toward a hangar while Pius drove away on a scooter. No-one spoke to Lovell. He sat on an overturned jerry can and flipped pebbles into the jaws of a wrench lying in the dust. For ninety minutes nothing happened, only an old DC3 rumbling in from the coast, banking over the jagged green ridges that surrounded the airfield.
Then Pius returned. Someone want a word with you.
Who?
Youll see.
They went around to the rear of the Nissen hut. A black Mercedes was parked there. A costly car two years ago, it was now mud-spattered, sideswiped, pocked with dents. The man who got out said hello, said Lovells name. The accent came from New Zealand. Turn over a rock in PNG, Lovell thought, and youre sure to expose an expat.
The New Zealander introduced himself as Hughes. He was ruddy and mild-looking, with receding sandy hair that grew thickly behind his ears, as though hed pushed his scalp back like a hat. Lets sit in the car and talk.
They got in the front seat. Hughes fired up the motor and turned on the airconditioning, then leaned back against the drivers door to look at Lovell. Pius informs me you didnt bring the full amount.
I can make it up. I got ripped off, thats all.
Hughes had a fleshy smile. Does your Mr Bone know?
Jesus Christ, leave him out of this.
It seems to me youre in strife, old son. Now, the thing is, youve got a plane, you know the terrain, you could be a great help to us.
Like how?
Hughes said, Up till now its been sweet, right? A handful of Aussie currency in exchange for bulk amounts of New Guinea Gold worth a mint back home. Except now the locals want to branch out a bit and I can see a quid in it for both of us.
Get to the point.
Simple, Hughes said. Guns.
I dont need any guns.
Arsehole, I mean the locals want guns, some of them. Hughes ticked them off. Youve got your raskol gangs in Moresby, your tribal factions here in the Highlands, your OPM freedom fighters, your Bougainville rebels.
It was all politics to Lovell. So?
So they want guns. They cant get them here, apart from the odd. 303 left over from the war.
Lovell shook his head. Where am I supposed to get guns? What kind of guns?
Hughes took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. Body damp had made it limp. Pius gave me a shopping list.
Lovell ran his eye down the page. It listed semi-automatic rifles, preferably AK47s, rocket launchers, surface-to-air missiles, preferably Stingers or RP7s. The names meant nothing to Lovell. You could fight a war with this stuff.
Too true.
Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, these guys are strictly stone age.
Theres a buck in it.
These surface-to-air missiles: what the hell do they want them for?
Hughes laughed. Yeah, I know, unreal. Its the helicopters, Australian Iriquois on loan to the PNG forces. They hate them on Bougainville. In the Solomons theyre pissed off because they reckon their air space gets violated all the time.
Politics again. Lovell held onto the page by one corner. Where am I supposed to get this stuff?
Use your initiative. Youve got blackmarket mates in Singapore? Use them.
I dont have to deal with you. I could kiss goodbye to this and find another source for the Gold.
You could also find sugar in your fuel tank one day, Hughes said, no mildness about him now. You could find Mr Bone knocking on your door. The cops waiting for you.
You bastard, Lovell said. He paused. Ill need cash, big cash, to buy arms.
Unfortunately, thats your problem, old son. Youll find a way. But look at it this way: PNG is loaded down with cannabis. Pius and I could fill one jumbo jet a week for you for the next ten years if you were interested, all for a few guns now and then. So, how about it?
Lovell was already putting it together in his head. Buy from his blackmarket contacts in Thailand and Singapore, the guns moved by fishing boat or yacht to somewhere in Torres Strait or the Gulf country, then fly them into PNG. If he played this right, hed be able to cut himself free of Bone eventually.
If he could get hold of upfront money first, that is.
I tell you one thing, he said. From now on Ill be supervising every time my kites refuelled.
Hughes winked, as if Lovell had made a joke.