Chapter 34

Normally, Katie MacArran didn’t care all that much for the sudden storms that frequently swept through the Papuan highlands, but this particular tempest would be a very large exception.

It would help to mask the lack of her usual exuberance on seeing Ray Parer again.

The Brumby touched down at Iso, unannounced as he frequently did, in his DeHavilland DH-9 only moments before it struck.  It had been a good six weeks since The Battler had last visited the settlement and by rights, Katie should have been overjoyed at his arrival.

Not this time. 

This time there was something he didn’t know; something no one in the camp knew except her, not even Drigo Chavez.

It had happened thirty days previously, when Katie had ordered Drake Hackett to get her Lockheed Air Express fueled and prepared for a long flight the following morning, destination; Darwin, Australia.

“I’ve been out of touch with Jim Spanaway for much too long,” she’d told Drigo Chavez, “And that cable from Port Moresby is about as reliable as a ten-cent watch.  AND we’re starting to run short on spare parts for both the Fortuna and the Autogyro’s engines.”

All this was true.  What the pinto mare DIDN’T tell the coati, or anyone else for that matter, was that three weeks earlier, exactly one month after one of The Battler’s visits, she had missed her heat period.  Shortly thereafter, she had noticed she was starting to feel colicky in the morning and that her breasts were becoming tender.

And so she flew to Darwin, first to see if her suspicions were correct and secondly, if they were, ‘to do what has to be done’.

That was how Katie would later justify it to herself, in many private moments.  When she finally returned to Iso, two days later than expected, she explained away her difficulty in walking as the result of a sprained thigh muscle, suffered when she slipped while disembarking from her plane in Australia.  She spent the next three days mostly alone in her house, ‘recuperating from my fall’.

And crying herself to sleep each night.

But at least she didn’t feel sick in the morning any longer.

Her breasts, however, continued to feel tender for a long time afterwards, so tender that sometimes while surveying the route for the Toonerville Trolley to the gold find that the Ayon had shown her, Katie would remove her top and work bare-breasted.  Though this fact eventually made it into the pages of Gold From Hell, the reason for it never did.

And that was why she wasn’t as thrilled as she might have been to see the Brumby stallion again, and because of that, she took immediate notice of the passenger he had brought with him. 

He was a smallish species, with mottled gray fur, a striped neck, and a long snout, similar to a coatimundi’s.  She recognized him at once as a large-spotted civet, a species of which there were several representatives amongst her Chinese workers.

Except that this particular civet wasn’t Chinese.  His fur was too dark for one thing, and his nose was also too broad.  He was dressed rather curiously for a Chinese as well... in a saffron-colored, loose-fitting shirt with a high collar and baggy sleeves.

And when he stepped from the plane, Katie saw that instead of pants, he was clad below the waist in what looked an Indian dhoti.

“Hullo Katie!” said Ray, hurrying forward to take her in his arms.  Katie steeled herself to return the embrace, knowing full well that he’d realize her enthusiasm was forced.

Just then, she heard the first faint rumble of thunder and the air became noticeably cooler.  After that, there was no argument from the Battler about postponing their re-union.  This storm was going the be a hard one, with chilling winds, capricious gusts, and almost horizontal rain; all hands would be needed to get the DeHavilland under cover and secured before it hit.  This included, Katie was interested to note, the new arrival, who pitched in at once without being asked and acquired several grease stains on his shirt and dhoti in the process.

But he never complained, not even once.

They were halfway to the big house when the downpour caught them.  By the time they made the verandah, everyone was thoroughly soaked.  Of all of them, the stranger seemed the least perturbed by the drenching, as if he were used to all this.

He was.  His name was Thip Sinsuk, and he was from Thailand, a country that was no piker when it came to torrential rains.  It was while everyone was sitting before the fireplace, sipping spiced tea and attempting to dry out a little that he explained the purpose of his visit.  

“I come from a family of gemstone traders in Bangkok,” he explained, in excellent but clipped English, “Recently, we acquired the rights to a new sapphire find in the Pha Yao province.  It is not only an extremely rich claim, with large quantities of gemstones, but I can fursonally attest to the fact that many of them are of the most exceptional quality.”

He paused, taking a long sip of his tea, and continued, “Unfortunately, this new mine, the Thrak Le mine it is called, is in an area of my country that is both mountainous and extremely remote.  It will be quite difficult to bring mining equipment to ...”

At this point, Katie realized where the civet was going with all this.  She was tempted to interrupt, but refrained from doing so.  Such a thing would have been the height of rudeness in Chinese society, and she could only assume that the Thai held similar views regarding proper manners.

Finally, Thip finished and Katie answered him.

“I’m afraid that I’m really not the one you want to talk to about this.” she told the civet as gently as she could, “I don’t actually run the International Dirigible Company.  You need to contact Mr. Eamon Mack in London.”  She paused for a second, then added quickly, “I’m sure we can work something out, however.  What you’re proposing is exactly the sort of use for which The Republic was intended when we did the refit.”

Thip looked into his tea for a second, and Katie assumed it was out of either embarrassment or disappointment at having come all this way for nothing.  But then he cleared his throat and looked up at her once more.

“Yes...well, there is more you see.  My family do a tidy business as gem-traders, but we are not exceptionally wealthy.  In order to acquire the Thrak Le mine, we were required to use all such capital as we possessed, and now we have none left with which to make the purchase of the mining equipment we will require in order to start operations.”

This time, Katie had to bite her tongue to stop herself from interrupting, and it was well she did.  The next thing the civet said was, “So...my family were wondering if perhaps the Iso Mining and Extraction Company might be willing to underwrite the purchase and transport of this equipment to the Thrak Le mine in exchange for say...a 20% interest in our operations?”

The pinto mare almost fell out of her chair.  As offers went, it was about the most unprecedented she’d ever heard of.  This civet was either crazy, brilliant, or the most brazen huckster this side of P.T. Barnum.  Later, when she met with her lieutenants in private about the matter, (along with The Battler, or course,) their verdict fell almost unanimously on the third option. 

“If you want my opinion,” said Drigo Chavez, with a snort. “it’s yiffin’ Wally Watt all over again.  That little pendejo will take delivery of the mining equipment, sell it off as soon as our backs are turned, an’ then disappear.  Hell, I bet he’s already got a buyer for the stuff.”

“I think that’s very possible.”said Shang Li-Sung nodding, “Some of those Thai gemstone merchants are the worst cutthroats on the planet.  They’ll pay some poor peasant a bag of rice for a stone he found while digging a well, tell him it’s badly flawed and that’s all it’s worth.  Then the next thing you know, it’d been sold again, this time for a thousand pounds.”

“Yer got that right, mate,” Drake Hackett concurred, “And they’re also some of the worst bloody smugglers on the planet.” He looked directly at Katie, “Remember when that Thai bloke, what’s-is-name Pravalong, got caught tryin’ to sneak a shipment of uncut rubies through Perth?  They was hid in some bundles of jute if yer recall.”

Katie did recall; the Queensland Heeler had reported on the incident for the Observer.  It was becoming more and more obvious that the wise thing to do would be to tell Thip Sinsuk, “Thanks, but no thanks.”  Even Ray Parer, who had brought the civet to Iso, was voicing a few words of skepticism.

“Well, one thing I know,” said the Brumby stallion, “If that bloke’s got even the slightest connection with the Thai royal family, good luck gettin’ any recompense if he does try to cheat yer.  The Thai authorities’ll wrap yer up in red tape, then forget yer.”

It was at this point that James ‘Striper’ McKenna finally spoke up.

“Hold on mates,” said the Tasmanian tiger, “Before you send that  bloke on ‘is way, just think about it for a second.” He looked at Katie, “Now, ‘e wants that mining equipment brought direct by the Republic to this new dig up in some remote province in Thailand, right?”

“That’s right, Striper,” she answered, annoyed at hearing him state the obvious. “So?”

“Sooooo,” said the big marsupial, puffing out his cheeks, “If he’s planning to take the machinery an’ sell it, ‘e’s first got to get it back down to Bangkok or suchlike, doesn’t he?” His expression became both flinty and ironic. “‘Ow’s he ‘sposed to do that, Y’Grace?  You know anyone else what’s got a cargo dirigible for hire?”

Katie’s response to this was to instantly morph from a horse to sheep. (Or at least to a sheep-ISH horse.)  Her only consolation was that everyone else at the table was assuming the same expression.  Dammit, why hadn’t any of THEM thought of that?

“Now, I’m not sayin’ we should agree wi’ this deal sight unseen,” the Tasmanian tiger went on, taking advantage of the awkward silence to address the group as a whole, “Not hardly, as ‘Er Grace would put it.  Instead, first let’s call this Mr Tip, or whatever ‘is name is, back in here an’ ask ‘im some more questions about this mine of his.  If he gets dicey or don’t want to own up about any of it, we tells ‘im, ‘Sorry, we’re not interested.’”

“Hmmm,” said Drigo, stroking muzzle, “Sounds reasonable enough to me, amigo.  But now that I think of it...Battler?   By any chance, your guy bring some sample stones with him from that mine with him?”

The Brumby slapped the side of his head, “Cor!  Yeah he did, mate.  An’ I complete forgot to mention it.”

“Don’t worry about it, sport.” said Drake Hackett with a short bark of canine laughter, “The rest of us complete forgot to ask as well, didn’t we?”

“Well, can you blame us, Drake?” said Katie, also grinning, “When he offered me a piece of that mine in exchange for getting him the equipment and bringing it there, I thought I’d been hit by a brick wall.”  She turned to Ray Parer, “Did you know he was going to make that offer, when you brought him here?”  The stallion threw up his hooves like an evangelist.

“Swear to God, Y’Grace.  I’d no idea he ‘ad THAT in mind.”

“So what do we do if Thip’s up front with us an’ the sapphires he brought are good ones?” asked Drigo, clearly anxious to steer the conversation back to it’s original subject.

“Obviously, we’d need to send someone to inspect that mine in furson.” said Katie, “See if it’s as productive as claims it is and more important, make sure the Republic can get to it.  Even she can’t go everywhere, you know.”

“Who would we send?” asked Shang, “That geologist you brought with you when you first came here, perhaps?”

“If I knew where to find him, maybe.” Katie told the red panda, “But the last time I spoke to him was when we parted company in Moresby after I first visited here.  Where he is now, I have no idea.  And anyway, as Ray could tell you, he hates to fly...probably wouldn’t know the first thing about whether the Republic could make it to the Thrak Le mine.”

“Well,” said Striper McKenna, shifting self-consciously in his seat, “I reckon I could tell y‘bout that, havin’ loaded an’ unloaded The Republic as, many time as I ‘ave...an’ I do know a thing or two about sapphires, actually.  Worked a small strike in Australia some years back.”

That was all Katie and the others needed to hear.  By unanimous acclamation, the Striper was chosen to assess the Thrak Le mine, pending further inquiries of Thip Sinsuk

As things turned out, the civet was not only forthright in his answers, but without being asked, he produced a copy of the deed to his family’s new sapphire mine and also several photographs of the place.

What sealed it was when Striper examined the uncut stones that Thip had brought along with him.

“Most of em’ are decent to middlin’ average.” he told Katie and the others later, “but bloody Hell if two of them sapphires ain’t about the most perfect stones I’ve ever seen.”

When she heard this, Katie immediately asked Thip if Striper McKenna could accompany him back to Thailand to examine the Thrak Le mine on her behalf.  The civet agreed at once to her request, showing neither irritation nor surprise.

Later that evening, there was a potentially awkward moment between Katie and Ray Parer.  Not having seen her for almost two months, the stallion was feeling his oats tonight...but she was still alternating between bouts of guilt and depression over her flight Darwin.  She finally told him her first ever lie, saying that she wasn’t feeling right after having had herself wormed only the previous day.  Though disappointed, the Battler accepted her explanation without question.  Being a horse himself, he was all too familiar with the need for equines living in New Guinea to regularly purge themselves of internal parasites.

It was almost a month before they heard back from Striper...and when they did, it came in the form of two-word telegraph that Katie picked up on one of her mail-flights to Port Moresby.

“Fair Dinkum!” was all the Tasmanian tiger had written... and all the pinto mare needed to hear.  A meeting on Spontoon Island was quickly arranged, and there Jim Spanaway was able up the Iso Mining and Extraction company’s share in the Thrak Le Sapphire Mine from 20%  to 30%.  Though neither Katie, Striper, or Jim had any inkling of it at the time, the Iso Mining and Extraction company, then a single operation in New Guinea, had just taken it’s first step towards becoming a global empire.

And there was other good news as well... for the Iso Mine, if not for the world at large.  With the Depression in full swing, furs all over America had lost faith in both the banking system and in paper currency.  They were withdrawing a staggering $20 million in gold PER DAY from America’s banking institutions.  As a result, the bankers were falling all over each other to recoup their reserves, and this meant that the Iso Mining and Extraction Company could name practically any terms it wished for the sale of it’s gold... which it did.  What profits from these sales weren’t put back into the company were immediately converted into Swiss Francs and deposited with Katie’s bankers in Montreux.  This was done at the urging of Jim Spanaway, who remained convinced that a major devaluation of the dollar was almost imminent, (Eamon Mack was of a similar opinion regarding the Pound Sterling.) and the mountain goat had also lately come to the conclusion that it was only a matter of time before the United States weaned itself from the gold standard.  “It’s either that or we kiss our monetary system goodbye.” he said in a frank letter to his employer.

So it was better to unload and convert the gold as quickly as possible... which Jim continued to do, while at the same time quietly preparing for the day when he would finally deal with the troupe of vaudeville comedians masquerading as Combs Mining Machinery’s board of directors.

On the other side of the Atlantic, things were humming as well.  After a somewhat shaky start, the MacArran distilleries were finally back up to full production and the shipments to America had resumed once again, but under the same conditions as had been specified by Katie’s father -- all business transactions conducted in Britain, and all payments in Pounds Sterling.  Some of the MacArran Distilleries’ American customers were less than pleased with this somewhat awkward arrangement, but the majority, including Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano went along without complaint; better a complicated method of doing business, than a business that might be closed down without warning... AGAIN.  Besides, the American distributors of MacArran spirits were still making a handsome profit... and they weren’t the only ones.  The same day that Katie returned from the Ayon village, MacArran Distilleries Ltd. posted it’s first month in the black since the strike. 

And the following month was even better.

Meanwhile, The International Dirigible Company was doing turnaway business.  Things were so good in fact, that Eamon Mack had needed to hire a full time manager for the firm. (This news did not reach Katie until after Thip Sinsuk’s departure.)  The Irish Setter found what he was looking for with no difficulty -- a flying squirrel by the name of Sir Percy Haleworth, a former naval officer and a deputy Director of the old Airship Guarantee Company, the firm which had built the R-100.  It had been Haleworth’s job to establish the routes for the new airship...a position which had evaporated when she’d been put in limbo by the R-101 disaster.  When Eamon made the offer, the flying squirrel all but jumped at it.  Left high and dry by the Depression, he’d been practically at the end of his tether.  No sooner had Haleworth taken his position, than he quickly proved himself more than worthy to the task at paw.  Brisk and efficient in his manner, yet possessed of large measure of charm, he was as skilled at handling prospective clients for the IDC as Captain Umberto Nobile was at handling the Republic herself.  When Jim Spanaway wired him about the deal to carry equipment to the Thrak Le mine in Thailand, it took the flying rodent exactly five minutes to figure out how to work it into the Republic’s flight schedule.

“As it turns out,” he said in an informal letter to the mountain goat, “we’ve a contract with His Majesty’s Government to deliver a bit of tunneling equipment from the port of Karachi to the Assam highlands of India next month.  (They wish to attack the mountain from both sides, so as to shorten the completion time.) ”

“Now, it so happens the Assam highlands are only a few hundred miles due west of the province where the Thrak Le mine is located, and Karachi, as I’m sure you are aware, is possessed of most excellent airship facilities, including not only a fine mooring mast but also a storage shed.  For this reason, the Republic will be spending some time in dry-dock following her completion of the Assam run as she’s a bit overdue for some maintenance work on her envelope.  Afterwards, she will be departing for Iso to make her regularly scheduled pick-up of gold.”

“If you can see your way clear to delivering the equipment for the Thrak Le mine to the Karachi airship station in time for the Republic’s departure, (and if Her Grace would be willing to forego the cargo pick up in Iso for that month,) we should quite easily be able to make the accommodations.”

“Hoping to hear from you, shortly.”

“Yours, Most Sincerely,
Captain Sir Percy Haleworth R.N. ( Ret. )
Director, The International Dirigible Company Ltd.
London, England.”  

Jim Spanaway didn’t even hesitate before agreeing to the flying squirrel’s proposal.  He knew Katie would be unhappy at being presented with it as a fait accompli, but if he was going to get the mining equipment to Karachi in time for the Republic’s lift off, there wasn’t second to waste.

Besides, he rationalized, the Republic was more than large enough to accommodate a double shipment of gold.  They could skip one month and get away with it

Later, much later, the mountain goat would have cause to deeply regret his decision -- as would Percy Haleworth for having more or less proposed it.  The IDC would soon be making fewer and fewer trips to Iso and bringing out larger and larger shipments each time.

The first hint of what was to come arrived even as Jim was drafting his reply to TIDC’s manager.  It came in the form of an unscheduled landing at the Iso mine airstrip by one of Guinea Airways’ Junkers W-34s.  The arrival caused a small sensation and more than a little consternation amongst the miners of Iso.  Katie MacArran had neither forgiven, nor had she forgotten Guinea Airways’ role in trying to keep her out of the Iso valley.  Though the pinto mare had never formally announced it as part of her policy, it was known throughout Papua that Guinea Airways’ planes were not welcome at her mine.  When she went marching up to the Junkers with a stern expression on her face and her shikomi-zue gripped tightly in one hoof, everyone braced themselves for what they were certain would be a nasty confrontation.

But when the pilot, a blue-eyed rabbit disembarked from his plane, the first thing he did was take his flight helmet in his paws.

“I hope you’ll forgive my bargin’ in here unannounced and all, Y’ Grace,” he said, “But one of our pilots has gone missing and we’re organizin’ an aerial search to go look for ‘im.  Hopin’ you might be willin’ to help us out.”

Katie didn’t even blink.  Before the lapin could say another word, she summoned Drake Hackett and ordered him to prepare the AVRO autogyro for take off.  It was an unspoken rule amongst the bush pilots of New Guinea that in the event one of their number failed to arrive at his destination, all differences were to be put aside and all paws were to be put to the task of searching for him.

It was while the autogyro was being fueled that the bunny, whose name was Charlie Deal, filled her in on the details.  The lost pilot had disappeared during what was supposed to be a routine flight from Bulolo to Lae.   He had taken off and simply never arrived at his destination.  There had been no distress calls on the radio.  No one had heard a crash or seen any smoke...nothing.  As for the object of the proposed search, he was a Scottish wildcat named Gordie MacIntyre who had been flying for Guinea Air for almost two years.  At the mention of this name, Drake Hackett gave a small yip.

“Cor, I know that bloke.  Me and Keith Lawton crossed paths with ‘im a few times during our travels round the outback.” He looked over at a Katie. “Bloody good pilot Y’Grace.”

“He is that,” said Charlie Deal, ears flopping as he nodded...but then voice lowered to an almost inaudible murmur, “But there’s something else y’ should know ‘bout, Your Grace.  Gordie was carryin’ a shipment of gold with ‘im on that flight.”

Katie froze like a statue.  So did Drake Hackett.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Katie demanded, her voice an angry hiss.

“Didn’t want to say that where it might be overheard.” the rabbit answered in that same near-mumble, nodding towards the gaggle of miners standing at the periphery of the airstrip as he did.  And Katie had to admit that he had a point; if any of Papua’s bandit or air pirate gangs got wind of what was on board that plane...Yes, It was best to keep this fact in as closed a circle as possible

Since the day of Katie’s arrival in the camp, Iso Mining and Extraction had never once been bothered by either bandits or air-pirates.  The mining company not only shipped out its gold in the form of ingots too heavy for anything but the Republic to handle, but was also known to be on cordial terms with the much feared Ayon tribe. 

Even so, Katie knew the bastards were out there.  Twice in the past year, she had seen a strange aircraft shadowing the Fortuna on one of her mail flights to Port Moresby, and a third time while she’d been en route to Lae.  Thanks to the Lockheed’s superior speed and handling, she had both times managed to give them the slip, but the episodes had been unnerving just the same. 

But the last such instance had been more than six months ago.  These days, the New Guinea air pirates preferred to confine their activities to the small, independent bush-plane outfits and leave the big, well organized companies like Guinea Airways and Iso Mining alone.  The same held true for Ray Parer but for a different reason.  Any fool who dared to make a move against The Battler could count on having EVERY miner in New Guinea screaming for his scalp.

On the other hoof, if a plane full of gold was forced down in the interior by bad weather or mechanical trouble...well, that might just be too much of a temptation for any bandit or pirate to resist, no matter who the aircraft belonged to.  If there was one lesson Katie MacArran had learned at her Grandpa Joe’s hooves, it was just how crazy the lure of gold could make someone.

She turned to Drake Hackett.

“Drake?  Go find Shang and tell him I’ll need him for my observer and to bring shotguns for the both of us.” She laid a hoof on the heeler’s shoulder adding, “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to sit this one out.”  Drake agreed to this only with the most grudging consent.  More than most, he understood what Gordie MacIntyre was going through right now.  Drake himself had once been the subject of an aerial search, after he and Keith Lawton had crash landed their Bristol biplane in a largely uncharted area of Australia’s Northern Territories.

It was a risky proposition on Katie’s part to use the autogyro rather than the Fortuna.  Though by now she was well proficient at handling the rotary winged aircraft, she had never flown it anywhere other than to Lae and back...and in the event of a sudden storm, the AVRO would be all but helpless against the wind and rain.  On top of that, the autogyro’s lack of range would make for fairly small search area.  Nonetheless, Katie felt it was a chance worth taking.  The AVRO’s visibility was far superior to that of her Lockheed Air Express, and it’s ability to fly at very low speed would make it ideal for taking a closer look if either she or Shang thought they saw anything.

As things turned out, it was milk run...and a fruitless one at that.  Neither she, nor her observer saw anything but green jungle and gray rock from the moment they took off until the moment they landed.  When Katie touched down again at the Iso mine, Ray Parer was there in his DH-9, and had been no more successful than she.

No one was perturbed by this; Papua was big place, and the jungle was a place well known for hiding it’s secrets.  They would soon find Gordie MacIntyre, sitting on the wing of his downed aircraft, grinning and waving in abashment.  When a few of the Ayon came by the camp the next morning, Katie asked them if they might have heard or seen anything of the missing plane.

“They said no, not a thing,” she told Pard Mustar, the head of Guinea Airways, later that day, “But they promised to keep their eyes open and spread the word to some of the other tribes.”

“Excellent.”said the dingo, beaming, “We’ll ‘ave old Gordie back before we know it.”

That optimism quickly faded when after almost a week, there was still no sign of the missing Scottish wildcat...or his plane.  It was as if the jungle had swallowed them whole.  Soon Katie had switched from the autogyro to the Air Express and was flying further afield from Iso than she ever had before.

Nothing...there was not glint of metal or a gleam of glass.  And no one else was having any better luck than she was.

Then, two days before the search was about to be called off, a pair of Ayon warriors came rapping on the side of hangar where Drake Hackett was working.  Turning around, the Queensland Heeler noticed that the larger of the two was carrying a string bag containing a package wrapped in pandanus leaves.  Before Drake could say a single word, they began to jabber away in North Papuan, pointing first to the bag, then at their own heads, then at the airstrip.  Confused, Drake just shrugged helplessly, and the shrew mouse with the bag stepped up to him.

That was when the canine first became aware of the foul odor, but before he could react, the warrior abruptly turned the bag over, spilling it’s contents at his feet.

Drake bolted out of the hangar, barely making the edge of the river before heaving up his breakfast.

Then he ran to get Katie and Shang Li-Sung, leaving behind him a pair of bemused Ayon warriors...and the badly decomposed head of a Scottish wildcat.

When Katie arrived at the hangar, she too was overcome with nausea.  Shang however, was not, and with a grim expression on his features, he picked up the severed head and examined it closely.

“They didn’t do this.” the red panda announced, nodding in the direction of the Ayon warriors, who were now under close guard by a pair of guards with shotguns, “This cat was killed by a gunshot, not an arrow.  Let them go.” 

The miners did so immediately, and Katie quickly apologized to the pair, who just shrugged as if they’d expected no less.  They WERE headhunters after all, as one of them reminded her rather proudly.

Later, in the privacy of the house, Shang elaborated for Katie, Striper, and Drigo what he’d seen in the hangar.

“Gordie MacIntyre, assuming that’s him, was shot at close range in the back of the head.  Large caliber bullet, as far as I can tell.  Poor cat probably died without even knowing it.”

“Shit!” said Drigo, pursing his lips as though preparing to spit, “They executed the yiffer.”

“Probably figured dead cats tell no tales.” said Striper McKenna, looking equally grim, “Or turned out most of the gold was lost in the crash an’ the bludgers took it out on Gordie.”

“I’d say it’s probably the first one, Striper.” said Katie. “When’s the last time these guys EVER let anyone go?”  There was general agreement with this around the table, then Drake Hackett appeared in the doorway.

“The Fortuna’s ready t’ go Y’ Grace.” He coughed, and made a queasy sound, adding, “An’ the... ’package’ is stowed aboard.”

“Thanks Drake,” said Katie, pushing back her chair and standing up, “C’mon Shang...let’s move.”

“Huh?  Where you two headed now?” asked Drigo Chavez.

It was the red panda who answered him.

“Lae.  We need to tell Pard Mustar what’s happened.”

“And the colonial police,” added Katie.

When they arrived in Lae, Shang went off to the constabulary, while Katie went to deliver the bad news to Pard Mustar.

She was halfway through the story when the dingo broke down and began to weep.

“Aw, bloody hell!” he said, looking away with tears streaming from his eyes, “Gordie’d just got wed, y’know.  Lovely Dutch girl he’d met in Hollandia.”  He pounded his desk in impotent rage, “Those...yiffing...bastards!”

Later, at the police station, Mustar was obliged to make an identification of the severed head.  Katie expected him to lose control again, but when the sheet was pulled back, the dingo said just four words, and his face remained a granite mask.

“Yeah, that’s Gordie MacIntyre.”

Three days later, Pard Mustar and Inspector James Wright of the Papua, New Guinea Colonial Police flew into Iso aboard one of Guinea Airways Junkers.  Word had come down that the Ayon were willing take them to the crash site.

“It’s gonna be a pretty tough trek,” Katie cautioned, but the dingo immediately waved her off.

“It’s the least I can do for Gordie.” he said.

When the party returned after almost a week, Pard Mustar was almost beside himself with rage.  By now there was very little left of Gordie MacIntyre, but they had still been able to determine that he had died with his paws tied behind his back.  As for his plane, what was left of it had been hastily covered over with a camouflage canopy of vines and branches... crude, but more than enough to prevent the wreckage being spotted from the air.  A further examination of the wreck revealed that the gold was gone and the plane had been stripped of all it’s key components; the compass, the magneto, the batteries, the radio, the propellor, all of these had been taken.  Even the fuel tanks had been drained. 

“That means it was air-pirates.” said Shang, when he heard, “Bandits would only have taken the gold.  They have no use for aircraft parts.”

Then all heads turned as Pard Mustar turned over a bucket and stepped atop it.

“Right, listen up, mates.” the angry canine declared arms akimbo, “In conjunction wi’ the Bulolo Gold company, Guinea Airways is hereby offerin’ a thousand quid reward for the yiffers who did Gordie MacIntrye... dead or alive, preferably maimed.”

Katie’s immediate response to this was to kick in 500 Pounds of her own towards the bounty...and later, when Ray Parer heard about it he added a hundred of his own.

Their assumption, and that of the colonial authorities, was that Gordie MacIntyre had been forced down by a mechanical problem and the first ones to get to him had been a band of air-pirates -- who had most likely swooped in masquerading as rescuers, catching him by surprise.

That was the general consensus of opinion.

And it was soon to prove stunningly, disastrously wrong.



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