8
Loloata Island
Papua New Guinea
Papua New Guinea, located in the southwest Pacific, comprises the eastern part of New Guinea, the Bismarck Archipelago, and most of the Solomon Islands. Situated within eighty nautical miles of the northernmost tip of Australia, the territory is a tropical paradise surrounded by an aquatic wonderland of reefs.
Archaeological evidence indicates the main island was inhabited by Asian natives as far back as 50,000 years ago. Eons later, the Portugese would lay claim to the island in 1526, the Spaniard Inigo Ortiz de Retes naming it New Guinea because he thought the natives resembled those of Guinea, Africa. By the late 1800s, the land fell under Dutch rule before eventually being claimed by the Germans, English, and finally the Australians. A hard-fought independence would arrive in 1975, disrupted by years of internal strife with the locals of Bougainville Island. After many years of civil war, a cease-fire was finally negotiated in 1998, only to be followed by a catastrophic drought that affected more than 650,000 people. As if this were not enough, the main island's northwest coast was struck by three monstrous tsunamis, the waves killing three thousand people, flattening every village in the area.
Despite these harsh beginnings and natural disasters, despite crime waves that forced the local government to barbwire extensive areas in Port Moresby and the Central Provinces, the tourism industry continued to reach out to Papua New Guinea and its private neighboring islands, the beaches of which redefine the word “paradise.”
Loloata Island is one such place. Located across Bootless Bay, just south of the capital city of Port Moresby, the island that means “one hill” in the native Motu language offers travelers a private getaway difficult to find in the Western world.
Loloata Island's lone resort dates back to the 1960s when it was constructed as the main house to a chicken farm. Refurbished twice, the hotel offers twenty-two beachfront units, a restaurant, two dive boats, and a few board games, "for those in need of more cerebral pursuits."
* * * * *
The heavyset American bulging beneath a Boston Red Sox jersey and khaki pants adjusts his dark glasses against the burst of morning sun as he makes his way from the hotel lobby across the grassy esplanade to the breakfast buffet spread out along the dockside veranda. Only forty-six, the man walks with a senior's gait that resembles the late Charlie Chaplin, his flat feet almost shuffling, his weight balancing with the aid of a cane. Once a former amateur marathon runner, the scientist—an ichthyologist—was forced to retire from sports due to a severe bout of frostbite that cost his all his toes as well as sections of fleshy padding beneath the balls of his feet. No longer able to jog, the bitter professor from Woods Hole Institute has gained eighty-five pounds over the years and has all but given up on having a social life, though for entirely different reasons.
Michael Maren heads for his usual table, unloading his sizable bulk onto one of the wicker chairs facing the bay. Using the menu as a fan, he gazes as puffy white cumulus clouds that drift over the distant mainland, the only blotch on an otherwise infinite blue sky.
Maren signals the waitress over, handing her his plate. "The usual, Francine. And don't skimp on the bacon."
Francine flashes her standard Melanesian smile, then heads off to the buffet table as instructed.
The water taxi arrives two helpings later.
James Gelet, former soap opera star and current co-producer of Daredevils, climbs out of the small motorboat and onto the pier, his gelled dark hair defiant against the tropical breeze.
Maren holds up his left hand, finishing off a forkful of powdered eggs with the right.
"Mr. Maren. Glad to see you're enjoying yourself on our diminishing production budget."
"It's Doctor Maren. Stop whining and sit down, Gelet. Want some breakfast?"
"This isn't a social call. The network has questions that need answering and so do I. We've invested an awful lot of money into this venture, most of it based on nothing more than a handful of promises."
"Which is nothing compared to what I've invested, fourteen long years of field work, not to mention most of my mother's inheritance."
"Still, you understand our concerns. How can you guarantee—"
"There are no guarantees, Gelet. No one controls Mother Nature. Best I can do is tease it to the surface. Whatever happens after that happens on its own accord. Now you tell. Is Taylor on board?"
"He'll arrive in Sydney later today."
"I knew his ego couldn't resist. What about Mackreides?"
"Sorry. He wouldn't commit."
Maren pounds his fist against the table, causing the china to jump. "I was very specific with my requirements, Gelet. You and Hollander knew that from the get-go."
"As you said, we can tease but we can't control. Mackreides is a drunk who could care less about money and fame. Why all the fuss about these two anyway? Every poll we've taken shows the viewers have no interest."
"I have an interest . . . sharks are my interest. I've dedicated my life to studying their behavior, specifically that of big ocean dwellers like Great Whites and their so-called extinct prehistoric cousins. I published textbooks, gave seminars, and, for a while, I was considered the final word on the subject. Then this ex-Navy sub pilots trips over the biggest discovery in the history of paleontology and suddenly he's the Megalodon expert."
"Got it, it's the whole ego thing. You're still mad because Jonas Taylor stole your thunder."
"It's not about ego, Gelet, it's about setting the record straight. While Taylor's been writing his memoirs and posing in front of cameras, I've been doing real research, designing and testing new field equipment, breaking through new barriers in animal behavioral sciences. Taylor's not a scientist, he's a con man wrapped around a diploma, and your show is the forum I've chosen to expose him to the rest of the world."
"Hey, whatever, as long as we get our ratings."
"You'll get your ratings. What about my money?"
"You'll get your first installment, if and when you deliver the goods. The Neptune sets sail in two days. When do you plan on returning to the Coelacanth ?"
"Chopper arrives in four hours. We'll rendezvous in the Banda Sea at the agreed-upon coordinates."
"And everything's still . . . functioning?"
"I get reports every hour on the hour. Relax, Gelet, it's all under control. Just remember, when the time comes, you'll need to move your shooting schedule to twilight."
"Which is nothing compared to what I've invested, fourteen long years of field work, not to mention most of my mother's inheritance."
"Still, you understand our concerns. How can you guarantee—"
"There are not guarantees, Gelet. No one controls Mother Nature. Best I can do is tease it to the surface. Whatever happens after that happens on its own accord. Now you tell. Is Taylor on board?"
"He'll arrive in Sydney later today."
"I knew his ego couldn't resist. What about Mackreides?"
"Sorry. He wouldn't commit."
Maren pounds his fist against the table, causing the china to jump. "I was very specific with my requirements, Gelet. You and Hollander knew that from the get-go."
"As you said, we can tease but we can't control. Mackreides is a drunk who could care less about money and fame. Why all the fuss about these two anyway? Every poll we've taken shows the viewers have no interest."
"I have an interest . . . sharks are my interest. I've dedicated my life to studying their behavior, specifically that of big ocean dwellers like Great Whites and their so-called extinct prehistoric cousins. I published textbooks, gave seminars, and, for a while, I was considered the final word on the subject. Then this ex-Navy sub pilot trips over the biggest discovery in the history of paleontology and suddenly he's the Megalodon expert."
"Got it, it's the whole ego thing. You're still mad because Jonas Taylor stole your thunder."
"It's not about ego, Gelet, it's about setting the record straight. While Taylor's been writing his memoirs and posing in front of cameras, I've been doing real research, designing and testing new field equipment, breaking through new barriers in animal behavioral sciences. Taylor's not a scientist, he's a con man wrapped around a diploma, and your show is the forum I've chosen to expose him to the rest of the world."
"Hey, whatever, as long as we get our ratings."
"You'll get your ratings. What about my money?"
"You'll get your first installment, if and when you deliver the goods. The Neptune sets sail in two days. When do you plan on returning to the Coelacanth ?"
"Chopper arrives in four hours. We'll rendezvous in the Banda Sea at the agreed-upon coordinates."
"And everything's still . . . functioning?"
"I get reports every hour on the hour. Relax, Gelet, it's all under control. Just remember, when the time comes, you'll need to move your shooting schedule to twilight."
"Understood."
Maren pushes up from the table and stands, ending the meeting. "Now be a good boy and settle my hotel tab, I'm late for my date with one of the locals."
"I suppose we're paying for that too?"
"And my breakfast." The fat man with the brown ponytail hobbles off, sticking James Gelet with the bill.