Page 1 of Jake

PROLOGUE

JAKE

Rabaul

East New Britain Province

Papua New Guinea

1980

Present time

Logan and his co-pilot, Daly, guided the Kumul Cartel’s Lear jet 25D out of range of the Tavurvur volcano as we descended towards the runway. The volcano was known to have tantrums now and again, spewing large volumes of ash into the air, which forced the airport to close.

Through the window, I watched as occasional puffs of grey smoke curled into the sky. She was a cranky bitch and extremely unpredictable.

Many in the area feared another eruption, like the one that had occurred in 1937, was not far off in the future. When a large eruption did occur, the town of Rabaul would most likely be flattened beneath the rivers of lava and showers of ash and flaming embers.

I suspected Rabaul was living on borrowed time, and it was a shame, I loved the pretty town that was situated in East New Britain on the island known as New Britain—recognised as part of Papua New Guinea. The talk was if the town was once again decimated, it would not be rebuilt.

The landscape below was one of dense tropical rainforest and jungle, similar to most other South Pacific Islands, including the main island of Papua New Guinea. The runway was one I hated even though we had landed on it hundreds of times. It was short—a mere four thousand, seven hundred feet, and the waters of Simpson Harbour awaited any aircraft that misjudged at either end.

I gripped the arms of the seat as the plane lowered towards the ground. Peering through the window, all I could see was a mass of blue water waiting to welcome us into its arms.

When the wheels touched solid earth with a soft bounce, I breathed out a short breath. We weren’t safe yet. Once the aircraft eased safely to a halt, my rapid heartbeat slowed, and I let out the rest of the breath I’d been holding.

Logan guided the plane from the runway to an area off to one side as he’d been directed by air traffic control. I unclipped my seatbelt, stood, and grabbed the small suitcase I’d packed. Logan and Daly would return to Popondetta and pick me up the following week when my business was concluded. It was no different from the routine we’d followed for years.

On this visit, there were a few new contacts I’d been advised to speak with, and I hoped they would take additional shipments of heroin. It was no use producing more of the drug if we couldn’t offload it to buyers.

Connor had wanted me to bring Waigi and Mala on the trip since I’d be dealing with some men who were strangers. They were men recommended to me by long-standing contacts, so I saw no reason for the unnecessary protection, and both men were needed back home.

Logan and Daly turned as I made my way to the front of the aircraft.

“See you next week. We’ve got clearance to take off immediately, but are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay? Connor would understand if you changed your mind; he’d want you to be safe.” Logan was almost as bad as my brother, always insisting we stay safe.

I patted his shoulder. “I’m a big boy. I’ve been here hundreds of times and must know almost everyone on the island by now. I’ll be fine. See you in a week.”

Daly had lowered the stairs, and after saying a final goodbye, I descended into humidity so thick it was difficult to breathe. It was what breathing underwater must feel like I imagined.

Halfway across the tarmac, I was greeted by a National I’d never encountered before.

“Jake Masterton?” he inquired.

The man was huge and wouldn’t have been out of place in a sumo wrestling ring, but where sumo’s leaned towards an abundance of fat, this man was solid muscle. His black hair was damp, most likely from the humidity, had a slight wave, and hung to his shoulders. His skin was dark, typical of this area, and his eyes were almost black. His appearance leaned towards Papuan rather than Tolai or Austronesian, but it was his eyes and the lack of emotion in them that had alarm bells ringing.

“You are?”

“Come with me.”

That wasn’t an invitation;, it was an order.

My first instinct was to hightail it back to the plane, but when I spun around, it was to find the stairs had been taken up and the aircraft was already taxiing towards the runway.

Fuck. I was in deep shit.

My last chance to save my arse was to try and attract the attention of someone inside the terminal building who’d give a shit about a white visitor. I started in that direction, but the fleeting chance I might have had disappeared like a dick ramming a whore’s pussy when the goon ripped the suitcase from my hand and wrapped one of his bear-paw-sized hands around my bicep.