‘My father was once stationed in Papua.’ Her lip curled. ‘They’re like children here, you have to watch them all the time. Speaking of which . . . Ah, there you are, Lieutenant Kaboro. I’m glad you could make it.’

Ignoring the sarcasm, Kaboro formally welcomed Sura aboard. He was then subjected to what seemed to be an unnecessary interrogation about his organisation and refuelling.

‘That will be all for now.’ Sura dismissed him. ‘I must get my luggage out of the sun.’

‘I will supervise the men.’ Kaboro moved forward.

‘Absolutely not.’ She shooed him away. ‘I will see to it myself.’

Douglas spat as they watched her round up the sailors. ‘Friendly, ain’t she?’

‘Indonesians think we’re no better than pigs.’ Kaboro’s voice was flat. ‘Small wonder the Papuans fight.’

Nash knew the PNG government was scared of antagonising its powerful neighbour while struggling with a growing sense of Melanesian solidarity across the South Pacific.

‘Do you have any contacts in Papua, Lieutenant?’

Kaboro shook his head. ‘Despite our proximity, it might as well be the far side of the Moon.’ He lifted his cap to mop his brow. ‘The Indonesians have locked up Papua to exploit its resources, and those who get in the way are disposed of. The world knows this – it just doesn’t care.’

For the next two hours, the chopper ferried in cargo at its maximum lift capacity of 900 kilos. Kaboro’s sweating men lugged it below. Suyanto’s hectoring instructions bordered on racist bullying, but the fact the sailors treated it as a joke decided Nash against calling it out. Sura then got in a fight with Douglas about failing to procure the brand of iced tea she had mandated, then made Kaboro radio through an order to Jayapura for three cartons.

With the tropical sun dropping quickly on the western horizon, Nash joined Douglas for a beer on the stern. The old pilot was sucking down cigarette smoke as if it was too precious to waste.

‘You all right there, Frank?’

‘After a day like today, I can’t wait to retire.’

‘I thought you liked them small and demure?’ Nash guffawed at Douglas’s black expression.

‘Yeah, go ahead and laugh.’ Douglas flicked his bottle cap over the side. ‘But I’m going to buy myself an old shack somewhere in far north Queensland and just fish. No bloody mobile, no bloody computer, no bloody razor wire . . . just me, a rod and a decent boat to fetch more beer.’

‘Sounds good, Uncle Frank.’