The Samana Incident: A Crime Novel of Papua New Guinea

By Keith Dahlberg

THE SAMANA INCIDENT is a microcosm of bigtime modern drug dealing, and a sequel to FLAME TREE, continuing the adventures of Dr. George and Vienna Daniels.

Lieutenant Jason Kerro is an honest cop in a corrupt system, trying to stop a gang of gunrunners and meth dealers from taking control of tribes in the Papua New Guinea Highlands. When his captain forbids him to investigate an armed attack on the town of Samana, he suspects the captain is among those taking payoff s from the smugglers.

Prevented from working through police channels but unwilling to give up what promises to be the biggest case of his career, Kerro risks his job, and perhaps his life, for his country by enlisting a team of amateurs to secretly gather the evidence he needs. But will they be able to act in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450263122

Keith Dahlberg

Keith Dahlberg, M.D. has held medical licenses in Burma, Thailand, and the United States spanning a half-century. He has served locum tenens positions in nine states and three foreign countries. This is his third book. He and his wife reside in Kellogg, Idaho. They have four adult children.

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Preface

Up until about 1935, few realized that the hinterland of Papua New Guinea, the big island north of Australia, was populated by over a million people who had little or no contact with the outside world, and really very little contact with each other. Some of them did not know that anything existed beyond their own isolated valley. Eight hundred separate languages had developed, some spoken by only a few hundred people, a gold mine of information for anthropologists and linguists.

The British turned PNG over to Australia as a protectorate early in the twentieth century and it became an independent nation in 1975. Since that time, PNG has been plagued by an unstable government, corruption, a high crime rate, and poor economics, with declining health and education services. Most recently, illegal drugs and weapons have flooded the nation. In 2006, Australia announced grave concern about the future of its former protectorate, and had peacekeeping forces on standby.

Yet PNG has a favorable heritage in some ways. It is a parliamentary democracy with large resources in gold, copper, fertile soil and more recently discovered natural gas. Some of the native tribes hold to a system of restorative justice which seeks to rehabilitate both victim and perpetrator without long jail terms. And some citizens still have hope for the future.

Against this background of reality, The Samana Incident is the story of a lone policeman, aided by a small highland international community, who resolves to make a difference in his struggling, under-developed nation, and to fight the drug-smugglers and gun runners who find his people a gold mine of a different sort.

All characters in this story, (and some towns) are fictitious, and are intended to represent character types, not individuals.

Keith Dahlberg, MD

August, 2010

Acknowledgments

This story has been about ten years in the writing, as more and more about Papua New Guinea has been available in news media and on the web. Among my sources are the many friends met during my work period at Summer Institute of Linguistics in PNG itself, documemtary videos on the web, notably those of Journeyman Pictures on Tribal Fighting in PNG and the PNG Defense Force; to C.V.Glines’s essay on Cargo Cults, Brother Pat Howley’s essay on The Big Man Culture and Corruption, and on Restorative Justice, as well as similar work by the Australian Institute of Criminology; to Helio Aircraft’s brochure on its Courier Aircraft (If it had claws, it could land on a fencepost); and to PNG Public Health Services data.

I am indebted to Idaho State Patrol Captain (at that time) Wayne Longo for his lecture on indentifying manufacturers of methamphetamine; and to KCI the Meth Site for its detailed supplement to my own personal experiences in treating meth cooks and addicts.

Heartfelt thanks to Dr. Barbara Smith, English professor emeritus at Alderson Broaddus College, and herself an accomplished novelist; and to Melanie Rigney, former editor of Writers Digest, and professional editorial consultant, both of whom critiqued and encouraged me in writing this novel. Also, to Dr. Joan Magill, clinical psychologist who reviewed the manuscript and commented helpfully; to her husband Tom for educating me on helicopters; to Doris Fleming, Juliene Muntz, Joyce Goings, and my fellow writers in Kellogg, Idaho’s Pen&Quill for their critiques over recent years.

Finally, grateful acknowledgment of the patience and helpful comments of my wife Lois, our children Susan, Patricia, John and Nancy, my brother, Bruce Dahlberg, and sister, Margaret Torgersen; to Jack Hendryx my former computer guru; and to the expertise of the staff at iUniverse publishers.

Keith Dahlberg

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

EPILOGUE

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CHAPTER 1

The town of Samana, Papua New Guinea, lay below Steve Talman in the early pre-dawn darkness, silent except for the distant sound of a night watchman’s car making its rounds farther down the hill. Settling at his computer with a cup of coffee; he sorted the early morning news bulletins, alone in the small hill-top office of Radio Station P2WT.

At 04:45, he pushed the booster generator’s starter button, heard its muted Diesel rumble revving up out in the back shed, and switched on the station’s signature signal: nine chiming notes every twelve seconds against the soft background hiss of the carrier wave. World Translators Network was ready for the daily broadcast to the South Pacific islands reaching from Asia to mid-Pacific.

At one minute before the hour, a brisk, majestic recording of Papua New Guinea’s National Anthem rolled across the airwaves followed by a pause and then the tone marking the hour.

Nineteen hours, Greenwich Mean Time, Steve spoke calmly into his microphone. "This is Radio Station P2WT, the World Translators Network, in Samana, Papua New Guinea, wishing all you Pacific Islanders a happy good morning. Here is the news: The Home Ministry expresses new hope for a permanent end to the rebellion in North Solomons Province. In Port Moresby yesterday, PNG’s home minister Sir Morton Aroya said the government has not ruled out any options, including autonomy in the near future. Sir Morton expressed concern over several reports of arms shipments to the rebels from outside sources. He said police are following such reports closely.

"Addressing the Mount Hagen Peace Seminar yesterday, Bishop Gideon Kalani called for calm during this week’s dispute over tribal ownership of land. He cited reports of villagers displaced from other provinces, with two gun battles in the streets of Mt. Hagen itself, and two by-standers hospitalized.

In other news, we have the main events for PNG’s Independence Day …

A red light flashed on Steve’s console, indicating antenna power failure. Apparently the station was off the air. He glanced out the window, saw nothing amiss, and opened the door to go look.

***

Jeanette Hansen had two more hours at the Samana town hall switchboard before her relief came on at seven. She took pride in her responsibility for the sleeping town of two thousand people, but it had been a boring night. Laying aside the letter she had been writing, she turned her radio on to get the early morning news. She heard Steve’s voice beginning an item on next September’s Independence Day and then the radio went dead. Annoyed, she clicked it off and on a couple of times, changed stations and got the Australian Oversea Service loud and clear. She turned it softer and dialed a local number, got no answer, dialed another.

Security. Tobona speaking.

Jack, something’s happened at the radio station; it’s gone off the air. Can you send somebody up to check?

I’ll go myself, Jeanette. Did you try to call the station?

I did, but there’s no answer. He’s probably outside trying to fix whatever’s wrong.

I’ll get back to you.

Thanks, Jack. She turned the radio volume back up for the Australian news.

***

As Jack Tobona’s car swung into the radio station driveway, the headlights picked out a prone figure lying just outside the open door. He braked to a quick stop and radioed Samana’s other two night-duty officers: This is Jack; I need backup at the radio station. Station’s off the air, and a body is on the ground outside.

Got it. Wahlon on the way.

Jack quickly scanned the yard—no one else in sight—and got out of the car with gun drawn. He half-crouched by the car door and glanced in all directions once more, moved cautiously to the office waiting room, found it empty. He then bent quickly over the fallen figure of Steve Talman. Steve was breathing but out cold, with a purplish swelling above his right ear.

Another car rolled up. Security officer Wahlon surveyed the scene at a sweeping glance and radioed the third car. Sam, make a swing around the neighborhood for any strangers. Approach with great caution and call me for back up; they may be armed. Steve Talman’s been attacked.

I’m on it.

Wahlon checked for a pulse and then helped Tobona carefully turn Steve on his side with his head supported on a rolled up blanket. This the way your found him? He stood up to survey the surrounding area for footprints.

He was out. I didn’t see anybody moving on the way up here. Tobona called the town switchboard on his car radio. Jeanette, we have an injury up here. We’ll need the clinic opened up; notify the doc we’ll meet her down there in about ten minutes. Somebody clipped Steve on the head.

Is he all right?

Probably. We’ll keep a lookout for strangers. You’d best lock your office door, too. He switched off.

Wahlon examined the cable that ran from the office to the antenna tower thirty feet away. Here’s where they did it. Machete, probably, trying to cut communication. Anyone local would have known some of us own cell phones now. We need to check the store and offices, see if this is a diversion to cover a break-in. Tell Sam to check the perimeter fence, too. Find out where the they got in, and how many there are.

***

As she turned the double-bolt lock on the office door and checked the window latch, Jeanette remembered a night years ago, before the telephone system. Intruders had broken into her neighbor’s house next-door while the husband was away. Jeanette had never forgotten hearing the terrified screams of the wife while they beat and raped her. The woman had never fully recovered even yet.

She checked her watch again—still nearly two hours till her relief came. With images multiplying inside her head, and every nerve tense, she sat on the edge of her chair, restless, her unfinished letter forgotten.

Someone tried the door handle, then knocked.

Jeanette froze. Who is it?

An unfamiliar male voice. Open the door. I have a message for you.

Who are you?

Open the door!

Just slide it under the door. I’m busy and can’t unlock it now. She dialed security and spoke softly and rapidly into her cell phone. Tell all units, possible intruder at the switchboard office.

Something heavy thumped against the locked door. If you don’t open up, I’ll break it down. Open the door! Now!

Go away! I’ve called Security. She tried to keep her voice steady, desperate fear welling up in her chest, trying to guess how many minutes until a patrol car would arrive.

Don’t try to fool me, miss! Your phone line’s dead. Don’t make me shoot out the lock.

I used my cell phone. Now don’t try anything stupid! The door shuddered as the man on the other side threw his full weight against it. Where were the security men? Hadn’t they gotten her call? Another thump on the door. More forceful this time, and the wood splintered just a little.

Finally, the sound of a car approaching, red flasher reflecting off the slats of the window blind. There was a muttered curse from outside the door and a more distant shout of Drop it! answered by a shot from the intruder, then two shots from the security man. Jeanette crouched down behind her desk, immobilized by sheer terror. She heard the sound of running feet, and a few moments later a volley of more distant gunfire.

In panic, she crawled as far from the locked door as she could get. Her breath came faster and dizziness overcame her; she slid to the floor just before passing out.

***

Jeanette? Jeanette!

She tried to focus on the face peering down at her. Her hands rose defensively before she recognized the portly figure of her boss Hans Vanderhof, with Jack Tobona standing behind him. Someone had put a cool wet cloth on her forehead. Her vision began to clear.

What’s going on? her voice gathered strength. She remembered hearing shots fired. Is everybody all right? There was a man with a gun … Did I do anything wrong? Was anyone killed?

You did just fine, Jeanette. You did your job and kept the whole town safe.

She suddenly realized she was lying on the floor of the switchboard office. I can’t let everyone see me like this—what will people think! She sat up and tried to straighten her clothes, but her face dropped down into her hands in terror as the scene came flooding into her mind again. Then a sudden rage took over. After all, the town’s safety had been entrusted to her. Who does that man think he is, barging in here with a gun and trying to tell me what to do! She struggled to her feet, disdaining assistance, leaning on her desk a moment while her dizziness passed, and reached for her cell phone. It’s time we fought back! I’m not off duty till seven, Hans. She turned to Jack Tobona. No offense to you, Jack, but I’m going to report this to the Provincial Police. We’ll need all the help we can get.

CHAPTER 2

Police Lieutenant Jason Kerro, a lean, black New Guinean of thirty-three, drove his ageing blue and red police van through the silent streets of Samana and parked facing outward outside the town hall, in the shade of its blue-flowering jacaranda tree. He seldom visited this foreigners’ company town. Its own security force didn’t often need help from the Royal Constabulary, and his own sixty men were spread thinly over the whole Central Highlands Province. But report of the armed attack earlier this morning had prompted him to come see for himself.

The Highland Plateau’s hills lay peaceful in the morning sunshine, but he saw no one in the fields or on the school compound. Even in the open-air market only a few sellers displayed their wares. A mechanic worked on a lone car outside the repair shop a block away; and a minivan raised a small trail of dust on the road to the airstrip. Otherwise the streets looked empty.

The town council was already in session as he entered. Mayor Hans Vanderhof introduced him. I asked Lt. Kerro to meet with us about this morning’s attack. Lieutenant, I’ve just started briefing the council members. Kerro nodded, and took a seat against the wall, where he could watch the faces of the group. He massaged the itch in the scar of the old bullet wound on his left cheek as he concentrated on the scene in front of him. He understood foreigners from his early years on the force, stationed in the nation’s capital. These people in Samana, mostly linguists and anthropologists on long term study grants, had more experience with Papua New Guinea than tourists who stayed only a short time. Most in Samana accepted the nation’s chronic crime history, but now he read anxiety in many faces, anger and fear in others.

The mayor looked out the window across the empty town square. I thought it best to close school this morning, and keep children at home until we are sure of the situation, he said. Sergeant Tobona had the late night duty, and he tells me that this appears to be something bigger than our problems with the local ‘raskol gangs.’ He turned to the town security officer. Sergeant?

The burly security officer went to the town wall-map. This was an organized attack, not your usual burglars’ break-in. It involved at least three armed men and a car. They cut the chain link fence out by the pasture there—he touched a spot at the upper edge of the map—and then severed the wires to the main radio antenna and the town switchboard. We think we wounded one man after he fired at Sam near the ad building here, but he got away. Jeanette was on duty in the office when the man tried to enter, and she said he had an unfamiliar accent.

Tobona glanced around the room to see if his audience was following him. Sam chased him through several backyards, but when he approached the other two men at the fence, they fired automatic weapons of some sort. The third man got through the fence and into the car, and after firing a couple more bursts they took off in a hurry. We were outgunned and didn’t pursue them, but we did notify the police at Kundioka, who sent bulletins to Mount Hagen, Lae, and Madang.

What do you think they were trying to do? Lt. Kerro asked.

Tobona thought a moment. I’m not sure. Nothing’s missing at the store or the warehouse, so they may just have wanted to disrupt communication. Or they may have been after one of the planes. The watchman out at the airstrip reports three men in a car stopped there about quarter to six this morning and asked about a plane going to Mount Hagen. As more people started coming to work, the three acted nervous and drove off. The watchman hadn’t heard about our troubles here and didn’t think to get the license number. We have extra men posted at the airstrip now in case they come back, but of course we can’t repel a real attack.

Why didn’t you warn the airstrip?

The phone wires were cut at the switchboard, and the watchman doesn’t have a cell phone. We were also kind of busy at the time.

Well, you were right not to give chase if they were that heavily armed. He jotted a note on his pad. The police will handle it from here on.

Mayor Vanderhof turned to a young woman who had just entered the room. Doctor, it must have been a jolt to see your own husband on the examining table. What’s his condition now?

Dr. Melissa Talman was a slim, attractive redhead in her thirties, self-confident after five years of solo practice far from any consultants. "Steve’s awake and alert now, with a goose-egg over his ear and a king-size headache.