London, August 2012:
They flip, float and fishtail in perfect unison: two tiny flickers of electric blue, merged as one in the Olympic pool. There is an audacious exactitude about their work: fractions and formulas rendered as a single, seamless slick. Even the size of their splash seems identical, each individual droplet assigned to arc a specific trajectory, to prick the surface at the exact same moment.

The effortless beauty of their work is reflected in the judges' scoring: a wave of perfect sixes, mere confirmation of what the audience, raised from their seats as if they too have coalesced into a single entity, already knew: that the gold medal belongs to them.

Disengaged from their aquatic environment, the newly-crowned Olympic champions suddenly seem absurdly vulnerable, almost clumsy, as they skirt the pool, as if unsure if they are required to keep in step; to raise their hands and curl their smiles with the same exacting accord. They are ushered from the arena, towels tossed loosely around their slender shoulders, forming an extra protective barrier against those who wish to share their glory. A shoal of minders in identical, warship-grey suits emerges from nowhere to jostle a path through the media mixed zone, swatting all requests for interviews, palming away the prying lenses of cameras.

The global media is keen to glimpse more of these girls, to learn more about their highly-secretive, one-million strong nation, which has won its first Olympic gold medals since it brokered an uneasy independence from Papua New Guinea in 1984.


But the extraordinary synchronized swimmers of Western Berenang are unwilling or unable to give up their secrets. So dominant has Western Berenang become in the sport of synchronized swimming that a joke floats round rival camps that goes something like this: thank goodness we’re not competing against the whole of Berenang.

Western Berenang's gold medals in London were the culmination of a quest that has seen the tiny Papuan island reign unbeaten in international competition for four years, since it first emerged, as if hooked from the foot of the Melanesian Basin itself, to claim a silver medal in Beijing.

But at a time when the island ought to be celebrating its finest achievement, its rivals have been given renewed hope. Western Berenang’s synchronized swimming revolution may soon be over before it ever really had a chance to begin. In the wake of Western Berenang’s success in London, the media have been unforgiving in their pursuit of the story behind the island's improbable domination. Human rights groups have collected evidence so damning it is expected to lead to the International Synchronized swimming Federation, the sport’s world governing body, announcing an imminent suspension of Western Berenang’s membership—and by extension its eligibility to compete in major tournaments. Western Berenang’s reclusive head of state, King Mu, has responded by accusing Papua New Guinea of planting the evidence and actively conspiring with the governing body to discredit Western Berenang’s achievements: allegations which have escalated into the renewal of a bloody conflict with the Papuans. It seems Western Berenang is prepared to go to war to keep its secrets.


Los Angeles, July 1984:
Laura Martinez and Tracie Krohl, two twenty-one-year-old American girls, win Olympic gold in the duet final at the McDonald’s Swim Stadium at the University of Southern California. For Martinez, it is her second gold medal of the Games, having also won in the solo category four days previously.

They are girls for whom the term “all-American” might have been coined: they profess a mutual penchant for Big Macs and bubblegum, for Lionel Richie and the Texas Rangers. Parading around the pool in their stars-and-stripes tracksuits, they pause to gleam smiles at family members, and excitedly entertain all media requests. Martinez mock-frowns into the nearest camera and jokes that she would encourage girls to take up a sport that doesn’t play havoc with their eye-liner; asked what she is going to do next, she says she can think of nothing better than eating a burger with friends. Krohl says she can’t wait to call her mom, at home on the east coast, too sick to travel. This is for you, mom, says Krohl, her eye-liner smudging some more. This is for you.

It has become commonplace for garlanded beauty queens to gush vacuous platitudes of promoting world peace, but perched on top of the Olympic rostrum, gold medals glinting around their necks, Martinez and Krohl have no idea that their triumph will be credited with doing just that. As the Star Spangled Banner reaches its rousing crescendo, thousands of miles away on the tiny Papuan island of Western Berenang, a self-appointed president is on the telephone to opposition commanders, urging an end to one of the bloodiest conflicts on the planet.

Very little is known about King Mu, who styles himself “The Eternal Flamingo” after one of his favourite synchronized swimming moves (the island’s flag features a flamingo and a barracuda—another synchro move—on a chlorine-blue background: in the top-right corner, two stars are said to represent the twin inspirations of Martinez and Krohl). Few foreigners have met the Western Berenang leader, and details from the island's handful of defectors are sketchy and often contradictory. Not a single verified photograph of Mu is known to exist.

If there is a cult of personality in Western Berenang—or to give its full name, the Synchronized Republic of Western Berenang—it does not revolve around King Mu. On this sub-tropical island of rugged, rainforest-topped peaks and sweltering jungle swamps, the truth is much more unlikely.


Mu—his name derives from the word for water in the Papuan Asmat language—toppled the island’s elected governor in 1975 and declared independence from Papua New Guinea, installing himself as supreme leader.

Predictably, Mu’s proclamation did not go down well in the Papuan capital Port Moresby. The Papuans were anxious to retain control of Western Berenang’s potentially lucrative and largely unexploited natural resources of oil, copper, gold and cocoa, and feared Mu's move would lend succour to other secessionist movements, not least on the outlying and similarly well-resourced island of Bougainville. A brutal, decade-long war ensured, in which almost one hundred thousand Berenangese—approximately one tenth of the population—are believed to have perished. Mu took advantage of a growing anti-Papuan sentiment among his people, who had grown tired of living in grinding poverty in a land drenched in such natural riches, while the Papuan government continued to dither, fogged by corruption and distracted by its conflict in Bougainville, over its exploitation. Mu adopted the populist stance and vowed to fight to the death, and his ragged rebel army gradually succeeded in repelling the tired and depleted ranks of Papuan soldiers. In September 1984, having surrounded the last platoon of opposition resistance on the outskirts of the island capital, Mu caught both the broken, beaten Papuans and his own supporters by surprise, by proclaiming his desire to broker a peace treaty. This was not a peace treaty cynically contrived to convince the international community of Mu’s credentials as an enlightened, international head of state, but one that was decidedly favourable to the Papuans: in exchange for a majority share in the profits from the exploration of the island’s vast natural wealth, the Papuans would accept Western Berenang’s independence, and with it Mu's right to absolute rule over the island.

“Why fight,” Mu is reported to have told his troops during an impromptu ten-hour victory speech that followed, “… when we may swim together in perfect synchronicity?”


Two days after Western Berenang won Olympic gold, one of the team’s trainers, accredited under the name of Lapule Tau, disappeared from the team’s heavily guarded hotel base in central London, and re-emerged two weeks later claiming political asylum. Tau’s subsequent testimony forms the basis of the ISSF’s investigations, which are expected to lead to an international ban. Tau is currently in hiding, the result of what Scotland Yard calls “highly credible” death threats, issued, it is presumed, by Berenangese factions loyal to Mu. Tau, one of Mu’s most trusted foot- soldiers during the initial push for independence, is writing a book: in a rare pre-publication extract, he describes the moment when the fates of a tiny Papuan island and two burger-loving, bubblegum-chomping girls from Texas became inexorably intertwined:

“For two weeks, we had been waiting in a hotel on the outskirts. The final few Papuan soldiers were holed up in a heavily fortified compound: it was our intention to starve them out. Boredom was rife, and tempers often frayed in the intense heat. Our independence struggle rested on the protestations of Papuan bellies. We spent our never-ending days sprawled in front of television sets, watching the Los Angeles Olympics. I remember one particular day: it was hotter than others. Despite the close proximity of victory, morale was running low. Earlier, a young soldier had accidentally shot himself dead while absent-mindedly fiddling with the trigger of his Kalashnikov. Mu beckoned me over. He pointed to the television screen, which was showing the synchronized swimming finals. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Clearly, it affected him in the deepest way.”

Two days after Martinez and Krohl won their gold medals, Papuan and Western Berenangese officials issued a joint statement announcing an immediate end to hostilities, and a joint treaty to begin excavating some of the island's vast natural wealth. In a separate statement, Mu declared the world’s first Synchronized Republic and passed a raft of bizarre new laws.

He re-named the island’s two major population centres Martinez and Krohl in honour of the two Americans who had so enraptured him, and dictated that all future new-born girls in Western Berenang be first-named either Laura or Tracie. Statues of Martinez and Krohl were ordered to be erected in every settlement to a minimum height of thirty feet. It became enshrined in law that each house display a framed picture of the pair. Failure to do so would be punishable by death—drowning, naturally. A national holiday was declared each year on August 12—the day Martinez and Krohl secured their team gold medal, and Western Berenang its de facto independence.

Mu’s hitherto unnoticed talents in the sport of synchronized swimming were revealed in a newly-published book which was distributed free of charge to every Berenangese. The book revealed Mu had achieved a series of astonishing aquatic feats. He claimed the world records for staying underwater (twenty-five minutes), successive underwater somersaults without rising for air (fifty-five), and treading water (fifteen days, nine hours and thirty-four seconds). The records were displayed in every school and other public building, with the stated intention of inspiring future generations to heed their leader's great example (Tau recalls Mu’s athletic prowess rather differently: he claims the closest Mu ever came to swimming was when he bobbed on a lilo in the hotel pool, and that on one occasion, when the lilo overturned, a young lieutenant was obliged to jump in to save the quick-sinking Mu from almost certain drowning).


Shortly after Western Berenang declaration of independence, Tau, who as well as assuming his nation’s vice-presidency had also been bestowed with the title of Western Berenang’s first Director of Synchronized Swimming, led a small team to the United States. If the stated intention of the trip was to conduct a rigorous two-week training camp designed to bring the Berenangese up to international standards, Tau claims his real task was to track down Martinez and/or Krohl and convince them to accept Berenangese citizenship, in exchange for reputed payments in excess of ten million dollars per year.

Martinez is now a twice-divorced mother of two grown-up children who lives in a small town in the south, where she teaches swimming at a local pool (it cannot be more specific: the FBI say there is still a “live risk” to Martinez and Krohl, relating to an elaborate kidnap plot ten years ago, when intelligence officials uncovered a plan to hijack a commercial airliner carrying the pair to an international championship, and divert it to Western Berenang: they are expected to initiate extradition proceedings against Tau shortly; Tau has indicated he will co-operate fully with their investigation.

Martinez, who denies that the kidnap story had any bearing on her decision to retire from swimming shortly after the Olympics, does her best to keep her Olympic titles quiet, and is reluctant to speak about Western Berenang. In a brief, reluctant telephone conversation, she says she has never met nor heard the name Lapule Tau, and has not spoken to Krohl in twenty years.

Krohl is more forthcoming, admitting she milked the situation for a number of years, appearing on chat shows and writing an autobiography. She concedes her willingness to court publicity was what led to her estrangement from Martinez. Krohl says she did meet a man fitting the description of Tau, and “seriously considered” an offer to travel to the island, for what she was led to believe would be an all-expenses paid tropical holiday. “I was young,” says Krohl. “I was up for anything. Synchro didn’t get a whole lot of publicity at the time, yet here was this island where it was virtually a national sport, which was going to pay me a whole lot of money to shake a few hands and basically be hero-worshipped. I figured, why not?”

It was only when the FBI pointed out the inherent dangers of the prospective trip that Krohl reluctantly acquiesced. Tau was held in custody for two weeks, but having failed to uncover proof as to his real intentions, he was eventually sent home with the rest of the Berenangese team due to “visa irregularities.”


Back in Western Berenang, Mu was said to have taken Krohl’s change of heart personally. Krohl says she would frequently take long distance calls in which anonymous voices would beg her to change her mind. “Where I was in my life at the time, I didn't need it,” says Krohl. “I continued competing for three more years, won a couple of nationals, till I guess real life took over. The hijack stuff? I’m not sure I buy it. I’m just getting on with things the best I can. I’m a regular housewife with two kids and I haven't been even close to a swimming pool for the best part of ten years. The idea there's some place on the other side of the world with thirty-foot high statues of me in a swimsuit? Being honest, I find it kinda creepy.”


Having failed to lure Martinez or Krohl to Western Berenang, Mu’s behavior became increasingly erratic. With the exception of a heavily restricted group of Papuan miners in the far east of the island—there to exploit the island’s natural wealth as per the terms of his peace settlement—Mu banned all foreigners from his country. During a terrifying period known as the “Great Splash,” he set about creating an elite squad of synchronized swimmers of his own, embarking on an unprecedented programme of swimming pool building: Western Berenang now boasts the highest concentration of swimming pools per head of population anywhere in the world, at a ratio of approximately one pool for every five inhabitants.

There were fears for the population of Western Berenang in 1998, when a massive tsunami rolled into Papua New Guinea, flattening everything in its path and accounting for some 2,200 lives. Although satellite images suggested Western Berenang had borne the brunt of the mighty wave, Mu insisted in a rare radio message that the island had not seen a single loss of life: that far from scrambling to escape the tsunami, the Berenangese people had in fact rushed into the sea to test their prodigious swimming skills against it. Tau, unsurprisingly, challenges Mu’s claim, insisting thousands were drowned, and thousands more left homeless: a cholera epidemic swept the island.


Human rights groups claim the “Great Splash” period coincided with the establishment of a horrific programme of physical and genetic experimentation designed to facilitate Western Berenang’s rise to synchronized swimming prominence. With the help of Tau, they have collected testimonies from young Berenangese girls who told stories of being forced to take school classes in swimming pools, where they were often expected to tread water for an entire day. The reports claim all Western Berenangese girls between the ages of four and fourteen had to participate in up to six hours of synchronized swimming lessons daily. With no route open to them at the Olympics, Western Berenangese boys have three likely fates: plucked from their families and ordered into forced labour squads of swimming pool builders almost as soon as they can walk; sent to notorious “aqua farms” tasked with establishing a genetically superior synchronized swimming bloodline, or else drowned at birth: Western Berenang has the world’s highest rate of infanticide amongst new-born boys.


Most controversial of all is a phenomenon known as gilling, in which young girls are allegedly slit down the sides of their ribcage to help them effectively breathe underwater. Campaigners say the practice is “half-way to disembowelling,” and often fatal. They allege Western Berenang’s two silver medallists from the Beijing Olympics were “gilled,” citing both Tau and suspicions of rival athletes. The girls themselves, recorded on official results sheets as Laura-Talitha Kadu and Tracie-Dinna Laka, have since disappeared.

Even before Tau’s defection, the issue of gilling had come back on the agenda at the World Championships in 2010, when fuzzy internet footage emerged of a young Western Berenangese swimmer sitting cross-legged on the bottom of a training pool for a full ten minutes, naked, and with long, single-cut side scars clearly visible. In the ensuing furor, the ISSF took the unprecedented step of insisting all the island’s swimmers be checked for similar marks. The results were inconclusive, and only the girl in question was withdrawn from the competition due to a hastily contrived “illness.” Needless to say, her replacement took gold instead.

As the controversy continued to rage, doubts were cast on the validity of Western Berenang’s success in much the same way as China's sudden emergence as the dominant force in women’s long distance athletics in the early 1990s was discredited by western media due to suspicions over drugs. Infuriated, Mu issued a bizarre, rambling statement in which he accused the Papuan government of collaborating with the sport’s governing body to undermine Berenangese achievements. He ordered the complete withdrawal of Papuan mining companies from the east of the island, in direct contravention of the terms of his own peace settlement. He accused the Papuans of launching a campaign by stealth to recapture Western Berenang. Two months later, a massive car bomb exploded in Port Moresby, killing nineteen people and injuring fifty-six others. Papuan authorities responded by re-invading the island. The west has been quick to dub the conflict the Synchronized Swimming War.


Despite the mounting chaos back home, Mu’s long-held vision of synchronized swimming dominance for Western Berenang finally became a reality in the British capitol. But the two Olympic gold medals did not bring the vindication he appeared to crave. Human rights groups continued to highlight alleged human rights abuses on the island, and protesters congregated outside venues calling for Western Berenang to be excluded from the Olympic programme. Two weeks after the Games’ closing ceremony, bolstered by the testimony of Tau, the sport’s governing body issued a statement in which they said that in light of the emergence of new evidence concerning the Berenangese synchronized swimming team at London 2012, the nation had been suspended pending the results of an investigation. If the evidence — said to include medical documents and more video footage leaked from the athletes’ village — is verified, it is expected to lead to Western Berenang being stripped of its medals, and cast out of international competition. So much for the perfect splash.


 


Mark Staniforth is a writer and sports journalist from North Yorkshire, England. He has reported on five Olympic Games. Fryupdale, his e-book of short stories, is available via Smashwords.