Milkshake

by Matt Hammond

  “Has he got any money?” shouted Brent

  “Yep, we’re both carrying a thousand dollars cash for, you know, any expenses.”

  “Good, that’ll get him the loan of a decent truck.”

  The helicopter lifted above the trees, rapidly gaining altitude. Brent could see a small town in the distance. He didn’t want to risk the unique aircraft being spotted near such a populated area, and instructed Bridges to land. There was no point just flying around burning up fuel for the sake of it.

  Hone made his way through the dense forest to a clearing where pine logs were being loaded onto the back of a truck and trailer unit. From the safety of the trees he counted five men in total, absorbed in their work and oblivious to his presence. The truck driver sat reading his newspaper. Behind him pre-cut tree trunks were being loaded up. This scene was familiar to Hone; his father and uncles were all loggers.

  He moved quickly around the perimeter of the clearing until he was upwind, beside an old ute. As he expected, it was unlocked, the inside a mess of screwed-up paperwork, old newspapers and discarded food wrappings. The men were too engrossed in their work to notice as he carefully pulled open the passenger door, piled as much of the rubbish as he could onto the passenger seat then, taking a knife from his belt, slashed at the seat, exposing the foam padding beneath.

  He had anticipated using his own lighter, but in the foot well, amongst the paper, he noticed a box of matches.

  He lit one.

  Keeping watch through the driver’s-side window on the activity beyond, he held it against the contents of the passenger seat until, still focusing through the window, his eyes began to sting, misting over as thickening black smoke filled the interior of the vehicle. Winding down the window just enough for the smoke to be able to escape, he closed the car door, moved back twenty metres and continued circling the perimeter, towards the labourers. He could already smell the smoke in his own nostrils.

  Three minutes later, and still they worked on. The car interior was now completely obscured by thick black plumes of acrid smoke generated by burning foam-filled seats. Hone hoped they might have noticed his diversion by now. He was getting concerned it would start burning out of control. Suddenly, there was a flash, followed by a muted thud. A dark mushroom cloud billowed out from the space left by the exploding windscreen, unfolding upwards through the trees.

  Two loggers ran to grab extinguishers. The pair already in the cabs of their trucks leapt out, extinguishers already in hand. The owner of the flaming truck ran towards it, yelling at it as if it had caught fire on purpose.

  The door of the logging truck was open. Hone sprinted the short distance across the open ground, jumped in, started the engine, wrenched it into gear, and headed for the gap in the trees in front of him. The group now tentatively encircling the blazing ute glanced up as the truck gathered speed down the forest track.

  “Thieving bastards!”

  They wanted to extinguish the fire and outrun the stolen logging truck. One threw down his extinguisher, ran back to his own vehicle, turned the key and pushed the pedal hard to the floor. A pall of choking grey smoke belched from the exhaust as he put it in gear and attempted to accelerate. The rear wheels slipped on the forest litter beneath them. The front wheels slithered wildly. It was like driving on ice, snaking from side to side at slow speed, completely out of the control as the driver maintained pressure on the throttle in the hope that acceleration alone would somehow carry him out from amongst the trees.

  The rudderless car was finally brought to a sickeningly abrupt halt by a large tree stump. Even as it loomed into sight, the driver, in his rage, still refused to accept he no longer had control and maintained a relentless course until the stump stopped any further passage.

  Confused, angry and shocked, he leapt out, furious with his own sudden apparent inability to control his own vehicle. He inspected the damage, cursing at the ripped left tyre, and the right one. Stepping back, he noticed the rear tyres were also hanging in shreds from their rims. The thief had made sure he wouldn’t be followed by slashing the tyres on all the remaining vehicles before setting fire to the final one, creating a diversion allowing him to steal the logging truck.

  Hone accelerated down the forest track, towards the main highway, deliberately snaking from one side of the narrow mud track to the other, dislodging unsecured logs that rolled haphazardly across the path behind, blocking it to any pursuers.

  He reached the road, turned left and headed north. In the rear view mirror of the truck, he could clearly read the large sign beside the gate he had just driven through.

  This forest is managed by Cowood Industries

  Private property

  Keep Out

  The helicopter was in the air again. From his vantage point in the co-pilot’s seat, Brent could see the grey streak of tar seal cutting a straight line through the seemingly endless forest on either side of it. They flew higher so he could observe all three vehicles - the Turners in their Subaru and the blue Ford, both heading north, and the larger, longer logging truck, some distance behind, heading in the same direction. The two cars pulled over. Brent spoke into the mouthpiece on his helmet urgently. “Hone, they are about 2k ahead of you. They’ve pulled over. Just hang back for a second.”

  Hone slowly brought the truck to a standstill. Brent watched intently. He could just make out figures moving around the cars below him. He was taking a risk. There was a possibility he was about to witness the murder of his target. Both cars made a U turn in the road and headed south once more. “Stand, by captain. They’ve altered course. They’re on their way south again. You’ll need to time this just right.”

  Brent watched the two cars. He had to find some way of increasing the distance between them so Hone could get a clear run at the Ford. “Hone, I need to make sure the Brits are far enough away when you hit. I’m gonna try something.”

  He took his mobile phone from his pocket, keyed accelerate hard and sent the message. Hovering like a bird of prey above its victim, Brent watched as far below he could just make out the Subaru beginning to pull ahead, increasing the distance from the car behind. Headphones muffled the sound, the artificial silence lending a sense of unreality to the scene unfolding beneath him. The logging truck slewed across both sides of the road. In a silent collision, clouds of dust and smoke softened the disintegration of the blue Ford. He shouted into the radio. “Captain, do you copy?”

  There was a moment of silence, then a crackle of static. “Far out, boss. There’s a hell of a mess down here, man. We nailed those bastards good, eh? Better go and sort out these Brits now, boss. They’re on their way over here. Catch up with you later, eh?”

  The chopper taxied back to the hangar. By the time Brent had jumped down from the cockpit, the blades still whooshing slowly above his head, Commander Dalton was waiting for him. “Good job, Captain Piri. I’ve had the Minister on the phone already. He took a call from the American Ambassador claiming we had taken hostile military action against US citizens. Apparently there was an Army helicopter in the vicinity of a road traffic accident north of Tokoroa less than thirty minutes ago.”

  “That’s bollocks, sir. The only reason they have any idea we were there at all is because they had a bloody spy satellite scanning us. What was that doing there? Did he ask the Ambassador that?”

  “We didn’t need to ask Brent. Satellite surveillance is the only possible way anyone could have known about the presence of the NH90. The Ambassador was also reminded we currently have the aircraft strictly for evaluation purposes only. International law doesn’t permit its use on any kind of active service and the pilot is not even a member of our armed forces.”

  “You’re right, sir. By the way, that machine handles bloody brilliantly. When do we get our first one delivered?”

  Dalton ignored him. “We have categorically denied any involvement in these tragic deaths that appear to have been caused by a logging truck crossing the centre line, correct?”

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, sir.”

  “Where the hell did you manage to find one of those?”

  ‘Well sir, I have a very resourceful team.”

  Chapter 18

  The Commander’s office had been transformed into an Operations Centre. Brent explained Hone was bringing the Turners back to the base where they would be under military protection.

  The Commander noted Brent’s surprise at the level of activity. “I sent a copy of your findings to the PM’s office. He’s very worried by this unprecedented threat to national security. In fact, he’s seriously considering declaring a state of national emergency on the basis of a credible threat to our bio-security. Because of the nature of the threat, and its source, we can’t release any details to the media or public, but if we declare an emergency, we can then legitimately activate all the powers that it gives us.”

  Brent stood silently taking in the enormity of what was being considered. The Prime Minister was now seriously considering declaring a national emergency. Was the situation really so grave? Had he thoroughly analysed the situation, correctly interpreted what he had discovered? Surely the Prime Minister would have had his own analysts check out Brent’s findings.

  Dalton interrupted his thoughts. “The PM wants you to continue with your team in the field, for now at least. It’s important we find out as much as we can about the extent of the preparation for the production of this fuel, and the sooner the better. We need faces and locations before we decide on our next move.”

  A telephone rang. “It’s the Minister for Civil Defence, for Captain Piri.”

  Brent stepped forward, took the receiver and stood to attention.

  ‘Captain? Richard Bartlett here, how are you? Look, I just needed to touch base with you. The PM wishes to express his gratitude for your work so far and to convey his personal condolences for the loss of Captain Tehane in London. We have a uniquely grave situation here, Captain. The security of our small nation is at risk from a previously unexpected source. As you may know, we are considering declaring a State of Emergency, allowing us to use the powers available under that Act.”

  Commander Dalton could tell from Brent’s glazed expression he was being treated to a politician’s speech. He rolled his eyes at Brent, handed him a sheet of paper, and made a slicing motion across his throat. Brent took the cue and interrupted the Minister. “Thanks for the support, sir. Look I need to get back to the operation. The Commander has just handed me an important update.”

  He replaced the handset and read the report.

  The previous afternoon had been spent trying to cross-reference Cowood Industries' assets to actual locations. He’d stopped looking when he’d found the link to the Kutete wine operation. Someone in the Prime Minister’s own team had taken another look and identified a further link. They discovered there were a number of Cowood-owned farms all located on Waiheke Island. For such a small place, Cowood had an unusually high ownership ratio. These farms had all been acquired within the last two years. This needed further investigation.

  Brent looked up from reading the document. “We need to get onto the island and take a closer look at these farms, take blood samples from the cattle and test them. But we also need to do it in a way that doesn’t raise Cowood’s suspicions.”

  “I’ll pass your suggestion back to the PM’s office. They can evaluate the options.”

  Brent’s mobile phone rang. It was Hone. “It’s me, boss. The Brits want to go to Waiheke Island. Dave says he has an old school mate there. What do you reckon?”

  Brent thought for a moment. Having the Turners on the island at the same time Government officials could be there investigating the cattle made him uneasy. As he was about to reply, he heard shouting coming from the phone. Something wasn’t right. “Captain, Hone, is everything OK?”

  “They’ve gone. They’ve taken the bloody car and driven off”

  “How did you let that happen?”

  “I’ve got out to get better reception on the phone and bloody Dave has got into the driver’s seat and hooned off down the hill.”

  “D’you think they’ll head to Waiheke?”

  “Not sure, boss. They’ve headed north. Just send someone to pick me up before those bloody loggers catch up with me.”

  Brent was thinking of a way to get on to the island to test the milking herds. Then he remembered, in London, reading about the outbreak of foot and mouth disease that had occurred the year before. It led to the widespread slaughter of animals, disruption to sporting events, and even the postponement of the General Election. He knew his own country was mercifully free of the disease. Any potential outbreak was likely to be treated very seriously by both the Government and public alike. It could decimate the entire economy. He had his solution.

  “There’s going to be the threat of an outbreak of foot and mouth on Waiheke.”

  The Commander frowned.

  “We need vets on the island taking blood samples, right? So we invent a story. The Government has been sent an anonymous threat that the foot and mouth virus has been released on the island. This’ll give us a credible reason to declare the state of emergency.”

  “And you reckon it could work?”

  “No reason why not. Despite our investigations, we’ll find no evidence of the virus. The source of the threat will never be made public and the whole story will blow over and be forgotten in a few weeks.”

  Commander Dalton narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. “I’ll contact Wellington with the idea. If they decide to go ahead, they’ll need to brief the Ministry of Ag. The operation will have to be completely ready to go before releasing any kind of media statement.”

  An hour later, Brent read the draft of the proposed media release, to be released at 11am the following day:

  The Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry Director of Biosecurity said today that MAF and Police were responding to a claimed deliberate release of foot and mouth virus on Waiheke Island.

  He said the claim, advised by letter to the Prime Minister’s Office this morning, was probably a hoax but was being taken very seriously.

  The Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry has activated its disease management response systems this morning after the letter was received.

  As part of this precautionary response a controlled area notice has been issued which restricts the movement of livestock and risk material on and from the island whilst the investigation proceeds.

  A controlled area notice has been issued under the provisions of the Biosecurity Act in order to restrict the movement of risk material. Risk materials include live animals, hay, equipment used with animals, untreated products from animals, milk, cheese, meat and wool.

  The Director said the notice took effect this morning. He stressed the importance of securing the full co-operation of everyone in the area in dealing with the situation.

  He emphasized that there was no risk to public safety or public health. Foot and mouth disease only affects ruminant animals such as sheep, cattle and pigs.

  The Police Assistant Commissioner said anyone with any information that might assist enquiries was encouraged to contact their nearest police station immediately.

  Senior Ministers and officials have been briefed and a police enquiry into the origin of the letter has been launched.

  “While this matter is probably a hoax we must take all necessary steps to safeguard New Zealand’s interests and public welfare,’ the Director said.

  Brent grinned. “Good stuff. I like the reference to the fact it’s probably a hoax. Prepares everyone for the expectation we won’t actually find anything.”

  He selected a vacant desk, keyed in a website address he had been handed by one of the tech officers, and was on the official Government National Emergency intranet. The Civil Defence Emergency Management Act meant he now had delegated authority and wide-ranging powers to:

  “Devise, promote and carry out, or cause to be carried out, research and investigations into matters relating to civil defe
nce emergency management.”

  This simple sentence granted him access to any information held on any Government-controlled computer system.

  He keyed 'Waiheke Island dairy farms' into the search box. Over 5,000 links appeared. Filtering the search by adding 'Cowood Industries', a much shorter list appeared. He checked farm names against the Land Information New Zealand online database and confirmed Cowood had purchased fifteen farms on the island in the past two years. The next step would be trying to prove the dairy herds on the island were being experimented on before the Ministry vets even had the opportunity to take blood samples.

  He accessed the National Law Enforcement computer system and noted all the vehicles registered to Cowood, before finding a file of all the images recorded by the permanent speed cameras situated near the ferry terminal on the island.

  The public believed the cameras were only used to photograph speeding vehicles. In fact they were calibrated to photograph every car that passed them, in both directions.

  The evidence was clear. A 2002 Toyota Landcruiser registered to Cowood had visited the island at least twice a month, with visits gradually becoming more frequent in the past two months. He had the vehicle. Now he needed to know who the driver was.

  Brent’s fingers worked quickly across the keyboard, cross-checking the Landcruiser against pictures taken by other cameras across the Greater Auckland area, until he found the image he was looking for.