Target for Terror

by Carl Hubrick

  Inside the cab, Victoria wrestled with the wheel, to keep the Holden on course. Then, in a trice, it was on the smooth asphalt of the main road and running straight. Victoria’s foot went down and the old utility raced away, its speedometer rising in spasms to touch seventy-five.

  Tom sat sideways, half his gaze for the road ahead and half for their pursuers. Victoria was white faced, white knuckled, her jaw set. Corina was seated between them, small and afraid - her tearful stare centred vaguely somewhere on the grey road ahead.

  ‘Okay! We’re on our way.’ There was relief in Tom’s voice. ‘Bloody good driving, Victoria.’

  But Victoria did not hear her cousin’s praise. The highway through the hills was full of twists and turns needing all her attention. In places, the road hugged steep hillsides, with a sheer drop to the river far below. To Victoria, each new corner seemed to demand more effort from her than the last. A car coming the other way, flashed by in a rush of red - the driver gave a blast on the horn to make the Holden move over.

  Jason’s face appeared pale and worried at the back window. ‘Rhodo’s gone,’ he shouted. ‘I’m sorry Tom. I just couldn’t save her.’

  Tom saw his lips move, but could not hear the words. ‘Yeah, I can see them too,’ he called back, thinking Jason was warning him the terrorists were still in pursuit.

  ‘Tom! What’s happening?’ Victoria cried out. ‘Are they still behind us?’ She was afraid to look in the rear-view mirror in case she lost her concentration.

  ‘Yeah, and they’re gaining. Go faster!’

  ‘Tom, I’m too scared to go any faster.’

  ‘Keep going, Victoria. You can do it.’ Tom tried to sound reassuring. ‘They can’t chase us for much longer. It’s too public.’

  But nobody had told their pursuers that, and the terrorists came on. After a few more minutes, they were no further than twenty-five to thirty metres behind.

  A sharp bend threw them all round the cab. Victoria battled with the wheel.

  ‘Jeez Vicky! Don’t lose it!’ Tom groaned.

  ‘I’m doing my best, damn it!’ Victoria retorted sharply.

  A quick glance into the back told Tom his friend was okay. Jason lay spread-eagled, face down on the utility’s deck, fingers and feet stuck to the metal like glue. Tom could not see Rhodo, but imagined she was out of sight somewhere, beneath the cab’s rear window.

  ‘Everyone in the back seems okay!’

  ‘Are they still gaining Tom?’ Victoria shouted over the engine’s growl.

  Tom turned to look. It had only been a matter of seconds since he had last checked. Somehow, the big green Land Cruiser had closed the gap - he could see the terrorists’ faces, dark and angry.

  ‘Hell! They’re right behind us,’ he yelled. ‘Do something!’

  Victoria pushed the accelerator flat to the floor. The nervous speedometer needle worked its way round the dial to swing between ninety and a hundred. Victoria’s world narrowed to the strip of tarseal in front of her. The old Holden was going as fast as she could make it go.

  ‘They’re dropping back,’ Tom cried. ‘Yeah Victoria, keep your foot down!’

  ‘I can’t do it!’ Victoria muttered, ‘I can’t keep this thing on the road much longer.’

  She was saying it more to herself than the others. As if to prove her point, the big Holden wobbled dangerously for a moment and slipped off the road onto the gravel shoulder. The wheel kicked fiercely, threatening to wrench free from Victoria’s grasp.

  ‘Please Tom. Can I slow down now? Please!’

  ‘No fear!’ Tom answered. “They’re not that far back.’

  ‘There’s another corner coming up. I can’t...’ Victoria began. She started braking – fast.

  Tom had no time to answer. The Holden banked savagely as it entered the bend. His memory recorded the moments that followed as if in slow motion.

  The corner was too much for the utility. Its back wheels slewed in the shingle at the road’s edge. For a moment, the vehicle behaved more like a jet boat on a twist in the river as it spun round in a slide. Victoria jammed the footbrake to the floor. The wheels locked. The tyres squealed. Plumes of thick grey smoke erupted in the vehicle’s wake. The world whizzed round in a blur.

  Suddenly, the Holden came to a shuddering halt amid a blue-black cloud of dust and the stench of burning rubber. The motor stalled and Victoria worked the starter in a frenzy to get it going.

  The Holden was now facing the opposite way, but Victoria had not noticed. The engine fired and she thrust the utility into gear and accelerated.

  It was getting dark by this time, and the pursuing vehicle had had no opportunity to witness what had happened. The terrorists came fast round the corner in hot pursuit, only to see the big white Holden coming straight at them.

  The startled driver hauled on the wheel and stood on the brakes. The Land Cruiser hurtled across the front of the Holden, shot over the grass verge, and crash-dived into a ditch. It stuck up in the air like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, its rear wheels spinning futilely in the air. From the inside came a torrent of muffled curses.

  Victoria reacted in the same instant, putting the utility into a tight U-turn. The old Holden thundered through the 180, two wheels almost airborne. Then, with its tyres spewing smoke, it was back on course again to continue its interrupted journey.

  ‘Yes!’ Tom shouted, raising a fist in triumph. ‘We got ’em. Let’s get out of here!’ He was grinning from ear to ear.

  The old Holden’s motor roared its triumph as Victoria planted her foot to the floor once more. There was now the added note of a cracked muffler, as the big utility raced away.

  After a time, when it became apparent that pursuit was no longer a pressing problem, Victoria slowed the vehicle to an easy seventy kilometres per hour.

  By now, they had left the hills of the Lewis Pass area and entered the flat land region of the Canterbury Plains. The road had become less demanding on the driver, and Victoria’s heartbeat rate had begun to slow. Around them, the countryside had taken on a purplish hue, as the colours of the day retreated from the advancing shades of night.

  Victoria found the light switch and the deepening dusk grew friendly in the beam of the headlights. The occasional pinprick of light here and there in the distance showed where lone farmhouses stood. There was still a long way to travel before they reached the nearest town.

  Tom grinned out at the way ahead. ‘Well, that would seem to be that,’ he said.

  ‘Can we go back to the house now?’ Corina asked hopefully.

  ‘No, sorry love,’ Victoria said. ‘They’ll probably be watching the area. John said there were more of them.’

  Victoria glanced over at Tom, with a deeply troubled look. ‘You know we can’t stop yet, don’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘We can’t just call into the first place we come to and put innocent lives at risk. We have to carry on, like John said. Find somewhere where there are lots of people. Those men will be on our trail again soon, tracking us down, just like they tracked down poor John. We have to get as far away as possible.’

  For a split second, Tom was puzzled. It had not crossed his mind they might still be in danger. But it was plain Victoria was frightened. Then it hit him, like a bucket of ice-cold water. What if his cousin was right? The SIS agent’s warning played again in his head. Murder is their business... They will stop at nothing... And they never ever give up.

  Victoria smiled down at Corina, putting on a brave face for the little girl. ‘But don’t you worry, love, we’ll be all right. When we get to a big town where it’s safe, I’ll ring the special number John X gave us. Whoever answers will know what to do.’

  The child smiled back at her, her face still wet from earlier tears. Victoria reached across to wipe them dry.

  ‘Victoria! Corner!’ Tom yelled.

  Victoria wrenched on the wheel, but it was already too late. The big white and rust utility continued on its course while the road changed direction. The old Holden made i
ts own road through tall grass and gorse to impale itself on a heavy fence post. A gush of steam erupted from the radiator. Barbed wire snapped, whipping back to form a cruel crown on the utility’s bonnet. The motor choked and died. The headlights dimmed to a paler yellow. In the blue and purple night, a sudden silence reigned, save for the gentle hiss of steam and the clicking of the cooling motor.

  *

  Jason dropped awkwardly over the side of the utility and half slid, half-fell to his knees in the long grass. He stayed there for a moment or two while the thunder and lightning in his head subsided, and then used the vehicle to heave himself up. He pulled the passenger’s door open and took a step back as his friend stumbled out.

  Tom shook his head. ‘Whew! I thought we’d done it that time. But we all seem okay.’

  Jason looked at the tangled mess of utility, barbed wire and fence post. ‘Man, that rabbiter’s really gonna love us!’

  Tom glanced around, his eyes searching. Jason knew what he was looking for.

  ‘Tom! I’m...I’m sorry mate. So sorry! But we lost Rhodo. We lost your dog.’

  Tom said nothing, but Jason heard him sigh.

  ‘She went over the side when we hit the main road.’ Jason was talking rapidly, covering his feelings. ‘It all happened so fast, I couldn’t save her. One moment she was there, and the next, she’d gone. It took me all my time to save myself... She couldn’t hold on like me... Just couldn’t get a grip... Tom, I’m bloody sorry, mate. Bloody sorry!’

  He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and felt the tremor of tears take over.

  ‘Jason! Tom!’ It was Victoria. ‘Corina’s hurt!’

  Jason raced round to where Victoria was helping his sister out of the Holden’s cab. Corina’s face gleamed palely in the dim glow of the utility’s headlights. In the centre of her forehead, a long dark split oozed blood that ran in dark trails down her nose and face, and dripped off her chin.

  Victoria gave a little cry. She put her arms round the younger girl and gently drew her close.

  ‘Oh, Corina! I’m so sorry, love!’ she sobbed. ‘So sorry!’

  At that moment, Corina threw up.

  * * * * *

  A few kilometres farther back down the road, in the blue and purple colours of the evening, three men were attempting to winch the green four-wheel-drive Land Cruiser out of the ditch. The three men swore quietly to themselves as they toiled, but they sweated on patiently nonetheless. Of all the lessons they had learned in their training, patience had been the one most oft repeated. Even now, without the presence of their leader, they worked on. They had learned never to give up.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Dish-es!’ Sally Kingi called from the kitchen. Dinner was over, and there were plates and pots to wash and dry.

  Wiremu Kingi sat on the sofa, his dark brown eyes fixed on the television screen, pretending not to hear.

  Sally and Wiremu Kingi were Maori – tangata whenua – the brown-skinned, indigenous people of New Zealand. They owned and worked a small farm on the edge of the North Canterbury Plains, near the foothills of the Southern Alps.

  ‘Wiremu! Did you hear me?’ Sally called again. ‘On the double soldier, I need your help in the kitchen!’

  Wiremu sank lower in the sofa. The film he had been waiting to see all week had just started. He had showered and changed into a fresh black T-shirt and denim shorts after a hard day’s work on the farm. Now he wanted to relax. The movie with the big muscled pakeha promised more action than World Wars 1 and 2 put together. Such movies appealed to his sense of humour. They made him laugh.

  He stretched out his long muscled legs and made himself comfortable.

  Then, faster than the speed of light it seemed, his wife was standing in front of him, waving a tea-towel sternly under his nose.

  ‘No TV until the dishes are done.’

  Sally Kingi was an attractive young woman. The red dress she wore enhanced by the warm brown of her skin.

  Her husband of three months gave her a crafty grin. ‘Come here, woman,’ he said. ‘Good kai like yours deserves a big kiss.’

  He held out his arms. They were brawny arms. Even seated it was easy to spot the strong build and guess at the 1.9 metre height of the ex SAS sergeant, turned farmer. Wiremu had suffered a wound to his left foot during his unit’s peacekeeping tour of duty in Afghanistan. Although the wound had healed well, he’d been left with a slight limp and was no longer considered fit for active duty. Reluctantly, he had opted to leave the army and take up civilian life.

  The woman came a step closer, hands on hips, mocking him. ‘No kisses ever again,’ she said. ‘Not until the dishes are done.’

  He caught her arm and pulled her to him. She fell into his lap, struggling in his embrace, pretending to resist.

  ‘Dishes!’ She repeated, pressing her nose against his. ‘Dish-es!’

  ‘Dishes?’ He gave a scornful look. ‘Pah! That is woman’s work. The first rule of the warrior states he must do man’s work only.’

  The woman’s dark eyes narrowed and her answer came softly. ‘If my Maori warrior ever expects to eat again, then he dries the dishes.’

  The man frowned, putting one big brown fist against his temple. ‘Ah yes, it comes back to me now. The second rule of the warrior states it is wise to avoid battle if the enemy proves to be too strong.’

  He took the tea towel gently from her hand.

  ‘Good!’ his wife cooed. ‘Remember! Nowadays women are warriors too and we don’t...’

  ‘Shh!’ Wiremu cut his wife short, and lifted his head, intent on listening. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘No! What did you hear?’

  ‘I don’t know - something out on the road.’

  ‘A car maybe?’ his wife teased. ‘Wiremu! If you are thinking up excuses to get out of your share of the chores...’ She left the threat hanging.

  The man looked hurt. ‘What me? No never!’ He shrugged. ‘I did hear something, but there is nothing now.’

  He put an arm round her and drew her into his warmth, but she could tell he was still listening to the sounds of the night.

  Sally Kingi cuddled in closer. The dishes could wait a little longer.

  They turned the television down and watched in silence as the burly pakeha actor demolished half of Hollywood in giant red fireballs.

  ‘Shh!’ Wiremu cautioned suddenly, raising a finger to his lips. ‘Someone’s coming - more than one.’

  Sally sat forward and listened. After a moment, she shook her head. ‘I hear nothing,’ she said. ‘Your soldier training is making you hear things. There is no one...’

  The sounds of footsteps on their verandah came upon the heels of her words.

  Wiremu Kingi grinned.

  ‘Pah! You were expecting someone,’ his wife said, getting up. She wagged a finger at him. ‘And I will ask them too. You do not fool me quite so easily.’

  Sally Kingi switched on the outside light above the verandah and peered through the curtains. She turned back to her husband with a puzzled look.

  ‘It’s some pakeha kids,’ she said. ‘Four pakeha kids – and one of them’s hurt.’

  *

  Jason was feeling better. He looked around the Kingi’s living room and smiled contentedly to himself. It was a large room with a high ceiling in the style of older houses. It had a warm, safe feeling.

  The children were seated in a row along the Kingi’s sofa - Tom, Jason, Corina with her head bandaged, and Victoria. From the open doorway to the kitchen came the delicious aroma of bacon frying.

  ‘Well, if Rhodo was here too, I’d say everything was just about perfect,’ Jason said cheerfully, then wished he hadn’t as he saw Tom’s face crumple.

  He put his arm round his friend’s shoulder. ‘Aw, Tom mate! I’m sorry!’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘But don’t forget, she could have made it. We don’t know for sure that she’s dead...’

  Victoria reached across and touched Tom’s arm. ‘Jason’s right, Tom, Rhodo
might be okay. She might be – really...’

  *

  In the kitchen, Sally Kingi scooped the bacon rashers onto a dish and placed them in the oven to stay warm. Wiremu had begun cracking eggs into the pan.

  ‘There’s something strange about those pakeha kids,’ Sally said to her husband. ‘Their mouths tell us one thing, but their eyes say another.’ She hesitated for a moment, reluctant to express the thought that followed. ‘Um, do you think you should drive down to the neighbours and use their phone? Ah - call the police? Maybe those kids have done something wrong...’

  Wiremu shook his head. ‘They’re a bit shaken up by the crash, that’s all. Some good kai will make them feel better.’ He cracked the tenth egg into the pan. ‘We can decide what to do after they’ve got some hot food in their bellies.’

  *

  Victoria was worried. She wanted to tell the Kingis everything. Pass the responsibility – no, the fear – onto someone else. She wanted to tell them about the telephone number and the strange message John X had given them – Peacemaker. She wanted to tell them – but she could not.

  For Victoria remembered what the SIS agent had said about the terrorists killing anyone who found out about them - anyone and everyone – for murder was their business. They would stop at nothing. There would be a bloodbath, he had warned, and a lot of innocent people would die. Poor John – he had already paid the price.

  No, she could not involve the Kingis and gamble with their lives too. She was a grown-up now – an adult. It was her responsibility. She would have to make the decisions herself. And time, she suspected, was running out fast.

  Jason was enjoying the television. The film had reached the part where the big muscled hero was razing the rest of Hollywood in massive explosions of orange coloured flame. Jason turned up the sound to hear.

  ‘Tom! Jason! Stop watching the television and listen!’ Victoria had made up her mind. The Kingis were still in the kitchen. She had to make sure the others understood before the couple returned.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Corina’s feeling better now, so we’ve got to go.’