by Carl Hubrick
‘Well child?’ The terrorist leader thrust the red-hot cigarette end closer to Victoria’s face. ‘Well?’
The girl licked her lips. ‘There’s nothing much to say,’ she said quietly. ‘We were out tramping when we came across this wounded man.’ She paused and looked up, her eyes hypnotically drawn to the terrorist’s gaze.
‘Yes? Go on!’ he ordered.
‘We – ah – tried to help him. You saw us. You chased us.’ Victoria gave a little helpless shrug. ‘Then you caught us.’
‘And what did the wounded man say to you?’
‘He didn’t say anything,’ Victoria replied innocently. ‘He was too hurt to speak.’
The terrorist smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. It was the cat and the canary again.
‘I do not think you have told me the whole truth,’ the man said quietly. ‘Without the whole truth, we have a lie. Perhaps, being children, you do not understand. I will explain.’
The leader motioned to his fellow terrorists. ‘All of us whom you see here tonight, and tens of thousands of our comrades, have chosen to live by what we know to be The Truth. We live by its rules – obey its laws. Its code governs our very existence. Anything other than the truth is an untruth, and despicable in our eyes. The truth is the reason we are here now, in this country.
Please do not attempt to deceive us. It will be the worse for all of you, if you do. For your own sakes, it is important that you tell us everything we need to know - everything. We do not – we cannot – tolerate any omissions. Such loose ends are dangerous. They make us unhappy. I am sure you do not wish to make us unhappy.’
The leader’s attention focussed once more on Victoria. His eyes bored into hers. The red-hot cigarette end moved closer.
‘I ask you again. What did the wounded man say to you?’
Victoria returned the terrorist’s stare. She shook her head. ‘He said nothing,’ she replied as firmly as she could. ‘He was in too much pain to speak.’
Tom could scarcely believe the courage in his cousin’s lie.
‘And what about the people you visited after your accident?’ the terrorist persisted.
‘What people?’ Jason asked, butting in from habit. As usual, he hated being left out of anything for too long.
The terrorist leader ignored Jason. The red-hot cigarette moved closer to Victoria’s face. In a second, she would be screaming with pain as her skin burned. Inside Tom, his own scream was rising, but he was too afraid to let it out.
‘The wounded man in the hills told you something – and you told the people in the house. You did not use a telephone, because they did not have one, but you told them something. What did you tell them?’ The flinty eyes glowered. ‘What – did – you – tell – them?’
‘We didn’t tell them anything much,’ Tom interposed quickly to protect Victoria. ‘We went to them to get help for Corina, because she was hurt. We told them how we’d crashed our car...’
The terrorist’s icy-blue glare came slowly round to Tom. The boy felt his courage waver. ‘You told them a lot more than that,’ the terrorist said.
The man had spoken softly, but there was deadly menace in his tone. He eyed each of them in turn, his stare pinning them like butterflies to a board. The man was probing their deepest fears, assessing their weaknesses. He was choosing his next victim. The interrogation had only just begun.
He gave a sudden impatient grunt. ‘Enough!’ He dropped the burning cigarette under his heel, grinding it angrily into the floor.
‘When you left the house, someone followed you and threw stones at my men,’ the man began again, his voice still dangerously quiet. ‘Later, when my men went back to check, the occupants of the house had gone.’
Jason glanced sideways at the terrorist with the raw mince nose and swollen lip. ‘Good old Wiremu,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘What did you say?’ the terrorist leader demanded, jabbing a finger in the boy’s direction. His eyes had begun to blaze with a malevolent blue fire.
Jason gulped. ‘Um, I said it was a bit like Dr Who – I mean their disappearing like that.’
The terrorist chief jumped to his feet. He raised his fist above Jason’s head.
‘He didn’t mean anything,’ Tom said, speaking up quickly to safeguard his friend.
The man’s attention snapped back to Tom. A finger and thumb reached out and clamped onto the boy’s ear. The terrorist smiled grimly. Tom’s ear moved up and Tom followed until he was standing, staring into the man’s hostile face.
‘So-o-o!’ The terrorist’s voice was almost a purr. ‘You want to be a brave boy? Good! And I can see in your eyes that you are an honest boy too, and want to tell me the truth. That is good also.’
Tom was now standing on his toes. The terrorist stretched the boy’s ear further. The pain was terrible. Tom wondered how much more his ear could take before it came off.
The man’s gaze narrowed. ‘So tell me, what did the wounded man say to you?’
‘Ah - nothing!’ Tom answered, sticking to Victoria’s story. ‘He was too badly hurt.’ He tried to match the terrorist stare for stare, but after a few seconds, his look faltered.
‘Nothing? Nothing?’ The man’s eyebrows rose quizzically. Tom’s ear stretched further. ‘You disappoint me, boy.’ He shook his head and a sudden fury clouded his face. ‘You are a liar, boy,’ he snarled ‘And I do not like liars!’
The terrorist raised his fist suddenly as if to strike Tom. In that split second, Tom felt death enter the room. But no blow came. The man’s fist lowered. He let go of Tom’s ear and the boy sagged to the ground. Save for the hiss of gas lamps the room was silent. Tom found himself gasping for breath as though he had just run a great race. He shuffled hastily backwards on his knees to be with the others.
The terrorist leader sat down again and for the next moment or two gazed at Tom without speaking, his head on one side. A faint smile hovered on his lips. Tom concentrated his gaze on the grey wooden floor.
‘Do you think your parents will be worried about you, Thomas?’ the man said at last. ‘Thomas Wilson?’
Tom made no answer. He was startled that the terrorist leader knew his name. Then he remembered the other terrorists had used his name – his full name – at the hay barn as well.
The man leaned forward, staring hard at Corina, rather than Tom. The little girl began to sob. Tom glanced at Victoria. Her face was ashen.
‘Well Thomas?’ The terrorist’s cat smile turned on again in full.
‘Yes – I suppose.’ Tom heard the high-pitched tremor in his voice with surprise. He had believed he was beginning to handle the situation.
‘Perhaps I should bring your parents here too, so they will not be worried. You could all be together - all our loose ends under one roof.’ The man’s voice was once again close to purring.
Tom paled. He knew he had, but he couldn’t help it. What was the terrorist playing at?
Still smiling, the terrorist leader signalled to one of his men, the man with the wounded nose.
The man grinned back as best he could and passed over a backpack – Tom’s pack.
The terrorist chief opened the flap. ‘Thomas Wilson,’ he read. He turned the pack round so they could all see. Inside the flap was Tom’s name and address – not his city address, because he never used his tramping pack in the city, but the address of his parents’ holiday home – perhaps just a few kilometres away in the valley below them, if Tom’s guess was correct.
They will kill everyone – John X had said. Everyone – his mother and father, Victoria, Corina, Jason - him - Wiremu and Sally Kingi too, when they got home. There were seven terrorists altogether, the SIS agent had said. No doubt the other three were out there – somewhere, right now - waiting to... waiting to... start the slaughter!
For one long moment, Tom’s mind could not focus on anything else but the thought of death. The terror became so strong, his stomach churned and his head went into a feverish whirl. The s
cream inside him returned, struggling to get out.
‘Yes, I might kill them all,’ the terrorist leader said softly. The man seemed to be reading his mind. ‘Then there will be no loose ends – or...’ The ‘or’ hung with the cigarette smoke in the air. ‘Or you can tell me all there is to tell.’
Tom’s mouth was dry. So dry, he found it difficult to speak. He licked his lips.
‘The Kingis know nothing,’ the boy managed at last. He had given up the game of spies. He would tell the truth. There seemed to be no other course. ‘We only told them we’d crashed our utility – I mean, the rabbiter’s utility. We left because we didn’t want the Kingis to become involved – or hurt.’ Tom could not say killed. ‘You can ask them yourselves,’ he added, then wished he hadn’t.
‘Oh, we will,’ the terrorist assured him with a malicious grin. ‘But right now, I want to know what the wounded man told you!’
Tom paused. The silence around him weighed like lead. He had no choice but to tell the whole truth now and nothing but the truth. It was plain everyone’s lives depended on it. He wriggled his bound hands and squirmed on his knees. Every part of him was hurting, but most especially his ear. It felt as if that side of his head was on fire.
‘He wasn’t able to say much,’ Tom began. ‘He said he was a special sort of detective. He warned us about you and told us to get away.’ Tom glanced across at Victoria. She nodded to him to go on. ‘He said you’d come to this country on a mission... He didn’t tell us exactly, but we guessed you were here to kill someone.’
The man nodded. ‘And who have you guessed we have come here to kill?’
Tom shook his head as though he wasn’t quite sure – and he wasn’t. ‘Some visiting American diplomat, I think - Peacemaker?
The terrorist chief gave a satisfied murmur. ‘Thank you, Thomas,’ he said. ‘I think that is the truth at last.’
Tom felt the relief flow through him. ‘It is the truth,’ he said. ‘You can ask...’
‘Ask him myself?’ the man finished for him with a sardonic laugh. ‘Oh, I have. He is in our guest room right now – there – through that doorway behind you.’ He motioned towards a door at the back of the hideout. ‘You will be joining him in there yourselves, when we have finished our little chat.’
The terrorist leader studied the children for a further moment. There seemed to Tom a touch of sadness in his gaze, but then the man’s expression hardened and the blue eyes burned with a zealot’s fever. When the man spoke again, his voice rang with passion.
‘My comrades and I have a mission tonight – a mission to show the world that no corner of it is safe for those who feed upon corruption.
Our mission is a sacred trust. Everything else, even our own lives, pales in its light.
The Peacemaker, as he calls himself, is but a lackey of the rich and the corrupt – a representative of those oppressive and wicked regimes whose main purpose is to silence the voice of free societies everywhere with their lies. He speaks of peace, but nowhere is the peace he promises. His false message, his lies, must end – tonight!’
The terrorist leader beckoned to his comrade with the bloodied nose.
The man bent to listen.
‘The boy’s parents and the Kingis,’ the terrorist chief murmured into his comrade’s ear. ‘There must be no loose ends.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tom’s mother stood and looked out the lounge window. All she could see was the blue-black shape of the hills that encircled their home, topped by an indigo sky speckled with a multitude of silver stars.
Out there, in that vast darkness, Tom, Victoria and the others were lost, perhaps hurt – or worse. If only she hadn’t let them go. If only she had insisted they wait. If only...
The warmth and bright lights of the room were suddenly oppressive. She turned abruptly, ignoring the concerned look of her husband, and raced out of the house.
The night air was cold. She shivered a little, but the coldness was welcome. A car went by on the main road below. She saw its headlights, big and bright in the dark, and then the smaller red glow of its tail-lights as it passed. The soft hum of its motor continued long after the vehicle had disappeared from view. She stood on the damp grass and listened until the last sound had gone.
‘Jo! Please come in.’ Her husband had followed her outside. ‘You can’t will them to come home any faster, by standing out here in the cold. I’m sure everything is going to be all right. I’m sure!’
They stood in silence for a moment staring into the night. Then she let him guide her back inside.
Les Wilson sat his wife down on the sofa and drew her into his arms. ‘Jo, my love, I hate to see you hurting so.’ His voice was soft and compassionate. ‘I can’t tell you not to worry – I’m worried myself. Something’s happened, I know, but they’ll be all right. You’ve got to believe that. They’re well equipped. They’ve got food and water. It’s the height of summer, so they won’t freeze. Oh, they’ll be cold all right, but they won’t freeze.’
Les Wilson stroked his wife’s hair. Jo Wilson said nothing, but all at once the dam burst, and tears flooded her face.
‘There, there, it’ll be all right.’ Les Wilson held his wife close. ‘The police will be on the job at daybreak. They’ll find them – you’ll see.’
There was a sudden knock at the front door. Jo Wilson started, alarm in her eyes.
‘There, you see!’ Les Wilson jumped to his feet and gestured towards the door. ‘I’ll bet that’s good news already.’
Tom’s mother stood and looked out the lounge window. By the light of the stars, she could see the dark outline of a large four-wheel-drive parked out on the roadside.
* * * * *
The knocking at the door persisted. At first, it fitted in with the senator’s dream of a sunny beach and drinks with a bikini-clad hostess. It was the knocking of the ice against the rim of his glass. After a while, its persistence would no longer fit the essence of his dream and he awoke. Now he could hear the voice.
‘Senator Honeywell! Senator! Are you awake?’ It was that DPS police officer again – the one in the suit. Bill somebody or other...
Senator Honeywell fumbled with the switch for the bedside lamp. Upside down! New Zealand switches, like New Zealand toilets worked the opposite way to those in the US of A. Everything was upside down at the bottom of the world.
His wristwatch said almost 10 o’clock, but he always kept it five minutes fast - it got him everywhere on time. He had hoped for an early night. The interview with the television current affairs reporter had been tiring, and it was going to be another busy day tomorrow. It was not the relaxing stopover he’d hoped for.
‘Senator!’ The voice was insistent – urgent. ‘It’s Bill Collins, Senator.’
‘Yes, hold on, I’m coming.’ The senator answered. He was tempted to shout at the police officer and tell him to go away, but he didn’t. Whatever it was, the man was only doing his job.
The senator rolled back the bedclothes and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he muttered to himself.
His feet found his slippers by themselves and slipped into them. He found his dressing gown and put it on back to front the first time, and then, on his second try - upside down.
‘Damn!’ He hauled his dressing gown on the right way at last.
‘Senator!’ The tone had become more urgent – frantic even.
The senator looked through the security spy-hole in the door and saw the agitated plain-clothes DPS officer standing in the hotel hallway, distorted by the fish-eye lens.
The American unlocked the door and turned away in the direction of the room’s small kitchen, leaving the police officer to let himself in. A hot chocolate drink might be just what he needed to get off to sleep again.
‘Senator!’ The man was suddenly right behind him.
The American turned – and his heart seized at what he saw. The officer had a pistol in his hand.
‘Bill!
’ the senator managed to squawk. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’
The man glanced down in surprise at the gun in his hand.
‘No sir! Sorry!’ He holstered the weapon hastily, embarrassed by what had just happened. ‘I was being careful, that’s all.’
‘Careful?’ The senator raised an eyebrow.
The DPS officer went on. ‘It seems our intelligence people are pretty convinced something big is about to go down – and you, Senator, appear to be at the centre of it.’
‘What sort of thing, Bill?’
The police officer gestured nervously. ‘Kidnapping, assassination, we don’t know for certain.’
‘Nothing serious then,’ the senator joked. ‘Come now, Bill. Why would anyone want to harm me? I represent no right wing or left wing idealism. I’m just a regular American guy who wants to give the world some peace.’
The senator plugged the electric jug cord into the power socket. He hoped he’d got it the right way up. It too, was not as it should be.
‘Hot chocolate, Bill?’
The DPS officer pulled the cord out and grasped the American’s arm.
‘I’m sorry Senator, but there’s no time to waste.’ He was speaking rapidly. ‘We’re not sure what’s going on. But it seems there may be an armed group outside the knowledge of our intelligence sources. The fact they’ve kept out of sight for so long suggests that they’re good. We don’t know where they plan to strike – or when. They might be right here, in this hotel, as we speak. All we can do is try and keep one jump ahead of them.’
The senator sighed. ‘Oh, very well, I guess I can miss some of my beauty sleep for one night. Where are we going?’
The officer gave a quick smile. ‘Don’t worry. Some place where you’ll be safe. You won’t see them, but there are now armed police disguised as hotel staff everywhere in the building. Outside, we’ve got special armed units with snipers moving into position. We’re going to catch this bunch if we can.’
‘I’ll pack my bag,’ the senator said.
‘No sir!’ the DPS officer replied quickly. ‘Leave everything here. This is still your room as far as anyone knows.’ He grinned at the senator’s puzzled look. ‘It’s the bait for our trap!