2014 Year of the Horse

by Liliane Parkinson

  The absence of even the slightest rumour continued to gnaw into George’s sense of equanimity. It was too uncharacteristically peaceful. He reviewed the history of the last two forums which he had been associated with. His records were precise and detailed. In 2006 the second regional conference had been held in Quebec and despite its low key profile organisers had forewarning of several protest actions. Police arrested nineteen people for alleged terrorist plots and environmentalists held loud gatherings protesting against uranium mining while the trade unions organised placard carrying, banner wielding rallies against Israel’s war on Lebanon. Despite the disruptions the delegates had concentrated on their own agendas and the results of the fledgling organisation had been newsworthy.

  By 2010 the Brussels Forum met under darker clouds. Strange splinter groups from around the world planned disruptions and it had been a tense time with specialist police units on high alert. George had been hard pushed to keep on top of the intelligence reports piling onto his desk. He’d been relieved when he and his Belgian counterparts had been able to identify the real threats and alert the relevant authorities. The Forum met under fortress-like conditions but the threats had been neutralised.

  “I don’t like it. There’s something missing.”

  Pania sighed.

  “George, remember your first visit to New Zealand? You inspired us with your confidence and control. I told you then that nothing would happen here and it seems I’m right. Can’t you accept that you might have been wrong?”

  “I’m not worried that I’m wrong. I don’t matter much. I worry far more about all the people whose safety depends on me. I have to do everything I can to protect them. I just have this desperate sense that something is dreadfully wrong. God I sound melodramatic. Sorry.”

  Pania smiled uneasily. She remembered her first impressions of George and how she’d told herself that they should listen to him and not ignore his advice. Now she was doing exactly that. If he was wrong then they’d nothing to fear but what if he was right she asked herself.

  “Can I take a step back? Who do you think would want to disrupt the Forum?”

  “In my experience, it’s usually groups that stand to benefit either from the publicity their actions produce or they want to change and influence decisions or they oppose the Forum and what it represents. It’s not usually individuals. I’ve investigated all the obvious suspects and my sources confirm that their attention is elsewhere and that the Forum is not on their horizon. If we have trouble it will come from a different direction.”

  “Is it possible for a new group to be planning something and not be visible?”

  “Yes it is. It’s happened before but usually when investigators look back they can see the warning signs which unfortunately were overlooked. I want to find those warnings, those events and activities which are isolated and yet unusual. I want to identify people who are buying or stealing ingredients for explosives, unusual changes in normal behaviour, a surge in meetings, communications chatter and secretive activities. We need to look outside the normal and I believe that if we find anything we will find it in New Zealand.”

  Pania nodded slowly. It made sense but how would they spot the signs?

  “I followed up a … hunch I had the other day. There was a report in the paper about a fatal accident. It led me to an earlier unsolved crime which happened about a year ago when a pile of explosives was stolen from the motorway project. The items were never found and the culprits never identified. The main suspect was killed in that accident.”

  “So you decided to investigate?”

  “Yep. I rang the Project Manager to see if more items of this nature had gone missing during the project but he was unable to confirm my suspicions. He had no way of checking that items ordered had been used or could be accounted for. I thought it was an unsatisfactory reply. The only thing he could confirm was that there had been no unusual expenses during the project; even the items stolen had made no difference to their bottom line. The project was in budget and that seemed to be his main concern. I found nothing to justify a search warrant or an investigation.”

  “Mmm - you were right to be concerned. If there is an unknown organisation threatening the Forum then it’s the little hints which will give it away. Good work Pania, keep following your instincts and we might get a lucky break.”

  Pania coloured at his praise. It was all so vague and unscientific; what she really liked were facts and evidence. What about those worrying emails which were cascading into her inbox. Each time IT investigated, they claimed that the source was different; still coming from Colombia but not the same computer. It made it impossible to track but it was starting to look like a deliberate campaign to undermine the relationship she and George had developed. Despite her promise, she was reluctant to mention it again. She’d be glad when it was all over. Maybe then the emails would stop and she could focus on a new job. There’d be no new job, she warned herself, if George was right. It didn’t bear thinking about and then there was the immense damage their failure would do to New Zealand’s reputation. She just had to dig deeper. She would renew pressure on her counterparts in the NZ Police and in Customs. She needed a breakthrough.

  CHAPTER 30

  The start of winter was a few weeks away but already southerly gales had swooped down on the city. Rain lashed the window and gulls huddled miserably in the lee of buildings. The Indian summer had been well and truly blown away. It was lunchtime and Pania’s stomach reminded her that she needed to eat. She was loath to leave her desk and face the elements. As she dithered, the phone rang. It was her contact in the Central Police Station.

  “Hey Pania. I might have something for you.” Pania smiled to herself. She pictured Tom walking around his office as he spoke. He liked to keep moving. Said it helped him think. Even at college when they’d had to learn all that legal stuff, he couldn’t sit still. She scribbled the time on her notepad and jotted things down as he spoke. “One of my undercover officers, code-named Bruno, has reported that there’s talk of a big job and his gang has more money to throw around. Prez, the gang leader, seems to have a new source of drugs. The sample Bruno obtained was analysed and DNA results point to an overseas source, one which has not previously been found in New Zealand. Normally I would just have filed this report and warned customs but you’ve been bugging me so for what it’s worth I’ve included you in the alert.”

  Pania asked a few quick questions then hung up. She pondered the facts she had. Something in the conversation rang a bell. It floated just beyond recall. Was it relevant to the Forum? What did it mean? How had the drugs entered New Zealand? What was the significance of the rumour?

  She consulted Parsons, made some calls and then rang Tom back.

  “Can you put a tail on Bruno’s man? I think you called him Prez? I’ve also got approval for all his calls to be monitored. I’m forwarding the permits. I’ll shout you a drink next time our paths cross.”

  A few days later she remembered what Mira had told her. That was why she’d had a feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps this was what George was looking for. She felt her pulse quicken as she picked up the phone and dialled her cousin.

  “Kia ora.”

  “Kia ora Mira.”

  “Pania! Good to hear you. How’re things?”

  “Fine and how’s Ngaio? I bet she’s into everything these days.”

  “Yeah and I bet you didn’t ring me just to talk about Ngaio, eh?”

  Pania laughed. “You’re right. I just heard something and it reminded me of your concerns Do those kids still have money to throw around? Have you've noticed anything more?”

  Mira was silent for a moment. “Yeah! There’s still money around, more now than before and I have no idea where it’s coming from. Even Rawiri’s a bit concerned but I can’t tell you anything more, sorry cuz.”

  “Never mind. Do you know if the kids come from within the local gang or not?”

  “Dunno Pania. One kid’s father was arrested some ye
ars ago when there was all that fuss about the terrorism raids. I think the charges were dropped and we’ve heard nothing more. It seems that he keeps a low profile. I suppose the families are close, possibly they’re whãnau. I don’t really know anything else.”

  “That’s okay. It was just a thought. Is that Ngaio I can hear? I’d better let you go. It’s so good to talk to you Mira. Haere Rã.”

  She hung up disappointed, frustrated by her failure to uncover any leads. Realistically she didn’t have enough to justify follow-up action. She sighed loudly, rummaged in her desk drawers and found a chocolate bar. She broke off a large piece. The chocolate melted slowly as she held it on her tongue. By the time it had dissolved she felt calmer.

  CHAPTER 31

  Brady was livid. He threw his phone against the wall. It dropped onto the carpet, its screen smashed into crazy splinters. He struggled to contain his anger, his urge to destroy everything about him. It took all his self-control to throw on shorts, T-shirt and cross trainers and head for the hotel gym. It was the middle of the day and he was relieved that the well-equipped room was empty of guests. He attacked the punch bag with fierce aggression. Slowly his anger leached away and after twenty minutes of sustained pummeling he was exhausted. The sweat ran down his face and his back and his fists ached. At least the anger which had clouded his mind was back under control.

  He returned to his room and took a long shower. At first the sharp pulsing flow stung his skin but as he let the water run over him its warmth eased into his muscles and they relaxed. Refreshed, he dried himself and dressed. He glanced at the pile of discarded garments he’d left on the floor. The shirt was ruined, torn in his rage. The phone was beyond repair. Careful to avoid cutting himself he removed his SIM card and dropped the phone into the trash-can which he placed over the glass splinters. The maid could vacuum them up later.

  It was all Prez’s fault, he growled to himself. No doubt he shouldn’t have concerned himself so directly in the project, shouldn’t have broken his own rules and gotten involved in the next layer but he was just looking for a bit of action. He’d craved the sense of excitement a closer hands-on role gave him and now he was starting to regret it. He’d made the mistake of assuming he could outsmart any hood; assumed that his superior intelligence would intimidate any felon he dealt with. Instead, he admitted to himself, he’d met his match. Not that that in any way excused the man.

  He considered his options.

  Prez was accustomed to manipulating others. He owned two Pitbull - Rottweiler cross mutts. Real ugly brutes they were, in Brady’s opinion. Barely restrained and on short leases, they suited their names. Fear and Violence accompanied Prez whenever he made deals. Brady had refused to be intimidated but he’d noted the implied menace. Now, greedy for money and drugs, Prez had threatened to expose him. That could destroy Change Makers and was something that Brady had no intention of allowing to happen.

  He didn’t want to meet the man again and had managed to avoid this for some time but now he faced the ultimatum and he didn’t know how to regain the upper hand. Gradually he was aware of his grumbling stomach. His Rolex told him it was long after the normal lunch hour. He wandered out of the hotel and onto the Wellington waterfront looking for somewhere to eat and to think.

  It was a mild winter’s day and the southerly blast had passed over some days earlier. The sun was warm and in a sheltered spot one could easily forget that winter had arrived. The trees were green, each branch rich with foliage and the brightness often confused those expecting to see bare branches and watery sunlight. As he passed the eateries and cafes he paused and considered their menus finally settling on an Italian restaurant.

  He chose an outside table overlooking the water and placed his order. The waiter returned and held out the wine bottle for inspection. Brady nodded, taking pleasure in the familiar ritual and watched as the man pulled the cork. It made a little pop. He examined it while the wine waiter poured a sample into the bulbous glass. It gleamed clear and bright. Brady lifted it to the light and admired the swirling colour then he buried his nose into the glass and breathed in the concentrated aromas. Slowly he filled his mouth allowing his taste buds to savour and judge. He pursed his lips and sucked in some air then he swallowed. The effect on his palate, complex with hints of chocolate and blackcurrant, was a new-world taste which he was beginning to appreciate. It had a medium long finish. It would go well with his meal. The man waited patiently for Brady’s smile of approval then filled the glass, placed the bottle on the table and disappeared.

  Brady leaned back in his chair and idly watched people and boats going to and fro. Slowly he relaxed into the moment and when his pasta arrived he enjoyed every mouthful. He finished the meal with a strong coffee and a sweet tiramisu.

  His hunger gone, his mood restored, he paid the bill leaving a generous tip and wandered along the quay. As he walked an idea formed. Suddenly he had a solution which would isolate Prez, ensure their privacy and enable him to control the outcome. He would charter a yacht, take his problem out to sea and deal with it. Decision made, he found the booking office. The booking agent smiled as he walked in.

  “Good afternoon Sir, how can I help?”

  “Hi. I want to charter a yacht on Wednesday, take a cruise in the Marlborough Sounds. Can you arrange it for me?”

  “Give me a moment sir. Wednesday? Um, our minimum hire is four hours. We do have yachts suitable for weekend or longer term hire if you prefer. All vessels are staffed and fully catered. We guarantee that you will have a unique and memorable exp-”

  “I think four hours would be sufficient. A small yacht - I’ll have one guest and I don’t need a full complement of staff.”

  “Our minimum is captain, hostess and chef.”

  “I won’t be needing a chef - I plan to have a catered lunch delivered.”

  “Our basic rate includes the services of a chef sir. I’m afraid I can’t discount that rate.”

  Brady waved his hand as if swatting flies.

  “That’s okay. I’ll pay whatever it costs but give your chef the day off. I want to head out into the strait and across to the South Island but not into The Sounds. I’ll leave the exact route to your captain.”

  “Bear with me for a moment sir, while I check details.”

  The clerk peered at his computer screen. He grunted then spoke without looking up.

  “You may wish to reconsider; the marine forecast predicts southerly swells for Wednesday. Perhaps Sir would like to select another day or an inner harbour cruise?”

  “Southerly swells are fine by me. At least we’ll know we’ve been at sea. I expect the hostess to meet my guest and serve the first drinks then leave us for the rest of the voyage. I require total privacy. Absolutely no interruptions or disturbances. I’ve some delicate business details to finalise and will expect all personnel on board to sign confidentiality agreements. I’d like access to the yacht half an hour before sailing and up to an hour after returning. This will allow me to prepare for my guest and afterwards complete any paperwork resulting from my meeting.”

  The route and cost of the charter was agreed and Brady paid the bill in full. He returned to his hotel in a sunny frame of mind and set about finalising the meeting.

  Two days later a smorgasbord feast was delivered. Three courses of the choicest, freshest food Wellington could produce, accompanied by a fine selection of local wines and beers. The hostess helped him set out the food and on his instruction, arranged trays for herself and the captain.

  The ‘Mana Lady’ was a beautifully restored motor yacht. Brady admired her teak decking and elegant timbered interior, her sleek lines and her class. As always Brady was smartly dressed. His clothes gave him confidence. Only the best for the best and I’m the best, he always told himself. He had carefully chosen each item to complement the yacht’s elegance. He’d slung a new opossum and merino sweater across his shoulders and knotted the sleeves casually over a Ralph Lauren stripped Rugby shirt.

  H
alf an hour later Prez swaggered up. He was a big man, bulky, solid; an intimidating presence even without his dogs. His head was shaven and he was thick-necked. His hands and fingers were tattooed and Brady guessed that a good part of the rest of his body was similarly branded. Prez hadn’t dressed up for the occasion and was wearing his usual black leather jacket, jeans and sweatshirt.

  If the hostess was alarmed, she didn’t show it. Her practised smile stayed in place and she escorted the man on board, offered him a drink and then left to cast off the mooring ropes. They never saw her again. Brady was relaxed and at ease in his role as the gracious host. Prez was clearly overawed.

  “Hey man. This is a cool boat. Where’re we going?”

  “Over to The Sounds.”

  “Cool.”

  “Hope you like sailing?”

  “Never been on one of these before. Been across on the bloody ferry of course but this is something different, eh. Bloody hell, I’m more at home on a bloody bike than on bloody water. But I’m cool with it.” His wrap-around sunglasses masked his eyes and hid his unease. He exuded tough nonchalance.

  “The kai smells good,” he said as his stomach rumbled loudly. He took a long swig of beer and burped loudly. Brady hid his disgust, handed him a plate and gestured at the table.

  “Help yourself.”

  They started lunch and worked their way through the courses.

  The yacht sailed through the heads and out into Cook Strait. The swells were more noticeable as they moved away from the lea of the Island. With their hunger satisfied, they finished their coffees and the talk turned to the matter in hand. Brady’s anger was carefully disguised.

  “I hope you enjoyed our lunch?”

  Brady’s smile seemed to mock Prez. Brady could see that the movement of the ship and the rich food which he had provided were having the desired effect. Prez looked very uncomfortable. He removed his sunnies and small drops of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He was obviously not an experienced sailor.

  “Now let’s get down to business,” Brady spoke brusquely. “You’ve demanded we renegotiate our agreement.”