CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: The Plan
Connor stood waiting in the Reception Hall, in the Beehive.
Autumn had finally come – and Connor was relieved for the cooler air. Through the tall windows, outside in the Government Gardens, he could see: maple leaves, and others, were beginning to change colour, to oranges, reds and browns – and the leaves were starting to fall to the ground below.
He checked his watch: 12:57pm. Was Tristan still coming? Would he dare? Mark had informed him of the meeting.
Joshua was in the Wellington district. Connor had seen the reports of his activity in Upper Hutt, and then Lower Hutt. He was breathtakingly close now to the centre of political power for all of New Zealand! Tristan must act! And he must act soon.
And yet, as he stared out of the windows at the trees, and glanced in the direction of St Peter’s, Connor had his doubts. An execution? The thought made him suddenly want to vomit. This man, Joshua, seemed innocent – Pam had even talked about him with great enthusiasm. He was giving the people hope! He was giving them what they needed! She had implored him not to do anything rash – but Connor could not head her words. He was the Prime Minister – he had a duty to act.
Someone was walking up the stairs – yes, it was Tristan!
Connor stretched out a hand to him. He suddenly remembered their last meeting, on Ruapehu – Tristan had looked bewildered by their request: a clear request of betrayal.
“Hello, Tristan,” Connor said, and the young man grimaced, his eyes a little distant.
“Hello,” he said.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“All right.”
Connor led him down the steps, and away – through the Parliament Gardens and beyond, weaving between the streets and down towards the waterfront.
“I hope you’ve thought about our request?” Connor said, and Tristan laughed slightly.
“Request?” he said. “Sounded more like an order to me.”
“Yes,” Connor said grimly – it was his own responsibility, and he’d better accept that. “It was an order.”
“All right,” Tristan said, his voice sounding heavy. “I’ll do it.”
Connor glanced in both directions – surely on the street was the safest setting, with no audio monitoring – and then he looked to Tristan.
“You’ll need to pick up the weapon.”
“Yes,” Tristan said.
“It’s a CZ pistol.”
“Really?” Tristan said. “Not army edition?”
“Certainly not,” Connor said. “There must be nothing linking Parliament to the incident, and also nothing linking you to the incident.”
“The ‘incident,’” Tristan grimaced. “You mean the ‘crime.’”
“No,” Connor said, “I don’t mean the ‘crime.’ This is a national duty, Tristan, for both of us. We are not criminals.”
“You reckon,” Tristan said, and Connor smiled sadly.
“I do reckon,” he said,
They continued walking, up Waterloo Quay. The sky was overcast – it looked like rain. Tristan was looking at the clouds, shaking his head – then his eyes returned.
“Where?” he asked.
Connor gave him a key – to a post office box. “This parcel hasn’t been posted.”
“Understood,” Tristan said.
“Use gloves, of course,” Connor said. “Leave no trace.”
“No.”
“It will be a random act.”
“With no prints?”
“Unless you want to set up one of the others?”
“No,” Tristan said, and Connor nodded.
“No,” he agreed. “I couldn’t advise that.”
Wellington Harbour was ahead of them – the water dark, between the wharf and the coast.
“When you’ve finished,” Connor said, “dispose of the weapon.”
“Of course.”
“A bin should do the trick,” he said. “Nothing too extravagant – nothing too planned.”
“All right,” Tristan said.
They continued walking in silence for a few minutes. Connor wondered about the young man. How would he fare after this task? But he was army – he should have the necessary emotional distance to carry it off.
He hesitated – and then continued.
“You will stay with Joshua?” he asked. “With his inner circle?”
“Yes,” Tristan said faintly. “I will stay.”
“How…” Connor made himself continue. “When will you execute him?”
Tristan’s eyes fleetingly closed then opened again. “Soon,” he said, “when the time is right.”
“He’s very close,” Connor said. “You’d be wise to do it before he rallies up support here in the city centre.”
“I know.”
“If he brings on the same kind of following here as in Auckland, we might lose our chance.”
“Yes,” Tristan said, “I know.”
“So you will do it soon, then?”
Tristan’s eyes were on him, now, even as they walked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll do it very soon.”
Connor was set at ease. They wandered up to the waterfront, silent – Connor watched Tristan’s eyes wander across the calm water.
“I’ll return now,” Connor said, and Tristan shrugged.
“All right,” he said.
“Good luck.”
Tristan laughed slightly. “Good luck?” he said. “Luck has nothing to do with this.”
“Confidence,” Connor admired – and he shook his hand. “Goodbye, Tristan – all the best.”
“Bye,” Tristan said – and Connor left him.
Following Waterloo Quay around to Bunny Street, Connor took a deep breath and released it. Relief! It was done! The task had been handed on: now it was just for Tristan to execute the plan. The end of the problem! The end of their national crisis.
Better for one man to die than a whole nation fall.
It was time.
A New Kind of Zeal Page 31