Jack turned at Ben’s instructions. Tony was wrapping an arm in a bandage, blood seeping out. The body of a Variant stared up at Tony, its torso riddled with bullets. Jack jogged the short distance to a big grey door. It had several bolts and a keypad on it. He looked at Katherine.
“Code?” he yelled as he started to fling back the various bolts.
“NZLV-8675309,” she yelled back.
Jack punched it in and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Doc?”
She looked at him, eyes scrunched together. “That’s the master code. It should open everything.”
Dee pushed him aside, racking her shotgun. “Fuck this!”
She blasted the keypad, sending pieces of metal, wood, electronics, and plastic everywhere.
Jack stared in admiration as she then kicked open the door. He grinned at her, and ran past into the rock-strewn tunnel beyond, running towards the pinprick of light.
Emerging into the early morning glow, he glanced left and right, trying to get his bearings. He saw the Kaimai Mountains stretching away to the south. He could see Mt. Te Aroha peeking through some low clouds, its antenna soaring on top. Looking left, he could just make out the farmland stretching towards the Pacific Ocean.
The thumping of boots on the rocky ground alerted him to the others’ approach. Ben caught up to him and grasped him on the shoulder. “Where’s this zip-line, Jack.”
Jack nodded towards the farmland. “This way, about a kilometre.”
Ben gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Keep going, Jack. Lead us to safety. I know you can.”
Jack smiled at him, searching his face to confirm his words. Taking a breath, Jack turned and jogged into the awakening world as the hideous screeches of the Variants echoed around the Karangahake Gorge.
NINE
The chilled breeze blew off the sea. It did little to cool his growing frustration. James stared out into the darkness, watching the foreign ships. With each passing minute, his anger increased. He tightened his grip on the binoculars and planted his legs wide on the wet soil, trying to gain a better purchase.
Every attempt to make contact with the vessels had failed. The three Indonesian Navy vessels had anchored in Port Abercrombie and were just sitting there, dark, silent, and confronting. Not a soul moved on the decks. It was as if three ghost ships had sailed themselves into the calm waters of the harbour and stopped.
The warrior in James wanted to open fire and destroy these pesky invaders. He could think of no other reason for their incursion into New Zealand waters. If they sought refuge, wouldn’t they just ask, instead of all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? The Brigadier had ordered him to exhaust all possibilities of contact before responding with force. If there was a possibility of capturing the ships, then great. If not, then he was authorised to use deadly force. James struggled to remember if New Zealand had ever fired on a foreign ship? Maybe during World War Two? Well, now they might have to.
The sound of boots crunching on the gravel road alerted him to Badminton’s approach. He turned and made eye contact. He glanced at the short, stocky man who strode alongside Badminton. James swept his eyes up and down, getting a better look at Lance Corporal Qasim Hassen. He had jet black hair and high cheek bones, and his muscular frame strained the buttons on his fatigues. Hassen met his gaze and stood to attention.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
James let the question hang in the air for a moment. With so few soldiers left, he had to be careful with how he approached what he suspected.
“You were part of the communications detail, were you not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What can you tell me about the mobile radar you set up?”
Hassen paused and pulled on his ear. “Well, it was… I mean, we adapted it from one of the luxury yachts. It took us a bit to get going, but it was working fine yesterday.”
James glanced at Badminton, getting the barest of nods in confirmation.
“And you were the last person on duty, were you not?”
“Yes, Sir.” Hassen stared at the ground and shifted his weight from foot to foot. James waited for him to look back up. He wanted to look this Benedict Arnold in the eye as he confessed to his transgressions.
“So tell me, Lance Corporal, why didn’t you report any faults in the radar. Can you tell me why it conveniently happened to go dark just as these ships sailed within range?”
Hassen furrowed his brow. “Is this because of my name? Have you just picked out the only Muslim-sounding person and brought him to trial? This is crazy! Bloody racists!”
“Being Muslim isn’t a race, Lance Corporal, it’s a religion. The term you are looking for is sectarianism or religious discrimination. But the fact of the matter is, you were on the work detail that installed the radar. You, Lance Corporal, were on duty and failed to report a fault. Are you telling me it’s just coincidence that three Indonesian ships show up a short time later?” James could see Hassen’s cheeks flushing, and his left eye was twitching as he continued to hold James’s gaze.
“No, Sir. I’m not denying those facts. But I’m not a traitor. My family have been in New Zealand for fifteen years. We love this country, but the racism I’ve had to endure, the hatred… People tell me to go home, go back to my country. They call me a terrorist. All because I’m from Kuwait. No, I didn’t report the fault in the radar, Sir. It’s been glitchy ever since we installed it. I don’t know who these people are. Why would I?” Hassen flung his arms out, gesturing wildly.
James stood there watching, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re talking to me about racism? Let me give you a quick history lesson, Lance Corporal. My people have occupied this land for over one thousand two hundred years. Then the Pakeha show up with their ‘culture’, with their alcohol, tobacco, and guns. Once, my people were warriors. Once, we were a proud race, looking after the land, living with the land. Before them. The Pakeha turned my people soft. Oppressed us. Banned our language. Tried to beat our culture out of us. Stole our land. You dare stand here telling me about racism!” James glared at Hassen, daring him to retort, but the Lance Corporal refused to meet his gaze, his head lowered, eyes staring at the muddy clay underfoot.
“You want to know something else, Lance Corporal?” James spat out between clenched teeth. “I’m from the East Cape of this country. My people were amongst the first to make contact with Captain Cook in 1769. His ship sat out in the bay, much like these ones are. Our elders had a meeting that night, to discuss this invader. He was allowed to carry on and trade. I often wonder what would’ve happened if the elders had decided to burn his ship to the waterline, how different it would have been for my people.”
James looked to Badminton. Nodding, he said, “You may fire when ready, Lieutenant.”
Badminton raised the radio to his mouth.
James watched Hassen out of the corner of his eye. He saw his eyes flick to the three ships, saw the twitch on his cheek speed up rapidly.
Hassen raised his hand. “Sir, please, they have women and children on board.”
James let a smirk spread over his face. Letting out a breath, he eyeballed Hassen. He took the radio off Badminton and handed it to Hassen. “Get their captain on the line.”
He turned, looking out at the ships.
James could smell the slight scent of diesel over the salt air. It lingered in his nostrils, stirring memories of summers spent with his grandfather, hunting for lobster, kina, and his favourite, paua.
I’m glad you didn’t live to see this, you silly old paka.
He could hear Hassen chattering into the radio, speaking Arabic. James recognised the language, as he’d been to Iraq on a couple of peacekeeping missions. The heat, sand, and squalid conditions had made for an unpleasant experience. He’d spent most of his tour training new police recruits.