‘Wait here, I’m gonna go find out what his problem is.’
‘Wait.’ Aimee tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Matt marched over to the Maori, catching him off guard. He grabbed his arm and spun him around.
‘Who the hell are you and why are you following us?’
The Maori looked down at Matt’s hand on his arm and then stared coldly into Matt’s eyes.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let go of my arm.’
Matt held on. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘If I did that, I’d have to kill you.’
Matt let go.
‘Who I am isn’t important. I’m just doing my job.’
‘And your job is?’
‘Making sure that you don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.’
‘Why me, why us?’
‘You keep the wrong friends. If I was you, I’d give up this madness and go home before someone gets hurt.’ With this the Maori turned on his heels and hurried off.
‘Who’s doing the hurting?’ Matt called after him.
He didn’t get an answer.
‘I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.’ He said to Aimee when he rejoined her.
‘No,’ Aimee answered. ‘Did he admit he’s spying on us?’
‘More or less. He first followed me with Warren in Auckland the day I arrived here. Warren said he must be NISO.’
Aimee made an alarming choking sound.
‘NISO, are you serious? Why would they spy on us? They’re anti-terrorism for the most part, I don’t imagine they’re interested in us.’
‘Warren says they work together with the DCI, protecting New Zealand’s cultural interests.’
‘No, I don’t think so. They do satellite spying and stuff. I’ll show you their spy base if we get a chance, it’s near to Nelson. Always wanted to see it.’
Matt wasn’t convinced. He was sure Warren knew what he was talking about. There was no other logical explanation for anyone to be following them. Whatever was going on, he was worried. His professional integrity was at stake. If the NISO and DCI were interested enough to follow his work and if they can arrange for facts to be ‘lost’ where it comes to historical archives in museums, then what could they do to the reputation of a historian who goes against the status quo? Matt, he thought to himself, if you’re not careful you may just find out.
It was pointless trying to avoid it, and Hemi knew it. So when his mobile rang that evening, he answered dutifully.
‘Evening.’
It was a nice evening too, or at least it had been. He had checked into the same Holiday Inn as Matt and Aimee. He had started to like them, listening in to their conversation whenever they were in the car. He didn’t need to bother watching them all evening, since they were surely not going to run off. Besides, they wouldn’t get far before he caught up. Such was the helpfulness of the GPS bug. Instead, Hemi had gone for a relaxing stroll along the waterfront, devoured a quarter piece pack of KFC and now he relaxed in his room with a couple of cans of Tui. His favourite beer.
‘You haven’t called in,’ Warren said, his voice rising with a questioning tone.
‘I’ve been busy.’ Hemi semi-lied.
‘What did our friends get up to today? Where are you?’
‘I’m in Wellington. We made a nice museum visit.’ There, he said it.
‘Te Papa?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any particular exhibit?’
‘The Spanish Helmet.’ No point denying it, Warren would find out anyway.
‘Damn it, Hemi! At least tell me you scared them into returning to Auckland without taking this mess further.’
‘I gave chase through the museum. It would have scared the crap out of me if I was them.’
‘And did it work?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve got a bad feeling it didn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘They went to an agency and bought ferry tickets for tomorrow’s early sailing.’
‘Bugger!’
‘Is it such a big deal? It isn’t likely to lead them anywhere, is it?’
‘That all depends on how much that bloody father of his is going to tell him. I have to stop this.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to undo all the damage that has been done by Dr. Cameron meeting his father.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’ll take care of things. His father is a very sick man. He could die at any time.’
Hemi cringed. ‘His father is innocent.’
‘Not any more.’
The line went dead.
Hemi closed his eyes and counted to ten. A wave of nausea swept through him and he had to hold his breath to avoid throwing up. It just wasn’t right to drag Matt’s father into this mess. Warren’s problem was with Matt, not his father. Hemi’s problem was with Warren, not with Matt. The agency had a problem with all of them. He decided that he had to deal with the situation himself. It was time to take things to the next level.
CHAPTER 28
The wind carried a light ocean spray into Matt’s face. The saltiness of the water left a tingly sensation on his tongue. There were few things more refreshing than enjoying the deck of a ship on a hot summer’s day. Matt took a deep breath; the sea air filled his lungs with vigour. He smiled. Last night, Matt had e-mailed Dwight Pick. It was good news, or so he thought. He told Dwight that he had dropped the Celtic investigation, from here on out he would follow up on the Spanish theory. It reassured him to know the warnings would be withdrawn, that his job was no longer on the line.
Wellington was ten minutes behind them. Picton, at the top of the South Island, was almost three hours away. The ferry was rumoured to go through some beautiful sounds later in the journey, but right now, they pushed their way through Wellington Harbour. A patchwork quilt of housing tumbled down towards the water on the starboard coast. To port, things were sparser. There was a large range of hills. Not a lot of activity over there.
‘Just think,’ Aimee said, ‘maybe Spanish explorers were here five hundred years back. I wonder where the helmet was dredged from.’
‘The records don’t tell you,’ Matt answered. ‘Maybe there are some more records somewhere, but where are they?’
He looked down at the water the ship threw out in its wake. ‘I wonder if the helmet could be remains of a shipwreck.’
‘That’s not a bad theory,’ Aimee said. ‘Actually, the Wahine, one of these ferries went down near here about forty years back.’
‘What happened?’
‘There had been a big storm overnight. It gets really rough here in storms. Early in the morning, when the ferry was coming in, the captain had to decide whether to risk it or stay out at sea. He took the risk.’
‘But it was too rough?’
‘Way too rough. When he realised it, he turned back and tried to get back out but it was all too much. He ended up hitting Barrett Reef. 53 people died.’
Matt turned his head back down to the water. ‘So it’s altogether possible that a Spaniard met the same fate, and voila, a helmet was found on the harbour bed.’
‘Yeah, but Barrett Reef is still a fair way out in front of us. I don’t know if they’d have dredged out there.’
‘Ok, but like the curator said, it may have been found on a beach or something. I think we’ll never know.’
The ferry pushed on through the harbour and Aimee pointed out the area where the Wahine had gone down. On the other side of the ship, Matt was mesmerised by a lighthouse that marked the harbour entrance. As he fixed his gaze on the lighthouse, he allowed himself to get immersed in a daydream. Matt lived in a disused lighthouse on the Cornwall Coast. He was out in the garden, landscaping. He lifted his eyes from his work and saw the lighthouse’s striking red door open. He was proud of his work. The once run-down lighthouse now shimmered white in the sunlight. The door, window frames and the lantern room were painted bright red. The lantern was gone; its room now an observation lounge, a cosy nook with a couple of reading chairs and a coffee table. He whiled away hours in there with his lovely wife. He watched her now, as she came through the door. She carried a tray with two tall glasses of water garnished with a slice of lemon. She floated towards him, her summery dress fluttering in the sea-breeze. The air was filled with the joy of children playing. His two angels appeared from behind their mother, running about, playing gleefully. His throat was parched. He licked at his lips. His wife arrived at his side.