Milkshake (29 page)

Lieutenant Bridges interrupted. “Excuse me, Captain. Just
thought you’d like to know we’re being tracked.”

“How? Who the hell knows we’re up here?”

‘Actually, sir, it looks like we are not up
here, but down there.”

“What do you mean, down there?”

“I switched on the tracking software and
set it to trace the security device attached to the car. It’s the
first time it’s been used on this aircraft, so it carried out an
initial security scan. There are no other aircraft in the air
within a seventy kilometre radius. The signature looks like its
coming from a satellite directly overhead. I can run another check
if you like, but I’d say in this part of the world it’s pretty
accurate. The external skin is absorbing the faint trace of a laser
tag from a US military satellite approximately three hundred
kilometres above us.”

The three KMP officers sat in silence for a moment. “It’s OK,
they can’t actually hear you. The onboard comms are
shielded.”

Up until that point, they’d simply been involved in the
airborne pursuit of two cars, across open country. Now there could
be international implications for what they were about to
undertake.

“Lieutenant, I need you to patch me through to Commander
Dalton at Waioru.”

“Not a problem, sir. Just trying the connection for you now.
By the way, ETA three minutes to the target. I’ll stand off two
kilometres north, below the horizon. We’ll still be able to track
them but they can’t see us. The Commander’s on the line now,
sir.”

“Something’s come up. Bridges has activated some of the new
equipment on board and we’re being tracked by an American military
satellite. As far as I’m concerned that’s confirmation of US
Government involvement in all this. I need your formal
authorisation to eliminate any perceived threat to national
security, sir.”

“You have my authorisation, Piri. I’ll get on to the Prime
Minister’s office right away. There’s going to be diplomatic
fallout that’ll need dealing with in the next few
hours.”

The helicopter flew parallel to the road, skimming the vast
swathe of pine forest. Bridges signalled the location of a logging
camp, and flew over it checking for any sign of activity before
moving out and hovering just above the main highway. Dropping
momentarily to ground level, Hone leapt out and ran to the side of
the road.

“Has he got any money?” shouted Brent

“Yep, we’re both carrying a thousand dollars cash for, you
know, any expenses.”

“Good, that’ll get him the loan of a decent
truck.”

The helicopter lifted above the trees, rapidly gaining
altitude. Brent could see a small town in the distance. He didn’t
want to risk the unique aircraft being spotted near such a
populated area, and instructed Bridges to land. There was no point
just flying around burning up fuel for the sake of it.

Hone made his way through the dense forest to a clearing where
pine logs were being loaded onto the back of a truck and trailer
unit. From the safety of the trees he counted five men in total,
absorbed in their work and oblivious to his presence. The truck
driver sat reading his newspaper. Behind him pre-cut tree trunks
were being loaded up. This scene was familiar to Hone; his father
and uncles were all loggers.

He moved quickly around the perimeter of the clearing until he
was upwind, beside an old ute. As he expected, it was unlocked, the
inside a mess of screwed-up paperwork, old newspapers and discarded
food wrappings. The men were too engrossed in their work to notice
as he carefully pulled open the passenger door, piled as much of
the rubbish as he could onto the passenger seat then, taking a
knife from his belt, slashed at the seat, exposing the foam padding
beneath.

He had anticipated using his own lighter, but in the foot
well, amongst the paper, he noticed a box of matches.

He lit one.

Keeping watch through the driver’s-side window on the activity
beyond, he held it against the contents of the passenger seat
until, still focusing through the window, his eyes began to sting,
misting over as thickening black smoke filled the interior of the
vehicle. Winding down the window just enough for the smoke to be
able to escape, he closed the car door, moved back twenty metres
and continued circling the perimeter, towards the labourers. He
could already smell the smoke in his own nostrils.

Three minutes later, and still they worked on. The car
interior was now completely obscured by thick black plumes of acrid
smoke generated by burning foam-filled seats. Hone hoped they might
have noticed his diversion by now. He was getting concerned it
would start burning out of control. Suddenly, there was a flash,
followed by a muted thud. A dark mushroom cloud billowed out from
the space left by the exploding windscreen, unfolding upwards
through the trees.

Two loggers ran to grab extinguishers. The pair already in the
cabs of their trucks leapt out, extinguishers already in hand. The
owner of the flaming truck ran towards it, yelling at it as if it
had caught fire on purpose.

The door of the logging truck was open. Hone sprinted the
short distance across the open ground, jumped in, started the
engine, wrenched it into gear, and headed for the gap in the trees
in front of him. The group now tentatively encircling the blazing
ute glanced up as the truck gathered speed down the forest
track.

“Thieving bastards!”

They wanted to extinguish the fire and outrun the stolen
logging truck. One threw down his extinguisher, ran back to his own
vehicle, turned the key and pushed the pedal hard to the floor. A
pall of choking grey smoke belched from the exhaust as he put it in
gear and attempted to accelerate. The rear wheels slipped on the
forest litter beneath them. The front wheels slithered wildly. It
was like driving on ice, snaking from side to side at slow speed,
completely out of the control as the driver maintained pressure on
the throttle in the hope that acceleration alone would somehow
carry him out from amongst the trees.

The rudderless car was finally brought to a sickeningly abrupt
halt by a large tree stump. Even as it loomed into sight, the
driver, in his rage, still refused to accept he no longer had
control and maintained a relentless course until the stump stopped
any further passage.

Confused, angry and shocked, he leapt out, furious with his
own sudden apparent inability to control his own vehicle. He
inspected the damage, cursing at the ripped left tyre, and the
right one. Stepping back, he noticed the rear tyres were also
hanging in shreds from their rims. The thief had made sure he
wouldn’t be followed by slashing the tyres on all the remaining
vehicles before setting fire to the final one, creating a diversion
allowing him to steal the logging truck.

Hone accelerated down the forest track, towards the main
highway, deliberately snaking from one side of the narrow mud track
to the other, dislodging unsecured logs that rolled haphazardly
across the path behind, blocking it to any pursuers.

He reached the road, turned left and headed north. In the rear
view mirror of the truck, he could clearly read the large sign
beside the gate he had just driven through.

This forest is managed by Cowood Industries

Private property

Keep Out

The helicopter was in the air again. From his vantage point in
the co-pilot’s seat, Brent could see the grey streak of tar seal
cutting a straight line through the seemingly endless forest on
either side of it. They flew higher so he could observe all three
vehicles - the Turners in their Subaru and the blue Ford, both
heading north, and the larger, longer logging truck, some distance
behind, heading in the same direction. The two cars pulled over.
Brent spoke into the mouthpiece on his helmet urgently. “Hone, they
are about 2k ahead of you. They’ve pulled over. Just hang back for
a second.”

Hone slowly brought the truck to a standstill. Brent watched
intently. He could just make out figures moving around the cars
below him. He was taking a risk. There was a possibility he was
about to witness the murder of his target. Both cars made a U turn
in the road and headed south once more. “Stand, by captain. They’ve
altered course. They’re on their way south again. You’ll need to
time this just right.”

Brent watched the two cars. He had to find some way of
increasing the distance between them so Hone could get a clear run
at the Ford. “Hone, I need to make sure the Brits are far enough
away when you hit. I’m gonna try something.”

He took his mobile phone from his pocket, keyed
accelerate hard
and sent
the message. Hovering like a bird of prey above its victim, Brent
watched as far below he could just make out the Subaru beginning to
pull ahead, increasing the distance from the car behind. Headphones
muffled the sound, the artificial silence lending a sense of
unreality to the scene unfolding beneath him. The logging truck
slewed across both sides of the road. In a silent collision, clouds
of dust and smoke softened the disintegration of the blue Ford. He
shouted into the radio. “Captain, do you copy?”

There was a moment of silence, then a crackle of static. “Far
out, boss. There’s a hell of a mess down here, man. We nailed those
bastards good, eh? Better go and sort out these Brits now, boss.
They’re on their way over here. Catch up with you later,
eh?”

The chopper taxied back to the hangar. By the time Brent had
jumped down from the cockpit, the blades still whooshing slowly
above his head, Commander Dalton was waiting for him. “Good job,
Captain Piri. I’ve had the Minister on the phone already. He took a
call from the American Ambassador claiming we had taken hostile
military action against US citizens. Apparently there was an Army
helicopter in the vicinity of a road traffic accident north of
Tokoroa less than thirty minutes ago.”

“That’s bollocks, sir. The only reason they have any idea we
were there at all is because they had a bloody spy satellite
scanning us. What was that doing there? Did he ask the Ambassador
that?”

“We didn’t need to ask Brent. Satellite surveillance is the
only possible way anyone could have known about the presence of the
NH90. The Ambassador was also reminded we currently have the
aircraft strictly for evaluation purposes only. International law
doesn’t permit its use on any kind of active service and the pilot
is not even a member of our armed forces.”

“You’re right, sir. By the way, that machine handles bloody
brilliantly. When do we get our first one delivered?”

Dalton ignored him. “We have categorically denied any
involvement in these tragic deaths that appear to have been caused
by a logging truck crossing the centre line, correct?”

‘Yes, sir.”

“Where the hell did you manage to find one of
those?”

‘Well sir, I have a very resourceful team.”

Chapter 18

The Commander’s office had been transformed into an Operations
Centre. Brent explained Hone was bringing the Turners back to the
base where they would be under military protection.

The Commander noted Brent’s surprise at the level of activity.
“I sent a copy of your findings to the PM’s office. He’s very
worried by this unprecedented threat to national security. In fact,
he’s seriously considering declaring a state of national emergency
on the basis of a credible threat to our bio-security. Because of
the nature of the threat, and its source, we can’t release any
details to the media or public, but if we declare an emergency, we
can then legitimately activate all the powers that it gives
us.”

Brent stood silently taking in the enormity of what was being
considered. The Prime Minister was now seriously considering
declaring a national emergency. Was the situation really so grave?
Had he thoroughly analysed the situation, correctly interpreted
what he had discovered? Surely the Prime Minister would have had
his own analysts check out Brent’s findings.

Dalton interrupted his thoughts. “The PM wants you to continue
with your team in the field, for now at least. It’s important we
find out as much as we can about the extent of the preparation for
the production of this fuel, and the sooner the better. We need
faces and locations before we decide on our next move.”

A telephone rang. “It’s the Minister for Civil Defence, for
Captain Piri.”

Brent stepped forward, took the receiver and stood to
attention.

‘Captain? Richard Bartlett here, how are you? Look, I just
needed to touch base with you. The PM wishes to express his
gratitude for your work so far and to convey his personal
condolences for the loss of Captain Tehane in London. We have a
uniquely grave situation here, Captain. The security of our small
nation is at risk from a previously unexpected source. As you may
know, we are considering declaring a State of Emergency, allowing
us to use the powers available under that Act.”

Commander Dalton could tell from Brent’s glazed expression he
was being treated to a politician’s speech. He rolled his eyes at
Brent, handed him a sheet of paper, and made a slicing motion
across his throat. Brent took the cue and interrupted the Minister.
“Thanks for the support, sir. Look I need to get back to the
operation. The Commander has just handed me an important
update.”