Milkshake (36 page)

Dear Mr O’Sullivan

Please accept our warmest congratulations on the successful
conclusion of your studies. In accordance with your father’s last
will and testament, we are now obliged to inform you that as a
result of the acquisition of your degree, you are hereby entitled
to claim a forty-nine per cent share in the business known as
Dairytree Limited.

The necessary paperwork (enclosed) has been prepared in order
for you to claim your stake in accordance with New Zealand law.
Should you have any further questions please do not hesitate to
contact us at the above address.

Still holding the letter, Patrick walked over and opened the
fridge. His expectation was confirmed. There on the shelf,
Dairytree butter and Dairytree milk. He sat down, shaking his head
in disbelief. How had his father managed to secretly acquire a
forty-nine per cent stake in New Zealand’s largest dairy
producer?

He had to wait until ten o’clock that night before he could
find out. Nervously he dialled the telephone number for O’Halloran
Lawyers and asked to be put through to the senior partner, Edward
O’Halloran.

“Patrick, congratulations, my boy! Your father would’ve been
so very proud of you and I’m sure he would also have been
particularly keen for you to carry on his work down there in New
Zealand. Now, I expect you’re a little confused by the letter and
all the papers I sent down to you, so let me enlighten you on a few
of the details. Back in 1974, your father believed he was on the
way to developing a process to produce fuel from cow’s milk. For
various reasons he wasn’t in a position to continue the work here
in Ireland, so he sold the rights to develop the process to what is
now the Dairytree Company of New Zealand. He knew that dairy
farming is a big part of that country’s economy and that Dairytree
were, and indeed still are, one of the major players. As part of
the deal he negotiated a stake in the business, so he could still
benefit from any development and commercial success of his original
idea. That stake has been held in trust all these years, gradually
acquiring more and more of the company. It now passes directly to
you and, with your recently acquired knowledge and expertise, it
was your father’s fervent wish that you use this to go on and fully
develop the process which, up until now, Dairytree have failed to
develop to its fullest potential.”

Patrick had read some of the preliminary papers Dairytree
published about their research into bio-ethanol production from
whey as part of his own studies. He could never have dreamt that it
was actually his father’s original experiments in the concrete
bunkers on the farm all those years ago. From what he had read and
already understood about the process, he was being handed something
that was on the brink of a major breakthrough.

Patrick smiled as he remembered the warm glow of excitement
he’d felt on first realising the possibilities that his father’s
bequest had brought him.

His mobile phone rang and he was startled back to reality, and
the present. “It’s me. The car is about two minutes away. Bring our
guest down to meet it in the loading bay.”

Chapter 22

David sat staring at a blank television screen. No doubt Ed
was looking for him but he felt safer with O’Sullivan, a respected
businessman and politician. He must have security around him,
although David had yet to see any evidence of it.

He slipped the bike keys into the helmet, placed it on a chair
and tucked the chair under the table in front of the window. There
was no point carrying a motorbike helmet around with him. If
anything happened, it wouldn’t take a genius to work out they
belonged to the unclaimed bike still parked out the front of the
hotel. Stickers on the fairings clearly showed it was on hire from
Lightning Bikes.

He’d left a sufficient trail to follow, if required. There was
a tap on the door. “Time to go, Dave. Got everything?”

“Yep,” he lied, hoping O’Sullivan was
convinced enough not to check the room.

“Good. Follow me.” O’Sullivan was a slim, fit man, and led
David swiftly down four flights of stairs and through a series of
corridors until they were at the rear loading bay of the hotel. His
imminent death from an apparent heart attack would surely raise
some questions.

The security shutter slowly clanked open. A large 4x4 had
already reversed into the brightly lit loading bay, shining black
paintwork reflecting the surrounding lights. “Get in the back.
He’ll take you somewhere safe for the night. I’ve contacted the
police. They’ll be in touch first thing in the morning.”

The black car rolled out into the night. Patrick punched a
number into his phone. “It’s me again. He’s on his way. Make sure
you put him somewhere secure until we decide what to do with him. I
need to make some enquiries first. Check his background, find out
who he’s been speaking to. He seems to know a lot more than any of
the others. We need to make sure he hasn’t been planted. He thinks
I’m protecting him, so let’s just keep it that way for now. His
name is Dave Turner, by the way.”

Brent watched from the bus. A motion sensitive camera he’d
placed inside the loading bay picked up O’Sullivan’s image and
relayed it to the computer on the bus. The live video feed clearly
showed the profile of Turner standing next to him. This was bad. It
meant that either Turner had deliberately made contact with
O’Sullivan, or O’Sullivan had sought him out.

Brent hurdled small shrubs, desperate to get in position
before the shutter fully opened. He pulled up sharply when he saw
the black car already waiting. Someone got into the back and the
car moved off. He keyed the registration plate into his phone and
pressed
send
.The
incoming text lit up Brent’s face as he read it.

TOYOTA HI LUX BLACK 2001

REGISTERED TO COWOOD INDUSTRIES LTD.

He ran back to the bus, started the engine and drove to the
end of the street. It was late and the city centre was deserted.
Two hundred metres up the road, a vehicle stopped on a red traffic
light. The black Toyota was heading out of town. The light turned
green and the Toyota pulled away. The driver would stick to the
speed limit for fear of attracting attention from any traffic
cops.

The same lights stopped the bus. Brent accelerated the
lumbering vehicle slowly away, keeping in sight the quarter lights
of the Toyota. The trick was to follow at a discrete distance, not
doing anything that might attract attention in a five tonne diesel
bus at ten-thirty at night.

Blacked out windows made it impossible for David to see. The
driver took the phone from his ear, and looked through the rear
view mirror.

“Mr Turner, isn’t it? I’m taking you out of town for the
night, Mr Turner. There’s a lodge about twenty minutes away. You’ll
be safe and very comfortable there. Mr O’Sullivan will be in touch
first thing in the morning. Now, hold tight, we’ve got a tail.”
David felt the 4x4 accelerate hard as the street outside suddenly
appeared even darker. They were on a fast, unlit road.

Brent reached the roundabout thirty seconds later. The car had
sped away into the night. There was no chance the bus would be able
to catch it. Five minutes down the main highway was the next small
town and a few tiny villages before the road wound through sparsely
populated rugged open country, interspersed with mountainous
terrain and deep river valleys, until it reached Christchurch four
hundred kilometres to the south.

He knew exactly where they were heading. Pulling hard on the
steering wheel, the bus leaned over and headed back.

* * *

In his hotel room, Patrick O’Sullivan knew he’d be in for a
long night. This sudden appearance of a courier was unexpected,
unnerving and even though he felt he’d dealt successfully with the
situation, he couldn’t be sure until he’d spoken to the
others.

He despised the constant subterfuge and intrigue. He’d
inherited his share of Dairytree as a young, passionate
environmentalist. Anika introduced him to the university branch of
the fledgling EPANZ movement. Together they'd planned how they
would make New Zealand a better, more environmentally conscious
nation, and create a greener tomorrow for the children they one day
planned to have.

The inheritance came at a convenient time for Patrick who had
no real idea what the future held for him. Suddenly he was
confronted with making decisions about his life he’d hoped to put
off for a few more years yet.

Dairytree executives had little choice but to invite him to
join the Board and, soon, at the age of twenty-five, he was taking
an active daily role in the Research and Development of one of the
country’s largest exporters.

Patrick was completely immersed in his Dairytree activities
and his ecological crusade. As far as he was concerned, there was
no conflict of interest. One passion complemented the
other.

He married Anika. With his wife’s vision and his own youthful
entrepreneurial spirit, the pair became local media darlings and
politically-active celebrities. Many believed Patrick was destined
for high office.

As Chairman of Dairytree, he steered the company through a
delicate period of re-structuring in the early nineties that saw it
emerge stronger and in a position to embark on its greatest
challenge - an all-out export drive to the United
States.

This fateful decision brought Dairytree onto the radar of the
American Food and Drug Administration’s science board, and its
chairman Charles Malling.

The board consisted of senior scientists with exceptionally
accomplished backgrounds in evolving areas of new scientific
research. This distinguished group met on 30 September 1997 at the
Washington Plaza Hotel. Senator Elmerstein had already held his two
hour meeting with Malling. The Chair of the Science Board was clear
what was required of him

On the agenda was an update from the Biofuels Forum, to be
presented by Dr Taylor Morgan from the California Center for
International Dairy Research.

Dr Morgan spoke about the progress being made in the field of
gamma casein fusion. A race existed between his own team and one
backed by a New Zealand dairy company The goal was to make the
breakthrough required to ensure a 51% whey to ethanol conversion
ratio.

He was completely unaware his team were using the exact same
data Paddy O’Sullivan had succeeded in generating twenty-three
years earlier. Dairytree were working from Paddy’s photocopies and
the Americans had the original, stolen documentation.

After Taylor Morgan had finished his presentation and left the
meeting, Charles Malling dismissed the stenographer before he
spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’ve just heard from Dr Morgan
represents the future of energy for this country. Because the raw
material is essentially a food source, the jurisdiction and control
of this energy must fall, at least for the time being, under the
auspices of this committee. I believe that it is our duty to both
preserve and advance this work for the benefit of the people of the
United States. I therefore propose that we instigate the formation
of an umbrella organisation whose sole purpose will be to forward
those aims. I am confident that the decisions we make around this
table today will have the unquestioning support of our highest
authority.”

By the time the stenographer was recalled forty-five minutes
later, all twenty-one members of the board were unanimous. Cowood
Industries had been created.

Cowood would be granted sole worldwide rights to the
production of a completely new form of fuel. The true genesis of
the company was unrecorded, un-minuted, un-traceable.

* * *

Brent brought the bus to a halt outside the hotel. The laptop
on the seat behind emitted an unfamiliar sound. He stopped
manoeuvring the large vehicle and listened. He remembered. It was
the warning the tech guys had programmed in to alert him Patrick
O’Sullivan had picked up the phone in his hotel room and was about
to make a call.

He listened intently, the front of the bus still protruding
out on to the street, hoping a clear line of sight would enable him
to hear both sides of the conversation. “Good evening, Mr
O’Sullivan. This is the concierge. How may I help you?”

“Hi, is it too late to get a cappuccino?”

“Of course not, sir, I’ll send someone up
right away.” The clarity of the voices coming from the computer
behind him was unnerving but the words spurred Brent into
action.

With a flick of the wrists, and a glance in his side mirror,
the bus was parked. Jumping down from the driver’s seat, he ran
across the road and, pulling his wallet from his jacket, strode
purposefully through the door and up to the reception desk. The
night porter looked up from his newspaper at a Security
Intelligence Service identity pass.

“How’s it going, mate? I’m with Mr O’Sullivan’s personal
security detail and I need your pass key.” Without any sign of a
question in his face or in his voice, the porter unclipped the pass
from his belt and handed it to Brent.