The Spanish Helmet (7 page)

As they drove, the world blurred past at 100km per hour.

‘The motorway here was extended a few years back,’ Warren said, ‘before that the on-ramp where we came on was the end of the road. From there it used to be a slow half hour drive just as far as Orewa, a little beach town up ahead. Many years back it was a quiet beach holiday destination for Aucklanders. Now it’s just another off-ramp twenty minutes up the road.’

‘That’s progress for you, I suppose?’

‘Yeah.
Still, I don’t mind. The whole journey up to my friend’s place is less stressful with this motorway extension.
Knocks a bit of the trip off anyway.’

‘Does your friend work the farm?’ Matt asked.

‘No.’ Warren laughed. ‘It’s just a hunting haunt for him. Man’s got too much money to know what to do with it all.’

Matt watched the family in the car in front of them pull off to a service centre. No doubt they were making a bee-line for the Burger King.

‘The land is leased out to one of the local farmers,’ Warren said. ‘He’s the owner of the land where our site is.’

It all came together in Matt’s head. He had wondered how Warren had managed to arrange permission to dig all over someone’s land. He figured the owner got a sweet deal on the friend’s land rental.
A few minutes later Warren pulled the car off the motorway at the Silverdale off-ramp.

‘Here’s our first spot.’ Warren said as he stopped at the entranceway to a fairly modern looking suburban development.

Matt spotted their target immediately. Off the side of the road, a few large round boulders were nestled in the ground, looking as out of place as an elephant in a goldfish bowl.

‘They look like concretions.’ Matt got out of the car.

‘Yes, they do, but concretions form in mudstone, not the yellow clay that abounds on this hill. Moreover, how did it happen that a collection of them appeared at the top of this hill?’

Warren made a good argument. Looking closely at the boulders, Matt could also make out reliefs etched in the rock. Whether this was natural, or made by ancient or modern man was merely speculative. But overall, the rocks bore some thought.

‘Now I want you to remember this location as the Silverdale trig,’ Warren instructed. ‘Sometime this week I want to show you the Auckland Alignments, and this trig is a part of them.’

‘Understood.’

They climbed in the car and continued up the road, passing through the beach town of Orewa that Warren had mentioned. Three hours later the car slowed down and Warren pointed out a valley on the left.

‘This valley, Waiotapu, is one of the most concentrated points of megalithic remains in the country.’

‘Are we going to stop and have a look?’

‘No, unfortunately not.
The local Maori are causing trouble again. Anyone they find on the land gets threatening notes put on their car. I don’t want to drag you into trouble like that.’

Matt watched as the valley disappeared behind them, wondering what wonders it had in store. It seemed a bit odd that the Maori would threaten visitors. Maybe Warren was exaggerating. Not more than a couple of kilometres later, Warren pulled the car off the main road on to a smaller country road that led off to the right.

‘My friend’s place is just on the other side of the Donnelly’s Crossing settlement,’ Warren said, as they drove towards a spattering of farm houses. ‘But before we go there, let’s go straight to the site first.’

Matt was pleased Warren wanted to go to the site directly. He was nervous with anticipation of what he was about to see. This could be a life-changing moment.

‘Thanks for bringing me in on this, Warren.’

‘It’s me who has to do the thanking, mate. Without an academic on board, there’s no way I’ll ever be listened to. I need you more than you can imagine.’

 Warren turned right onto an even smaller gravel road and right again down what was nothing more than a track. Ahead of them a little farmhouse and some outbuildings came into view. As they rounded the corner of the house to where there was a large dirt parking area, Matt let out a surprised gasp. He looked to Warren for reassurance but saw he, too, had turned white as a sheet. Parked near the house were a Ford Transit cargo van and two white sedans with wording on the sides that read, in an unmistakably proud fashion, Department of Cultural Identity.

‘Bugger!’
Warren said. ‘I sure as hell hope we aren’t too late.’

* * *

Warren led Matt across a field in the direction of some clumps of trees. As they got closer, Matt realised a stream cut a winding path through the field, and that some of the trees he had seen were lining it. A short distance before the stream, about 500m from the farm-house, a sail was suspended on four poles. Underneath the sail were the tell-tale signs of a small dig surrounded by eight or nine men and women who were busy scratching away at the dirt.

As they approached, one of the hunched up balls of man stood to meet them. Matt looked up a few inches at the hard, unsmiling face attached to the six-foot plus body.

‘Good morning Mr Rennie, Dr Cameron,’ he said, as he shook their hands with a vice-like grip. ‘My name is Colin Wolfe. I have been given charge of this site by the DCI.’

The agent’s hands felt coarse and unfriendly to Matt’s touch. It unnerved him how this man knew both of their names. Matt had certainly never met Agent Wolfe, he would be impossible to forget.

‘Nice to meet you, Wolfe.’
Warren smiled. ‘I wasn’t sure you guys were going to be interested enough to look at this site. It’s great you’ve spared the time.’

Matt caught a sideways glance from Warren when Wolfe wasn’t looking, and realised that Warren was putting up an act.

‘No, no, we’re very interested in the site,’ Wolfe said, his voice cold and void of further niceties. ‘Have you got the coins that you notified us about?’

Matt looked at Warren and hoped that his confusion wasn’t visible to the austere DCI agent. Hadn’t Warren told them about the mirror?

‘Sure.’ Warren pulled a small cloth pouch out of his satchel. ‘I’ve kept them with me since the find.’

‘We’ll
be needing
those.’ Wolfe took the pouch from Warren’s hand before it could be formally offered. He removed the coins from the pouch and studied them briefly. ‘You didn’t find anything else at the site then?’

‘No, we came back today to make further diggings in the hopes of finding more artefacts.’

That was an outright lie. But watching the exchange before him, Matt could see why Warren was withholding information. This government agency had literally come in and taken over Warren’s dig without any consultation or warning, and now they were even taking hold of his findings without documenting anything. The lack of ethics made Matt cringe.

‘We won’t need your further service on this dig,’ Wolfe said. ‘We have a team of eight here now and the dig has officially been appropriated by the DCI. You will, of course, be sent a copy of our official report when our work is complete.’

Warren nodded. He looked disappointed.

‘It was nice to meet you Dr Cameron,’ Wolfe said. Something resembling a smile twitched his lips.

‘You too,’ Matt said. He doubted that the comment or the smile held any meaning whatsoever.

As they retraced their steps across the field, out of earshot of the surly figure that was retreating to the trenches behind them, Matt let out a sigh of relief. ‘Nice chap.’ He said. ‘Are they always so friendly?’

‘Yep.
He was a shining example of a DCI agent.
Exactly what I expected.’

‘You surprise me Warren. You lied about the mirror. They don’t know about it do they?’

Warren smiled. ‘They haven’t a clue. But I had to hide it from them. If I hadn’t, we would have no chance to study it.’

‘I see that now. I didn’t really believe it could be as bad as you had told me, but now I see it is. These guys are like vultures on a freshly killed lion.’ Matt looked back over his shoulder at the site which was shrinking in the distance. ‘Do you think they will find anything else there?’

‘I don’t know, but if they do we can be assured we’ll never hear anything about it. So can the rest of the country. It’ll be another of the DCI’s dirty little secrets.’

They arrived at Warren’ Hilux and climbed in.

‘So where is the mirror?’

‘Just around the corner.
Let’s go.’

With that, Warren turned the key and they sped off up the bumpy driveway back to the small country roads.

  * * *

Warren turned the Hilux onto the road that led back to the small settlement of Donnelly’s
Crossing
. When he arrived back at the junction and turned left back towards the main highway, Matt spoke up.

‘Isn’t the mirror at your friend’s place?’

‘No, that would be too obvious. I’m sure the DCI or NISO would search there if they got wind of it. I hid it right where I found it, well almost.’

Matt was intrigued. Warren seemed to have thought this out thoroughly. He must have made some quick decisions when he found the mirror. Several minutes later, Warren pulled the car out onto the main road and turned back towards Auckland. ‘I thought you said it was just around the corner.’

‘It is. Unfortunately if we had gone overland to it, we would have been in direct line of sight of that overgrown moron back there.’

‘So we have to take the long way round?’

‘Bingo,’ Warren said as he looked in the mirror. ‘There’s sort of a track that we could otherwise use.
A disused railway in fact.
The lines were ripped up long ago. But like I
said,
direct line of sight.’

They turned left again, on to another smaller road that headed back east towards the stream. Soon they had parked the truck beside another farmhouse and Warren was leading Matt over fields again.

‘We’ll cross the stream up here. There’s an old tree that has served as a bridge for the farmers’ kids for many years. I used to play around here when I was a kid. Not much has changed, except the trains have gone.’

‘Was it a freight line or something?’

‘Forestry and passengers.
But that’s all ancient history now. Trains in New Zealand are a thing of the past.
Few and far between.
A couple of tourist numbers that run to a very irregular schedule, and some commuter stuff in Auckland and Wellington. Of course a bit of freight here and there, but the lines are limited in their reach, and everything is diesel.
Almost.’

Matt was a bit shocked.
A country as big as New Zealand should surely have a huge transit system to get everyone from A to B.
He found it hard to imagine Britain without trains.
Anywhere for that matter.

‘I can see why you chose to hide the mirror here,’ Matt said, as Warren stopped near a large stand of trees to kneel and start digging. ‘That forest there completely blocks out the other site. How far away is it?’

‘I reckon on a good kilometre.’ Warren answered, his words fighting to be heard through his shortness of breath, as he pulled a bundle of cloth out of the ground.
‘Right where I left you.
Little beauty.’
He passed the mirror to Matt.

Matt turned the mirror over, dumbfounded. This mirror was older than the British settlement of New Zealand. There was no question of its antiquity. Matt trembled, the excitement of holding such a beautiful and important object propelling a tingle up through his arm and down his spine. He gazed at his distorted and faint reflection. ‘How did you get here?’