Chapter 4

 

“So …. ”

Katherine broke the twenty minute silence as if it had been twenty seconds, picking up the conversation exactly where she had left off. She could do this with ease an hour, or a day, later. “ ….does this mean we’re rich?”

“Well, not really, I mean the money isn’t actually ours. I’m just kind of carrying it, locked in this card, although Burton said I could spend some, just to make it easier for them to track where I am.”

“How can they do that?”

“I’m not sure. It must be linked to an online bank account, so whoever actually owns the card can just log on and view the locations where each transaction takes place.”

Katherine sighed. “That’s just great. We’re supposed to be making a new life for ourselves and here you are involved in illegal smuggling. Or is it money laundering?”

David frowned. “Well neither, as far as I’m concerned. What could I get done for? After all, I’m just carrying a credit card with my own name on it.”

“Assuming any of this is true, how long do you think you’ll hold onto that card once we get into New Zealand? Whoever it really belongs to will want it back and, the more I think about it, the more it worries me how they intend getting it back.”

David tried to reassure her. “Stop worrying. Burton told me we’ll be watched closely once we arrive and his people will step in if anything gets out of hand.” Burton had actually said nothing of the sort. David wished he could just open the window and throw the card out. He contemplated flushing it down the aircraft toilet but had visions of it wedging in the tiny hole as he tried to flush it away. He had no idea what to do next and turned once more to Katherine. “Can you think of something to do about this when we land?”

“Well, we should head to our hotel in the morning. I think the best thing to do is find a police station, explain the whole thing and hand the card to them. Just get rid of the damn thing.”

Female logic had just constructed a completely different scenario to the wild conspiracy that continued to rage in David’s mind. He thought about her suggestion, before disagreeing. “So, within twenty-four hours of arriving in a country to make a new life for ourselves, you reckon we should walk into a police station carrying a stolen credit card, which a man has already been murdered for, and expect them to just file it under lost property? They’re going to be watching us get off this plane, for God’s sake! They know which hotel we are staying in, and hopefully they’re also watching the people intent on trying to get the card back as soon as they get the chance. In fact, the only reason I wasn’t arrested in London is I’m being used as bait for God knows what.” He picked at his meal and gave up trying to work out what time his body actually thought it was.

 

* * *

 

The plane bounced and David woke with a start to see Katherine staring back at him.

“You jumped,” she said. “We’ll be landing in about thirty minutes.”

David could see a featureless mound of grey clouds as the plane descended towards Auckland. It shuddered as it plunged into them, a different vibration indicating the landing gear was being lowered.

Still in thick cloud, the engines were throttled back to an alarmingly slow air speed as rivulets of rain sketched a map of the Amazon Basin onto the window. Through a break in the clouds David could make out the sea only a few hundred metres below.

Once more a collective willpower took hold of the plane, every right foot pushing hard into the carpet, bringing it to a brisk walking pace.

The engine note diminished, replaced by incongruous background music. Four hundred people had just fallen out of the sky. It was probably too late to try and relax them with soothing music. Perhaps, David mused, it was to calm the engines that had been rotating, white hot for the past eleven hours. The captain welcomed them to Auckland where outside it was cool and wet.

“Please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete stop.”

Why? In case he changes his mind, revs up the engines and decides to go round again?

Even now, safely on the ground, David still had a sense that perhaps the pilots did not have full control of this beast after all. They had just guided it across eight thousand miles of featureless sky, so why did a man have to stand beneath the nose, and coax it towards the umbilical that would tether it firmly to the ground for the next few hours?

Finally David had completed his journey from one side of the world to the other, still completely unconvinced of the means by which he had travelled.

He watched transfixed as the door was unbolted, expecting to see at least two large men in dark suits, possibly also wearing dark glasses, being led by a large slavering dog. Instead, a small man in a fluorescent jacket put one foot inside, took an envelope from the stewardess and retreated.

People were standing, stretching and gathering their belongings before being inexorably sucked towards the exit door, first in pairs, then in small groups. Everyone was on their feet. Anticipation and excitement bordered on mild hysteria.

Looking back down the cabin, David watched heads bobbing towards him before he and Katherine jumped into the stream of humanity flowing towards the exit.

The stream continued, turning left, then right, following the arrows, unnecessarily, David thought, since any other direction would have caused people to simply walk into the walls. Luggage was greeted with the same joyful relief as if a long-lost friend had just stepped from the plane.

Walking towards the customs hall, David recalled the leaflet about New Zealand’s bio security regulations. He was not allowed to bring so much as an apple from the plane into the country. He noticed the large yellow bins placed along their path in which to place anything of vegetable origin. The intention was to stop the unwitting, or deliberate, import of pests and diseases that could decimate the indigenous flora and fauna and kill off whole industries which relied on the production of food for domestic consumption and, more importantly, export.

David read the list of banned items on the large poster and remembered the small banana in his jacket pocket. The leaflet had reminded him there was no commercial banana production in New Zealand. The country imported 120,000 tonnes of bananas from a variety of countries every year. He also knew South America had the world’s largest population of insects and bugs, and was the world’s largest exporter of illegal drugs. Bananas were shipped from that region to New Zealand in neatly packed, tightly sealed, boxes.

If he failed to declare the one small banana in his pocket, he faced an instant $200 fine, plus confiscation and destruction of the banana. He threw it into the nearest yellow bin and walked smugly towards the ‘Nothing to Declare’ lane, content that he had contributed in some small way to the bio security of the country he was about to call home.

A beagle dragging a customs officer behind it sat at his feet, wagging its tail. David innocently bent to pet it.

“Sir, you have just walked through the Nothing to Declare channel. Are you carrying any fruit or vegetables?”

“I was. I had a banana in my pocket but I put it in the yellow bin back there.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Powerful odour, the banana, especially to the trained nose. Lingers for days. Wait here, please.”

It was clear to David this Customs officer took his job very seriously and was intent on enforcing the law. He turned away, speaking into his radio, before returning to David. “That’s all good, sir. We’ve checked the video and confirmed the banana was disposed of in the appropriate receptacle. Welcome to New Zealand.”

David felt guilty before he had even stepped from the plane, convinced he would be arrested once inside the terminal. He suspected the approach by the customs officer was a low key start to the arrest procedure. Now he scanned for any signs of movement towards him by anyone in a uniform. He walked towards the exit and turned expecting to see Katherine just behind him.

“Are you carrying any fruit or vegetable material, madam?”

Her expression, the sudden drop of her shoulders together with the swishing of the sniffer dog’s tail, answered the question for everyone.

“I have a small banana in my handbag.” The word banana might as well have described a nuclear device.

“Under the Biosecurity Act, the importation of listed products without the necessary permit is illegal. I’ll have to confiscate the banana. There is also a penalty of $200, payable immediately.”

The Turners were still in the airport terminal. Katherine had just broken the law, been found guilty and had to accept the punishment. The new immigrants were already criminals. Not a good start.

Katherine retrieved the black and yellow banana–shaped piece of fruit from her bag. Even David could smell it some distance away. With gloved hands, the officer held out a yellow plastic bag. It had skull and crossbones and the words BIO HAZARD on the side. The banana was dropped in. The bag was carefully tied and dropped into the yellow bin.

“What happens to that lot?”

“Gets incinerated. Now, how would you like to pay?”

David considered ‘incinerate’ was overly dramatic; ‘burn’ would have been sufficient. Instinctively he felt for his wallet. “Is a credit card OK?”

So the credit card, its value greater than the entire New Zealand imported fruit market, made its first purchase - a $200 banana. David hoped the transaction, and the item purchased, was being monitored somewhere.

“Did you just use that stolen card to pay my fine? That’s certain to flag up on a computer somewhere.”

“I hope it does. With any luck I’m leaving a trail that the right people are following.”

They had planned to hire a car at the airport but now David decided they should take a bus to the city centre in an effort to elude anyone who might be following.

At the motel David realised their only means of payment was the credit card. He would have to hand it over when they checked in. “As soon as the card gets swiped, they’ll know we are here. But we need to get some rest, so we have no choice but to stay here tonight. As soon as we get the room, I’m going back out to arrange a hire car. Then we can leave early tomorrow morning and head south.”

They fell onto the bed and slept for five hours.

 

* * *

 

David made sure Katherine was safe in the room; “Put the chain across the door and don’t answer the phone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As he walked onto the street it was already getting dark. 4.30pm on a July afternoon. The air was cool and damp. It was midwinter in the southern hemisphere. Auckland felt like an unfamiliar British town - Newcastle or Exeter - somewhere he had never been but had seen pictures of. There was an air of vague recognition.

Driving in from the airport, place names and street names would not have been out of place in the UK. The houses were similar in style, but no two appeared to be the same and the roofs seemed to be made from sheets of corrugated iron. It started to sink in that this was a different country. Zipping up his jacket against an unexpected July chill, he thrust his hands into his pockets, his right firmly gripping his wallet, and headed down the street. He had three things to do.

He decided the less he used the card, the harder it would be to track him. But they still needed money, so withdrawing a large amount of cash would be the smartest thing to do. David quickly found an ATM, slipped the card into the machine, entered the PIN and pressed the option for cash. But how much? He felt like some bizarre celebrity - millions of dollars at his disposal but no idea as to the cost of a loaf of bread. He pressed ‘other amount’ and keyed in $2000.

 

For security reasons withdrawals of cash are limited to $500 per day per account.

 

Shit! Even with a limited knowledge of the exchange rate, he knew $500 would not last long. Withdrawing that amount on a regular basis would leave a nice clear trail as they made their way south. It would have to do for now.

He withdrew the $500, quickly placed the $20 notes into his wallet and continued. It was 4.40pm. Across the street he noticed a sign advertising cars for rent.

The woman at the desk looked up as he entered the small office. “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to hire an estate car please.”

“You mean a station wagon?”

“Yes, can I do a one–way hire to Wellington?”

“One moment please.” She looked at the screen. It was only a small office, with cars parked in the front area. He could clearly see she had three suitable cars out there. How long could it take to find them on her computer? “What about one of those?” he said, impatiently, pointing back through the window behind him.

“They’re all due out first thing in the morning. I’ve got one coming back in the next half hour you can have. If you can call back first thing in the morning, it’ll be ready for you.”

David planned on leaving early the following morning, before daylight. “That’s not much good, I need one tonight.”

She looked back at her screen. “In that case, if you come back after five-thirty, I’ll make sure it’s been valeted and waiting for you. We’re open until seven. What name shall I book it under?”

They was no point in lying, complicating matters further by trying to come up with a false name, and he would have to show her his passport for identification anyway. “Turner, David Turner.”

“Ok David, that’ll be $150 for the one–way hire, plus a bond of $500. So that’s a total of $650.” He only had $500 in cash, with more items still to buy. Using the card would not only give away his current location but also the rental company name against the purchase would clearly show they now had a car.

She sensed his hesitation. “Its ok, you can use a credit card for the bond. We just swipe the details onto one of these old–fashioned paper slips and just process it if anything goes wrong.”

“So you don’t need to swipe it electronically?” he enquired as conversationally as possible.

“No, just a paper slip which we destroy as soon as our Wellington office let us know the car has arrived safe and sound.”

David handed her the $150 cash, then watched intently as she placed the card onto the hand held swipe machine before slowly pushing the roller forward, then back, imprinting the card details onto the paper docket. “Just bring your passport details back at six for I.D.”

“Is there a shop near here that sells mobile phones?”

‘Yes. Farmers is about half a k down the street. They’re open until eight tonight.”

“Half a .. ?”

“Half a k - a kilometre. Better start thinking in kilometres, not miles, now you’re a Kiwi.”

It had never occurred to them that in moving to an English-speaking part of the Commonwealth, they would still be considered foreigners in a country that, so far, felt like part of the British Isles that had just floated a bit too far south.

Two mobile phones cost $300. Now he had $50 left. David ran all the way back up the street to their room on the second floor. He tapped on the door and could hear Katherine’s footsteps inside. “It’s ok, it’s me.” She slipped off the chain and opened the door. “Have you unpacked?”

“Not quite, I’ve just had a quick shower.”

“Good, we have to leave.”

“Why? We only just arrived.”

“Because they know we’re here.”

David entered the room, glancing around. She had begun to unpack. The routine was already becoming familiar, even after just two days. As they talked, he reversed the process, putting items back into the bags. “It was the woman at the car rental place. She’s onto us. I know it sounds paranoid but she said something about me being a Kiwi now. How could she know that? Why didn’t she just assume I was on holiday? How did she know I live here now?”

“You’re right, you do sound paranoid. In fact this whole bloody thing is beginning to sound like some weird conspiracy that’s just in your head. Let’s just find a police station and finish this now.” Katherine had not seen the poor soul mercilessly tipped over the wall four storeys above Heathrow’s solid tarmac.

“How can I prove this to you once and for all, that I was knocked unconscious, witnessed a man being murdered in cold blood and then had a stolen credit card with millions of dollars on it placed on me?”

He remembered he had still not told her the truth concerning what had occurred at Changi Airport. “You remember at the airport in Singapore my credit card was stolen, and the British Customs, whom I am sure have no authority overseas, seemed to be on the case immediately? Well, that’s because they set the whole thing up. They deliberately had that old woman bump into me and then the kid go through my wallet so I would have to use this other card. Every time I use it, whoever planted it tracks where I’ve used it, so they can decide at what point they can steal it back.”

Katherine saw a look of fear in her husband’s eyes she had never seen before.

“That guy Burton at the airport seems to think they will just go for a straight pick–pocket, assuming I know none of this background stuff. The trouble is, because I do know it, I’m guarding this card like a bloody hawk! I can’t help it. I’m expecting something to happen any minute, which is why I would feel more comfortable, and certainly a whole lot safer, sitting in a moving car than sitting up all night in a motel room waiting for something to happen.”

“So why not go to the police, like I said?”

“Because I reckon there is more to this than meets the eye. The British police must know who I am by now. They could easily have passed my description to the police here, probably before we had even left the ground in London. But you saw how we came through Singapore and Auckland. They made an excuse to stop us, checked that I had the card, and then let us carry on. Why? Because it suits their purposes in order to catch the person who will try and get the card from me.”

Katherine tried reasoning with her husband. “So what? We forget about our plans to travel to the South Island so you can play cops and robbers? David, how can you run? You don’t even know what’s at the end of this street, let alone trying to evade … evade …. Christ! You don’t even know who’s after you! We don’t know a soul in this country but you’re acting as if any one of them could walk up to you at any minute, punch your lights out and steal that bloody card!”

“And if they do, then what? The police will have their man, I’ll have a few bruises and it will all be over and done with. An international smuggling operation will be smashed and the whole thing will probably be hushed up.”

Katherine calmed down again. “How much money is on that card right now?”

“Er, hang on, I’ll check.” He kept the print out when he had withdrawn the $500 and fumbled in his pocket for the small scrap of paper. He read the numbers individually, still uncertain how to say such a large figure. Katherine, the maths teacher, waited until he had finished.

“So we are talking about someone smuggling two hundred and fifty million dollars into a country with a population of less than four million. Why on earth would they do that? What would that buy, apart from an awful lot of something?”

“It’s not just me. According to Burton, other people are being targeted in the same way to bring money into the country on stolen credit cards.” David had not stopped to consider there might be a bigger picture. He remembered being told others were also unwittingly transporting huge sums of money, but only into New Zealand? He didn’t know. Now he wanted to. It was clear that Katherine wanted to know too. David handed her the piece of paper from the cash machine.

“See, I’m not making this up.” She wanted to see the card again and stood for a moment, card in one hand, paper in the other, turning the card over, inspecting it thoroughly. She looked up. “And you say you found this in your wallet? You’re sure you didn’t pick it up off the ground or someone offered it to you at the airport?

“Everything I have told you has happened, I swear to you. Look, the card has my name embossed on it.”

She handed him back the card and paper. “Here, keep these safe, finish packing and let’s get out of here.” She moved urgently round the room, remembering exactly where she had placed every item before absently throwing them into the case.

“Are you Ok?’

“No. I’m bloody scared, David. I’ll finish this, you go and get the car and I’ll meet you at reception.”

David picked up the bag he had tossed onto the bed. “I bought a couple of mobile phones. I thought we should, we might, you know, just in case we need to keep in touch.”

She looked up from the case. “Good idea. You never know, do you? Give them to me. I’ll put them in my bag and sort them out once we’re in the car.”

He ran down the stairs onto the street and back to the car rental office, slowing to a stroll before entering, trying to look calm, not too breathless, and not as if he knew she knew. His heart sank as he walked in to see a man at the desk.

“Mr Turner?”

Did he know, or had he just been told by his colleague to expect him. “Yes, I’ve come to pick up a hire car.”

“It’s all ready for you. If you would just like to follow me out, I’ll show you.” It was a blue station wagon, still beaded with water and glistening under the early evening street lights. “The keys are in it and there are maps in the glove box. Just replace any fuel you use. Have a safe trip.”