Chapter 8

The map confirmed Waiheke Island lay to the east, in the Hauraki Gulf. It looked like a three hour drive to the coast opposite the island, just outside Auckland. If they were being followed, David hoped the city would conceal their exact location, at least until they caught the ferry.

They approached the suburbs, David pulled into the car park of a small shopping mall and stopped the engine. Katherine looked at him, puzzled. He explained, “We need to mingle, lose ourselves in the crowd. Grab what you need, put it in your back pack and let’s find a bus.”

Opening the boot and taking out some essential clothes and toiletries, Katherine watched as her husband did the same. “The trouble with you,” she said, “is you watch too much TV.”

They walked a short distance until they found a bus stop, then stood looking down the road expectantly for what felt like hours, feeling vulnerable and self–conscious. As each car passed, the pair instinctively lowered their heads a little, carefully avoiding the gaze of each driver whose last thought would have been to stare at the innocuous back packers standing at the side of the road.

The bus glided through the city. After about twenty minutes the driver indicated they had reached the ferry terminal. By now it was mid-afternoon. The next ferry was due to depart at four. David booked two tickets and, realising they had not yet eaten today, they walked the short distance to a small café for a coffee and a sandwich. As Katherine savoured her large flat white, David noticed the free internet computer. Perhaps Ed had seen his message and answered it?

You have 1 new message.

David quickly opened the reply, apprehensive at Ed’s response to what must have seemed a bizarre request.

Got your message. Bit of a blast from the past? Looking forward to catching up after all these years. Sorry, haven’t updated my profile for a while. Bit of a career change. No longer a vet, now own the Mushroom Café on Waiheke, not far from the ferry terminal at Kennedy Point. Just ask for directions. See you soon.

David rushed back to the table. “Good news, Ed got my email. He runs a café on the island, so we’ll go straight there.”

They boarded the small ferry, crowded with casually dressed commuters, islanders who had been over to the mainland shopping, and a few of tourists. It headed out of the harbour towards Waiheke, assuming a rhythmic pitching motion in gentle time with the clear wind–lapped Gulf waters beneath.

David and Katherine made their way to the stern rail and watched as Auckland slowly receded, the cityscape a thin line of hastily scribbled humanity caught between the twinkling ocean and the milky blue of the late afternoon sky. David admired the view whilst scanning his fellow passengers.

Katherine noticed what he was doing and smiled. “I was right about you watching too much television. You’re treating this like some big murder mystery drama.”

He could see her point. “To be perfectly honest, it feels more like a Scooby Doo mystery at the moment, especially as we seem to be getting to the part where we arrive on Skull Island. Get that map out and let’s have a look in case this island is, like, skull-shaped, Scoob - gulp!” His Shaggy impersonation was rubbish. They both laughed, a quick, false laugh intended to ease the real tension they were both now feeling.

Their lives had suddenly, and without notice, been taken over by something that was obviously much bigger than them alone. It had supposedly been going on for years and affected millions of people, yet, up until a few days ago, it had never knowingly entered their consciousness. Now it had not only crossed their path, it had crashed into it, climbed onto their backs and was somehow controlling every step they took.

David stared aimlessly into the water as the boat bounced swiftly through it. Suddenly, as his eyes focussed on the surface of the water, he felt sick and took a few deep breaths of cool sea air. Looking beyond the stern of the boat, back towards the thin darkening jagged Auckland skyline, he tried to imagine how many of the million people who lived there had any idea that at that moment their country was being invaded.

Katherine was thinking the same thing. “Just think, right now, as four million New Zealanders go about their daily lives, probably some of the hardest working people in the country - forestry workers, cattle and dairy farmers - are all unwittingly helping to lay the foundations for an invasion which is going to decimate their economy, probably bring down the government and hand the whole country over to foreign businesses who are going to completely destroy the flora and fauna in the interests of mass energy production. So how come this isn’t news?”

“What do you mean?” David responded. “We’ve only been here a couple of days, and with everything that’s been going on we haven’t exactly had time to sit down and watch the TV news, let alone read a paper.”

“I know but you would think an issue like this would be world news. Other countries should be up in arms. The Save the Planet greenies should have this issue plastered all over the media, but nothing. In all the stuff we read about coming here, I don’t remember reading a single thing about exploitation of natural assets or how this country is going to solve the planet’s energy crisis, which is the spin you would expect to have heard. But I can’t recall anything.”

“We’ll ask Ed when we see him. He’s lived here for years. He’ll know if anything’s going on.”

David asked one of the deck hands if he knew where the Mushroom Café was. As it was his last crossing of the day, if they waited on the quayside while he tied up the boat, he would give them a lift as it was on his way home.

It was a five minute drive from the small ferry port. The deck hand, a large middle-aged Maori called Jono who had worked on the ferry for five years, had a wife and three kids, and had never been to Europe but met a lot of European tourists in his job, brought his car to a sharp halt in the middle of the street. “There you go, guys. Never eaten there myself. Bit too veggie for my taste. Anyways, enjoy the rest of your day.” He drove off, leaving them standing outside the café.

Katherine entered first, pushing open the door to find a small eating area with a bar on one side and a counter along the back wall on which rested display cabinets containing neat piles of fresh Paninis, wraps, pizza slices and large trays of pasta dishes. There was a pleasant garlicky smell, none of the unpleasant fatty odour she often associated with these smaller eateries. They appeared to be the only customers. From a doorway behind the counter, a middle–aged man emerged, tall with a mass of curly grey hair. This spilled down his cheeks, meeting in a white beard on his chin. His face was deep brown and lined. David thought the man looked at least five years older than him, but he wasn't. They had been in the same class at school.

“Bloody hell. Dave Turner!” This was Edwyn Collington, Professor Ed as he had been nicknamed at school. He bounded across the room and engulfed David in a rather over-familiar bear hug before standing back, both hands still on David shoulders, trapping him awkwardly as he looked him up and down. “Well, well, Dave Turner.” Still clasping him tightly, as if he had just caught him and did not want to let him go, Ed shouted; “Honey, Dave’s here – you remember, the guy who sent the email about the .… you know.”

‘Honey’ emerged through the same doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Ed’s wife was a Kiwi called Anika whom Ed had met when her first marriage had broken up and she had brought a sick cat to his practice in Mount Eden. They fell in love and moved to Waiheke where Anika had grown up. There they established a successful vets’ practice. After eight years, Ed sold his share of the business to the other partners and opened the Mushroom Café with the proceeds, specialising in organic wholefood and local wines.

This story, heavily extended, together with the Turners’ own, took all four of them to the bottom of a second bottle of Cable Bay Pinot Noir as they sat in the café, eating from a bowl of fresh salad greens accompanied by a platter of local cheeses which Ed had asked his chef to prepare. Occasionally he would break off from the conversation to greet customers, most of whom appeared to also be personal friends, before going to the doorway of the kitchen to collect the next course and then return, via a guest’s table.

By nine-thirty, the last couple were leaving. Ed broke off once more from the twenty–five year catch up to escort them to the door before bolting it behind them. Around the small dining room a solitary waitress tidied up and prepared the tables for the next morning.

Ed walked back to where they were sitting and, with the delicious but potent Pinot having an effect, he slumped heavily into his chair as if he had just completed an evening’s hard labour. His glass; although now half empty, still contained a generous amount of wine. Holding it level with his face, he contemplated the deep ruby liquid. “I’m glad we bought this place when we did. Fifteen years in practice was good, but when we moved here, things started to change.” He lowered the glass heavily onto the table, his head now starting to loll from side to side as he spoke, “When we moved here and opened the practice, the whole emphasis seemed to change. Sure, we were still treating pets; cats and dogs like in the city, but here it was more stock, which was great, don’t get me wrong, more variety than a city practice, but suddenly we seemed to get bombarded by the pharmaceutical companies expecting us to sell stuff the hard-up farmers didn’t really need - hormones for this, growth enhancer for that. When we were kids, you got one kind of milk and it came in a glass bottle with a silver top. Last time I looked there were nearly a dozen different kinds of milk, not including flavoured obviously - technology hasn’t advanced quite far enough yet to actually get cows to produce strawberry milk, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time.”

Anika had enjoyed a long chat with Katherine and shown her round the house and floodlit vegetable garden. They were getting along well and had returned to the table only moments earlier. Anika coughed, interrupting Ed. “Honey, it’s getting late. Shall we pick this up tomorrow?”

But Ed was on a wine–fuelled roll, “So, anyway, one day we get a sales rep over from one of these outfits and he goes round all the dairy farms on the island, trying to get the farmers to use this latest vaccine which he says will increase their yield by some huge percentage. He persuades three of the guys to sign up for it. Then this sales joker brings over a company vet to inject the herds. This guy, Trevor something or other, spent two weeks here and reckoned the vaccine contained an enzyme that altered the chemical balance of the milk suppressing a lot of the proteins, making it cheaper to process and with a longer natural shelf life. The three guys who signed up also had to sign a contract with the company to say they wouldn’t sell the milk off the island and a special tanker would come over to collect it. They got paid a premium per litre and pretty soon another fifteen farmers on the island got wind of the extra money being made and had also signed up. Trevor kept coming over once all the dairy cattle had been vaccinated and kept us local vets well out of the way. So we ended up losing a fair amount of our regular income. In the end, the practice could no longer justify having three vets, so that was as good a time as any for a change in direction and here we are running this place.”

David sat contemplating what Ed had just said. It seemed to be exactly the independent and unsolicited confirmation he needed that the conspiracy he and Katherine had somehow become embroiled in was real and already happening on the very island they had come to escape from it.

Anika pointed once more to the clock on the wall behind the counter. “Sorry to break up the party, guys, but some of us have to be up early tomorrow. Deliveries start arriving from seven-thirty onwards and I don’t like chilled and frozen stuff just left on the doorstep.”

Only when he finally laid his head on the soft lavender-scented pillow did David think what a very long and very bizarre day it had been.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, the mid–morning sun was streaming through the thin flower patterned curtains. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. In the distance he could hear unfamiliar voices. His nose told him Ed and Anika were already busy downstairs serving mid-morning customers their coffee and muffins.

Katherine was already up and had gone for an exploratory walk. Soon David was sitting in the small private courtyard garden at the back of the café, drinking coffee, eating a chocolate muffin and casually thumbing through the newspaper Anika had thoughtfully supplied with his late breakfast.

His heart pounded as he read the headline: Logging truck kills tourist. Just as Hone had predicted, a logging truck had jack-knifed in the path of an oncoming car. Both drivers had been killed instantly. David knew different. He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Ed. “Morning, Dave, how’s it goin’? Sleep well?” He sat opposite with his coffee. “Bit of a break before the lunch rush.”

After last night’s alcohol-fuelled revelations on Ed’s part, the pair now sat opposite each other slightly awkwardly, Ed not wanting to disturb his guest’s newspaper reading, David desperate to tell Ed his story, the real reason why he was on Waiheke. But without the wine for lubrication, he was not sure how to start.

“Ed, the thing you said last night about why you stopped being a vet, I think it may have something to do with why we are here.” Ed frowned. “I don’t mean here as in New Zealand, I mean here on the island with you and Anika.”

David spent the next twenty minutes telling him as much as he knew; the murder at Heathrow, the money on the credit card, the encounter with Hone and what he had told them. It all seemed to tie in with what Ed had said last night. Ed listened intently. His coffee sat untouched, the milky froth dying away bubble by bursting bubble.

David felt a sense of relief that he had finally been able to tell his story from the start but there was no conclusion yet. He had no idea what the ending might be. Ed shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Wow, it all sounds a bit far-fetched to me, Dave, but it certainly fills in a lot of the gaps about what’s been going on around here for the last eighteen months.”

A deafening ringing interrupted the contemplative silence. Ed winced as he pointed to the large burglar alarm-like bell over the kitchen door. “It’s ok, only the phone.” He shouted. The ringing stopped and Anika walked through the kitchen door and into the garden, the cordless phone held in front of her as if it was magnetically attracted to Ed’s ear.

“It’s for you, honey. It’s Darren from the practice, says it’s urgent.”

Ed put the phone to his ear and stood up. “Hey, Daz, how’s it going? Shit! SHIT! SHIT!” The same small expletive became progressively more forceful. “Give me twenty minutes, I’ll be right over.” Ed handed the phone back to Anika. “Me and Dave are going over to the surgery. Darren needs a hand. You and Kath will have to take care of lunch on your own.”

He led David through the kitchen and café out into the street and climbed into his 4x4. Ed started the engine and they sped off down the road, Ed urgently stabbing at the keys on his mobile phone as he drove. He put the phone to his ear.

“Daz, it’s me, listen, you’re gonna have to activate the emergency response plan. Get whoever’s on reception to start ringing round the farms. You need to be ready for when the guys from the Ministry get there.”

He slipped the phone into his breast pocket, glanced at his watch, and peered first through the front and then the side windscreens, scanning the sky. “Tell me if you see a chopper, Dave. Watch the eastern horizon, over there,” he said, pointing past his passenger and into the distance towards the mainland.

“What’s going on, Ed? What’s happened?”

“I’ve been waiting for this. It’s probably that guy Hone and his cronies. Did you say you told him you were coming here?”

“Yes, why what’s happened?”

“Darren who runs the vet’s practice just took a call from the Ministry of Ag and Fish. Apparently some crank has sent a letter to the Prime Minister claiming to have infected a herd of cattle on the island with foot and mouth. It’s not true because it would be virtually impossible. You would have to gain access to a vial of the disease from one of MAF’s secure labs, bring it here from overseas or bring an infected animal onto the island. Darren said there have been no cattle movements on or off the island for the past three weeks, which is well outside the quarantine period.”

“So why am I watching for a helicopter?”

“The Government will have to show they are taking this seriously. It’ll be on the news in another hour. Darren says they are flying in a team of vets and, as we have the only surgery on the island, they’ll be based there.”

Ed raised his voice, his words nearly drowned out by the deafening clatter of a large military helicopter, closely followed by two smaller ones. They flew low, following the road ahead, before disappearing below the tree line, and landing.