Chapter 23

Brent sat impatiently revving the engine, waiting for the lights, looking left to right at the deserted road in all directions. The control a simple red light was having over his situation right now was absurd. He kicked the clutch and rode off.

The bike accelerated to nearly 100 kilometres per hour before Brent realised and pulled over. The engine burbled beneath him as he felt for his phone. Fingers, chilled by the high speed ride, struggled to hit the keys.

The phone vibrated in his palm. He peered through the helmet visor at the screen, its brightness illuminating his face. The message was a map, directions to Kutete Lodge.

* * *

David sensed they were heading into the countryside. The faint orange glow of Nelson receded over the horizon. The car made a series of sharp turns, then a steep climb and descent. The indicator light flashed and he braced before the driver pulled sharply left. They bounced down an uneven track, around another bend, and onto the brightly lit forecourt of what appeared to be a small hotel. David looked up at the large modern building, unexpected after such a desolate drive. The door opened and he got out.

“Good evening, Mr Turner. My name is Taylor Morgan. Welcome to Kutete Lodge. Allow me to escort you to your room.”

As he looked around, David felt uneasy. There was no indication this was any kind of public facility - no signage, no welcoming glow from a warmly lit reception area, not even a notice indicating there was any kind of reception area. He’d noticed a sign that said 'deliveries' as they’d driven up the illuminated part of the drive, but wasn’t this a private house?

“Where am I?”

“Sorry, yes, excuse my rudeness, Mr Turner. Most of our guests usually make a reservation to stay here. You, of course, being a recent arrival to our shores won’t be familiar with our reputation. Kutete Lodge is a winery and boutique resort destination. We produce some of the finest vintages in this part of the world and allow a very limited number of guests to experience the unique atmosphere we’re able to offer. Please follow me.”

David was grateful O’Sullivan had taken his warning seriously enough to make a call to this friend who sent a car all the way into town to collect him. They walked across the courtyard to a cottage amongst the trees. A wood fire glowed and crackled in the grate, and a large comfortable-looking bed suddenly reminded David of a long day that had yet to finish.

“This is normally used as our honeymoon suite. Please make yourself comfortable. Breakfast will be served in your room at eight o’clock.”

* * *

Brent rode cautiously along the road, the sound of the big motorbike carrying through the still night air, the noise reverberating through the helmet, dulling his senses.

He checked both mirrors, coasted to a halt and killed the engine, quickly removing the helmet, suddenly claustrophobic.

Trying to accustom his sight to the faint starlight that barely illuminated the surrounding countryside, he saw a bright light on the horizon, but it went out. The GPS confirmed the light had come from Kutete Lodge. He rode slowly, keeping the engine noise to a low rumble, until he came to the signpost at the Lodge entrance. He killed the engine, parked the bike amongst the trees at the side of the drive and made his way towards the dimly lit buildings up ahead.

The rhythmic pulsing of a pump in the distance became clearer as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. Suddenly there was a blinding flash. Caught in the dazzle of a spotlight, he braced, expecting confrontation, hostility, but there was none, just silence, broken only by the distant pumping. His movement had triggered the sensor on a security light.

Trees next to the path offered some protection. Plunging into blinding darkness once more, he crept through saplings and shrubs, out of range of the sensor’s beam, aware of any noise as he rustled through the leaf mulch cracking twigs.

David Turner never heard the faint tinkle as Brent elbowed the thin glass, reached in, and unlocked the back door.

Brent stood for a moment, allowing the warmth to seep through his chilled clothing. Gently he pushed the door and walking slowly through. Brent felt exposed and vulnerable confined in this small living area and in such close proximity to David Turner. Shoes left haphazardly outside the bathroom door indicated his presence on the other side.

Not daring to move in case the wooden floor creaked, his gaze never left the door in front of him. On the other side, David finished shaving. Tunelessly singing, he sloshed water around the sink, cleaning off the stubble. Brent sensed the ritual nearing completion and tensed expectantly as the singing abruptly stopped. The door opened and David Turner stepped into the room. “Who the hell are you?”

Brent moved forward smiling, offering the hand of friendship, gently placing a precautionary restraining hand on David’s shoulder. The slightest twitch and Brent’s left hand could have pinned David to the wall in an instant. There was no need. David recognised him. “You’re the car hire guy. How the fuck did you get in here?” he said, shrugging the hand from his shoulder.

“Actually my name’s Brent Piri and I’m with the New Zealand Defence Force. Good to see you again, Dave. Now, we don’t have much time so I’ll get straight to the point here.” David eyed him suspiciously. “You already know about the situation we have with this Cowood outfit, right? I need you to hand over the credit card you brought with you from the UK. It might be able to help stop what’s happening here.”

No one who’d known about the card had ever actually asked to see it, apart from Ed who only wanted it to prise open the door at the Dairytree factory. It was undoubtedly valuable. David knew he’d have to hand it over at some point.

He’d anticipated more drama, a weapon perhaps, a threat or at least some intimidation. Being asked politely to simply hand it over was a bit of an anticlimax, but the card wasn’t his and there was no real reason to keep it.

His jacket was over the back of a chair. He felt inside for the familiar shape and held it out. “How do I know you’re who you say you are? You could’ve just been sent across by someone to collect the card for him.

“I don’t usually have to do this, Dave.” Brent put his arm inside his jacket. David’s breathing faltered. This is what he’d been expecting. His heart beat in a familiar uncontrollable thump. Brent’s hand re-appeared, holding what also looked like a credit card. “See? It’s my military ID card. Happy now?”

David breathed again. “So, is that it? Is it all over now? Can we finally be left alone to get on with our lives?”

“Not quite, Dave. My Government appreciates the danger you guys have been put in and the part you’ve played in bringing this all to light, but we need to make sure the people concerned are dealt with. The reason O’Sullivan had you brought here is partly so you can hand over the card to this guy Morgan in the morning, partly to keep you away from O’Sullivan himself, and also to stop you going to the authorities or the media.”

David was confused. Was it all going to end simply with handing the card over to some Government agent? Before he had time to ask, Brent plucked the card from his grasp and was walking towards the kitchen door. “Sorry, mate, I got in through a window in the kitchen whilst you were in the bathroom. It’s probably best if I leave the same way, Just in case anyone is watching the front door. When you get up in the morning, act as if nothing has happened. If Morgan or anyone else hassles you for the card, try and stall them for as long as you can. Don’t let on I’ve been here, obviously. Someone will be here to get you out no later than eleven. Good luck.”

Brent left David confused and scared as he disappeared through the kitchen door.

A head reappeared round the door. “By the way, Dave, what’s the PIN?”