“What?” Gary snapped at the old man. Cecil knew the old man to be a grump, but even he was surprised at the clear hostility in the old man’s voice.
“You heard me, mate,” the old man retorted. “I told your father when you two first arrived here, to go back to his old farm, but no! I told your brother here the same thing, but he would rather get reasons from me than to just listen!”
“Listen to what?” Cecil asked. “I have been trying to get you to tell me about the goddamn place since you started dropping hints about how bad it is, but you refused to tell me anything! Now you want to start bitching that we cannot get anything done, Nigel, while you keep shit from us!”
“Now you listen to me, sonny-boy,” the old man sneered, steeping up to the veterinarian. “Let me make this easy for you. Blow up the entrance to the mountain and forget about your daddy. Going up there in the first place was just irrational. What are you Hardings, a bunch of fucking possums? You have to creep into holes in the ground when you see them?”
“Listen here, you old bastard,” Gary fumed, lunging at Nigel Cockran, but Sgt. Anaru and Cecil restrained him. “We needed tractor parts! There was an old tractor in the mouth of the hill, so what were we supposed to do? Go and buy new parts for an old machine we had just because of some weird fucking markers on our land?”
Amongst the scuffling and shouting in the barn, a singular, gentle voice peaked.
“When you are all done bringing Sodom and Gomorrah to the farmyard, I have some guests from out of town to announce,” said Sally, Nigel Cockran’s motherly spouse. They ceased their bickering and turned to find Sally standing in front of a small group of strangers. She continued gracefully, “This is the lovely Louisa and this is Eddie. They are from Oz. And they brought some friends from Scotland to help us with this catastrophe. God knows we need more help.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cockran,” Louisa smiled, relishing the special attention Mrs. Cockran gave her above the pretty Nina Gould.
“Are you the people I had contacted via the main center in Adelaide?” Cecil asked, beaming with hopeful anticipation.
“If you are Dr. Harding, the veterinarian, then yes,” Louisa affirmed cordially.
Cecil went to meet the new arrivals. Almost instantaneously, his eye fell hard on Sam Cleave, the good-looking journalist that stood behind the pretty historian, Dr. Nina Gould.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he told Sam as he relished the strong Scot’s grip. Sam, a seasoned receiver of unsolicited affection, could tell right away that the veterinarian was looking at him in a manner that made him uncomfortable. Fortunately, Nina interrupted the tender moment by introducing herself and asking about the Hardings’ farm inheritance.
“Oh, my father inherited it from a great uncle of his a year or so ago,” Cecil answered her boastfully, trying to impress Sam.
“But you never knew him?” she asked.
“No, afraid not. I have been in Wellington for quite a few years now, you know, running a lucrative practice. May I ask, in what capacity are you and your colleagues here to assist us?” he asked Sam.
“Actually, I am here to film footage of the investigation,” Sam answered, trying to use his eyes to beg Nina not to leave him. “Miss Palumbo and Mr. Olden asked me to run a story on the poison deaths of the Australian dingoes, so when we heard of New Zealand poisonings, we thought it would be a good idea to film here as well.”
“Dr. Harding,” Nina asked, “do you also believe that these animals died of snake venom?”
“Oh, no, my dear Dr. Gould,” he replied with overconfidence, “New Zealand has no snakes. Have a look on your iPad if you don’t believe me.”
Nina raised an eyebrow, her surefire portend to a tiff. Sam grabbed her against him and broke that well-aimed death stare she usually marked her opponents with. “I also did not know that there were no snakes in New Zealand, Dr. Gould. Rather unbelievable to me as well.”
“Well, maybe not reptilian snakes, but I would not write off the possibility of a few vipers just yet,” she spat with a spiteful smile than ran Dr. Cecil Harding’s blood cold. By his expression, Sam could see that he had been thoroughly disarmed by the feisty little historian and her anti-bullshit regimen.
“Excuse us?” Sam smiled and pulled her with him to join Eddie Olden and Nigel Cockran, who were discussing the two carcasses on the bed of the old farmer’s truck.
“Oh, Jesus,” Nina cringed at the sight of the animals. “Were those your dogs?”
She kept it to herself, but she knew Sam and Purdue would also notice that the mummified animals resembled the dire fate of the SS soldiers on the shipwrecks.
“They were my dogs, before that unnecessary meddling at the mountain,” the old man bit again, but Gary said nothing in return. He was listening to Purdue. The billionaire explorer was explaining what his involvement in the excursion entailed, but he did not use the word, ‘expedition’. He called it an ‘aided investigation’ into the animal deaths. “Of course, we will also like to help look for your father while Mr. Cleave films footage for his expose to help bring the culling plight to light on an international level.”
‘My God, I am lying through my arse to these people,’ Purdue thought as he was spinning his obligatory yarn. ‘What I would resort to find the truth behind the Black Sun’s doings is becoming unprecedented.’
“Tomorrow, the weather is sure to get better,” Sgt. Anaru declared, “but unfortunately the bad juju of the past few days had chased off most of our manpower in the search.”
“All of them?” Cecil asked.
“No, we still have five men left from the original group, two of which are native elders,” he reported.
“Is that a good thing?” Nina asked.
“Why do you ask that, Ma’am?” the sergeant asked.
“Because if they merit a special mention, it means that you hold them in a different regard to the other men you mentioned,” she elucidated quite articulately. Those present had to agree that Nina had a point and all of a sudden, Sgt. Anaru found himself the center of attention.
He shrugged, “I am not a superstitious man, my friends, but what the elders told me last we were up there was a bit unsettling and I don’t want their stories to influence our search or our investigation. That is all.”
“What did they tell you?” Louisa pried.
“With respect, lady, what did I just say?” he asked Louisa. “I do not want anyone’s head filled with stories about this place. You and your colleagues are here, mainly, to find the origin of the animal poisoning, and secondly, to help us find Mr. Harding, right? So, please forgive me for not spreading old wives tales while we all have to focus on the tangible.”
“I am a historian,” Nina chimed in. “It is very much my business what the elders know about the history of this place, Sergeant. If you don’t mind, I will be picking the brains of these men tomorrow.”
“Be my guest, Dr. Gould, but I don’t want anything to influence the search for these cruel poachers or to mar the focus on Mr. Harding,” Sgt. Anaru insisted.
“No problem, Sergeant,” Purdue reassured the officer in charge. “We will pursue both interests to the fullest, as long as we have the liberty to make our own decisions.”
“Aye, I agree, sir,” Sam told the officer. “After all, we are here voluntarily to assist you with a problem your own associates refuse to. Anything we wish to know from any other source, I think, we are fully entitled to.”
Nina was impressed. No wonder Sam was such a brilliant reporter. He had a way with words that made diplomacy an art he could wield like a scepter. Watching the obviously authoritarian police officer yield to Sam’s subtle assertiveness in freedom of choice was sublime. Even Purdue gloated at his colleague’s diplomatic statement.
“Very well, then,” Sgt. Anaru conceded. “But know this. I will not be taking responsibility for your safety beyond the boundaries I have set out. You are all witnesses to my advice in this search, so if anyone gets hurt or, God
forbid, killed, the Arthur’s Pass Police Service will not be accountable.”
“That is acceptable, sir,” Sam affirmed, pointing a high-def handheld straight at the officer. “And we have you on record, so no worries.”
“Good,” the sergeant sighed. “We will meet you at Nekenhalle in the morning, alright?”
The entire group answered favorably as the two officers waved them a goodbye and they all stood for a moment, watching the police officers drive off in the distance with a cloud of dust in their wake. What they did not see was the two solitary figures obscured by the billowing tuft of dirt approaching the Cockran house.
28 What Lurks in the Dust?
Sally loved having so many guests. She loved her husband, but most nights he was understandably exhausted, and on other nights he was just a plain old grump, which did not make the best of company. Now she had some interesting conversation due, if she could keep up with the cooking.
“Mrs. Cockran, we can really stay over at a holiday resort,” Purdue smiled. “There are some cabins down at Lake Brunner, you know.”
A light slap to his arm affirmed the friendly lady’s protest. “Don’t you dare rebuke my offer, Mr. Purdue. I insist! Of course, I cannot offer you the luxury accommodation I am sure you Brits are used to, but it is clean and a lot more personal.”
Nina was smiling at Purdue’s amusing body language, lurching over the small farm wife like an awkward teenager. “Oh, we don’t care for luxury,” he assured Sally. “If you had seen the places we have had to sleep before…”
“Aye,” Sam agreed. “We are the most unspoiled lot you will ever meet.”
“Even though you are all stupidly wealthy,” Miss Palumbo chipped in. Her tone was oddly cordial for such a snide remark. Sally looked a bit confused, having no idea who her guests were in the outside world. Nina lolled her head to one side and Louisa knew she was about to be confronted.
“Wealth is subjective, my darling,” Nina said. “What you see as wealth might be a burden of responsibility to someone else. Besides, if you feel uneasy among us stupidly rich lot, the barn looks rather accommodating.”
“How dare you!” Louisa gasped.
Nina smiled sarcastically. “What? If you want to think like a brainless peasant, I’ll treat you like one.”
“Nina,” Sam said softly, reading Nina’s hostility towards the conservationist as a clear sign of misdirected jealousy. In fact, it flattered him just a little.
“No, Sam, I could not give a shit about money,” she whispered harshly, shooting her address straight at Louisa. “I studied very hard for many years to attain my doctorate, only to get my ass kicked by sexist professors. I had faculty politics fuck me over, keeping me from tenure by some bullshit technicalities, until Purdue employed me as a freelance advising historian.” Nina’s dark eyes were on fire as she slowly approached Louisa. “The last thing I need is for a stranger, an ignorant hussy in a bush uniform, to pass judgement on me for making my own fucking way in the world.”
‘Ouch,’ Sam cringed in his mind.
“Nina,” Purdue fell into the mix, smiling uncomfortably as he gently seized the petite firecracker away from the terrified Louisa, who had now back into the living room corner. Sam was relieved to see Purdue twirl with Nina in an evasive dance, supposedly jesting to get her away from her target.
“Jesus Christ, what is her problem?” Louisa asked Sam, her eyes wide and stiff.
“She is defensive,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “It is true, though. Nina has been through hell, quite literally, since she became involved with us. You’re a woman. I’m sure you have been faced with sexist bullshit in your career.”
“Plenty,” she concurred. “Try being a big wildlife ranger amongst a bunch of macho assholes.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Nina barely got away with her life at times and the success she has amassed over the years, really should not be used to make assumptions.”
Louisa understood now, yet she dared not apologize to Nina before the historian had put out that inferno she held in her tongue. The even-tempered Aussie had heard about the Scottish temperament, but she never dreamed that it was this harsh. Throughout dinner, Sam found Nina unnaturally quiet, but he guessed that it was due to her brief scrap with Louisa, exacerbated by Mrs. Cockran placing Sam next to her.
After dinner, Sally denied all offers to help with the dishes. Instead, she served ice tea and beer where they congregated outside on the veranda for a bit of fresh night air. Under the thick coverage of the cloudy night, it was warm and pleasant, even though the weather was unusual for the time of year.
Purdue, of course, was interested in finding out as much about the area as possible, but all he could muster from the Cockrans was some history of gold mining and the three severe storms that sporadically devastated crops between the Arnold Valley and Greymouth.
“Tell me about the mine on the Harding farm, Gary,” Purdue requested.
“It’s dirty, old, and it ate my father,” Gary mumbled indifferently.
“You sound pretty sure that your father is in the mine,” the old farmer sneered. “Uncanny, isn’t it?”
Gary Harding ignored Nigel Cockran, and chose to address Purdue instead. “I have only been there a few weeks, Dave,” he recounted, “but I was there when my father scuttled into the mine’s entrance when the shit hit the fan.”
“Yes, about the shit hitting the fan, son,” old Cockran started, nursing a small coffee mug filled with beer. “You were about to tell me a bit about that this morning, remember, before your brother got up?”
Cecil leered at his brother. “Funny. He told me he could not remember much in the chaos. I found him practically catatonic inside the house.”
“It is true, mate,” Gary retorted. “I don’t remember much from that brief period of madness when Dad disappeared.” Gradually, the different conversations among the group of people ceased to tune into the intriguing account that Gary Harding was delivering. “I did not remember much, and what I do remember was not worth mentioning.”
“Why?” his brother asked abruptly.
Gary hesitated, but on realizing the attention was on him, felt compelled to tell the party around him. At least, with this many people about, his brother and the old farmer could not just dismiss his words as folly. It was hard for him to reach back into the hazy bedlam of that afternoon, but he had to bring it to light, no matter how crazy it sounded.
“Look, we needed parts from the Agritek tractor, so Dad made me help him clear the weeds and matagouri…”
“What the hell is matagouri?” Purdue frowned.
Collectively, the Hardings and Cockrans babbled that it was an indigenous thorny weed, usually rare, on the South Island.
Sam nudged Nina and whispered, “Agritek tractors. I once did a scoop on a wheat farmer who ran a drug cartel from his farm, so I learned a bit about farm machinery.”
“Fascinating, Sam,” Nina said, rolling her eyes while Gary was recounting how he had to struggle maintaining his footing on the loose black soil.
“It is just interesting,” Sam explained. “Those tractors were made in and imported from Argentina.”
Purdue and Nina took a moment to process the seemingly insignificant shard of information, but soon they snapped what Sam was drawing about. Of course, it was for Argentina being the Nazi sanctuary from where the twin ships would deploy the Inca operation and Operation Eden, respectively.
“I’m just saying. If they could import Argentinian farm equipment, they could have had other business ties between Argentina and New Zealand,” Sam remarked.
“That is a valid theory,” Purdue conceded, and with that recovered his attention on Gary Harding.
“We were up at the mouth, chopping through the brush, when I saw something move in the branches, making the stems of the weeds shake like this,” he described, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I thought it was someone squatting in the hill, you know, not wanting us to find him and I could not see him t
hrough the leaves. I figured he was leopard crawling towards Dad, so I froze, pissing Dad right off,” he snickered bitterly. “But the bushes started shaking like crazy, right, so I told Dad not to move. Being Dad, he did the opposite, charging at the bloke in the bushes without even knowing how big he was.”
“And they fought?” Cockran asked.
“Too right, they fought,” Gary affirmed. “Like two bloody wrestlers, I just saw them roll into the mouth of the mine. Just dust, man, everywhere. I heard Dad screaming, and I heard the other blokes screech like they got really hurt, right, and the dust choked me and burned my eyes, so I saw nothing else. But I swear to God, this part is true.” He waited, his chest heaving as the apprehension gripped him. Gary stared into space and whispered, “I swear to God I am not lying.”
“Yes, we gather that,” Cecil sighed. “Now, what is it you are not lying about?”
Gary’s countenance was laden with distress. “Under my hand I felt something slide, something massive, cool to the touch and scaly. My eyes were burning too much to open them properly, but I swear that it was a snake.”
“I thought that there were no snakes in New Zealand,” Nina said, perplexed.
Cecil nodded. “That is what makes my brother so adamant that we know he is dead serious, I suppose.”
“I am dead serious, mate,” his brother contested. “I know what I felt. I know what I saw.”
Playing the devil’s advocate, Sam asked, “Alright, what kind of snake do you think it was? It might explain the snake venom in the dead animals.”
Purdue’s face lit up at Sam’s suggestion. He could not agree more.
Gary shrugged. “An Anaconda or a Python.”
“Preposterous,” Cecil scoffed.
“Who the fuck are you to doubt me?” Gary growled at his brother.
“Um, I am a veterinarian,” Cecil bragged. To insult Gary even more, he blatantly laughed at him. “And I bet you a year’s worth of Lion Red that there is no such thing as an Anaconda on South Island, mate!”
Keepers of the Lost City Page 16
