Show Me a Huia!

by Chris Barfoot

  “Sorry, folks, all I can see is the tops of trees.”

  Tom circled well away from the Hollow Mountain and came into the Waitoa on a stretch above it, screened from it by a bend in the river. They got out stiffly and had difficulty in standing upright. The very ground seemed to be swaying.

  “Look out for hollow twigs,” said David.

  Treading gingerly in the darkness and using their torches sparingly, they hauled the camouflage net over the helicopter and laid out their sleeping bags and mats.

  Soon the camp in the Waitoa was still, but David remained awake to keep the watch.

  It was 1 a.m. on Tuesday 25th January.

  It was true that coming here was the only way of forcing his hunters to meet at the one point where it could make a difference – at the very headquarters of the terrorists themselves.

  Yet it was a huge risk, a mad, foolhardy decision which he had taken only because so many other lives were at stake.

  But this was not the only risk.

  There was that other dimension which was too awful to share. In his mind’s eye David saw again that fiery line across the sky – the revenge that was coming – the utu or payback which the land itself would exact upon those who had defiled it. How would it strike and when? Would it strike indiscriminately the innocent and the guilty? The tutumaiao was over the Raukumara. Would the mountains themselves rise up in a cataclysmic frenzy of destruction and revenge?

  CHAPTER 40

  “Tom’s usually such a reliable fella.”

  Johnny Matiu, owner of Arawa Helicopters, had come up the hard way. His father had been an alcoholic; he had been a school dropout, a petty thief who had spent time in Borstal. After his “training” in Borstal he had developed into a tough patch-wearer with a reputation for street fighting in his hometown of Rotorua. His gang was the Motley Mob which controlled territory in Rotorua, Kawerau, Murupara and Te Teko. He had spent several years in the Mob and had had a number of brushes with the police.

  Fifteen years ago Johnny had been sentenced to periodic detention, working on Mokoia Island cutting blackberry and uncovering historical places associated with Hinemoa and Tutanekai and the former tangata whenua. The work on Maoridom’s Holy Island had a strong influence on him, and, after his sentence ended, he got involved in work for the Trust that was doing the restoration. He was eager to help others like himself to see the positive side of their Maori inheritance, and quickly showed gifts of leadership and organisation. The Trust advanced the money for a flying course and on the completion of his flying hours Johnny was able to pilot the helicopter which was used for transport to the Island. Within a few years he became Chief Executive of the Trust and was handling large amounts of Government money for Mokoia Island and other projects in the Rotorua district.

  After ten years with the Trust Johnny achieved his greatest ambition – to establish a business of his own. With the help of a new government scheme he was able to form a company and purchase two helicopters which specialised in taking hunters into the wild, bushed ranges which lay to the east of Rotorua.

  Johnny could be said to be a self-made man, and, like other people of this type, was decisive and determined. But after the previous night’s phone call he couldn’t sleep.

  He had heard first from the irate hunters from the Kaniwhaniwha who had booked the helicopter for 07:50 hours on Monday morning. Shortly afterwards the police had rung him with the identity of the hijackers. He vowed at first to skin them alive if he caught them. The money side was very bad. The two helicopters had cost him the best part of a million dollars each, and he had a big loan. But the situation was worse than this. He had rung the insurance company on Monday morning and they told him that hijacking, which they referred to as “terrorist action,” was probably not covered.

  The first call from Tom Davies had come through at 18:15 hours on Monday night. Tom said that he was alive and well. This was a relief because he had been out of radio contact, which could have meant he had crashed.

  But was he really alive and well?

  Those kidnappers were bad news if what the papers were saying about them was true. Any story that they told was bound to be lies. Yet Tom was one of his best pilots and had been with him for five years. All the farmers up the Kaniwhaniwha where he had been hijacked swore by him. And the possum hunters that he took into the ranges – they didn’t want anyone else. Trusted him to get them in and get them out whatever the weather, and some of those valleys they hunted in were very tricky.

  Tom was a quiet bloke, but absolutely on the level. Normally you could believe everything he said.

  Normally. But what he was saying now was different.

  He looked across at the photos on his desk. Katarina and the kids. He had talked it through with Katarina after getting the first call. He had been angry because he thought Tom might have been making the call at gunpoint. He was also upset because he thought Tom had been deliberately keeping off radio contact. Katarina had told him to trust Tom. The two wives were very close. Tom had a great family too. Their children were also mates and at the same school.

  When the second call came at 21:00 hours that night, he had listened more.

  He went into the kitchen. Katarina was putting kumara into sandwiches for the children’s lunches. “Tom’s rung again. They’re flying into the Waitoa tonight.”

  She shook her head. “The huia sanctuary. Tricky, tricky.” Then she took his hand and looked straight into his eyes. “Johnny, you gotta do something. “

  Next morning he settled his large form with its ample puku into his big Chrysler Valiant and drove into Rotorua. Near the lake he noticed a small group gathered round a red and orange flag, some press vans and cameras and a few policemen. It was an Arawa flag asserting a desire for their own republic. These people always attracted the media. and whatever they said, no matter how weird, was always reported. The police had taken no action against them in connection with the hold-ups as they were thought to be harmless.

  The ranger fella that he had passed the first message on to was straight up and down. He would talk it over with him first.

  ***

  “Mr Burton, I know you have the police there, but your appointment at the clinic is in five minutes’ time.”

  “What appointment?”

  “The one that Dr Holcroft arranged.”

  “Which one?”

  The psychiatric check-up”

  “Tell them to go to hell!”

  “Mr Burton!”

  “Tell them I can’t get away. Make it tomorrow.”

  “And Mr Johnny Matiu is here. He wants to talk to you about Tom Davies.”

  “The helicopter bloke. Send him right in.”

  “Johnny Matiu, glad you came in,” said the ranger. “Sorry your firm got mixed up in all this. I’d like you to meet Detective Inspector Molloy of the C.I.B. and Detective Sergeant Piriaka.”

  Johnny was pleased to see Matthew Piriaka again. Matthew had started his police career in Rotorua before he had been promoted to Auckland. He had been involved with Matthew when he worked for the Trust, as the people he employed often had police records.

  Dick Burton sat on the edge of his desk in the limited space left by empty and half-empty cups of coffee and piles of paper which also covered most of the office floor.

  It doesn’t look as if he sits at his desk much, thought Johnny.

  Dick didn’t appear happy. His ginger hair was dishevelled and it looked as if he hadn’t slept. He cleared some papers off a chair. “Have a seat,” he said.

  The C.I.B. inspector was thin-lipped and grim as he looked at the burly intruder with the moko. “Is this a police matter?” he said.

  “Too bloody right it is, Inspector,” said Johnny. He told them about his first phone call from Tom Davies, but followed Tom’s instructions about the second.

  “So, Mr Burton, this confirms your statement that you received a call from Mr Matiu on Monday 24th January at 18:15 hours,” said the Inspector. His voi
ce registered no emotion. “So what we have is authenticated voice evidence that all these people are still alive. These same people also allege that they are in the headwaters of the Raukawa River in the Raukumara with a helicopter stolen from Arawa Helicopters on Monday 24th January at 07:00 hours.”

  “Does this mean you’re not going to do anything to help Tom?” Johnny began belligerently.

  The inspector ignored the interruption. “We’ve made our own investigations which we are not yet at liberty to disclose. Nor are we able to advise you of possible further action on this case. May we be excused, Mr Burton? We have other appointments.”

  Inspector Molloy went out first, but, as Matthew Piriaka followed, he stopped just briefly alongside Johnny Matiu, long enough to whisper, “If you have any new leads, let me know.”

  As soon as the police had left, Dick exploded. “So much for our great New Zealand police,” he said. “These people allege... not at liberty to disclose... not able to advise you,” he mimicked. “They’re only interested in official reports, commissions of enquiry and media releases. They treat me as if I was a nut case because they know I’ve been ordered to see a shrink. Well, let me tell you no one’s going to push me around. Kevin’s gone away on holiday and left no address. And when I insist on checking out Harry Wilson’s story, I am threatened with dismissal by Dr High and Mighty Holcroft. He hung the phone up on me twice yesterday, first when I rang in the morning about Harry Wilson and the second time when I rang him last night immediately after you’d given me the message from your pilot. I’ve never known a bloke lose his cool like he did.”

  “What did you say to him last night to stir him up?”

  “I told him that the unmarked helicopter looked like a massive poaching operation and I just asked him if I could go into the Waitoa to see what was going on.”

  “And he said you couldn’t go in?”

  Dick nodded. “Worse than that. He’s accused me of deliberately helping the kidnappers and their victim get away from the doctor bloke on the Mamaku Hill because I didn’t notify the police till four o’clock in the morning. The trouble was I meant to ring them, but I was working in my office when I got back.” He added ruefully. “I didn’t tell my wife either and she wasn’t too impressed when I arrived home at five in the morning.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Holcroft or no Holcroft, I’m going to get in there somehow, even if I get fired as a result.” He clenched his fists. “No one’s messing about with my huia.”

  Just then there came a furious knocking on the ranger’s door.

  Dick Burton’s secretary rushed in. “Mr Burton, everything’s suddenly gone off. I was listening to the news on the radio and it went dead. The photocopier won’t work and none of the lights will go on.”

  Dick looked at his watch. 2 p.m. Tuesday 25th January “No power cuts have been advised at this time,” he said. He glanced out the window. “I don’t think it’s just us.” They both rushed past the lifts, down the stairs and out into the street.

  People were emerging out of every building in Pukaki Street. Agitated groups were gathering, talking, looking up at the buildings, anxious, confused.

  “Find out from the Power Board,” Johnny said, and walked determinedly round into Fenton Street.

  The Power Board offices were locked and the doors protected by a cordon of police. The crowd was increasing every moment; the closed doors and the police presence were beginning to anger them.

  Suddenly the doors opened momentarily, and a man appeared as if thrust out from within. He wore a white shirt and a tie and sported a small moustache, all of which would normally have given him an air of authority. He stood on the front steps, blinking anxiously and looking uncomfortable.

  “Give us back our power!” someone cried.

  “We apologise for this unscheduled cut,” said the official. “We will be resuming normal services as soon as possible.”

  “When will that be?”

  “You will be advised as soon as we have the information.”

  “How are you going to get the information?”

  “We are expecting it to come to hand at any moment.” He attempted to smile, but one hand strayed nervously to his moustache.

  “This twerp doesn’t know anything,” said Johnny.

  Cars were coming in along Fenton Street. The crowd surged out into the road, surrounding the cars. “What’s happening? Does someone know what’s going on?”

  “People are saying the whole of the city is out. There’s been an accident.”

  As more and more cars came in, the information became more alarming.

  “People are getting stuck in lifts and underground car parks… The supermarkets are closing… The sewerage pumps aren’t working, and there’s a huge public health risk… The water supply’s been affected… The petrol pumps aren’t working…

  Johnny saw groups of youths gathering in front of shop windows and eyeing the goods now unguarded by alarms.

  “The police are going to be busy,” he said.

  Now a rumour spread down the street which was more alarming still.

  “It’s not an accident. It may be sabotage.”

  “Who are the people involved?”

  “A terrorist group.”

  Johnny looked at Dick intently. “Do you remember there was something about a secret base in the message from Tom last night?

  “About a disabling of the power station, and then some other attack twenty-four hours later. But I didn’t believe it because I thought the kidnappers had made it up.”

  Johnny pondered about his promise to Tom. “I ought to tell you also that Tom had seen some unmarked Black Hawk helicopters looking for them last night in the Raukawa.”

  “Where did Tom think they came from?”

  “He said they appeared to come, and then go back, over Devil’s Peak. Because it was getting dark when they went back, he didn’t think they were going far.”

  “But the huia sanctuary is on the other side.”

  They looked at each other, the same incredible thought dawning in each.

  Johnny made a decision. He couldn’t face Katarina or Tom’s wife and family again unless he did it. “Dick,” he said, “It doesn’t look too good for my man with all that carry-on. If you don’t have any success with your boss, I’ve got another ’copter I can fly in, and I can muster some hunters who’d like to get Tom out. Just give us the word, and we’re right with you. And I meant to tell you the second message last night was that they’ll be flying from the Raukawa into the Waitoa after dark tonight. You and I are the only ones who know.”

  “The Waitoa – my huia!” Dick’s eyes lit up as he held out his hand. “Put it there, Johnny! Do you think I’m even going to ask High and Mighty Holcroft about going in there? The only trip he’d give me would be one to the mental hospital.”

  “OK. Don’t say a thing to him. And don’t tell that police inspector either. But make sure you tell your wife this time! To anyone who asks we’ll be going on a search in the Urewera. There’s been some rustling up the Whakatane, and we’ll need rifles. You’ll be coming with us because you know the country. We’ll leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  Dick grinned. “What a shame! I’ll miss my interview at the ruddy clinic.”

  ***

  It was amazing the people Johnny knew. Dick suspected that they were often Mob members or ex-Mob. It was all word of mouth from one house to another. The fact that Tom was in trouble was enough.

  “Tom got us out of the Waioeka when the river came up”, “Tom flew in through that storm when Jack broke his leg in the Mangatutara…”, “Tom got us into those shitty gullies at the top of the Raukokore…”

  The hunters were already getting their 303s out of the cupboards and checking their ammunition.

  “Don’t forget, fullas, we’re after rustlers and we’re going up the Whakatane.”

  When they returned around Ohinemutu, the sun was setting behind Mt. Ngongotaha and a
cool breeze was blowing in over the lake. The power was evidently still off because some of the people were cooking in hangi in their gardens.

  Then they saw the cars. Loaded with camping gear on roofs and in trailers, they were beginning to form a continuous line moving out of the city.

  “It’s a funny time of day to be leaving,” said Johnny. “And it’s pretty strange they’re all setting out at the same time.”

  They were passing the tourist wharf. The Arawa Republic people were still there, sitting under their flag with blankets, sleeping bags and guitars.

  One of the cars went past. The Pakeha male driver leaned out of the window, his face screwed up with anger.

  “Do some bloody work!” he shouted.

  Dick was watching the occupants of the cars as they went past. “Hold it, Johnny, a moment.” He got out and flagged down another of the cars. The burly Pakeha driver stopped a little reluctantly.

  “Where are you heading, Peter?” he asked.

  “Rotoiti for a few days,” the other answered.

  “Half of Rotorua must be going on holiday,” said Dick. “What’s the attraction?”

  “If we can’t use our houses, we might as well go camping.”

  “So you’re expecting the power cut to go on for some time?”

  The burly man glanced at Johnny Matiu, then back at Dick. He looked as if he were about to say something, but his wife called out anxiously: “Why are we stopping here?” He suddenly took his foot off the brake and drove off.

  Johnny was looking thoughtful. “I didn’t believe Katarina when she said some Pakeha women were stocking up on canned food. I wonder if they know something.”

  Dick stood watching as the car disappeared down Fenton Street heading for the Whakatane turnoff. Peter McNair was a solicitor who had an office in the same building as the Forestry Service. He didn’t think Peter had been interested in camping before. And he had noticed the new Browning rifle in the back seat. He didn’t think Peter had done any shooting either.