Show Me a Huia!

by Chris Barfoot

  He heard a window breaking, and the sound of youths yelling. The looting had begun.

  CHAPTER 41

  By 15:00 hours on Tuesday 25th January the Rotorua Police Station was in pandemonium. Frenzied home and business owners were thronging the public counters as burglars and looters roamed the streets openly exploiting the breakdown in security systems.

  The burglars and looters benefited both from the non-functioning of electronic doors and alarms and the fact that the police force itself was being depleted. Several policemen in Rotorua had decided to take a few days of their annual leave and were leaving town with their families heading for the Rotorua Lakes, Taupo and the Bay of Plenty beaches.

  Fortunately, the police system had its own generator.

  Matthew Piriaka had asked for a room to himself, where he was studying the report on the Mamaku Hill incident which had occurred at 01:00 hours on Monday 24th January. The involvement of vigilantes puzzled him. He already knew that the leader of the vigilante group at the Te Kuiti marae after the Maniapoto hold-up was also the leader of the group which had kidnapped the alleged Dr Tane Ngata after the service at St Peter’s Church. Now in the Mamaku incident Dick Burton looking at the police photos had recognised the same person as Dr Richardson’s orderly, who was introduced as Donald Borrow. Now he had checked the police file and found an incident three years before involving a teenager named Donald Borrow. His career at a prestigious private school in Auckland had been marked by his athletic and sporting success and he had been captain of the First Fifteen. However, he had been identified as the ringleader of a group of sixth form boys engaged in the bullying of third formers. Some of these incidents had shown such a sadistic tendency that the police had been notified. However, no action had been taken because of undertakings given by the Headmaster, the coach of the First Fifteen and his father, who was a well-known Auckland stockbroker.

  A spoilt boy with a tendency to violence.

  It fitted in with his own idea of the background of some vigilantes. From his observation at St Peter’s Church it was also apparent that the group had racist tendencies.

  There was strong evidence that the doctor had used vigilantes both at St Peter’s and on the Mamaku Hill to recapture his patient. There was also evidence that vigilantes had been involved in the abortive attempt to capture Ngata and the kidnappers in the Kaniwhaniwha. Why was the doctor using vigilantes at all? What reason did he have for bypassing the police? The police could have erected a roadblock on the Mamakus and captured the kidnappers without any problem. All the doctor had to do was to pass on to them what he must have found out himself about the getaway car and its movements.

  Was the doctor trying too hard to recapture his patient? After all, what was so special about this patient? In spite of media reports which appeared to have come from the doctor, police files showed no evidence of criminal activity or possible danger to the public. Was the interest by his doctor and the vigilantes more likely to do with his former career? The kidnappers had told Dick Burton that Ngata, formerly a brilliant geologist, had discovered uranium in the Waitoa, the same valley which was now the huia sanctuary.

  Unfortunately, he could not confirm that a discovery had been made as no one had access to Ngata’s research. The Geology Department had stated that staff research was the property of the individual staff member and they kept no record of it without permission of the staff member. A search of his flat revealed that it had been ransacked and his files had been removed.

  He and Ian Molloy had heard the story which came from the kidnappers to Johnny Matiu through his helicopter pilot about a base in the huia sanctuary and an electricity strike. Ian hadn’t taken the story seriously because he said it came from people who were either criminal or mentally ill or both.

  In fact a lot of people involved in this Ngata case were alleged to be mentally ill. Ngata himself had had “an irreparable mental breakdown”. The alleged kidnapper, Corbishley, according to a witness after the incident at Pataratara, could be mentally deranged. It had come through on the news that the Vicar of St Peter’s had been dismissed by his Bishop and was undergoing psychiatric treatment. Dick Burton the ranger had been ordered by his boss to have psychiatric tests.

  In fact the way things are going I might well be the next candidate!

  Yet, in spite of these improbable rumours spread by supposedly mental people, the strike on the power station had occurred. Terrorists were said to be involved, but no one knew where their base was.

  There was another story which had come through from the kidnappers – about biological weapons in the huia sanctuary. Like the report of the electronic strike, Ian had discounted it because of its source. Moreover, a request to investigate the rumour would cause huge political repercussions, as Dr Holcroft had absolutely forbidden any police intrusion into the Waitoa. In fact this shy, retiring man had suddenly become extremely vocal about anyone setting foot in his sanctuary.

  It was part of police training to assess evidence by the reliability of the source from which it came. You were also trained not to act on rumours, suppositions, opinions and evidence at second hand. If you made a mistake, the media were after you like vultures and your public credibility and the credibility of the police was at risk. So you listened politely to everything, but before you acted you needed to have hard evidence.

  Ian Molloy had trained him well and he understood and respected the time-honoured process by which his superior worked.

  The only problem was that it didn’t seem to be working.

  ***

  “Sergeant Piriaka, my name is Eruera and I’m ringing you because I believe you will understand. I am a senior kaumatua of Te Whanau-a-Apanui, and I live at Te Kaha.”

  Matthew was apprehensive. “How may I help you, Sir?”

  “Sergeant, have you by any chance heard of the tutumaiao?”

  “Um – you’ll have to help me.”

  “It’s an aitua or omen which warns of a defilement.”

  “Of course.” His lack of Maoritanga was embarrassing.

  “Yesterday morning we saw it again. It is the second time. Three years ago we saw it too. My people are afraid.”

  “Where did you see it?”

  “Over the Raukumara, the place of the royal bird.”

  “Aren’t you the iwi concerned with the huia?”

  “Yes, it’s on our tribal land. We have had the ceremony and we have the kaitiakitanga.”

  “Have you had advice about the tutu – er – omen?”

  “Yes, but our tohunga couldn’t find the problem the first time and they cannot find it now.”

  He felt annoyed. “I am a policeman. Why are you ringing me? What do you want me to do?”

  There was a silence at the other end as if his caller had recoiled from his words. He felt sorry that he had spoken so insensitively. “Do you suspect anything?”

  “We had thought that the bird of thunder would bring peace.”

  This time the policeman in him kept silent while the Maori listened. “You mean it hasn’t?”

  “The tutumaiao does not lie.”

  “But it’s a huia sanctuary.”

  “Yes, and we are the guardians.”

  “I believe I’m on to something pretty serious, Sir. I think we should check out the huia sanctuary.”

  Detective Inspector Molloy looked up from his desk coolly. “If you’re thinking of getting permission to go in there, this has been forbidden by Dr Holcroft, Director-General of Forestry.”

  “What if there’s something going on there? Shouldn’t we be going above Dr Holcroft’s head to the Prime Minister?”

  “Are you taking the word of criminals seriously?”

  Matthew decided it was time to tell his chief about the three appearances of Donald Borrow and the possible link between the Ngata and the McAndrew case. He also decided to throw in Kate Fairweather’s query about the war paint.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Sergeant. Any clever defence
counsel would laugh you out of court.”

  There was another thing Matthew wanted to talk over, but he did not know how to approach it. “You know how some of police and a lot of other people are getting out of Rotorua. Evidently they have been laying in stores for quite a while.”

  “Yes, they’re just going camping with their families, sensible at the moment, especially when there’s no power. I’ve been advised to go myself.”

  “Well, sir,” he said hesitantly, “they’re all Pakeha.”

  He knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing. “Sergeant Piriaka, how often have I told you – get evidence! Keep out of politics!”

  It was the end of the conversation, and a very strong rebuke. He had not even got onto the tutumaiao, and, if he had, the rebuke would have been even stronger. Matthew had not expected a different result.

  There was something in this case more important than hard court evidence, something deep down in him as a Maori man which he could not deny.

  I can’t shut up any longer, even though I lose my job.

  “May I speak to the Prime Minister, please. It’s Detective-Sergeant Matthew Piriaka of the Police. I have tried to go through my superior, but I need to speak to him privately. It’s extremely urgent. It’s about the suspected terrorists.”

  As he waited, Matthew thought about the ageing Waikato farmer, more farmer than politician, well respected yet regarded by most as a figurehead only, one whose Government struggled to keep power by the slimmest of majorities. It was likely that a crisis like this would finish him.

  “Gordon Harding here. How may I help you, Sergeant?”

  Matthew outlined his suspicions.

  The voice was thin but clear and precise. “I speak to you in confidence, Sergeant. I don’t know where the terrorist base is and I have no contact with it. I am being asked to resign by members of my Cabinet and to hand over to a coalition government who claim they’ll be able to negotiate with the terrorists to protect the National Grid which is now being threatened. They have also promised strong measures to curb the rioting and looting. I’m not giving in to terrorists, but part of the problem is I don’t know whom to trust.”

  “I’m in the same position, too, Sir. That’s why I’m ringing you.”

  The thin voice warmed. “I appreciate your call, Sergeant.”

  He decided to take a risk, and mentioned the tutumaiao.

  The old man listened carefully. “Yes, we must respect these things,” he said quietly. “Sergeant, would you let me know directly, confidentially of course, if you have any further suggestion. Ring me on this number …”

  It was 17:00 hours on Tuesday 25th January. Matthew looked out of the window and down Tutanekai Street. A depleted uniformed squad were preparing to take action against rioting. A group of Maori youths were coming down the street loaded up with new leather jackets, ghetto blasters and guitars. Two of them were carrying the Arawa Republic flag.

  Were these people the same as those protesting by the lake, or were they only meant to look like them?

  CHAPTER 42

  As Kate slept, she dreamed.

  And what a strange dream it was! She saw huia in their shiny, dark plumage and handsome white-tipped tails come trooping onto the Waitoa flat. They all linked wings and danced round in a kind of country dance. Beyond them she saw tui dancing in another circle. Near them an orchestra of bellbirds started chiming. And looking on she saw some schoolchildren with radiant faces. Standing among the children was Dick Burton.

  Suddenly she heard a deeper, different sound. Was it the moreporks joining the orchestra, she wondered. Then she realised that all the birds and the children had vanished. She was awake, and it was light. The sound was rising to a crescendo. Now it was like thunder.

  She saw it. Right above. A great, black shape.

  The shape was descending right on top of them like a gigantic black eagle about to seize them in its claws. She screamed.

  Then above the roaring she heard a voice. It was David’s.

  “Get under the logs!”

  Leaping out of her sleeping bag and tent, she plunged under a large rata log a few yards away and the others came diving in after her.

  Then she heard a sound like the hammering of a pneumatic drill. A line of holes suddenly appeared across the roof of her tent.

  The great black shape was revealed as a black helicopter gunship which now swung away and circled their campsite at a radius of about a hundred yards, getting ready to make a second attack.

  “This was a crazy place to come to,” growled Stan.

  Suddenly another helicopter came swooping in over the trees on the western side of the river. It was yellow just like Tom’s helicopter, and it had a big Number 2 on its fuselage.

  Then she heard Tom cheering, and she saw the name. Arawa Helicopter Lines.

  And now a deafening thunder of firing broke out. The first helicopter was firing at the newcomer. The black one was larger and had more firepower, but was less manoeuvrable. The smaller one darted, circled, swooped, like a swallow flying around a hawk, and its occupants seemed to be holding rifles and firing out of the windows.

  The gun. Why hadn’t she thought of it? She found her pack and brought it, fumbling with its mechanism.

  “Give it to me,” said Tom. “You have to get the tail rotor.”

  She saw him take careful aim and push the trigger. Immediately the black gunship, in the act of pouring its bullets into the smaller helicopter, started spinning around in an uncoordinated way, then it disengaged and wobbled over the trees towards the Mountain.

  The Arawa helicopter landed. Four rough men in bush shirts carrying 303s emerged and with them was a familiar green-shirted figure.

  “What’s going on here?” It was Dick Burton. As he rushed up to them, he said angrily. “What were those scum doing in my huia sanctuary?” He started to stride out in the direction the gunship had gone. “I’m going to book them for poaching.”

  “Dick, I’m sorry to tell you,” said Kate. “They’ve never even heard of huia.”

  “The bastards!” said Dick. “The bloody bastards.” He went over to a rotten log and kicked it furiously.

  Tom was talking to a big powerful-looking man with a moko who seemed to be in charge of the men in bush shirts. “Folks, this is Johnny Matiu, he’s my boss. And these are my mates that I take into the ranges.”

  The bush shirted men were all Maori. David couldn’t help picturing them on motor cycles with patches and leather jackets.

  They grinned. “Better than shooting possums, eh!”

  “And we don’t need electricity here.”

  It was as if David had been dowsed with a bucket of ice-cold water. “Electricity? Why? What’s happening?”

  “All the power’s off, all over Rotorua.”

  “Can you give me the exact day and time it went off?”

  “14:00 hours yesterday, Tuesday 25th January

  “A lot of people are moving out of Rotorua.”

  “The Pakeha can’t make hangi – eh!”

  Stan and Bill had been listening. The look of horror which they gave David only conveyed what he already knew. He glanced at his watch. 8 a.m. Wednesday 26th January. Those people leaving. No Maori. Only Pakeha. It could mean only one thing.

  The power station strike had happened. But it was the warning of something horrible beyond all imagination and it was to occur in six hours’ time,

  He felt sick as he looked at the newly arrived helicopter and the four possum hunters. Their families would not have evacuated. He tried to keep his voice steady. He did not have it in him to tell them. “Thanks for coming, but we’re a bit outnumbered.” He pointed towards the mountain. “It’s hollow. There’s a military base in there.”

  Johnny Matiu looked around at the mountain, the river and the sky. “OK. We need a pa to defend ourselves from attack.”

  Tane pointed downstream to where the flat ended in steep bluffs and the river vanished into the hidden gorge.r />
  “Let’s go, fullas,” said Johnny. “Just be careful with your ammo.”

  David watched Tane as he led the hunters down the river. His tousled head was held high, his face animated, his hands gesticulating, full of enthusiasm for the pa he was going to help build. Behind him went Kate, the attractive bespectacled accountant he had met on One Tree Hill. She was wearing a bush shirt and shorts and strode lightly along, talking cheerfully to one of the tattooed men. She appeared so unconcerned, just as if she were on a Sunday tramp. She even directed her companion’s attention to a whau tree blossoming white along the way. He smiled as if he appreciated it too.

  The early morning sun was touching the dewdrops and the trees appeared hung with a necklace of glittering jewels. The fantails flitted around their path, the tui were calling, the cicadas were lifting up their song as they felt the first heat of the day. The wisps of mist were slowly dispelling, revealing the steep beech-clad ridges rising from the valley floor.

  Was it all just a horrible dream? `

  CHAPTER 43

  Stephen Deveney was nervous.

  Last night it had all come back – the nightmare he had had about the Vietnam war which had led to the most difficult decision of his life – to defect from his beloved native land.

  He saw again the forest trails set off by firebomb strikes where the sensors had been detonated along the Ho Chi Minh trail in order to burn alive the Viet Cong peasant conscripts. He saw gleeful young pilots returning from their bombing missions, landing on aircraft carriers off the coast to the strains of the 1812 Overture, telling of the hated communists being engulfed by the flames. He watched his fellow scientists in front of the TV cheering the pilots on, like spectators supporting their favourite baseball stars.

  But last night the nightmare had had a terrifying sequel. After the pilots had landed, they were being congratulated by be-medalled generals and admirals. One of these admirals was a huge figure who from the back looked vaguely familiar. Then the figure turned round and he had seen the face. Surely it could not be Charles Hawthorne! There was a leer on the face and a horrifying coldness about the eyes.