It was a brittle night.
Tom raised his thumb. “It’s OK.”
Up the Raukawa Valley they flew without lights, guided by the horn of Devil’s Peak which lifted up into the night as if questing the mysteries of that luminous, star-studded vault. Then, breasting the watershed ridge, they felt their way down into the Waitoa headwaters looking for the specks of moonlit water. Soon the specks disappeared and the moonlight glistened on the sides of huge rock bluffs.
“Sheer hell!” Stan peered down into the blackness. “Took us three days.”
“You wouldn’t be able to see the bottom of the gorge, even if it was daylight,” said Tane.
“It runs in a slit in the rock,” said Bill, “but the slit is a thousand feet deep.”
Kate shuddered, but she wondered whether this way was any better. At least they would have been able to see the dangers.
In fact the trip was a nightmare for everyone except Tom who appeared to revel in it. Black shapes below them, black shapes beside them, black shapes above them, they soared and fell, veered and swerved like a roller coaster. When they seemed to be in almost uncontrollable spin, the cockpit would suddenly stand still, then rise gently upward, while Tom would give a low whistle.
“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.