“You’ve got it all so neat, nothing’s out of place,” George complimented as she set out some glasses and took a bottle of wine from the pantry.
“Yeah, I’m a tidy Kiwi.” She laughed, handed him a glass of wine and told him to perch on the tall stool. They chatted as she busied herself preparing dinner. The wine eased the tension and slowly they relaxed. When she started to set the table she handed George some secateurs and directed him outside to cut some flowers for the table. He returned holding some daffodils and jonquils which she put into a vase and set in the middle of the table.
“You’ve got a lot of rose shrubs in your garden. My mother used to grow roses and it was often my job to pick them for the house.” A nostalgic smile lit his face. “She had many varieties in her garden, all different colours and types, but her all-time favourite was named Peace. It had the most beautiful pale yellow blooms with a touch of pink on the petals. It always seemed to be in flower. Whenever I see roses I think of my mom.”
Pania listened in surprise. This was the first time she had heard him volunteer something personal.
“I love the old-fashioned varieties. They don’t last long in a vase but even when the petals fall they still have their own beauty. My neighbour Edith told me the climber on the veranda is called Birthday Present. It starts to flower in late November. The people who owned the house before me, loved roses and they left many varieties in the garden. I’m looking forward to summer when the garden looks and smells wonderful. This year I want to extend the borders and put in a vegetable patch. Rex, he’s Edith’s hubby, he’s offered to help me. It’s very relaxing in the garden.”
She was an excellent cook and mouthwatering aromas soon filled the little kitchen.
It was a relief to sit down. There was a companionable silence as they concentrated on their dinner happy to leave the worries of their work for a few hours. The wine and the food worked their magic.
“Who’s that?” George pointed to a photo on Pania’s mantelpiece.
“That’s my cousin Mira with her husband and little girl. Remember I visited her a while ago.”
“Cute baby. They look very happy,” said George.
“Yeah. Rawiri is director of three small country schools in the back blocks. I arranged for…” Pania noticed George’s head drooping. He was almost asleep as jetlag and tiredness washed over him. The events of the last week had piled up on him and he could hardy keep his eyes open. “You look done in. Why don’t you stay the night? I’ve a spare room and the bed’s made.”
He was too tired to argue. Somewhere at the back of his mind it seemed a good idea to stay around and keep an eye on Pania. The instant his head hit the pillow he had fallen into a deep sleep unaware that he was quite incapable of keeping an eye on anyone.
As she sat staring into the bright flames she reviewed her Forum responsibilities. Was she vulnerable? For the opening ceremony she was responsible for crowd control and would be very visible. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What extra should she do to keep people safe? Had they done enough, she wondered, and what did the involvement of Change Makers mean? The wood crackled as it burned sending little sparks up the chimney. She’d be glad when it was all behind her. She felt jaded and her mind bruised. Soon she could look forward to some new challenges. Maybe that was not something to look forward to. Perhaps Parsons was planning to shunt her out. She checked her phone - 8 missed calls, no messages, no identifying numbers. A flare of anger sent blood to her head. She felt vulnerable and alone even with George snoring in the spare room.
Later that evening, Pania carefully banked up the fire and placed the fireguard in front of the opening before heading for bed. At least the room would retain some heat in the morning and the fire would be easier to restart.
Pania tossed and turned, unable to sleep. They had been preparing for ROAR for the last four years and needed to be on their toes to face Brady’s threat but anticipation of trouble and the tension she’d held tightly contained till today, kept her awake. Nothing was quite as it seemed. Eventually she drifted off into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER 58
Most people were asleep when the ninth of September 2014 ended and the tenth started. Few watched the big hand on the clock move past twelve. Nothing unusual occurred on that moment. It was neither the end of the world nor the day of the second coming. In truth few were aware of the exact moment when the new day was born.
In those shadowy hours before the sun’s rays brightened the eastern sky, dozens of small bands of people were about. Temperatures were still a chilly 8˚ and the forecast was for dry settled weather with a light north westerly. Wind was never far from Wellington. The southerly had died off and a northerly gale was on the way. In the monitored heart of the city all was calm.
Overlooking Whites Bay, a short distance from Rarangi where the Cook Strait Submarine Cable entered the chilly waters the mystery driver of the third rental sat in his black Toyota and impatiently checked his watch. At the appointed time he sent a text message and immediately took the SIM card out of his phone. As instructed he waited. He had been trained by Denny and was confident that he would complete his task and achieve the required outcomes.
Poor bugger. He was a good bloke was Denny. Strict, fair, a good teacher, he thought and again he wondered if the accident had been arranged. Denny’s Gang had been badly shocked. Being questioned by the cops was a bloody nightmare. He shook his head at the memory. Only two of them had seen Denny signal. But it hadn’t been Denny or he’d not have been killed so who in the hell had they seen? He was damm glad it hadn’t been him who’d detonated the bloody explosives. They’d all felt uneasy after that, each secretly relieved that their contract was finished. I’ll watch my bloody back and make sure I’m not next, he’d decided. I think I might take a bit of a holiday, lie low and keep out of trouble. Waiting was hard work for time seemed to have slowed and everytime he glanced at his watch the hands had hardly moved.
State Highway 1 out of Pukerua Bay was blocked. For the last three nights it had been reduced to one lane and between 2am and 5am trucks blocked part of the road leaving only the seaside lane free. Temporary traffic lights controlled the flow at each end. During the day all sign of activity was gone. No-one took much notice; road works were not unusual, especially in the six months leading up to the Forum. The council was determined to impress its international visitors and prominent roads had been upgraded and the streets tarted up.
On the third night, the morning of the tenth of September, each member of Denny’s Blast Gang was busy. At Pukerua Bay Boy’s gang were busy. Under Bomb direction explosives had been carefully placed at the foot of the cliff, along the road, inside the railway tunnel and on the hillside above. Traffic had been stopped at a safe distance from the explosion site and heavy machinery blocked the road at both ends.
Further along the highway at Otaki, six men laboured in sullen silence, following the clipped instructions of their leader. Dressed all in black, hoods pulled over their heads and wearing dark gloves they completed their tasks. Even in the moonlight it was impossible to see them clearly, like stagehands between acts, they appeared as fleeting shadows. They had laid explosives along the bridge supports, stopped the traffic and set the timers.
Near the summit on the Rimutaka Hill two more teams were following similar instructions. Just after 4 a. m. , the leaders of the teams working on State Highway 1 sent text messages confirming that all was ready and threw away their SIM cards. High in the Rimutakas there was no cell phone coverage so neither team had been able to fulfil this directive. Undeterred they completed the rest of their instructions and disposed of their cell phones and SIMs separately.
CHAPTER 59
The cell phone with the blood-red sleeve lay silent beside its green twin. As electronic signals beamed across the Pacific Ocean they triggered a flurry of beeps and buzzing convulsions. Brady picked up the green phone.
“53 new messages,” his voice quivered with suppressed excitement
and satisfaction. Each message confirmed that another team was in situ, unopposed and undetected. The outcome was never in doubt yet still he felt inordinately pleased with himself. The future was now his. Nothing would go wrong. He’d thought of everything.
The emails had been a brilliant strategy. George was a soft target, fair game. He hadn’t heard from the gutless coward but he was sure his threats had had the required effect and the charges would be dropped. He could see George paralysed by his fear of exposure. Nothing had changed since college days.
What luck that George’s minder had been a chick. She presented new possibilities. The tail and the phone calls had been afterthoughts. He’d enjoyed pushing Pania out of her comfort zone. That she hadn’t caved in had surprised him but he knew that her equilibrium was gone. At least it distracted her and undermined her trust in George. They were fair game, he thought dismissively.
Brady was determined to win and nothing and no-one could be allowed to stand in his way. He felt like Hannibal crossing the Alps - the world lay open before him. He could taste success.
“Wesley you can relax. I’ve taken care of all the details and the stage is set for you.” He laughed. “Internet access to New Zealand will be out for some days so it may be a while before we get confirmation from all our guys.” His legs moved in a spontaneous jig in front of Wesley’s desk. “I’ve done it, actually done it. The ogdoan, thanks to Frank’s man have a new and unstoppable computer virus replicating undetected and migrating freely. There’s no antivirus software and already thousands of computers in New Zealand have been infected, millions of zombie computers around the world are all focussed on New Zealand’s Gateway Servers, and thousands of botnets are coordinating their denial-of-service attacks. Not only that, they’re supported by an army of hackers making sure that when one server is down the backup server follows. It’s incredible. It’s unbelievable. It’s pure magic. No-one saw it coming. By daybreak New Zealand will be on its knees.” He was drunk with success.
Wesley grinned back. He couldn’t help it, Brady’s joy was infectious. His worries from the past few days melted away. He’d been right to trust Brady; the other stuff was just coincidental.
CHAPTER 60
The hillside exploded. The tunnel above the road was destroyed and tonnes of rocks and soil plunged into the sea. It was exactly four thirty. The discarded SIM card, the road just north of Pukerua Bay and the railway line above, all reduced to rubble. In the confusion of the blast the gang slipped away leaving a small queue of increasingly impatient and concerned drivers waiting at each end of the road for the lights to turn green. Here and there in the queue of cars the local radio stations fell silent. Faint music, throbbing beats or the pulsing rhythm of rap filled the silence as ipods played on.
Eventually losing confidence in the workings of the traffic light, the leading car drove slowly along the road. Its headlights picked out the landslide. It was impassable. On the other side of the rubble a similarly tentative driver had been forced to halt his futile journey. Both drivers tried to use their cell phones and found they had no reception. It was an inconvenience and gave little cause for alarm.
Almost simultaneously two explosions were detonated high in the Rimutaka hills. One in the middle of the Rimutaka railway tunnel caused the roof to collapse; a mountain of rock covered the track and completely blocked the tunnel. The noise was muffled by the hill although the impact was felt by the men standing near the Featherston entrance.
Far above them, the excavated ledge, which carried State Highway 2, was covered in a landslide as the second blast went off. Traffic was delayed behind road blocks. The teams responsible made their way back to Masterton as planned and as instructed kept their mouths shut.
The destruction of a small bridge across the Otaki River completed the isolation of Wellington. The noise of the demolition and collapse of the bridge was heard in the township.
From his vantage point above Whites Bay, the fifth agent witnessed the flare as the explosion destroyed the cable. No-one else was on hand to observe the flash. All the delegates were asleep when the buildings and street lights were swallowed in darkness as the power failed. Those few night owls still about in the city stumbled in the sudden darkness before their eyes adjusted. Above the city the sky sparkled with innumerable pinpoints of light as distant stars pierced the blackness. Here and there the hum of generators disturbed the dead silence and lights flickered back into life.
Haywards, the substation receiving power from the North, was destroyed by a small rocket. Rockets also destroyed the satellite earth stations at Mahanga Bay and Mt Crawford. High voltage transmission lines were brought down and telecommunications were cut at Hawkins Hill, Mt Kaukau and at Makara. All key radio, television, cell phone and telephone transmission towers, substations and exchanges were destroyed. At the same time a concerted attack on the country’s internet servers added to the isolation.
In the electronic security centre deep below Wellington’s streets, the lights flickered as the generators took over. The operator was too stunned by the wall of black images to register. It seemed that all the CCTV cameras had failed at the same moment. He frantically pushed reset buttons on his computer without a single image reappearing. In growing panic, he reached for his phone but the line was dead. It was the middle of the night and he was under strict orders never to leave the room unattended. He pressed the emergency alarm. There was nothing he could do but sit and wait.
Pania was in a deep sleep. Outside, high in the ink-black sky the full moon’s cold brightness glimmered whenever the wind moved aside the veil of cloud. Its light fell onto the other side of the house, not into her room. Here it cast vague shadows, shapes which grew and faded. The first fingers of dawn were still an hour away and next door the sleeping hens roosted peacefully in their straw-filled nesting boxes, feathers fluffed to keep out the cold.
George slept on. At 4:30 am he awoke briefly to note the beep of a distant house alarm. He drifted back into exhausted sleep knowing she would wake him in due course.
Having witnessed the success of his mission, the fifth agent drove away, and less than half an hour later he had parked beside the other two cars outside the rental depot. He dropped the keys into the slot and started walking. In his pocket was a plane ticket in the name of Marc Childs. Across the road in the railway station car park, a leather-clad biker watched. He took a final drag of his cigarette then stubbed it out, grinding the remains into the road. The Harley roared into life and across the road. He picked up the agent and headed towards Nelson. No-one noticed them. As the Harley rumbled across the Wairau River a small black cell phone flew from the passenger’s hand into the dark water. The men stopped at Pelorous Bridge. Beside the car park was a standard council rubbish bin stuffed almost full with ice cream wrappings, paper cups, banana skins and worse. The SIM card slipped between the debris and a week later was buried in the nearby landfill dump. They resumed their journey to Nelson.
CHAPTER 61
Wesley clapped Brady on the shoulder.
“Congratulations, well done. The Forum opens in just over five hour’s time. Soon we’ll be in total control.”
“Yeah. I’ve done my job. Nobody died and no-one’s injured as you specified. I’m sure you’ll approve of my little projects. Everyone in Wellington will get a taste of what it means to live in a third world environment. Can’t you just see the flap! Officials running around like headless chooks. The delegates will all be aware of the threats they face. Wellington is just a prototype of what’s possible.”
“Good - right. I’m pleased you’ve avoided any collateral damage. Once the remits are tabled it’ll get interesting. It’s finally time for the richest nations to take responsibility for the poorest, time to become our brother’s keeper.”
“No doubt there’ll be plenty of debate before the vote is taken. You’ve got that under control Wesley?”
“Sure. We start high, create some anxiety and when we drop it down to our target, they
will think they have won a bargain! One thing I’ve learnt from years of negotiations; it’s all about perceptions and creating a win-win solution. I’ve instructed our Defenders to drink only bottled water. You’ve arranged supplies for them haven’t you?” Brady looked offended that Wesley had even asked, so he rushed on. “Thanks to that new drug which they’ll be sipping with their iced water, the other delegates will be susceptible to our Defenders arguments. They’ll want to agree unable to imagine any opposition. It’s in the bag!”
As he finished speaking he was suddenly transported back to his youth. He was sitting in a pew planning the week ahead not having listened to a word of the address, when the pastor’s voice exploded into his thoughts, finishing his sermon as was his custom with a quotation. His voice insistent, resonating with prophetic authority, echoed around the high ridged ceiling as his finger pointed directly at Wesley ‘and it is written, Do not boast about tomorrow for you do not know what a day may bring forth’. A spark of fear flared in the pit of his stomach just as it had so many years before and he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Unaware of his thoughts, Brady nodded.
“Food, water, drugs, it’s all under control Wes. It was so easy to win that contract and put our people in place. It should be child’s play to contaminate the iced water and turn down the air-conditioning. Lots of salty savouries on the menu for morning tea. That should make them thirsty. You’re right though. It’s an amazing drug, custom made for us.”
“When I first heard about it I didn’t give it any thought. Native peoples are so gullible, all that old hocus-pocus stuff but then I observed it being used and it blew me away. I watched the shaman control the crowd and bend it to his will. People lost their ability to reason or think logically. All they wanted was to obey. It’s a useful drug don’t you think and you’ve handled the transition from tree sap to synthetic copy perfectly.”