2014 Year of the Horse Read online

  CHAPTER 12

  The man with the javelin was closing the gap between them. George pounded up the dune, his throat raw as his lungs sucked in the dry thin air. The sand slipped treacherously under his bare feet then as he stumbled he saw the javelin leave Brady’s hand. A hole opened under him and he tumbled, freefalling, down, down, down. The plane hit the bottom of an air-pocket with a thump and he woke, heart racing and drenched in perspiration. It took him a moment to make sense of things and disarm his terrors.

  Of course he knew that dreams were meaningless, merely a chaotic jumble of thoughts and experiences pulled like a rabbit out of his deep subconscious. Still it took some time before he managed to force his thoughts in another direction. He leaned back, closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He pictured a duster wiping clean the black board of his mind and then onto the blackness he projected an image of a great oak and visualised the wind rustling through its green leaves. Bit by bit he reclaimed his quiet centre but sleep evaded him. Eventually he gave up trying, turned on his light and reached for his laptop.

  Few understood the mindset of those plotting terror or the shadowy organisations which backed them better than George. He loved his work and believed in it. That was why he spent more time travelling the globe than sitting at his desk or sleeping in his own bed. He considered it a privilege to meet the many dedicated individuals who generously shared their insights with him. His years of experience had seen him acquire a valuable instinct for trouble and those he worked with described him as being special, somehow different. He was not the stereotypical American official and no-one ever accused him of being loud or brash, or doubted his commitment to global harmony. His habit of listening to other views and his willingness to work in the background was appreciated. Fortunately, those whose aims were in direct conflict with George’s, often made the mistake of underestimating him and discounted his influence. Deceived by their first impressions, they assumed that his mind and talents were equally mediocre. He used these preconceptions to his advantage.

  As George reviewed his speech notes, his thoughts drifted to the purpose of his trip and he wondered who would be attending. Initial meetings with newly appointed stakeholders often carried complex undercurrents as various factions jostled to establish their influence. Nervous anticipation fluttered in his stomach. The hostess heard his belly grumble as she placed his food tray down. She grinned at him sympathetically.

  “Enjoy your breakfast sir,” she said.

  CHAPTER 13

  As he exited New Zealand Customs, George spotted the board with his name. Automatically he stopped to the left, the wall at his back and looked around the arrival hall observing the exodus and assessing the crowd for danger. No-one gave him a second glance. A steady stream of disembarking passengers passed in front of him and from all directions he heard the usual hubbub of shouted greetings and shrieks of delight. Momentarily amused, he observed the disruption caused as an overloaded trolley stopped unexpectedly, its driver staring around in confusion; like a large boulder in a river bed the stream of arrivals surged around him.

  For another few seconds he glanced over the waiting crowd and briefly scrutinised the tall, dark-suited woman holding the board. She stood to one side, aloof and disinterested, her thoughts elsewhere. Nearby a swarming mass of taxi drivers and tour guides held up similar name boards. As she moved her head, her dark brown hair caught the light reflecting a hint of auburn.

  He walked towards her observing the moment she realised he was heading in her direction. His lips stretched but the smile never reached his eyes. She responded with a slight toss of her head and he felt her dark eyes assessing him, taking in every nondescript detail. When he reached her he held out his hand.

  “George Ritmeyer, hi.”

  “Pania Morrison,” she countered as she returned his handshake.

  “Hi Tanya, pleased to meet you.”

  “It’s Pania, not Tanya. Pania of the Reef.”

  He reddened at her tone. The reference to Reef went over his head.

  “Sorry - my ears are a bit blocked. Decompression you know.”

  She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement of his gabbled apology.

  “Come, the car’s this way.”

  Without another word she turned and headed for the exit. George hung back as Pania queued and paid her parking fee then followed her as she led the way to her car. The light was bright and he squinted wishing he had his shades handy. She stood to one side as he loaded his bags into the boot. The trolley return was next to the car and she pushed it in as he dropped the lid with a clunk. He walked to the passenger side and had reached for the door handle before he noticed the steering wheel. He cursed under his breath. Pania watched him in silence. Again a flush of red crept up his neck. Mortified at his inattention, he looked up and detected a fleeting hint of amusement which took some of the sting out of her words.

  “Down under we do things differently. For one, we drive on the left.”

  Sheepishly he walked around the car and got into the passenger seat. God he’d better be careful. He found his dark glasses and hid behind them. There was no small talk during the drive into town. George fingered the coins in his pocket and Pania concentrated on driving. Music throbbed from the car radio but no matter how hard he listened, the words were unintelligible. Swallowing rapidly he jiggled his head hoping to clear his ears. Pania glanced across.

  “That’s a Mãori station. I can change to an English one if you wish.”

  George shook his head and turned his attention out the window. She was a competent driver but sitting beside her on the wrong side of the car he had a sense of disorientation. Perhaps it was jet lag. New thoughts chased each other through his mind. Would he need an interpreter? Surely the meetings would be in English? The few New Zealanders he’d met had always been friendly, spoken English. He glanced sideways at her unsmiling face. Her distinct lack of welcome disturbed him.

  CHAPTER 14

  Pania killed the engine, and turned to look at him. For a moment they sat in silence then the uneasy atmosphere in the car was suddenly warmed by her smile.

  “Here we are Saint George. Let’s see if I can find you a dragon or two.”

  Again George glimpsed amusement flicker across her face as she leapt out of the car. Perhaps she’d got out of bed on the wrong side or something had bothered her, he thought. Whatever it was, he was glad it was over. He grabbed his briefcase and followed. The uncarpeted corridor echoed. For an impossible moment it felt like Groundhog Day. The thud and squeak of his soles carried him back to 1990, back to that sultry September day when life shimmered with possibilities. The day he’d first met Brady.

  He gripped his briefcase firmly, not as tightly as he’d clutched his suitcase, its handle wet with sweat, his knuckles white. His shoes had felt heavy and clumsy and no matter how lightly he tried to step, his footsteps echoed making the same sound. Thud, squeak, thud. He’d progressed down that lengthy hallway in erratic strides, checking the numbers on the doors. He felt his eyes flick around, just as they had before; from the floor to the doors and back, up and down, up and down.

  He almost crashed into Pania as she stopped to turn the door knob. It pulled him instantly back into the present. He followed her into the small room where the Chief of the Diplomatic Protection Squad paced barking orders into his phone. He turned as Pania opened the door and abruptly ended his call. Pania spoke.

  “Morning Sir. This is George Ritmeyer. George, meet Ernest Parsons. Known to all as Parsons.”

  As she completed introductions her smile flashed over him. That smile should slay a few dragons, he thought as he shook hands. Parsons grip was brutal.

  “Pleased to meet you Ritmeyer. Good flight? Hope you got some sleep?”

  “Yes sir, glad to be here. Not used to these long nonstop flights. We did strike a few air-pockets. Gives you quite a jolt, if you know what I mean. Still I can’t complain. Business class sure makes the trip more bearable. The staff lo
oked after me and the food was better than usual so I feel just fine. I’m keen to meet your stakeholders.”

  The words tumbled out in a rush.

  “Right. Er … pleased to hear that. This meeting’s just an opener, nothing important, get to know a few faces and exchange business cards. That sort of thing. Just say the word when jetlag hits. We can always stop early today.”

  “Thanks. That’s so kind sir. I hope it won’t be necessary to shorten any sessions. I’ve always found these initial meetings very helpful. It’s good to build rapport and know where we all stand. It’s important to be united. That way we can fight terrorism together.”

  “Yes. Right. Of course. Well Ritmeyer, or would you prefer I call you George?” George nodded. “Okay. George, I don’t expect we’ll be facing any of that down under, nothing we can’t handle on our own. So you just relax, sit back and get on with your observing. Now, we have a few formalities to sign off before we can start. Let’s get things underway then we can move on and you can meet the others. Grab a pew.”

  George took the seat indicated. Parsons and Pania sat down on either side of him and, in a quiet voice intended only for George, Pania whispered.

  “Ernest in name and earnest in nature.”

  George glanced sideways. Parsons certainly did not appear frivolous or particularly welcoming. He was a solidly built man, muscular rather than fat, a man used to making decisions and directing others. His slightly wavy hair was peppered grey; still thick, George noted enviously, it showed no sign of receding. His tailored suit and matching tie of dark corporate blue was offset by a crisply ironed shirt of palest blue and George was suddenly aware of his own slightly frayed collar and lack of starch.

  On the table lay a confidentiality agreement. He dealt with it quickly and they countersigned. Parsons handed two copies to Pania and one to George. Without further thought he stuffed it into his briefcase.

  “Right let’s meet the troops.” Parsons stood and held the door for Pania. George followed in silence, clutching his briefcase. Ahead of him, Pania and Parsons chatted about Saturday’s Rugby game. Pania retrieved their name tags then led the way to the urns. She knew almost everyone and introduced him to those standing nearby. Every government department seemed to be represented. George smiled, nodded and sipped the bitter coffee. It tasted stewed but it was full of caffeine. The doors to the conference room opened and slowly like sand in an egg timer the room filled. George followed the others. He felt he’d already made a fool of himself so he said little, concentrating hard to understand the new accent.

  A large table made from light coloured wood glowed in the centre of the room. Several bowls of peppermints and jugs of iced water, dripping with condensation, awaited them. Centre stage a posy of roses arranged in a clear ball-shaped vase provided a touch of unexpected colour.

  It was a corner room with large picture windows on two sides. George found himself drawn by the stunning view of an island volcano. A classic cone, its sides sloped gently into the shimmering sea. Pania glanced at George then back at the island.

  “That’s Rangitoto. The Mãori name roughly translates to ‘bloody sun’ or if you prefer ‘bloody sky’ and I’m not swearing.” She laughed at her own joke. “It first erupted more than six hundred years ago. They found footprints of people and a dog in the ash layer from that first eruption. I reckon that they must have got a bit of a shock! If I’d been there, I’d be getting out as fast as I could.”

  George nodded not taking his eyes from the view. Pania chatted on.

  “Did you know that Auckland’s built on an active volcanic field? Did you notice them as we came in? Those hills over there are small extinct volcanoes too. There are lots scattered around the city. Yeah Auckland has its volcanoes, Rotorua its geysers and Wellington its fault lines. You could say this is where nature has the final say.” She paused then grinning apologetically added, “Sorry I wasn’t a better tour guide on your drive in.” She turned again to look out at the island. As if talking to herself she continued. “I love this view; it changes all the time. Today it’s peaceful but at other times it can be dark and threatening. Sometimes cloud rises as if from the cone and you’d think it was smoking, then in December the island glows red for weeks when the pohutukawas flower.”

  Pania focused on the panorama before them. George said nothing, imagining the red sun as it rose above the eruption. It must have been quite something. Behind them the hubbub quietened and reluctantly they turned and found their seats. Name tags identified the seating. They sat down together and George glanced at the attendee list. He was pleased it had been provided. Whoever organised the meeting had thought of everything. As well as the list, everyone had pens, paper, and a glass tumbler set on round mats of blotting paper. Pania leaned towards him and tilting her head towards their neighbours said in a low voice.

  “The suits are mostly from Wellington, the casual dressers from Auckland.”

  She fell quiet as Parsons stood up to open the meeting.

  “Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for taking the time and making the effort to come today. We are … er … honoured to have as our guest one of the UN Security Chiefs …” He glanced down at his notes. “George Ritmeyer. Mr Ritmeyer has been … er … assigned to help us in our preparations for the 2014 Forum. I’d also like to welcome representatives from the newly formed National Assessments Bureau. Welcome on board guys. We have high hopes that you will add significantly to our national security.

  “For this first session I would like you each to stand and introduce yourself, identify your department, and explain your interest in the Forum. We will then break for morning tea and our … er … honoured guest will take the second session. I’ll start the ball rolling.

  “As most of you know, I’m Ernest Parsons, head of the Diplomatic Protection Squad based in Wellington. We are responsible for meeting, greeting and accompanying foreign delegates during their stay in New Zealand. Our brief is to provide security and protection for leaders and officials attending the Forum. This includes identifying potential risks and we rely heavily on others within this room to provide us with relevant intelligence and backup resources. We’re proud of our record and proud of our officers. We are certainly up to this challenge.” He smiled confidently around the room his eyes avoiding George.

  George felt sidelined. He wished he knew the man better. Did he treat all strangers in this offhand manner or was it more personal? Parsons’ body language seemed to imply that he was an unwelcome imposition. George hoped his first impressions were wrong. He gave a mental shrug. It would not be the first initial meeting where he’d been made to feel redundant.

  Parsons sat down and the first official got to his feet. George forced his attention back to the meeting. Gradually he felt the tone change as one after another they welcomed him and spoke about their roles and responsibilities.

  The delicate scent rising from the posy bowl reached him. It reminded him of home and he felt his tension ease. He scribbled on the paper provided, his attention concentrated on each introduction. Dragging his chair under him, the speaker subsided with a quiet sign and sploshed water into his beaker. There was a rhythm to the session, the rise and fall of speech then a restless quiet. The background activity was layered. George fiddled idly with his pen. Its click click lost amongst the other unheard sounds; mints skittered like marbles; a whispered comment; a strangled cough; chairs creaked and feet shuffled on the carpet. The mint cracked as his teeth shattered it and his mouth and nose filled with a strong tangy burst. The next speaker shoved his chair back, took a whistling sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He rustled his notes then discreetly cleared his throat and everyone settled again.

  When it was Pania’s turn, she identified herself as Detective Inspector of the Diplomatic Protection Squad. He quickly revised his assessment of her. She was no ninety day wonder. She informed them that for the next four years she’d been assigned to work closely with George and she was looking forw
ard to the challenge. She’d smiled at him as she said that and arched an eyebrow. Everyone had laughed.

  After the introductions they took a break. As the doors opened the aroma of fresh coffee, warm muffins and hot savouries drew them out. The plates held only crumbs and flakes of pastry when the bell interrupted their chatter. Cups with murky dregs were hurriedly abandoned as they filed back. It was George’s turn to address the meeting. With everyone settled, he stood up.

  “Thank you for your warm welcome. It is a real privilege to come to your beautiful country. Look out there and you can see that I am not just saying this. What a magnificent vista you have here and such clear air.” He paused and waited until their attention returned. The island dozed in the spring sun.

  “I would like to congratulate you on your successful selection as host to the 4th ‘Reaching Out Across Regions’ Forum. You will be aware that it is now commonly referred to as the ‘ROAR’ Forum or the ‘ROAR and EAT’ Forum. EAT naturally refers to its purpose - Economics and Trade. Many think these amusing acronyms are enormously apt.”

  His listeners chuckled. George gave himself two ticks. He’d admired their country and he’d made them laugh. He continued.

  “In my role for the UN I‘ve been working with host countries to ensure the security of world conferences and forums and we’ve been able to provide a safe environment, free from acts of terrorism and fanaticism. It has taken the vigilance of many to achieve this and I am committed to securing a similar outcome in New Zealand.” George came to life. No longer grey and inconsequential his enthusiasm, confidence and sincerity captured their attention. “I believe this is the most high profile meeting to be held in your country and this may expose you to new threats which you have not previously encountered. Some may think your inexperience gives them a window of opportunity but I intend to deny them this prospect.