The Spanish Helmet (33 page)

 As he finished reading, he folded the piece of paper and carefully placed it in his pocket. Aimee said nothing, but she didn’t need to. Matt could see that she too was disappointed. They had come a long way to only have to start again in another country. And what were the chances of them finding the contents of the jar in Switzerland?
If they had even made it there.
Surely they would have been made public by now - at least if they had any worth whatsoever.

  * * *

Hemi parked the car next to Matthew’s at the base of the rugged track to Murdering Beach and climbed out to join Warren. As they walked across the bay towards the cliffs on the other side, he scanned the hillsides and cliff-tops that surrounded them. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Just grass, trees, a couple of straggling sheep and sky.
They rounded the cabin and found a freshly walked-on path that led up to the cliff-side.

‘I think they’re up here,’ Warren said.

‘Looks that way.
After you.’
Hemi waved his hand to show that Warren should lead the way. Thankfully, he did.

Well, Hemi, this is it. If there was ever a chance for Warren to do something stupid enough to give you reason to take him down, this is that chance.

Hemi let Warren get in front of him a few paces, and then followed. His eyes scanned every which way they could. He prayed, for the first time in years. What if his backup didn’t make it in time, if there were no witnesses? If something happened to Matthew Cameron or Aimee Kingsbridge, Hemi would never forgive himself.
The rest of his life and the memory of his father hinged on the next few minutes.
For the first time he could recall, Hemi felt the stress of the moment.

  * * *

Matt rose to a standing position in a motion resembling a Jack-in-the-box after a good, solid, winding. Aimee followed suit but looked at him in confusion.

‘I saw something moving,’ Matt said.

‘Oh?’

Aimee turned and followed Matt’s gaze down the path.

They were both surprised to see two figures emerging into view as they climbed the path, one following the other. As they got closer, Matt recognised the leader.

‘Warren!’ he said, turning to Aimee. ‘This is
great,
Warren can help us for sure.’

Aimee said nothing. She just looked confused.

‘Who’s he with?’ Matt asked.

‘Can’t see yet.’

They stood silently as they waited for them to get closer. As they did, the person at the back came into view as well.

‘It’s Drew,’ Aimee said.
‘Must be a good guy after all if he’s with your friend.’

‘Sure,’ Matt said, now also a little confused. How did Warren know where they were today? Matt hadn’t called him, so Drew must have told him. But then, what was Drew doing here anyway? Then it hit him. Warren must be there under duress. The government had stepped in and was going to take over their research. Matt wasn’t going to allow that. He was ready for a fight.

‘I think you best pass me that jar, Matthew.’

Matt stared back at Warren in disbelief. Warren wasn’t here as Drew’s hostage, or under duress. He was here on his own accord. In fact, he appeared to be the one calling the shots.

‘I don’t understand
,
what are you doing here? What are you doing with this thug?’

Matthew watched Drew grimace.

‘Hemi’s been working for me,’ Warren answered.

Matt and Aimee looked at each other. They had both noticed that Warren knew Drew as Hemi.

‘You’re Hemi’s boss?’ Aimee asked.

‘The evil boss?’
Matt asked, looking at Drew.

Warren shot an angry glare at Hemi.

‘He’s been keeping an eye on you, trying to keep you on the right path,’ Warren said.  ‘But you’ve strayed Matthew, and so now I need you to hand me that jar.’

‘What right path? I came to New Zealand for you. I came here to help you prove that New Zealand’s history needed rewriting!’ The words left Matt’s mouth like a raging tide.

‘That’s right, I brought you here to do my work, but you’ve chosen to work against me. You were supposed to show that the Celts found New Zealand first, not the Spanish. That’s why you now have to give me that jar.’

‘There’s nothing in this jar that interests you.’

‘Everything in that jar interests me if it furthers theories other than the Celts being here first.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have a lot to gain if I can prove that the Celts were here before the Maori. My investments will see some great tourism revenue.’

The penny dropped, so did Matt’s jaw. He looked at the faces around him, registering mixed emotions on all of them. Even Drew appeared to be overcome with confusion as he shuffled his feet and looked around nervously. Matt decided he had to take control.

‘Give me the jar, Matt!’ Warren demanded in a voice that had lost any friendliness.

‘No!’ Matt stood firm. ‘You’ll never have this jar, nor will you ever touch its contents.’ He continued confidently, feeling the paper pressing against his leg inside his pocket.

‘Then you leave me with no choice.’

In one sweeping movement, Warren grabbed Aimee and pulled her sharply to his side. By the time Matt realised what was happening, it was too late. Warren had pulled a gun and was holding it to Aimee’s chest as he held her tightly against himself. He edged her closer to the cliff. Matt briefly had visions of her being thrown to her death.
Or Warren shooting her.

‘Don’t do this, Warren.’ Drew’s voice surprised Matt. ‘This is not the way. You’re only making trouble for yourself.’ Matt could see and hear the effects of adrenaline in Drew. Warren seemed to notice it too and his gun shifted focus on him.

‘You stay out of this boy. You’ve got no idea who you’re dealing with.’

‘Warren, let her go!’ Matt pleaded. ‘There really is nothing in the jar.’

But it was too late. With a pounce that caught Matt off-guard, Hemi threw himself towards Warren in an attempt to remove his gun. He didn’t make it. The shot rang out around the gully. In the few seconds of silence that followed, Matt watched, sickened, as Drew collapsed to the ground like a giant tree being felled. In Warren’s grip, Aimee too was breathing very heavily, her chest heaving with emotion. Warren practically held her up now. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Fear of being next, Matt guessed. Warren had clearly lost control. The gun turned on Matt. Mere seconds from the first shot had passed when the second shot rang out. Matt felt it simultaneously with the sound.

Friday, August 19, 1527

We have found the straits again. The same as those we came through shortly before the beaching at Whareakeake. This time we have been able to enter the harbour here, on the northern land-mass. So, it seems that Hine is correct about us living on an island. It remains to be confirmed that the northern land-mass is also an island. If it is, where is the third island? Our island, the southerly one, is approximately 225 leagues long, north to south, and has a breadth of about 70 leagues. The coastlines on either side follow a consistent north-east to south-west line, so it appears the island has a fairly regular breadth throughout.

Before we entered the straits, one of the men created a disturbance through violence towards his fellow crew. We knew not a reason for his outburst. Possibly he has gone mad. The master at arms made preparations to put him in shackles but the man threw himself overboard. The last we saw of him, he was madly swimming toward the nearby coast of the southern land mass. I don’t expect he will last long, as there was fairly quickly a canoe heading in his direction. We had neither desire nor possibility to make chase.

We have been anchored in the harbour since yesterday. The men have used the time productively to collect shellfish and catch some of the other tasty fish we have come to know so well. Some gulls and other birds are also to be had here. We are near a river, which is filling our barrels with clean fresh water. We have to press on though. The natives have seen us and aren’t at all welcoming like the gentle souls in Whareakeake. Rather, a group of men came down to the water’s edge and waved their clubs at the ship and started dancing a Haka, the war dance of the Waitaha. We will sail on the tide, which will turn in an hour. Hopefully they won’t attack before that time. We will sail out of the straits and travel north on the eastern coast, since we have previously seen that of the west.

Matt stood on the spot for what seemed an eternity. Why would Warren do this? Why isn’t it more painful? Surely a bullet ripping through your body hurts more than this.

He stared at Warren in shock.

Warren returned his stare with the same look of horror and confusion. Then, as Aimee broke free from his weakening grasp, Warren slumped to the ground clutching at his chest. The ground didn’t catch him. The weight and direction of his fall tipped him over the edge of the cliff. He fell to the rocks below with a muted thump. Matt continued to stare in disbelief at the void that remained where Warren had stood.

Aimee was on her feet, looking over the cliff edge. Hemi lay in a bloody heap on the ground. Sirens wailed as cars bumped down the road towards the beach.

Matt walked over to the cliff, completely oblivious now to his fear. He looked down and saw Warren’s body among the rocks below. His blood spilled into the sea. His head was badly messed up with blood, and his chest was drenched in the stuff. If the shot to the heart hadn’t killed him, the fall would have. Matt felt the tingly sensation of bile rising to his throat moments before he threw up.

The next thing he knew, Aimee was at his side.

‘Are you OK, Matt?’ Aimee
asked,
her voice calm and assuring.

‘They’re dead.’ Matt said, his voice crossing the border of hysteria. ‘How can I be OK? What the hell just happened?’

‘Warren shot Drew.’

‘I know that!’ Matt exclaimed. ‘But who shot Warren?’

The sirens stopped wailing as the police car and two black 4WDs arrived at the small car park. Beyond the hill above them, a helicopter was approaching. Aimee pulled at something in her pocket and showed it to Matt.

‘I imagine that it was one of our agents,’ Aimee said, as Matt stared at her DCI identity card in stunned silence.

  * * *

The world was spinning. Voices were muffled and noises blurred together in a muddled mess. Hemi felt like he had been on a drinking binge.
He shot me
, Hemi thought.
Warren, that bastard shot me.
Twice.
Hemi had counted the shots. He felt sleep coming, but fear told him to stay awake.
You sleep, you die.
He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He felt the warmth of the bullet. Hemi had to live. He had to tell Matt what he knew. Matt didn’t know who he was dealing with. That is, of course, if Matt lived through the day.