Greg Scowen: The Spanish Helmet

Matt watched as a sly grin appeared on Warren’s face. ‘I haven’t exactly told them the whole story yet. But if we don’t shake these NISO boys, we may lose our little advantage sooner than I’d like.’

‘There it is again, NISO. What is that? And what do you mean. Lose them?’ Matt asked, as he turned to look out the small back window. Behind them was just standard commuter traffic.

‘NISO. It’s your lucky day, Matt. I can answer that question, but many other folk wouldn’t be able to. Most New Zealanders don’t even know they exist.’

Matt caught Warren’s eye and nodded to let him know he was listening. As Warren talked, he turned and looked out at the scenery passing by on the left. A small harbour, a disused road bridge, and what looked like a small sea-side factory.

‘NISO stands for ‘National Information Security Office,’ Warren said, ‘they’re the New Zealand equivalent of an ultra-secretive secret service, similar in some aspects to the National Security Agency in the United States. The NISO has the power and legal right to tap your phones, listen in on satellite transmissions and radio frequencies, and intercept your e-mail. Stuff like that. Basically they’re government spies.’

‘But isn’t that illegal?’ Matt asked, looking back at Warren, who was again looking in the mirror. ‘Don’t you have some sort of privacy law here, like in the UK?’

‘Sure,’ Warren said with a grin, ‘but it’s worthless. The Privacy Act stops anyone from intercepting your communication, but a special clause gives the NISO rights to intercept again. They

basically just have to say that you might be a terrorist, and voila, they can do whatever they want. Nothing is sacred. It’s the same in the US and UK.’

‘But they need a warrant?’

‘No. They don’t even have to show evidence as to why you’re suspected.’

Matt caught Warren glancing in the mirror again. When he turned to look himself, he still only saw bog standard commuter traffic. He started to think Warren was maybe a little too paranoid. Matt hadn’t seen him like this before and felt a pang of concern.

‘Do you see them?’ Warren asked.

‘To be honest with you, I don’t.’ Matt answered. He searched about, desperate to spot a large black SUV or V8 sedan, like in the movies.

‘Two cars back. Watch what he does.’

Warren pulled from the fast lane into the left-hand lane and off an exit, all in one sweeping movement. Matt watched in silence as the black car Warren had pointed out changed lanes and accelerated behind them up the off-ramp.

‘But that’s just a Toyota Corolla. Surely not government spies.’

Warren laughed. ‘That’s the beauty of it, Matt. They drive the most common car on New Zealand roads. They blend in.’

Matt thought about this. It made sense. Maybe all those American films were a little cliched.

‘So how are we going to lose them then?’ Matt asked, getting a little excited by the situation, but at the same time, a tiny bit nervous.

‘We don’t have to, really. They know where we’re going. We just have to bore them into leaving us alone.’

‘And how do we do that?’

‘We go home, and when we get there, we do nothing. We’ll lie low for a day or two. Give you a chance to get some sleep. Then we’ll go up to my friend’s place and take a look at the site.’

Matt smiled. Maybe things weren’t going to be dangerous after all. Perhaps Warren was pulling his leg about the occupants of the Corolla. He looked around and saw the black car, still a couple of cars back, but on the same road which led past a sign pointing to One Tree Hill. Matt looked up at the hill. No tree hill, he thought. Looking back at the black car, he could only make out one occupant. A darker-skinned man. A Maori, Matt guessed.

He started to get hungry. Less than two hours later, they had crossed the harbour bridge and made their way to Warren’s house in Campbell’s Bay. They had dined on Pizza and fries and Matt fell asleep in what felt like the world’s most comfortable bed. He hadn’t seen the Toyota since he looked back while passing One Tree Hill. In fact, he had all but forgotten it.

Hemi had done everything the man on the phone told him to. Up until now that was. But earlier, he was obedient young Hemi, the Clan of Truth’s go-to guy.

He had arrived at the airport early, using the time to his advantage to find a good spot from which to view the arrivals area from, without being obvious himself. That wasn’t always easy. Although he was not especially tall, Hemi had a commanding aura. Sitting with his back to the wall of the cafe, his muscles rippled as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. The waitress came over and offered him another free refill. He declined and watched as she returned to the counter, ignoring the other customers who were practically begging for her attention.

Hemi waited. Bloody customs were far too zealous in their work. A man walked past the cafe and took a look at the arrivals board. Hemi spilled his coffee. What the fuck are you doing here? Confusion set in. Hemi couldn’t think of a logical reason why Warren Rennie, his prey, and now employer, was at the airport. Wasn’t it Hemi’s job to watch Dr. Cameron? Had he misunderstood? He watched as Rennie turned his head and scanned the room. Their eyes met and Warren gave a slight nod of his head. OK, Hemi was meant to be here. He could see that Rennie was nervous. Nervous and excited. The man paced like a husband waiting outside the delivery room while his wife had triplets. Thank God Dr. Cameron finally emerged and put him out of his misery. It looked like Rennie was playing host to Dr. Cameron. They appeared to be great friends. This is getting interesting. What was that bit of paper Rennie passed him?

Hemi watched as the two men meandered out to a red Toyota Hilux. After they climbed in, he hurried to his own vehicle, another Toyota, but in black and smaller. He patted the steering wheel as he turned into the exit booths approach, keeping his eye on the Hilux two cars in front. As soon as he had paid and driven onto the two-lane road leading away from the terminal, Hemi set his task into stage two. He pulled up behind the Hilux at the lights, and from then on, all the way to the North Shore where they stopped, he made sure to follow them obviously enough to be seen. It worked. He saw Dr. Cameron turn around a number of times. They even made eye contact. Well, Hemi did in any case.

When they arrived at Rennie’s place, Hemi parked his car a couple of houses away and watched patiently. He didn’t have to sit here any more. His task wasn’t to watch Dr. Cameron right now, it was just to follow them, and to be seen. But with the new development of Rennie’s direct involvement, Hemi had further work to do. His only guess is that Rennie was using Dr. Cameron as his fall guy. It made sense. Bring in a foreigner to justify the claims that no one else will touch. He would have felt sorry for Cameron, but the good doctor was probably as crooked as Rennie.

This was personal as much as it was business. He knew what he had to do. He pulled a manila folder from the satchel that sat next to him on the passenger seat. This was Leigh’s work, the best resource in the business. Leigh got everything Hemi ever needed, and in record time to boot. Best of all, Hemi was one hundred percent sure of Leigh’s confidence. She supplied him information and left no paper trail. The agency had no idea of the quantity of information that Hemi possessed. He momentarily glanced at the label which Leigh had stuck on for him some years earlier. Warren James Rennie, it read. He opened it and reviewed all that she had collected on the man. Hemi knew he had his work cut out for him.