‘Yes. For all we know, it was found on the shore by a fisherman.’
‘What about all the chat online? Some people say it’s a Morion, some say it’s a close helmet, some say it was dredged in 1880, others argue that it’s definitely proof of a pre-Tasman visit. What are we to believe?’
‘It’s all speculation. Unless somebody finds something concrete to give the helmet archaeological provenance there can only be speculation. It’s a little like the Ruamahanga skull.’
Matt had no idea what the curator was talking about now. He looked at Aimee.
‘Oh my God,’ Aimee said. ‘I forgot all about the skull.’ She turned to the Curator. ‘Is it related to the helmet?’
‘Not so far as we know. But I certainly wouldn’t suggest it was.’
Aimee turned to Matt to fill him in.
‘A couple years back a skull was found in the Wairarapa, over those big hills behind the harbour.’
Matt nodded to show he was listening.
‘It made the news because testing showed it belonged to a forty-something European woman.’
‘And?’
‘She could have been living in New Zealand before Tasman arrived. Half a century before Cook made the first recorded landing.’
‘Mitochondrial DNA analysis has shown she lived sometime between 1619 and 1689,’ the Curator said. ‘There’s no denying that the skull raises many questions. But again, no provenance. We really need to know more of her story. Perhaps an isotope analysis could give us more information, but I doubt one will ever be done.’
Matt was just about to ask why not when he was distracted by a movement on the other side of the hall. When he looked closer, he saw a tall man standing off to the side, appearing to study some Maori weapons in a nearby display unit. Studying his features, Matt was convinced it was the occupant of the black Corolla. He motioned Aimee to look at the man and pulled her towards himself and quietly said it was time to go. They thanked the curator and excused themselves before slipping out the nearby entrance back into the main corridors of the museum. It was time to lose their tail.
Back in the main halls of the museum, Matt realised they wouldn’t be able to hide in a broom closet to evade their unwanted escort. Te Papa was too modern and open plan for that sort of movie magic. Instead, he indicated to Aimee the direction to go and they hurried along, weaving in and out of people who were shuffling from one display to the next. Looking back over his shoulder, Matt saw the Maori had followed them out of the room and was pounding down the floor behind them. At the moment they had about a thirty second lead, but the gap would close fast.
They rounded a large display and Matt homed in on the potential saviours: tourists. About 60 of them. From the noise and accents, he knew they were American. He grabbed Aimee’s hand and yanked her into the middle of the sweaty, shuffling group. They huddled in the centre. Matt could barely see out to the side. Perfect. He felt like a midget in the middle of a Roman army formation, like something out of an Asterix comic.
Aimee smiled.
‘Nice work,’ she said, in an accent that matched the crowd around them.
Matt smiled. It was one of his proudest moments. He could pull off some movie magic after all. A minute later the front of the crowd stopped moving but the back half kept going. Everyone crushed up against each other in front of ancient fish hooks. Matt wasn’t sure if the bulge pushing against his groin was the huge woman in front of him, or her fanny-pack. He didn’t stick around to find out either. Jostling though towards the edge of the crowd, he was able to confirm that their unwanted escort was hurrying off in the other direction, assuming no doubt that they must have gone to the next floor. Matt and Aimee broke free from their confines and made a walking-dash to the descending stairs and got out of the museum as smartly as their legs could carry them, without breaking into a forbidden run.
Out on the plaza, Matt and Aimee took up camp behind a statue and watched the museum entrance.
‘I realised we were being followed in Whakatane. I just want to confirm it though,’ Matt said.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the tall Maori emerged from the glass doors, scanning the plaza. He couldn’t see Matt and Aimee and walked toward the car-park.
‘Wait here, I’m gonna go find out what his problem is.’
‘Wait.’ Aimee tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Matt marched over to the Maori, catching him off guard. He grabbed his arm and spun him around.
‘Who the hell are you and why are you following us?’
The Maori looked down at Matt’s hand on his arm and then stared coldly into Matt’s eyes.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let go of my arm.’
Matt held on. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘If I did that, I’d have to kill you.’
Matt let go.
‘Who I am isn’t important. I’m just doing my job.’
‘And your job is?’
‘Making sure that you don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.’
‘Why me, why us?’
‘You keep the wrong friends. If I was you, I’d give up this madness and go home before someone gets hurt.’ With this the Maori turned on his heels and hurried off.
‘Who’s doing the hurting?’ Matt called after him.
He didn’t get an answer.
‘I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.’ He said to Aimee when he rejoined her.
‘No,’ Aimee answered. ‘Did he admit he’s spying on us?’
‘More or less. He first followed me with Warren in Auckland the day I arrived here. Warren said he must be NISO.’
Aimee made an alarming choking sound.
‘NISO, are you serious? Why would they spy on us? They’re anti-terrorism for the most part, I don’t imagine they’re interested in us.’
‘Warren says they work together with the DCI, protecting New Zealand’s cultural interests.’
‘No, I don’t think so. They do satellite spying and stuff. I’ll show you their spy base if we get a chance, it’s near to Nelson. Always wanted to see it.’
Matt wasn’t convinced. He was sure Warren knew what he was talking about. There was no other logical explanation for anyone to be following them. Whatever was going on, he was worried. His professional integrity was at stake. If the NISO and DCI were interested enough to follow his work and if they can arrange for facts to be ‘lost’ where it comes to historical archives in museums, then what could they do to the reputation of a historian who goes against the status quo? Matt, he thought to himself, if you’re not careful you may just find out.
It was pointless trying to avoid it, and Hemi knew it. So when his mobile rang that evening, he answered dutifully.
‘Evening.’
It was a nice evening too, or at least it had been. He had checked into the same Holiday Inn as Matt and Aimee. He had started to like them, listening in to their conversation whenever they were in the car. He didn’t need to bother watching them all evening, since they were surely not going to run off. Besides, they wouldn’t get far before he caught up. Such was the helpfulness of the GPS bug. Instead, Hemi had gone for a relaxing stroll along the waterfront, devoured a quarter piece pack of KFC and now he relaxed in his room with a couple of cans of Tui. His favourite beer.
‘You haven’t called in,’ Warren said, his voice rising with a questioning tone.
‘I’ve been busy.’ Hemi semi-lied.
‘What did our friends get up to today? Where are you?’
‘I’m in Wellington. We made a nice museum visit.’ There, he said it.
‘Te Papa?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any particular exhibit?’
