Hemi slowed the car as he passed the fifty speed limit sign on the approach to Port Chalmers, looking around as he was greeted by a peaceful little town. A handful of shops, a post office-hardware store combination, a couple of little restaurants, and at the end of the road in front of them a container port that played host to two large European ships. With the surrounding stone buildings and the peaceful coastal drive from Dunedin to the port, Hemi had been momentarily taken back in time to memories of a New Zealand he had long missed. Ice-creams in a cone and walks on the coast.
Warren broke his peace.
‘Aramoana is just a bit further along the coast here.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Hemi said, his dream disrupted by the memory of New Zealand’s worst massacre. As he turned up the road that led out of the town, Hemi briefly recalled what little he knew of the events of the 13th and 14th November 1990. He was only in primary school at the time, but the Aramoana massacre was big news and he at least knew that fourteen people, one of them the gunman, were killed.
‘Didn’t they make a movie about that recently?’ Hemi asked.
‘It’s called Out of the Blue,’ Warren answered. ‘Caused a bit of a stir in the village, but in the end it got off the ground. I haven’t seen it though.’
‘Me neither. One day perhaps.’
It was disconcerting for Hemi to hear Warren talk about gun-toting madmen when he knew that he was carrying a gun too. Hemi didn’t have one, of course. That was too dangerous, and illegal. He had a knife, but it was no competition for the fire-power under that jacket.
He manoeuvered the car up the hills that bordered the harbour. It seemed like such a peaceful area and he didn’t want to think of it in terms of violence. Despite his job, Hemi was someone who didn’t like weapons or extreme violence. He would defend himself and his country to the death though. He would try to defend the honour of his father too. Today, he would do everything in his power to ensure a good outcome. He desperately hoped that the NISO armed squad had arrived in time.
CHAPTER 46
Matt jumped over the small stream near where it met the beach. He was followed closely by Aimee, who seemed to be right at home in this environment. They continued west along the beach, towards the cliffs at the other end.
‘Can you make out the ledge up there?’ Matt turned to Aimee.
‘I can. It looks like we could climb up gradually from behind the hut over there in the trees.’
‘What is that, about a fifty, say sixty metre drop?’
‘Looks closer to sixty to me.’
‘I guess we’ll see,’ Matt said, as he veered to the left and stepped over a large driftwood log and up onto the grassy ledge where the beach met the over-grown farmland.
He glanced across at Aimee, hoping that she didn’t sense how nervous he was. He should appear under control, of course, when being accompanied by such a lovely woman in these pretty, albeit foreboding, surroundings. They approached the little abandoned house and skirted around it to where an animal track led steeply up the slope and along the ledge where a cave could very well be. Nervousness was gradually over-ridden by anticipation as Matt, followed by Aimee, edged around the cliff to the left and saw a small dark crevice in front of them. It was almost too hard to believe.
Matt stopped directly in front of the cave and turned to Aimee. ‘Should I throw some stones in there to see if anyone’s home?’
‘No need, at the worst there might be some bats. We don’t have any dangerous wild animals or snakes in New Zealand. Let’s get in there.’
‘Alright then, I’ll go…’ Matt paused as movement caught his eye on the hillside above the other end of the beach.
Aimee followed his gaze, and then turned to him looking confused.
‘First.’ Matt completed his sentence, having realised that it was probably just one of the grazing sheep.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘No, no… I think I’ve just let myself get a little caught up in things. All set to go in?’
‘No arguments from me.’
They eased their way into the cave, ducking to avoid cracking their heads open on the sharp ceiling. Turning on a torch he had picked up in the supermarket, Matt paused momentarily to take in his surroundings. About eight metres in front of him the cave turned slightly to the left. He edged his way to the corner, Aimee following closely behind, and marvelled at the wide chamber that came into view before him. It was a rounder space, about ten metres in diameter. The ceiling was between two and three metres from the floor, which was dry and sandy, with rock presumably somewhere a little below.
‘You could fit a small family Christmas in here,’ Matt said.
‘Listen. You can only just hear the hiss of the sea now. It’s like we’ve entered another world. It’s so quiet.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Matt agreed. Adrenaline pumped through Matt’s veins and had transported him to another world. One he was happy to savour, a world where his greatest moment was about to take place. He felt like he was about to make an incredible find, something any historian would die for. A find that would put him up there with the great explorers who had gone before him. Shivers ran through his body. Matt loved every second of it.
There were some small areas of black charring on the ceiling, where fires had perhaps been used in years past. But all around them, despite looking at all the parts of the floor that they could see, there was no treasure chest, no artefacts, nothing to suggest there had been any Spanish here. Matt crossed the chamber to the far side and still found nothing. He couldn’t believe he had wasted his time and effort to come here. Aimee joined him as he slumped down in a frustrated heap and leaned on the wall, dropping the torch on the floor beside him. The torchlight fell on the wall opposite and shivered as the torch found its resting place. Matt squinted across the chamber. He couldn’t believe it. There, on the wall, was the faint marking of a cross. Aimee had seen it too. They both leapt up and rushed over to it.
‘That isn’t natural,’ Matt said.
‘No way, and Maori wouldn’t have marked graves with crosses. Not before European influence anyway.’
Matt searched the wall around the cross carefully for a crevice. Nothing.
‘Should we dig?’ Aimee asked, as she brushed the sand at their feet with the tip of her shoe.
Matt answered by dropping to his knees and scratching at the sand with his hands. Aimee fell next to him and started scraping with a stone she had found. Matt’s hands made poor progress, but there were no more stones handy. Instead, he replaced them with the back end of his torch, throwing light wildly around the top of the cave. He just started to lose hope when it made contact with something. The clink of the torch striking something solid rang out through the cave like a muted g-note on a vibraphone.
‘Glass?’ Aimee asked.
‘Ceramic,’ Matt said, turning the torch and illuminating the side of a jar.
Matt worked the rest of the sand away from the large ceramic jar that he was revealing. It was a simple piece, probably used for storing preserved fruit or liquids. The only embellishment was a small emblem on one side. He worked the gigantic lump of pitch-sealed corking out of the opening and peered inside with the aid of the torchlight. There he saw a pouch made of woven fabric, which he carefully removed and turned over in his hand.
‘That looks like woven flax,’ Aimee said. ‘Most definitely of Maori working.’
‘And the emblem is a Spanish Coat of Arms.’ Matt looked at Aimee and smiled. ‘An interesting clash of cultures, wouldn’t you say?’
The flax cloth was soft in Matt’s hands. He gently opened it, taking care not to rip or damage it in any way, and found inside one single piece of paper. Nothing remarkable. It didn’t even appear all that old. He unfolded it and felt his hopes disappear in a breath.
