The Kiwi Target

exciting.
    It did not take long to reach the small airport. When they arrived, the helicopter was ready and waiting. Edmund greeted the pilot and introduced Peter. “This is Mark Richards,” he said, and the two men shook hands. That done, the pilot helped his two passengers to board. There was a single wide seat surrounded by a large bubble of Plexiglas; as Peter took his place beside the door and fastened his seat belt, he was impressed by the amazing visibility.
    As the helicopter climbed into the sky, the unfolding panoramic view was sensational. The lake appeared to grow in size, and the mountains beyond it revealed fresh peaks hidden behind them. Before long, Peter was able to identify the Remarkables and the small populated area that was Queenstown. Lake Wakatipu unfolded into a long lazy Z that was much larger than he had expected.
    Edmund gripped his arm. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
    “Hell, yes!” Peter shouted back.
    Near the upper bend of the lake, the helicopter began to descend. Within a minute a large, spread-out ranch house came into view. There was a sizable lawn in front of it, toward which the machine was headed. The approach continued at a steep angle until the pilot pulled up on the collective and the machine slowed to a gentle sink. For a moment it hung poised over the grass; then it settled down with hardly a sensation of touching the ground.
    On direction Peter got out, ducking his head although there was no need for it, and walked forward out from under the rotor.
    When he straightened up, he saw the massive figure of Jack McHugh coming toward him.
    As the engine of the helicopter coughed into silence, McHugh held out his hand. “Glad to see you again, Peter,” he said, and then turned to greet Edmund.
    Peter looked at the large and impressive ranch house. “Do I really own this place?” he asked.
    “If you’re the Peter Ferguson we’ve been looking for, you do. Come inside—Louise is here, and she has the tea ready.”
    Peter followed him into a large kitchen, where a table had been set with six places. Louise McHugh was brewing tea; beside her, Jenny Holbrook was putting sandwiches onto an oval platter. When Peter showed his surprise, Jenny gave him a wicked smile. “Louise invited me,” she said. “Do you mind?”
    “I’m delighted,” he answered. The day had suddenly taken on an even brighter aspect. He watched as Louise set out the tea and Jenny put two platters of sandwiches on the table.
    Slightly to his embarrassment, Peter was seated at the head of the table. Edmund took the other end.
    “Well, now,” McHugh began. “When you told me on the plane your name was Peter Ferguson, naturally it hit me. I told Bill Woodley at the police station about it, and he made some inquiries.”
    When a platter was passed, Peter helped himself to one of the inviting sandwiches. “Forgive me,” he said, “if I’m a little stunned. Two days ago I was all alone here. Now, suddenly, I’ve found my aunt, made some new friends, and apparently inherited a valuable piece of farm property.”
    “It isn’t exactly a farm,” McHugh said. “It’s a station. After tea I’ll show you around a bit.”
    “I’d like that,” Peter told him.
    After that, the talk was general while the tea was drunk and the sandwiches put to good use. Then Jack McHugh stood up. “If you’re ready, I’ve got a Jeep waiting.”
    “Let’s go,” Peter said.
    During the next forty minutes he sat beside Jack, who maneuvered the Jeep expertly over a series of twisting narrow tracks, up and down. Within a short time his sense of direction deserted him. He saw sheep and cattle, fences, much open land, and occasional glimpses of Lake Wakatipu not too far distant, but he couldn’t form any clear picture in his mind. When they pulled up behind the ranch house once more, he had seen a great deal and remembered very little.
    His mind was full, and he wanted to get some facts straight. For one thing, if his grandfather’s estate had been divided equally, then how was it that this farm, or station, was to be his?
    Louise invited them to stay for lunch, but he declined. He climbed back into the helicopter next to Edmund, fastened his belt, and then waved his thanks as the main rotor began to build up speed. Seconds later, he was airborne.
    During the drive back from the airport he remained largely silent, his mind full. When Edmund pulled into the driveway of the splendid house, Martha came out to meet