The Kiwi Target

holding. He told them it wasn’t his to sell, but they pushed him pretty hard just the same. They want to convert it to a big development for tourists.”
    “What did they offer?”
    “It didn’t come to that, Peter. The point is, Jack didn’t care for them at all, and I respect his judgment. They virtually told him that if he didn’t convince the owner to sell, he might find himself in trouble.”
    That caused Peter’s temper to flare. Normally he controlled himself well, but this kind of threat was a direct challenge. “Who the hell do they think they are?” he asked.
    “I don’t like it, either,” O’Malley said. “I’d better tell you something else. A lodge owner who didn’t want to sell his property to some Australians—possibly the same ones—was burned out a few days later.
    “That may have been a coincidence; so far the police haven’t been able to prove a connection. But we’d better be prepared. The station is pretty isolated, and there aren’t many hands. With that setup, if these are the same Australians, some serious trouble could come any day.”

    As soon as he was up the next morning, Peter put in a call to Charlie Swathmore. Within seconds he had the head of his company on the line.
    “I’ve got some news for you,” he reported.
    “Let’s have it, Pete—pronto!”
    “I haven’t reached Bishop yet, but I’m in solid with O’Malley, his attorney.”
    “I hear he’s a good man.”
    “Damned good. You know my mother came from here.”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “She had, or has, a younger sister, my aunt.”
    “Have you met her?”
    “Yes. It was at their house that I met their lawyer, who’s now also mine. O’Malley.”
    Charlie whistled over the line. “Great, if it all works out. Have you talked with O’Malley about Bishop?”
    “Not yet, but he’s agreed to listen to my pitch before he advises Bishop either way. He’s no lover of Pricane, or of the way it does business.”
    “Sounds good,” Swarthmore said.
    “I think so. Now, bring me up to date on your end.”
    “Okay. First of all, Pricane got out a four-color mailing to our stockholders. It’s clever as hell. It doesn’t promise anything, but it implies that by voting for Pricane, the stockholder may double his money in short order.”
    “How are we doing?”
    “To counter Pricane, we’ve been calling up the stockholders on the WATS lines and talking to them directly. I’ve had ten people on the phones, me included, and we’re getting results.”
    “So where do we stand?” Peter asked.
    “With what we own ourselves and the proxies we’ve managed to get, we’ve blocked Pricane from a direct takeover without Bishop. If they get his proxy, we’re sunk. There’s a rumor that
    Pricane has one of their high-power people in New Zealand after him right now. So get on your horse, Pete. The Board meets in eighteen days.”
    “Charlie, what happens if Bishop doesn’t vote his stock?”
    “Pricane wins. They’ve got more votes right now than we have or can hope to get in time. So carry the ball, Pete, for God’s sake.”

CHAPTER 16

    After talking to Swarthmore, Peter came in for breakfast. He went directly into the dining room without checking for any messages. If anyone was trying to reach him, they could wait.
    He chose a table, and when the waitress came, he was pleasant to her. “I’d like some pancakes,” he said. “Not too thick, and with some link sausages and coffee. Can you do that for me?”
    As she picked up the unused menu, the waitress gave him a warm smile. “Of course, Mr. Ferguson, anything you’d like.” She put a slight emphasis on the second-last word, and it gave him a warm glow. Dammit, the New Zealand women were attractive!
    Shortly, she returned with syrup and butter for his pancakes and a coffee cup. Close behind her, radiating a ruddy charm, was Superintendent Winston.
    “Good morning, Peter,” he greeted. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
    Peter waved his unexpected guest to the chair opposite him. “What brings you to Queenstown?” he asked.
    The superintendent waited while a cup of coffee was poured for him. “To be quite honest, I thought it was time we had another little visit.”
    “What about?” Peter asked.
    Winston picked up his coffee and had a swallow. “Do you know a Theodore Kincaid?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “He’s a Pricane executive who’s here in New Zealand. He sent the message you received in Greymouth.”
    Peter did not