The Kiwi Target

and whose business was not clearly evident. A special task force combed through Auckland; by the end of a week there was good reason to believe that the suspects were not in that city.
    Hamilton, Christchurch, Wellington, and other population centers were given the same attention. Even as far south as Invercargill the search went on, but without result.
    Shortly after five on a Monday afternoon, when traffic was reaching a peak, two men drove into a filling station south of Christchurch. They said very little and paid quickly in cash after their tank had been filled. They did nothing whatever to attract attention to themselves, but the operator of the station had a son who was a police constable in Wellington. Since filling stations ar e relatively few and far between in New Zealand, they had all been covered and sets of photographs had been distributed.
    As soon as the two men had driven away, the station owner looked once more at the pictures he had hidden under his cash drawer and then immediately phoned the police. “Two hearties just left my station, going south on one,” he reported. “I took them for Aussies, and they could be the blokes in the pictures you left me.”
    That triggered an immediate, full-scale response. A fast call was put through to the police station at Ashburton, the first community of any size on the way south. A description of the car was given, but to his chagrin the station owner had failed to note the plate number.
    The response from Ashburton had been well planned. A traffic warden’s unit was dispatched northbound to spot the wanted car and radio back the moment it was located. In view of the known violent tendencies of the wanted men, arms were issued to those qualified to carry them, and available radio-equipped cars were dispatched with two officers in each one.
    The traffic warden made all possible speed northward, hoping to cross the long bridge at Rakaia before the wanted car got there. If the suspects were to cross the water first, there was a small maze of roads branching off that they could then use. As he approached the bridge, he slowed down to normal patrol speed; three miles beyond it, he saw a car that fitted the description of the wanted vehicle. When it was safely behind him, he radioed the information and supplied the license number.
    Within two minutes a police ambush was set up and ready. When the suspect car reached it, a roadblock forced it to stop. As it did so, two patrol units swung in behind, and armed constables appeared on both sides of the road. The two occupants were ordered to put their hands on the windshield in front of them. Swiftly and efficiently, they were taken out of their car as the back-up force from Christchurch rolled onto the scene. The c ar was searched; when a handgun was recovered from the glove compartment, the suspects were taken into custody.
    Shortly after they had been put into cells in Christchurch, their identities were confirmed. The police had good reason to congratulate themselves—it was the first major break in a massive case.
    At ten-fifteen that evening one of the suspects was taken from his cell and shown into a room where a stockily built man was waiting. “My name is Winston,” he said. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, because we’re going to have quite a lone talk.”

    When Peter awoke he lay still, content to luxuriate in the warm wonderful presence of Jenny Holbrook beside him. When she awoke, he smiled at her, then deliberately waited for her to speak first.
    “Good morning, Peter,” she said quite simply.
    “Good morning, Jenny.”
    She lay quietly for a few moments. Then she spoke again, with a quiet sincerity in her voice. “Peter, I told you last night—”
    He raised a hand to stop her.
    “I know, Jenny. They say that a woman always knows, but a man knows some things, too. And I know what a precious, rare privilege it is for me to be here with you.”
    She smiled then, resting her head on her left arm, the rest of her body covered by the bedding.
    “I want to say it anyway,” she told him. “I wasn’t a virgin, you know that, but you’re only the third man in my life. When I was seventeen, I had a terrible crush on a boy I knew, and—well." She stopped, and he knew enough not to interrupt her thoughts. “For weeks after that I was terribly afraid that I might be pregnant. I was terrified every day until I was sure.”
    “I can understand that,” Peter said. “Especially in a