The Kiwi Target

that. I hope that nothing will stand in the way of the three of you becoming very good friends.”
    “Of course not,” Peter answered, but his heart was not in his words. He was glad that they were already close to the center of Wellington, where other thoughts would necessarily take over his mind.
    Ray parked the car and led the way into a modern, impressive office building. Fortunately, the elevator they took was almost empty, and no one jostled his arm for a change.
    When the car stopped and the door opened, they stepped out into a reception area. The first thing Peter saw was Kincaid, taking his ease in a comfortable chair and reading an Australian magazine.
    “Minister Cooper will be with you shortly, gentlemen,” the receptionist said. “Meanwhile, can I get you some refreshments?”
    O’Malley politely declined with a gesture. “Is Superintendent Winston here yet?” he asked.
    “Yes, he’s in with Mr. Cooper now.”
    Less than five minutes later she picked up the ringing phone on her desk and spoke briefly. Then she got easily to her feet and led them across the reception area to Minister Cooper’s office. She opened the door and showed them inside. Cooper was standing, waiting for them, with Winston at his side. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I presume you’ve all met.” Peter realized that wasn’t the case. He turned to his two companions and swiftly corrected the omission. “Mr. O’Malley, Mr. Kincaid,” he said.
    “Pleased to meet you, counselor.” Kincaid was pleasantly cordial, but Peter was once again annoyed that the Pricane executive knew so much about his private business. As if on cue Kincaid turned to Peter. “How is your shoulder?” he asked.
    The same thing again. “Better, thanks,” Peter answered. He was annoyed with himself that he had been a touch too abrupt: it automatically made Kincaid look a little taller in the saddle.
    “Please sit down,” the minister said. “I’ll have some tea brought in, and then we can discuss certain matters.”
    A young woman carrying a formal tea service appeared within seconds. After the ritual of distribution had been observed, Warren took the floor.
    “I’ve been very concerned about several recent events, most of which have to do with our tourist industry. Peter, I’ve heard, of course, about the attack on your station and the splendid way that you defended yourselves. Now all five of the Australian villains we were after have been dealt with. Two of them are dead and three are in custody, including the most wanted man of all. So I venture to hope that this unfortunate episode is now concluded.”
    The simple thing at that point would have been to agree with the minister, but Peter’s mind was too sharply focused on the topic for that. “I think, sir,” he said, “that while this individual episode may be closed, as you say, it doesn’t conclude the matter. I have reason to believe that a very sticky patch, as I believe you say, is in front of us all.”
    The Honorable Warren Cooper looked at Winston, then back to Peter. “That’s quite a startling statement,” he said. “I would certainly like to hear whatever you have to tell us.”
    It was put up or shut up time, and Peter was ready. He had planned very carefully just what he was going to say.
    “Not long after I came to New Zealand, I became involved in a series of events that didn’t appear to make any sense. The more I thought about them, the less I could understand them.
    “At first I accepted the idea that some Australian hard types had been sent here by a Hong Kong syndicate to muscle in on the tourist industry. Superficially, that explanation seemed to fit the visible facts. It could also account for the attack on my station. Before I took over, they had pressed Jack McHugh to sell it to them even though he didn’t have the title.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Winston said.
    Peter continued. “During the first day or two after I hurt my shoulder, I had to stay inactive. That gave me time to think. I asked myself a number of questions. Why would anybody deliberately throw a body onto the hood of my car? Why was a policeman assaulted for no visible reason? Why was Mr. MacTavish murdered at Russell just before we arrived there? Most of all, what was the real reason that my place was attacked and Jack McHugh, my manager, gunned down?
    “These looked like a series of terrorist activities intended to frighten people into selling. The burning down