The Kiwi Target

But I know about it.”
    Peter studied her profile for a moment. “I’m sorry if I was abrupt,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be. I had to ride all the way from Auckland with a very big man beside me. I could hardly move, and I got off with a back cramp.”
    The girl glanced at him for a moment before she gave her attention back to the road. “Did he give you his name?” she asked.
    “Jack McHugh. He said that he owns a station up the lake.” The girl nodded without looking at him again. “He is big. But nice, I think. He’s my father.”
    Embarrassment took hold of him. “You were there to meet him,” he said.
    ‘Yes, but I was also hoping for a fare. He doesn’t mind the bus.”
    The girl pulled up in front of a small hotel. Peter got out quickly to be sure that he handled his own bags; he would be damned if he let her do that. “Please tell your father that I enjoyed his company,” he said as he handed over a bill.
    “I’ll tell him.” The girl gave him back his exact change and drove off without any suggestion that she would accept a tip.
    The Mountaineer made no attempt to be pretentious, but it had an inviting atmosphere. As soon as he had registered, Peter turned to find a quite young man waiting to speak to him.
    “We’re glad to have you with us, Mr. Ferguson,” he said, and handed over a card. “Please call me personally if there is anything at all we can do for you.” There was an undertone to the words that Peter could not quite grasp. He knew that he was being given a VIP welcome, but the reason for it eluded him.
    Up a flight of stairs he was shown into a well-furnished and comfortable room. As he refreshed himself he had thoughts of eating, but he wasn’t yet hungry. Instead, he left the hotel to explore Queenstown. Inevitably the lake drew him. He took the short walk to the shoreline and found a bench where he could sit and allow himself to respond to its beauty.
    LakeWakatipu was indeed a magnificent sight. Its color was an intense blue, while across the water the Remarkables rose upward in unspoiled grandeur. The air was brillantly clear except for a thin feather of smoke that was drifting upward from the stack of an ancient steamer docked a block away. A cluster of small boats, some bearing the names of stations up the lake, were tied up alongside a convenient pier.
    Aware that he needed it, he put everything else aside to enjoy the wonderful sense of space and openness. After a few minutes he was infused with the feeling that he wanted all this to remain as it was. Developers would be sure to come in to build condominiums and speed up the pace of life. It would all generate substantial profits, and that was the name of the game, but as he sat looking at the unspoiled vista of the whole magnificent scene, he wished it were not so inevitable.
    If Pricane or some other equally ruthless combine ever discovered this wonderland, it would end up looking like the Tamiami Trail south from Miami, and the very thought of that made him shudder.
    God willing, he would have to get to Bishop as fast as he possibly could.

CHAPTER 5

    At a few minutes after 10 P.M., Constable Grady pulled his patrol unit into the parking lot of the R and R Lodge and got out to pay his usual visit to the landlord. He did not always arrive at the same hour, but he could be depended upon to stop in sometime during the evening. It was through such visits that the New Zealand police picked up a great deal of useful information.
    The bar was comfortably full, which was good for Henry Cartright, the owner. Henry was well liked, both for himself and because he ran a very orderly establishment that suited almost everyone in that particular area of the South Island. It was more than fifteen miles to Nelson, the nearest city, so the R and R’s trade was largely made up of local regulars and a certain number of visiting fishermen who put up at the lodge, most of them year after year.
    When the figure of Constable Grady appeared in the doorway, his arrival was duly noted. He walked once through the large room exchanging nods with a number of the patrons. Everything was in good order, as he knew it would be; he was there largely in case anyone wanted to speak to him.
    Someone did. Behind the bar, and with a long neat row of inverted bottles in dispensing holders behind him, the landlord gave him a slight sign that he had something to say. Constable Grady walked over and accepted the half pint of potent New Zealand