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Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.30 a.m.
As the men came out, they stopped and observed the street waking up – faint sun powdering the trees and street corners, robins and sparrows chattering in the oaks and elms while shop and café owners opened their doors, swept their piece of street and put out their hoardings. A street sweeper with his cart mumbled to them as they wished him a cheery good morning while suited men and women strode past, pretending not to notice Hemi’s happy greeting to them all.
“They all bloody deaf and blind round here?” asked Hemi, shaking his head.
“It’s the English way, old chap,” said Ahmed, exaggerating his English accent. “We don’t talk to anyone we have not been formally introduced to. It worked when they took over my country 200 years ago and they think it still works now.”
“Yeah, well, just bloody ignorant,” said Hemi, smiling at Ahmed. “So, you giving me a smoke, Angus, or do I have to wait to be introduced to it or something?”
“Och aye, sorry Hemi,” said Angus, getting his cigarettes and lighter out. “Just kinda’ ... I dunno, trying to soak it all in, wondering if it’s real.”
“Yep, three days ago, there you were, living your usual Scottish life when a Māori and a Pom lose their car and change it all,” said John, patting Angus on the shoulder.
“Yeah, life turns on a dime, as the Yanks say,” said Angus, wistfully as he lit his and Hemi’s cigarettes.
“So, you’re Ahmed, aye?” asked Hemi, holding out his hand. “Since no one else’s gonna introduce us – just damned inconsiderate, don’t you think old chap!”
“Yes, Ahmed Khan at your service, sir!” said Ahmed, shaking Hemi’s hand and laughing heartily.
“My gosh, a good laugh does one good, doesn’t it?”
“And where do you come from, Ahmed?” asked Hemi.
“I live in Kensington,” said Ahmed awkwardly.
“Yeah bro’, but you weren’t born here, I know that,” said Hemi. “You’re a mountain man.”
“Actually, you are right, I was born in Skardu in West Pakistan,” said Ahmed with a look of relief, somehow. “I’m not used to being asked personal questions. Please excuse me.”
“Personal? Hell bro’, the first thing we want to know about someone is their mountain, their river and their tribe.” said Hemi. “That’s the Māori way. Aye, John?”
“You’re right, Hemi. My mountain is Wakapuni, my river is Awhea and my iwi, my tribe, is Ngati Kahungunu,” said John with obvious pride.
“So you’re from the Wairarapa, huh,” said Hemi. “My mountain is Ngongotaha, my river is
Puarenga and part of me is from the tribe of Maxwell.”
“Maxwell! That’s Scottish!” exclaimed Angus, choking on his cigarette.
“Yeah, my tangata, my grandfather, came from some place in Scotland,” said Hemi. “Dumerline or something.”
“Not Dunfermline?” asked Angus, recovering from his coughing fit.
“What, Dunfermline? Yeah, sounds like it,” said Hemi.
“Och aye man, that’s where I come from!” said a wide-eyed Angus. “I just brought John and Belinda from there yesterday!”
“No shit bro’! Cor, so’s we all mountain men!” said Hemi, his cigarette suspended in mid-air while he absorbed the thought.
“Mountain men?” asked Ahmed with a smile. “By jove, I’d never thought of it like that.”
Philip J Bradbury
So chaps,” said Hemi, attempting his English accent again, as passers by continued to pretend the four didn’t exist as they walked around them in an increasing stream. “How do four mountain men, from the four corners, end up meeting in this flat, little country, hey?” “Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe it’s not,” said John, seriously.
“Allah makes no mistakes, my friends,” said Ahmed. “We are always where we’re supposed to be.” “And what the hell have you two been smoking?” asked Angus, flicking ash off his cigarette.
“Well, Angus, why did our car get stolen in your town and not one of the many others we passed through?” asked John. “And how did you happen to be walking past the Fordyce’s when I was asking them for help? Tell me that.”
“It’s just coincidence,” said Angus, uncertainly.
“Well, if you think it’s coincidence meeting me and then meeting another Māori from your home town, then it’s coincidence, I suppose,” said John, smiling at Angus.
“There is no coincidence,” said Ahmed seriously, looking at John meaningfully as John nodded back at him, smiling.
“But, ye ken, I do wonder about things,” said Angus. “Ye see, I’ve tried all my life to get out of Dunfermline – ye know, see the world, do different things, but every time I tried to leave, something stopped me – met a woman, lost a woman, me da got sick, broke an arm, got a promotion, stuff like that. Then I give up, thinkin’ I’m stuck there for life and whoosh! Here I am, talking to a bunch of foreigners in London town! So how’s that work, aye?”
“As I said ...” said Ahmed.
“Yeah, yeah, no coincidence, right?” said Angus, interrupting as ground his cigarette butt into the pavement. “How DOES that happen, hey? Oh, you want another fag, Hemi?”
“Thought you’d never ask, mate! N’I thought I was here to get our pounamu back and look what’s happened!” said Hemi, shaking his head and smiling. “Not what I had planned – bit like my whole life, really.”
“So you think if we figure out what we’re here for – really here for, nattering on this London town street – then we can figure it all out?” asked Angus to no one in particular as he handed Hemi another cigarette. “I mean, how do ye know what yer Allah’s got planned or what any of it’s for? It’s got me beat.”
“No one knows, Angus, is my guess,” said John. “A lot of people tell me they have the answer to life and they all end up wrong and then dead.” All fell silent for a moment.
“Me Aunty Whina told me, time and again, to stop trying to work it out as it will just crack my brain,” said Hemi reminiscing, perhaps sadly. “She said forget all those big brain people with their big words and just do the best you can, each day. Just one day at a time.”
“Och aye, that’s what me sister told me when she visited last time,” said Angus.
“That your sister, the one in the suit, upstairs?” asked Hemi.
“Yeah, that’s her, Mary,” said Angus.
“Hmm, Mary, she’s a wise one when she stops worrying about herself,” said Hemi. “Like the rest of us.”
“So, we don’t know the answers but we know the questions for today,” said John as he stepped back to avoid a teenager on a skate board. “How do we find your pounamu, Hemi, and how do we get our
free-energy machines to the public and stop those against them giving us grief?” “Yes, that sums it up, John,” said Ahmed. “But what do we do now?” “Nothing,” said John.
“Nothing?” asked Ahmed.
“Nothing?” asked Angus.
“Nothing?” asked Hemi.
“Nothing,” said John. “Look at it logically. Angus only got what he wanted when he stopped trying. I’ve put everything into this free-energy technology and all I’ve got so far is trouble. Hemi’s put a lot into getting his pounamu back and all he’s got is trouble and no smokes!” “So we do nothing?” asked Angus. “That’s your answer?” “You tell me what else has worked, Angus,” said John.
“Well, I dinna ken. It just isna’ ...” said Angus, flicking at his cigarette.
“Just isn’t what we usually do?” asked Ahmed, smiling indulgently at Angus, finishing his sentence for him.
“Well, no, you don’t just go round doing nothing ...” said Angus frowning and scratching at his red hair.
“So it’s best to go round doing something and round and round and round, despite nothing actually happening?” asked Ahmed. John and Hemi chuckled.
“Yer, well, hell, I don’t bloody know!” said Angus, sucking harder and harder on his cigarette.
“Look, sorry old chap,” said Ahmed, his hand on Angus’ shoulder. “We’re not getting at you and we have no more answers than you have.”
“He’s right, Angus, we’re all trying to get somewhere and the more we try, the further we are away from it, whatever it is,” said John. “The only thing that’s worked for any of us is what worked for you – giving up.”
“Well, maybe we just take a day off – stop trying for a day and do nothing,” mused Angus.
“Yeah bro’, maybe that’s the way,” said Hemi, shaking huis head. “I’m not giving up on our taonga, no way, can’t give up, but maybe I just leave it for a day. Just hanging loose, full of juice.”
“Look Hemi, Mary’s flat is a bit small for a korero, a talk, for us all and you smokers must need refuelling,” said John. “Why don’t you two get some more smokes, find a café with an outside smoking area and meet us back here? Ahmed can go get changed, I’ll write a note for the superintendent and we’ll get the others down and meet you here and we’ll go for coffee, korero, cucumber sandwiches and cancer sticks.”
“Yeah bro’, except for the cucumber sandwiches, Timmy!” said Hemi, laughing.
When John and Ahmed brought the others down – all looking cleaner, tidier and in more appropriate clothes – they found Hemi and Angus arguing.
“Aw bro’, they won’t miss one little packet of smokes,” said Hemi, casually.
“Ye can’t just go stealing stuff!” said Angus, astonished. “It’s just not done.” “Just not done?” asked Hemi. “Everything here’s ‘just not done’!” “You stole those cigarettes?” asked John.
“Yeah, well, they won’t ...” said Hemi, less casually this time.
“So you get all up in arms about someone stealing your taonga but it’s OK for you to steal from others?” fumed John. “Don’t you bloody see it man?” “See what?” asked Hemi, quietly.
“You get back what you give out! That’s what!” said John.
“Some call it karma,” offered Ahmed.
“I call it bullshit!” said Hemi.
“And I call it stupid,” said John. “And I’m not surprised if your iwi has stuff stolen from it if one of its number keeps stealing things. You never get away with it, bro’, never.”
“Ah well, it was only a bit of fun,” said Hemi. “I’ll go and pay for them then.”
“And don’t be surprised if you don’t find your pounamu till you’ve changed your mind about nicking stuff, Hemi,” said John, his eyes never leaving Hemi’s. “You do your iwi no pono, no honour, at all.” Hemi went as white as a brown man could and stood there with his mouth open, perhaps somewhere between embarrassment and anger. He dropped his arms to his sides and looked down, his foot playing with an imaginary pebble.
Yeah, shit Hemi, I suppose you’re right,” Hemi said quietly. “You just remind me of my grandmother – she says stuff like that.”
“So you get your brown behind over there and pay for those smokes and let’s go have a coffee, shall we?” suggested John as everyone relaxed a little and quiet smiles appeared.
“So, band of brothers and sisters,” said John as they stirred their coffees and lit their cigarettes in the café courtyard, too small for the sun to bless but pleasant and private enough. “For your information, the Committee for Action has decided not to take any today – just be still and ponder the meaning of life.”
There was a momentary silence as they cogitated on John’s words and his straight face – was he serious or not?
“Look, John, I’m blessed if I know what you mean,” said Sam, eventually, smiling uncertainly at John as he brushed back his thick white forelock again. “But, while I’ve had quite enough dashed action for a lifetime, we can’t be still for long as they’re relentless, you know.”
“I think what Cryptic John means, Sam, is that we take this opportunity to get particularly clear about what we want,” said Ahmed.
“A bloody holiday ... for the rest of my life!” said Mary with a sigh as she peeled a cupcake.
“And a Prince Charming to pay for it!” said Halee.
“And a cold beer and a wahine, a woman, for me!” said Hemi, laughing mischievously.
“But Hemi, how did ye find us at the hotel?” asked Angus, suddenly changing the subject. “Ye got some newfangled contraption to track us, huh?”
“Yeah bro’ it’s called a mobile,” said Hemi, chuckling. “See, after that bloody Bruce Lee chap had a go at me at Ahmed’s house, this Brian just phoned his friends and they told us Sam was being released and to follow him. So we did. Easy when you have contacts!”
“So they knew I was sneaking out!” said Sam quickly. “They pretended to give me an angel, someone on my side, and an opportunity to escape, when they actually wanted me to go, so I could lead them to you! God, I thought I was the clever one!”
“Sam, Sam, don’t be hard on yourself,” said Mary, patting his leg. “It’s you against a whole lot of experts in this type of thing. You’re still alive and with friends now.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Mary,” said Sam sitting back with a sigh. “I feel so dratted stupid. I thought I was the clever one and they were on to me all the time.”
“Look Sam, you’ve been in the thick of it,” said Belinda. “Do you want to tell us what’s been happening with you? Your experience may have some clues for us.”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Sam, staring into his tea cup. “Much of the last few days have been in the dark with persons unknown.” He sat back and rubbed his eyes as if trying to recall the events. Or to rub them out. “I’ve been kidnapped, trapped, interrogated, left alone for interminable hours, interrogated again, abused, disbelieved, fed irregularly and, eventually, believed and taken pity on by one kind soul who, I suspect, took great a personal risk to allow me to escape. It seems they determined, quite incorrectly, that I have the plans, the power and the money to give them what they wanted. I don’t.”
“But Sam, Sir,” said Angus, butting in. “How did you find us in the hotel?”
“That’s mysterious, Angus. My saviour, if I can call him that, gave me a note and suggested I check in. I really don’t know if he was helping me or leading them to you, through me. It’s all so confusing but I couldn’t think what else to do.”
“Oh, you poor thing, Sam,” said Mary, gently rubbing his arm. “So what’s it all about – you know, who are they and what did they think you could provide them with? Whatever it is, it must be worth a lot to go to all this trouble.”
“Yes Sam, we’re all at the edges of this thing,” said Belinda. “But you seem to be at the centre of it all.”
“Well, Charles ... ah, Lord Atkinson, is the instigator, the man at the centre of the FSA investigation, the one with so much to lose and little to gain,” said Sam.
“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of the lose-win thing, Sam,” said Belinda, “but John and I have been trying to have the technology accepted somewhere, anywhere really. We had no idea how you and Daddy were going to achieve or finance it.”
“Ah yes, the finance,” said Sam smiling and looking round as if checking for hidden cameras and microphones. “I suppose it’s safe to talk here while no one else is in the courtyard. One gets dashed suspicious after a time.”
“After a time of being kidnapped, interrogated, abused and starved,” said Mary, rubbing his arm reassuringly. “We’ll all keep a lookout for anyone poking around here, huh?” Everyone nodded and scanned the cobbles, bricks and ivy, up and down, like a family of meerkats.
“In a nutshell, then,” said Sam looking up as if for inspiration, “Charles came to me with his crazy scheme. When he discovered his daughter and son-in-law – John and Belinda – had these amazing plans. He was so excited. I’d never seen him like it before. He knew lots of people and so did I and so we pooled our resources and, well, I had a pal who had worked at EAB ... aah, Empire Aid Bank ... and knew the wheezes that went on, well, you know how DfID, the Department for International Development, gives EAB the money to spend on international aid, how forty plus percent of it gets swallowed up in Britain in administration and, of the rest of it, up to seventy percent, can be swallowed up in what we might call administration – bribes, payoffs and other ways of oiling the wheels – to get the remaining twenty percent to the poor blighters who need it.”
“My God, what a complete bloody waste!” said John, sitting forward, scratching at his curly black hair. “Better to spend the money here, looking after needy people at home.”
“Exactly John. Charles’ and my sentiments entirely,” said Sam, sitting back with a smile, nodding his head. “So that hatched our plan for us, really. With my pal’s help, Charles created a project in Nigeria – there’s huge sums poured in there, one of Africa’s wealthiest states, so they can afford education and computers to send us spam for more money! They’re smarter than we are, I can tell you.”
“So, the plan, Sam ...” said John, probably hoping to keep Sam on track.
“Ah yes, the plan, John,” said Sam, sitting forward and pawing his white forelock back again. “Charles created this needy project, got the money, moved it back here to England – pals at Royal Bank of Scotland very helpful – and now here’s the clever and tricky part ...”
“Och aye, getting aid money’s pretty clever, sir,” said Angus, shaking his head appreciatively.
“Yes it was ... aah, Angus, is it?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Angus, sir,” said Angus reaching across to shake Sam’s hand.
“Aah, it’s Sam, not sir, to all of you, if you don’t mind,” said Sam, looking round. “Now, the Olympics were coming up in a few years and it seemed to Charles it would be the best publicity possible to have this technology showcased and then, with proper backing and awareness of it, we could take it to the poorer countries to really make a difference for them – practical aid as it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s brilliant sir ... Sam!” said Angus.
“Yes, we thought so,” said Sam, chuckling. “But there were a few stumbling blocks, the chief of them being the power and fuel companies that would suffer as a result. So Charles’ bold plan was to meet the lion head on, so to speak, and give them a benefit from it. We had a few chats with a chum of mine, Sir Magnus Davenport, chairman of PoCo, who had the contract to supply gas and electricity to the Olympics and he agreed to allow us the cycling arena.” “The cycling arena?” asked Mary.
Yes, we’d supply power to the cycling arena,” said Sam. “The deal was that we’d pay PoCo what they’d make in profit if they did it so they got the money for nothing. Then, if it was a success, they’d have a share in the profits of all future ventures, worldwide. They stood to make a lot of money for doing nothing.”
“The cheeky buggers!” said Halee.
“Well, actually, we went to them with these ideas and they simply agreed to them,” said Sam, smiling at Halee. “We had to deal with the biggest players or they’d just stymie the whole thing as happened in New Zealand – the Shell-BP-Todd oil consortium pressured the then Prime Minister, Muldoon, to scuttle Robert Adams’ plans. We couldn’t afford that. Which is why we kept Belinda and John out of it as much as we could – reduce their risk.” Everyone nodded quietly, not wanting to stop Sam’s story with interjections.
“Of course we couldn’t apply for a patent as we’d risk losing the whole thing through the “military use” patent provisions, which was how Muldoon scuppered Adams’ plans, eventually. So it was vital the plans were kept secret for, with no patent, anyone could steal them and patent them in another country and they’d be lost to us and the developing world forever. So the plan was to launch the new technology in one grand blaze of glory by operating it successfully at the Olympics and the international media exposure would ensure that the idea could never be hidden again, by governments or private concerns, we’d be able to get a patent – worldwide, hopefully – and then go ahead, manufacture, make huge money in the developed world which would enable us to provide it free to countries with inadequate financial and energy resources.”
“My God man ... Sam, that’s brilliant, so brilliant!” said Angus, running his fingers through his red hair with one hand as he plucked another cigarette from his pocket with the other.
“Thank you Angus. We thought so too! Just one fly in the ointment, one dashed big fly, actually,” said Sam to the accompaniment of a low groan that circled the courtyard. “We had signed a secret agreement with Sir Magnus at PoCo but, somehow, the secret got out – always a danger; the more people involved the more difficult to contain things – and, unbeknown to us, one or more of the oil companies control PoCo, somehow, and they wanted to stop it.”
“Ah hell! And everyone, even them, would have benefited,” said John.
“Yes, John, we thought so but it’s about perception,” said Sam sadly. “If you see the world as fearful, you’ll see everyone as your enemy. As the oil industry is run by fear, fear of imminent scarcity, they’re all at each other’s throats all the time and they see their customers, their source of income, as the enemy too ... everyone is the enemy, even those who could help them. Hence most wars are based around control and ownership of this fear-based resource – oil.”
“And because the new technology is free it’s free of fear,” said John.
“Absolutely John, absolutely!” said Sam with a big grin. “We thought if we could launch an energy system that could not be controlled, that was available to all, then there’d be less for us to fight over.” “Oh well, we’d just have to go back to fighting over religion!” said Angus, chuckling.
“Or land like we do in Aotearoa,” said Hemi with a sad smile.
“Yes, of course you’re right, sadly,” sad Sam. “But that was to be our contribution to world peace.” “Do you have any idea who’s behind the scuttling of the plan, Sam?” asked Belinda.
“Not sure yet, Belinda, but let us not yet rule out some members of the consortium that stymied the thing in New Zealand – they could well be a part of it here,” said Sam. “However, we’re still not sure and maybe we’ll never find out.”
“So, Sam, what’s with this briefcase and the mysterious hieroglyphics on paper?” asked Halee.
“Oh yes, that’s rather interesting, Halee. It came from the free energy technology, actually,” said Sam, flicking his forelock back again. “You see, after PoCo’s takeover of several competitors, they found themselves with several buildings in Britain, surplus to requirements. They hadn’t disposed of them all, luckily for us, and so, in acknowledgement of the deal we cut with them, they gave us four small facilities, for free. We split the manufacturing into three factories that know nothing about each other. Then the final assembly was in a fourth factory where no one could know what was in the sealed units they were assembling. Kept the whole thing secret ...” “Even from me,” said John, quietly.
“Just so, John, and we may have been quite wrong in this but Lord Atkinson was insistent that his family – including you, John – were to be kept safe at all times,” said Sam, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Anyway, in the second factory, we had to calibrate the rotor to run at a particular speed and, when it did, the marker on the graph paper stopped writing ... or so we thought.”
“It started writing in invisible ink?” asked John, as the jigsaw started coming together for him.
“Exactly, John, and it seemed an opportunity not to miss,” said Sam. “One of our technicians worked on it for several months and was able to create an invisible writer, based on the earth’s magnetic frequency, which is the same as the human brain’s alpha state, incidentally, and we’ve only just created a computer program that can read this writing – photocopying and scanning don’t work on it so we can keep our plans secret.”
“So, as you said earlier, the plans we thought were the real ones were bogus,” said John.
“Absolutely, John,” said Sam with a twisted smile. “What the police took from your car in Scotland were, shall we say, slightly adjusted plans that won’t ever work, like the ones Mary delivered to me last night. You insisted on wandering all over this country with no protection and so all we could do was to make the plans safe. Sorry John.”
“Mmm, perhaps we were a little naïve, Sam,” said John, patting his arm. “Did we make it difficult for you?”
“Let’s just say you forced us to be creative ...” said Sam who suddenly stopped talking as he looked up with his mouth open. He put his finger to his mouth to indicate quietness and looked up. Everyone followed his gaze, quietly, to see Hemi scaling the ancient, pitted wall. Like a monkey he darted back and forth, climbing higher up the labyrinthine old ivy branches and stopped suddenly, just below the eaves, two storeys up. He pulled something from his boot and tossed it. There was an immediate scream and a clatter as a large camera crashed to the cobbles, narrowly missing Halee. Above, Hemi’s knife slid into the gutter.
“What the hell! You can’t go killing people ...” yelled an obviously shocked person on the roof-top, rolling sideways into sight, holding his bloody wrist.
“Ah, shut the hell up and piss off,” said Hemi, moving sideways, closer to the indignant young man. “Unless you want more of my treatment.”
“I am the free press in a public place. You can’t just do that,” said the lanky young man as he tried to stand on the ancient, slate roof.
“Just did mate,” said Hemi, smiling and obviously enjoying himself. “Now, how fast can you run?” Hemi started to climb over the out-jutting eave and the young man realised he was in mortal danger, which gave his legs power and he scuttled up the uneven roof, his feet slipping with every step. Hemi reached up, retrieved his knife from the gutter, slipped it back into his boot and slithered back down, landing like a panther, quietly smiling his huge smile.
“That superintendent fella said we should keep a lookout for snooping reporters, didn’t he?” said Hemi, obviously flushed with pride.
No one said anything for a moment. And then everyone had something to say: You can’t just injure the press! What would the implications be? How did their secret meeting place get found? How much did the press know? How much did anyone know? What to do now? Do we dump the camera or leave it there? Do we take the film out? What was legal and illegal for the press to do? What was legal and illegal for citizens to do? Should they tell the authorities? Should they tell the superintendent?
Hey dudes .. SHUT UP, will ya!” yelled Hemi, standing there with his arms akimbo and feet apart. “It’s done so legalities don’t count. Question is, what now? I say we take the film out and bugger off. Right?”
“Just like we’ve all been running for all our lives,” said John quietly. “And how’s that working for us all?”
Another silence descended on them.
“What? We just sit here and wait for them to come again and again?” asked Hemi, his eyes wide in astonishment.
“Actually, Hemi, John’s right,” said Halee bending down to pick up the camera. It was heavier than she’d imagined but got it onto her lap. “What are they going to expect us to do? Run? Let’s confuse them and not do that.”
“And what did the Committee for Action decide?” asked Angus with a nervous giggle.
“Yeah well I broke the rules didn’t I!” said Hemi glaring disbelievingly at them. “Sometimes you gotta break rules, do stuff and I saved us from those newspaper pricks. So it’s time to do more stuff. Like now! Let’s go!”
“Can we perhaps take a vote on it?” suggested Sam tentatively, obviously unused to such directness.
“Who votes for another coffee and cake ... actually, I’m famished so I’m having another panini. Anyone else?”
“Aw, Jeez fellas! They come for us from the roofs and you just wanna sit there stuffing yourselves ... beggin’ your pardon, Sam, but we gotta go! Now!” said Hemi walking uncertainly toward the door.
“Hey Hemi, Hemi, you did a brilliant job. That was amazing. It really was. You saved us, brother,” said Belinda. “But think about this – what do we know? What do we know what’s waiting for us out there?”
“Yes Belinda, you’re absolutely right!” said Mary, finally recovering from the shock of the Tarzan scene. “Running isn’t good for anyone – I know, I’ve tried it! And, I don’t know, maybe we should plan something before we act.”
“Aw, you’s all just chickens!” said Hemi. “I’m outa’ here.”
“And where has going it alone got you in the past, Hemi?” asked John.
Hone stopped and slowly turned, his mouth open, his head shaking a little. “That’s a low blow, Hemi,” he said quietly.
“But a true blow, Hemi,” said John getting up, walking over and hugging him. “I know where you’ve been, man, the lone wolf all your life, the whole world against you and running and running and running to no blooming where in the end. Yeah?”
“Yeah mate, howja know this stuff, huh?” asked Hemi, slowly relaxing into John’s hug.
“Because I’ve been there too, brother. I’ve been there too,” said John softly as everyone else looked on, stilled and a little tearful. “Then I met this bloody pommy bird and I learned about true connection with another ... how much we can achieve and how deeply we can feel in true connection with others.”
Hone’s stout muscular body shook in the hug of a slightly taller John as muffled whimpers and howls emanated.
“It’s OK bro’,” said John. “This is your moment, your defining moment to choose the same or to choose again, Which is it?”
“What a stupid damned question, bro’!” said Hemi standing back, wiping his eyes while trying to smile. “Course I want different. I’m sick to death of lone wolf stuff, like you said. It’s just ... just ...”
“Just, just shut your big trap and choose differently,” said John, his hands in Hemi’s shoulders. “Choose the pack and choose doing nothing.”
“It’s just ... aah, I don’t know, I feel like a bloody sissy, crying and all, in front of you ...” said Hemi, wiping his tears roughly again.
“Mr Hemi Ropata,” said Ahmed, walking over to the standing men. “I see no sissy. I see a man who stood for his tribe, for a group of strangers in fact, and saved their missions, maybe even saved their lives. I see a true warrior who I want as my friend.” Ahmed held out his hand.
“Aah, yah big bloody oaf!” said Hemi, trying to smile through another flood of tears. “Waddya wanna say stuff like that for, Koro?” Hemi pumped Ahmed’s hand and then buried his head in Ahmed’s chest as he wrapped his hands around him.
“Koro?” asked Ahmed, looking at John and then slowly down at Hemi’s head.
“Koro means old man, Ahmed, it’s a compliment,” said John. “Wise old man, really.”
Sam came up and shook Hemi’s hand, looking awkward, as if he had something to say but didn’t quite know how to put it.
“Hey mister, misters, ladies, everyone!” yelled the café owner as he burst through the door, “they out there ... they, they ...”
“OK, OK young man, it’s all OK,” said Sam to the alarmed man wringing his hands in his apron.
“Now take it easy, my good man, slow and easy.”
“Ah, umm, you said not let people in here,” said the wretched man. “You pay to keep others out.”
“You did that, Sam?” asked Mary, surprised and impressed. “You didn’t tell us!”
“Mmm, I though a little peace of mind might serve us well for a time,” said Sam, blushing. “And now, young man, tell us: who is it who’s there? Is it the police? Reporters? Maybe it’s aliens?” Sam chuckled at his attempt at levity.
“Maybe they all want climbing lessons from the world expert!” said Hemi, laughing.
“No, no, not aliens. Not climbers,” said the swarthy young man, now looking confused as well as worried. “They banging on door, demand be let in. No uniforms. Yes, could be newspaper people, ah, notebooks, cameras ...”
“Actually, Sam, it doesn’t really matter who they are, it’s not what we want, is it?” said John.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Ahmed quietly.
“And maybe we can put them to good use,” said Halee jumping up as if a sharp idea had prodded her in the bum. “Is that what you mean, Ahmed?”
“Yes, Halee, exactly!” said Ahmed, looking directly into her eyes with obvious admiration.
“Look Sam, everyone, you all say you don’t get what you want, that everything goes wrong and the harder you try, the wronger it gets,” said Halee. “Well, sometimes we get what we want – just not in the way we expected it. Maybe this is the publicity you’re looking for.”
“My God, Halee, my thoughts exactly,” said Ahmed, putting his arm around Halee in an unaccustomed show of affection. “Let’s use this God-given moment!”
“Look, that’s all very well,” said Angus, nervously lighting another cigarette, “but what exactly are we going to say?”
“Absolutely, Angus,” said Mary, getting up, “we need to organise our story. You know, decide what we’re going to say, what we’re not going to say and so on. We’ll sound like a bunch of mad squirrels, all squawking at once.”
“Or, Angus, Mary,” said Belinda, her hand on Mary’s shoulder. “We decide not to decide, per the
Committee for Action ruling today. We listen and let the quiet voice within be spoken.” “The Voice for God,” said John.
“Te irirangi o te Atua,” said Hemi.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re suggesting here,” said Sam looking worried, “but Mary and Angus are right. We need to have a battle plan, organise our defences, agree on tactics and so on.”
“It’s not a battle unless we choose it be so,” said Halee. “You see, we didn’t deliberately, with any forethought, create this bizarre situation. It is beyond us to have imagined or created this. I suggest – and you might think I’m quite loopy here, that’s OK – but it might well be that we’re pawns of a greater force, a force for good, and we could allow that force to work through us, still.”
Let Allah speak through us,” said Ahmed, his arm still around Halee’s shoulders.
“But ... but we need time to organise ...” said Angus, puffing hard on a cigarette that might have been crying out for kinder treatment.
“That we don’t have, I guess,” said Mary. “I have no idea how this Allah’s going to speak through us, Ahmed, but I can’t see another, logical choice. The sods will have the font door smashed down soon if we don’t let them in.”
Sam’s phone trilled and he answered it: “Yes Hoppy, just come down to the café on the note we left. You’ve got it? Good. Ah, yes, right now is fine. Just that you’ll have to lever your way through a bit of a crowd. Your sergeant? Yes, of course he can come and you can join us at the table. See you soon.” Sam smiled indulgently, perhaps reflecting on the immaculate timing of it all.
With the assistance of an increasingly nervous café owner, they moved tables away from the centre of the café and set up tables and ten chairs at one end. The reporters were allowed in but not before Scotland Yard’s finest was ushered through the crowd and introduced to them all. This had a magically calming effect and a sense of relative order ensued as questions were asked and answered, while numerous photos of the seated team were taken.
