The Spanish Helmet (38 page)

‘Thanks.’ Matt smiled. ‘I may just find a use for that.’

‘Let me take you back out to the public areas,’ Herr Mischeler said. ‘I have to get back to my work, but Dr. Cameron, it’s been a pleasurable interlude to my typical week.’

‘The pleasure was all ours,’ Matt said.

‘It really was,’ Andreas said. ‘We can’t thank you enough for your accommodation.’

‘No thanks are necessary, gentlemen. Just promise to keep me in the loop on this. I look forward to finding out the whole story. I’ll look after this in the meantime,’ he said, tapping the leather of the original.

He led them out to the lobby and they said their goodbyes. Matt and Andreas decided to pop down to the cafe they had seen on the ground floor. Matt needed a strong coffee and there was a lot to talk about. Then, they would go and see how Julia was getting on. Matt pressed the call button on the lift. As the doors slid open, Matt and Andreas were greeted with the view of two uniformed police officers, complete with holstered side-arms and batons.

‘Are you Dr. Matthew Cameron?’ one of them asked.

Matt looked at Andreas, who nodded to him, reassuring him that police here are trustworthy. ‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘Dr. Cameron, we need to talk to you. Would you and your friend here please accompany us to the station?’

‘Are we under arrest?’

‘No, we just need to talk. It will only take an hour or so.’

‘Sure,’ Matt said, feeling the memory stick in his jacket pocket. ‘Let’s go.’

Matt and Andreas followed the officers into the lift. Matt decided not to add Julia to this fray. He just hoped that she wouldn’t go looking for them before they got back. Something told him she wouldn’t. She had plenty to occupy herself.

The officers escorted Matt and Andreas in silence down to the city, across the river, and into the beautiful old stone police buildings. Arriving at a second floor office, they were introduced to an Interpol Agent by the name of Regenbrecht.

‘How did you know where to find us?’ Matt asked.

‘We received intelligence from an agent of the DCI in New Zealand,’ Regenbrecht said. ‘She asked us to give you her best regards and said she hopes you will one day understand what she did.’

Aimee.
Is she just doing her job, or does she actually care?

‘Miss Kingsbridge passed on a report from the NISO. One of their agents had been working on an investigation and obtained knowledge of you and your activities which requires your attention.’

‘Yes, we’re aware of the situation.’ Matt responded, unsure which part of this should be new to him.

‘The officer in question...’ He looked at his notes. ‘...Agent Hemi
Davis,
was shot and sustained serious injury.’

‘Yes,’ Matt answered, trying not to get impatient, but aware that he had life-changing, nay, history-changing things to get on with.

‘Mr Davis has survived his injuries and has been able to give a full report of his investigation to his superiors.’

‘That’s good,’ Matt said, as Andreas also
pricked
up his ears to see what was coming.

‘It seems that your colleague in New Zealand, Mr Warren Rennie, had been involved in a conspiracy to create evidence of an archaeological nature that would suggest the Maori were not the first inhabitants of New Zealand.’

‘Not illegal in
itself
,’ Matt said.
‘Just stupid.
But it was when he started shooting at us that I didn’t like him
any more
.’

Regenbrecht smiled. ‘It’s not what he was trying to do that was the problem,’ the agent continued. ‘It was how he went about doing it.
Seems like your friend would stop at nothing, which you also learned after all.’

Matt cringed at the use of the word friend now. Warren had been well short of that. He glanced across at Andreas but caught himself. He knew he was safe with Andreas.

‘That’s true,’ Matt said. ‘Warren showed me his true colours this last month. But I still don’t understand what drove him to it.’

‘Greed,’ Regenbrecht answered. ‘It’s always greed or passion. This time, greed wins.’

‘Greed for what?’
Andreas asked, clearly interested in a little background. Matt was also interested in any information he might glean from this inconvenient visit.

‘Money, the tourist dollar.
It’s been reported to us that Warren Rennie was one of the founding members of the Clan of Truth.’

Matt felt his mouth drop open.

‘The Clan of Truth openly fought against Maori tribal tourism organisations in New Zealand, claiming that they, as Celtic descendants, should have the rights to tourism-related commercial land that they own,’ Regenbrecht said.

‘The land that the Iwis claimed as Maori land.’
Matt explained to Andreas. ‘The jet-boating rivers, tourism destinations and activities throughout the South Island... even whale watching in Kaikoura. The New Zealand government gave a lot of rights to the Iwis as redress for the loss of revenue the Maori suffered under Britain’s earlier land purchases.’

Andreas nodded, but looked bewildered. Matt would explain later.

‘So Rennie set out to find evidence that the Celts had colonised New Zealand before the Maori,’ Regenbrecht continued.
‘Evidence that wasn’t available to be found, so Rennie had to create some himself.
He set about stealing artefacts from a museum in England. He transported these to New Zealand, and planted them where he could later make a chance discovery.’

Matt had heard this part before, but was it really possible that Warren had constructed the entire scenario? Had Warren really stolen the mirror from a museum, buried it on a farm in Northland, dug it up, and called him out to New Zealand to verify his faked discovery? Matt felt squeamish and cheated. Utterly used.

‘I don’t see how Warren would be capable of doing all this by
himself
.’ Matt said.

‘Neither did Agent Davis, which is what he needed to report back. Rennie had help. Help with a lot of pull.’

‘Who?’

Agent Regenbrecht slid a photo across the table to Matt.
‘The owner of the farm where Rennie buried his stolen evidence.
This man, the other founder of the Clan of Truth.’

Matthew looked down at the photo. Waves of emotion flooded over him, like the pounding surf that follows in the wake of a storm. He felt ill. It couldn’t get any worse.

  * * *

The automatic sliding glass doors separated and Matt walked into the Special Collections reading room, with Andreas at his side. Their informative little visit to the police station had been interesting to say the least, but right now, Matt had other things on his mind. He wanted to know what was in that diary. He saw Julia over in the far corner, hunched over her photocopied version of the journal. She appeared to be about half way through. It had been the right decision not to tell Julia they were going to the police station. It would have been unpleasant for her. It was best she didn’t know about what went on in New Zealand. He glanced at his watch. They had been gone for two hours.

‘That must have been some seriously good coffee!’ Julia said, half-whispering. ‘I’ve been busting to tell you what’s in here.’

‘It was good coffee, wasn’t it Andreas?’ Matt asked, as he turned to Andreas with an instructive look.

Andreas responded as he hoped, with no mention of the police station visit. ‘Yeah, sure was.’

‘So, what can you tell me?’ Matt asked, sitting down.

‘Well...’ Julia said, her voice getting louder with excitement ‘...I’m only part way in, but I can tell you this much, not only did the San Lesmes make it to New Zealand, the surviving crew sailed and mapped some of the coasts and settled in among the Maori. In fact, they even intermarried and had children.’

‘Oh my God, that’s great,’ Matt said, barely containing himself.

‘It’s brilliant, Matt,’ Andreas said, nudging his shoulder. ‘But I think we better keep it down, or take this elsewhere. We’re in the library, remember?’

Matt checked himself and realised he must have spoken too loud in his excitement. Sure enough, as he glanced around the room he saw more than one set of frustrated eyes looking back at him.

‘Let’s go have dinner back at the hotel,’ Matt said, grabbing the copy of the journal and thrusting it in his satchel before Julia even realised it was gone.

Thirty minutes later, they sat at a table in the hotel restaurant over-looking the Limmat River. Small snow flurries drifted into the water and melted on contact. The flakes hitting the ground only lasted a few seconds longer.

‘I think we have enough to go home,’ Matt said, turning to Andreas.

‘You probably do,’ Andreas agreed. ‘Certainly, you already know that there’s revision of New Zealand’s history to be done. The second half of the journal should be interesting to read through too.’

‘Oh for sure,’ Julia said. ‘I could get started on it tonight.’

‘No, I think we have had enough excitement for one day, and we want to be sure to be thorough in our interpretation of the work. We can head home in the morning and spend a few days on the first read and translation.’

‘I guess so,’ Julia said, as she slumped back in her chair, looking distinctly disappointed.

Matt watched out the window as a swan and a duck appeared to fight over a piece of bread. Just as it looked like the swan had won, a sparrow flew down between them, grabbed the bread, and was gone before either of the fowl knew what happened.

‘I’m sorry we haven’t been around for longer, Andreas, I’d have liked to have had a good catch up.’

‘Don’t worry about it, I’ve really enjoyed today. It isn’t every day you get to be involved in such a monumental discovery.’

‘Looks like ours,’ Julia said as she indicated the approaching waiters.

Matt watched, amused, as the waiters placed their meals, concealed under silver food domes, on the table in front of them. Then, as one of the waiters counted to three silently, all three domes were removed with a precision that only Swiss could muster. Julia almost clapped. It was one of the things that Matt had always enjoyed at some of the better Swiss restaurants. He loved the sense of surprise that you still got when you saw the meal that you had ordered. Some surprises in life were great, others not so. Matt hoped that he would get a few less of the bad ones, and that the journal would continue to deliver only pleasant discoveries from now on.

Sunday, September 8, 1529