Phantom of Terawhiti Read online

  Crawford looked at him sideways. ‘Have I told you this before?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. Twice! Once when we first arrived, and again when we were exploring the paddocks around the house.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘And you told me about the survivors being put up at the homestead before being moved to Wellington.’

  Crawford gave a crooked smile. ‘Did I tell you that forty-three ships have sunk on or near the Terawhiti Peninsula?’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ replied Zac, returning the smile. He let his eyes scan the shoreline. It was easy to see why ships would have trouble around here. All along the coast the foaming sea was broken by the dark shape of rocks, some sticking up a few metres, others just breaking the surface. Then, as Zac’s eyes moved further west, he saw something quite different. The sea was covered with floating rubbish. The largest piece was pale blue with smooth curves. Zac turned to his father. ‘It’s now forty-four ships,’ he said, quietly. ‘There’s another one down there.’

  Without speaking, Crawford raised his camera and extended the zoom. After studying the rubbish for a time he said, ‘You’re right. Something must have sunk offshore.’

  ‘Do you think people know about it?’

  Crawford raised the camera again and panned along the coast in both directions. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone around the area, and I’m sure there would be if it had been reported.’

  ‘Then are you going to do it?’

  In answer, Crawford started taking photos. Kidik, kidik, kidik … After he’d taken almost a dozen he lowered the camera and looked at them in the viewfinder. He pressed a button several times and then peered at one particular image more closely. It was the large pale-blue piece.

  ‘I thought so,’ he said, holding the camera out so Zac could see. ‘There’s a name on there.’

  Zac looked. Not all of it was clear. ‘Ana something,’ he said.

  ‘Anastasia,’ said Crawford. ‘It’s Mikhail Popanov’s yacht.’

  Zac turned to him with wide eyes. ‘That Russian billionaire? The one Keith and Sally were going on about the other day?’

  Crawford nodded. ‘They said the yacht was leaving last night.’

  ‘Do you think the billionaire was on it?’

  ‘No. According to the radio, he’d already flown out in his private jet.’

  Zac turned back to the wreck. ‘Someone must have been on it, though.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Crawford, grimly. ‘We need to let the police know.’

  ‘Won’t that blow our cover?’

  ‘I’ll call Jim and get him to call them.’

  Zac nodded. Jim was Jim Shirley, the farm manager. He was one of the few people who knew that the Morrises were staying on Terawhiti.

  ‘Can we go down there and take a look before anyone else arrives?’

  ‘Yes, I think we should,’ said Crawford, pulling his phone out of a pocket. ‘Just in case someone needs immediate help.’

  Chapter Three

  They were back on the main track driving towards Oteranga Bay where most of the rubbish was washing ashore.

  The bay is also called Cable Bay, as it is where the cable that carries power between the South and North islands connects to land. From the very early days of Terawhiti Station Oteranga Bay had been an important landing site. Cattle and sheep had landed there by barge, with the wool later leaving by scow. Hopeful gold miners had shipped their equipment in, but they had taken little away — neither their equipment nor gold of any great worth. More recently it was where the turbines and towers of West Wind had arrived. Nothing much else came ashore these days, except for paua poachers with their illegal catches. And now the remains of a billionaire’s yacht …

  The road down into the bay had been sealed so that the trucks taking the equipment up to West Wind could get a decent grip on the steep surface. Crawford stopped the ute on a turning area so they could survey the wreckage and the bay.

  There was little left of what had once been a large oceangoing vessel. Zac had seen it when Mikhail Popanov was staying in Auckland. The yacht had been the centre of attention while it was moored at the Viaduct. Not that Zac would have called it a yacht because it didn’t have sails. Apparently unbelievably rich people call their boats yachts, even though they’re not.

  But all Mikhail Popanov’s money hadn’t protected the boat from the winds of Cook Strait — it was now reduced to rubbish. Much of it lined the shore, with more surging around on the waves that powered into the bay.

  ‘Can’t see any people,’ said Crawford, who had been studying the coastline with his camera. ‘Nor bodies,’ he added quietly. ‘Maybe they all got ashore. But we’d better go down and take a quick look. I want to get some photos for the book.’

  ‘How long have we got?’ asked Zac.

  ‘Half an hour or so,’ replied Crawford. ‘Jim said he’d meet the police at the main gate and unlock it for them.’ He took his foot off the brake and let the ute roll gently down the hill.

  They parked in the lee of a large building which, judging by the wires leading from the roof, had to be something to do with the power cable. Zac headed straight for the beach, excited about what he might find. He had no idea what a billionaire would have on his luxury yacht, but it was likely to be interesting. Maybe a hoard of money was washing up onto the beach!

  There was no money, and the stuff wasn’t even all that interesting: mostly foam cushions from the lounge and half-filled containers of food from the galley. As Zac wandered along the shore he could hear his father talking on the phone behind him. Judging by his occasional ‘yes’ and ‘no’, someone was relaying information.

  ‘That was Jim,’ said Crawford when he caught up. ‘The police aren’t coming until later now. The crew have been found alive further around the coast; they managed to get off and into the lifeboat.’

  ‘So we’re not going to find any bodies?’ said Zac.

  ‘No. Thank God!’ Then Crawford smiled. ‘But now I’ll have plenty of time to take photos. This is an opportunity too good to miss. It’s already giving me lots of ideas.’ He pointed to rocks at the other end of the bay which were layered with wreckage. ‘I’m heading over there. You coming?’

  ‘Nah. I’ll mess around here.’

  Crawford’s leg was obviously still hurting him, but not enough to stop him setting off towards the rocks — he was a man on a mission. Zac turned and headed back to where the flotsam looked more interesting.

  The beach was mostly gravel with a few patches of sand exposed by the waves, which were still washing high onto the shore. It was at the high-tide line that Zac made his first discovery. Some type of animal had walked through an area of sand that was yet to be washed by the waves, leaving a clear track of prints.

  Zac moved on further around the bay. Now there were big plastic containers, some of them with their lids still snapped in place. One had made it nearly all the way up the beach. Zac waited for the next wave to retreat before dashing out and dragging the container ashore. Coloured papers were visible through the plastic. Once again he imagined bundles of money.

  Instead he found a stack of coloured magazines printed in some foreign language.

  He thumbed through the top one, looking at the pictures. It was a nature magazine with lots of photos of mammals in snow.

  ‘Could be Russian,’ said Zac to himself. ‘They have lots of snow.’

  Flicking through the pile, he found the magazines were all the same. Zac recalled Keith and Sally saying something about Mikhail Popanov owning a media empire. Perhaps this was the sort of thing he published.

  Further along the beach was a cushion. It looked much like the others until Zac turned it over and discovered it was an animal bed. An expensive one, lined with a waterlogged sheepskin and probably big enough to take a large dog.

  Could the prints have been made by an animal which had been on the yacht? If so, where was it now?

  Zac lifted the side of the cushion to haul it up the beach. To his su
rprise he found that there was a chain attached. When the chain tightened, it dragged on something still in the water, as if there were an anchor.

  It was a dog bowl. But not the sort you’d buy in any pet shop Zac had ever visited. This one was made of a shiny, silvery metal with a lustre that suggested it was valuable. When he picked it up it was heavier than he expected. His mum had a silver drinks tray that had the same lustre and was equally heavy. It seemed that the dog from the Anastasia had eaten out of a silver bowl.

  He flipped the thing over and over, trying to decide what he should do with it. That’s when he noticed the name ‘Tasha’ embossed in gold letters around the side. This helped make up his mind. He just had to keep it!

  After checking that his father wasn’t watching, Zac unclipped the chain and stuffed the bowl under his sweatshirt. He then walked up the beach, feeling guilty but trying not to look it.

  Hiding the bowl in the ute was asking for trouble. No, the thing would have to go somewhere else where he could retrieve it later. A decent-sized gorse bush would be just the place and he’d seen some alongside the road by the cable station.

  Once he was behind the building he relaxed a bit — this was going to work. Then he heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the road.

  The police! They’re early!

  In a panic he sprinted along the road, searching for a bush big enough to hide the bowl under. There were none at ground level, only those above the road cutting. The one he chose was growing at head level and a little too small, but the vehicle sounded like it was almost upon him. He tossed the bowl up into it, did a quick check that it wasn’t visible, then set off down the road, making out as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  The vehicle must have been further away than he thought because he’d made it back to the shore before a small truck pulled up behind him. A man climbed out. Immediately, Zac knew this man wasn’t from the police. The clothes, the lined face, the permanent tan, told of a much different life. Now, if Crawford could somehow look like this then he’d have no problem being accepted as someone who worked on the land.

  ‘Gidday,’ said the man, stepping forward and offering his hand. ‘You must be Zac Morris.’

  Zac allowed the man’s hand to engulf his.

  ‘I’m Will McGonagall. I do all the fencing on Terawhiti. Got a phone call from Jim saying you found a wreck in the bay.’

  Silently Zac turned and pointed across the bay. His father had stopped photographing and was staring at them, plainly worried about who had arrived.

  ‘Streuth!’ said Will. ‘That’s a bit of a mess. Everybody okay?’

  ‘They got out in a lifeboat,’ said Zac. ‘Jim called Dad and said they’d come ashore further around the coast.’

  Will nodded. ‘Good.’ He turned back to his truck. ‘Jess!’ he called. ‘You can come out. There aren’t going to be any bodies.’

  The passenger door opened and a girl stepped out. Zac gave her the once-over. She looked about his age, twelve or thereabouts. Her clothes were also much the same — sweatshirt and jeans — but they looked lived in, whereas his were ridiculously new. Despite the clothes, she would never be mistaken for a boy. If the fine, dark hair now streaming away in the wind wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the attractive oval face surely was.

  ‘This is my daughter, Jess,’ said Will. ‘Jess, this is Zac. He’s the one who found the wreck.’

  Jess gave a nod and a friendly smile. ‘Hi! Were you scared of finding bodies too?’

  Zac shrugged. ‘Never really thought about it.’

  ‘What about money?’ she asked. ‘Maybe there’s a fortune out there.’

  This time he nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, I did think of that, but I haven’t found any — yet.’

  ‘Let’s take a look then,’ said Will, stepping towards the water. ‘Although, even if we find some I think it would be illegal to take it.’

  Zac guided them away from the animal bed and towards where Crawford was now making his way back across the rocks. As they passed the place where he’d seen the animal prints Zac was relieved to see they’d been washed away by the incoming tide.

  ‘Doesn’t look like there’s much of value here,’ said Will, after they’d been walking through the rubbish for a time. ‘I bet it won’t stop people coming out and searching, though.’ He looked back along the coast where the shore was steeper. Waves were crashing onto the rocks, sending geysers of spray high into the air. ‘But they won’t be coming around here for a day or two. Not until the sea calms down.’

  ‘Can you drive around this far?’ asked Zac.

  Will nodded. ‘Trail bikes, quad bikes, and at low tide with a calm sea you even get a few four-wheel drives. Paua poachers mostly.’

  They pottered around for a few more minutes before Craw ford arrived. When Will first looked up and saw him, he did a double take. Obviously Crawford’s disguise wasn’t working.

  ‘I guess you’re Crawford Morris,’ said Will, holding out his big mitt. ‘Will McGonagall, fencing contractor for Terawhiti Station.’

  Crawford shook hands, but continued to look at the man warily.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Will. ‘Jim told me the story of why you’re here. Your secret is safe with me. And with Jess here. She’s pretty good at keeping secrets, aren’t you, Jess?’ He touched her on the arm. ‘Especially from me, I might add.’

  Jess smiled. So did Crawford as he relaxed a little.

  ‘See anything of value in the wreckage?’ asked Will.

  Crawford shook his head. ‘No. Just lots of smashed-up fibreglass and decking. I think it must’ve hit rocks not far offshore from here.’

  ‘That figures,’ said Will. ‘It’s not the first boat to run onto rocks along this coast.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like there’s much worth salvaging,’ said Crawford.

  ‘People will try, though,’ said Will. ‘The souvenir hunters will be out here in their hundreds, looking for stuff they can sell online. Some people will pay ridiculous prices for—’

  He was interrupted by a blast of music coming from the rubbish near Jess’s feet. Jess had her mouth open, staring down at a black object that looked like a large chocolate Easter egg.

  ‘I only kicked it,’ she said, bending to pick it up.

  ‘That’s a Roldee,’ said Zac, excitedly.

  ‘And what is a Roldee?’ asked Crawford.

  ‘It’s an MP3 player that rolls around and dances to music.’

  ‘Must be well made to survive in sea water,’ said Will.

  ‘You can put them in water and they bob up and down,’ continued Zac. ‘You can do all sorts of things with them.’

  ‘Yeah, great machine — shame about the choice of music, though!’ said Jess.

  ‘That sounds like a balalaika,’ said Crawford. ‘A traditional Russian instrument.’

  ‘So how do you change it?’ asked Jess, turning the thing around in her hands.

  ‘Give us a look,’ said Zac.

  Jess went to pass it over and then stopped. ‘Hey! Look at this. It’s covered in teeth marks.’ She handed it to her father. ‘Look!’

  Will peered at the device. ‘They’re made by some pretty big animal. One with very sharp teeth.’

  ‘Probably a guard dog,’ said Crawford.

  ‘Wonder what happened to it?’ asked Jess.

  ‘More than likely it went with them in the lifeboat,’ said Crawford.

  ‘Or drowned at sea,’ said Jess sadly, gazing out over the water.

  ‘As long as the thing hasn’t come ashore here,’ said Will. ‘The last thing you want around a farm is a stray dog.’

  Both Crawford and Jess agreed.

  Zac said nothing.

  Chapter Four

  Zac spent the rest of the day messing about at the house. He would have preferred to stay at Oteranga Bay with Jess and Will McGonagall — that’s where all the action was — but, unfortunately, that idea had been scuttled when a news team arrived. Even before the helicopter had come
into view, Crawford was hurrying as best as he could back to the ute, screaming at Zac to get in. There had been no chance to say goodbye or anything. Now he was stuck back at the house with only sheep and pukeko to talk to. Crawford was working on The Book.

  The house was in a group of buildings known as Terawhiti Homestead. The place they were using sat a little apart from the others and was the only one occupied. Behind the buildings the tree- and scrub-covered hillside rose steeply to the ridge where the turbines began.

  Between the hills and the sea is the largest patch of flat land anywhere along the southwest coast. Those 60 hectares had been attractive to pioneers seeking land in the 1840s and were the beginnings of Terawhiti Station, which now totalled several thousand hectares. While most of that was steep hill country, the paddock through which Zac walked was much like the farms you would see anywhere around the country.

  He wasn’t really walking anywhere in particular. He’d needed to get out of the house and going to Tongue Point had seemed like a good idea. He was hoping for a view around to Oteranga Bay, where there seemed to be plenty of action: helicopters had been heading that way ever since they got back.

  Zac could understand all the interest. Mikhail Popanov had been big news for much of the summer as he cruised around the country in Anastasia. Apparently he was investing heavily in several big development projects. But these investments weren’t what got all the publicity: this came from the man’s lifestyle and the pair of stunning women who were often attached to his arms.

  While not a lot of publicity was given to how he earned his billions, there was plenty about how he spent them. Payouts to his previous four wives had taken quite a chunk; an English Premier League football team used up a billion or so, as did a Formula One racing car; then there were the huge donations to wildlife conservation, which interested Zac the most. Photographs and video of Mikhail Popanov often showed him posing with exotic animals in some remote part of the world, and this gave Zac the thought that the animal on board Anastasia might not necessarily have been a dog.