CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: National Security
Tristan stood on Mt Ruapehu.
Behind him, a small group had gathered around Joshua. They had come a long way, trekking from here and there, mostly from Taupo, but also from closer towns and villages. He had led them all this way, up the mountain. Behind them rose the rocky slopes of Ruapehu, to the many tipped peak. There was no snow, or ice: it was summer. The temperature was rising.
In front of Tristan, the valley was spread out before him: desert-like turf, or at least the closest thing to a desert you could find in New Zealand. Dry land, all the more so with the rising heat. Even so, the view was majestic.
It was a clear day. To his left, in the far distance, Tristan could see a single peak: Mount Taranaki. To his right, close by, was the single cone of Ngauruhoe, and next to this the rugged peak of Tongariro.
“Ready, mate?” Rau asked, appearing at his side.
“I dunno,” Tristan said, looking dubiously up the mountain. “Am I?”
“Got to put your heart and soul into a hike like this,” Rau said.
“Think I’ve done my dash with the training bit. Happy to let my fitness slide for now.”
Rau smiled gently. “Heat getting to you?”
“Always.”
“We’ll see you on the way down.”
“Stay safe. Remember, you’re not as young as you used to be.”
Rau bowed his head slightly to him, with a twinkle in his eye, and then turned to follow after Joshua. Tristan could see John and Rachel, further up – holding hands.
“Damn,” Tristan muttered under his breath, “she’s taken.”
The group headed slowly, on a diagonal course, up the face of the mountain. They were headed for the Crater Lake. Ruapehu was unpredictable – there were still rumblings from time to time, though the last actual eruption of rock and ash hadn’t happened for over a year.
“Take it easy,” Tristan muttered under his breath, looking at the diminishing back of Rau. “Don’t get blasted.”
To the left of the hiking group was the chairlift, no longer operating: abandoned from lack of use.
“Joshua wouldn’t have used it anyway,” Tristan said to himself, “purist that he is.”
A seven hour hike! That was what they had just committed to! After that big stretch from Turangi. Joshua had left Rau’s Ute at Taupo, and had gathered new people to himself, inviting them to come with him all the way up the mountain.
“Good luck,” Tristan said. And then he turned away.
What to do now? Walk the walk down the mountain, back to Turangi? Wait for them there? If he stayed there in the sun, he would get more burnt than he already was, and for no good reason. But he wasn’t yet ready to leave.
Sighing, he found an outcropping of rock and sat underneath it – reaching for his water bottle and taking a swig. Joshua…what to make of him? Tristan still didn’t know, even now. He remembered the first time he had met him, up on Ninety Mile Beach. That fish! He had been determined to beat him, back then: what had happened to that determination? It had melted away, somehow: dissolved away. Joshua’s faith…somehow Tristan had learned to live with it.
Tristan threw the water bottle backwards and forwards, between his hands.
“Looks like a storm’s coming,” Joshua had said, as they had stood, side by side, on the beach – as Tristan had tried to beat him fishing.
“A little storm never hurt anyone,” he had replied. “Might bring in the fish!”
Tristan gazed at the water in his hands, now. “Such a mystery,” he muttered. “You are always such a mystery.”
He rose to his feet, emerging from the shelter of the rock – and then looked further down the mountain. There was dust, being thrown up into the air: dust, from Bruce Road! It had to be a car! Keen to get a lift, Tristan headed down, almost slipping on the gravel in his haste, toward the deserted car-park.
The car came closer and closer. Excited, Tristan waited for it to arrive. It was a newish Merc! Extravagant, but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
He wandered up to the driver’s door.
“Hey, mate, I was wondering if you could give me a…”
His words were cut off, as the door opened and the driver stepped out.
It was his father.
A little bewildered, Tristan stared at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I found you,” Mark replied. “Thought I’d give Rau a call.”
“Joshua’s not here right now…”
“I didn’t come for Joshua.”
Tristan frowned at him. Something was up: it made no sense.
“Why would you come again? We’re on a mountain, for crying out loud.”
“Can’t I see my son?”
“Haven’t seen him for nine years – except once.”
“Time to fix my mistakes.”
Mark’s eyes were hard to read. Tristan eyed the Mercedes, with air-con, with some longing – but resisted the temptation.
“Why are you here?” he asked again. “I don’t believe it’s just a social visit. A hot mountain isn’t exactly your style.”
Mark smiled – then nodded, and shut the door of his car.
“You’re right,” he said, moving toward Tristan. “There are other reasons why I have come.”
Tristan eyed him warily, now. Something about his posture seemed suspicious – Tristan found his trained instinct kicking in.
“That’s far enough,” he said curtly. Looking surprised, Mark stopped.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Good, because you shouldn’t be,” Mark said. “I’m not the enemy.”
Tristan cast his eyes over Mark’s face. Something had changed. Something was wrong with his manner.
“You want to explain that?” he asked.
“I don’t need to explain it,” Mark said. “You already know what I’m saying.”
Now Tristan swallowed. He looked away, and then looked back.
“Explain it to me.”
Mark’s eyes were fixed on him. “You have served our nation for five years.”
Tristan grimaced. “What of it?”
“You were trained to defend us, whatever the cost.”
“So?”
“You need to defend us now.”
Tristan directly held his gaze. “Defend us against what?”
Mark continued unfazed. “You must defend us against him.”
Now Tristan found his cheeks flushing. Defend the country against Joshua? What was his father thinking? Tristan laughed, and turned away from him.
“That’s a good one, Dad,” he said. “Defend our country against the only person who knows how to provide enough food, and heal the sick. Heck, I even heard rumours he brought someone back who died…”
Mark was silent. Surprised, Tristan glanced back at him. He looked white, for a moment – then the red colour flooded back into his cheeks.
“Lies!” Mark said. “Rumours. That’s how a man like him gains power.”
“Power?” Tristan said. “Oh, I’m sure he’s not interested in power.”
“How else do you explain the parade, and the float? He is gathering support – gathering power.”
Tristan laughed again. “More like gathering need.”
“He claims to be a king, Tristan!”
“A king?”
Tristan paused now, thinking back. A king? Had Joshua ever made such a claim?
“Oh,” he said, “you’re thinking of that joker Tane, and all his radical ideas. Some Maori king back from the dead, eh?”
“Joshua himself said it.”
“I’ve never heard it.”
“He wants to take over.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mark’s eyes were darkening. Tristan frowned – what was his problem?
“I don’t get it,” Tristan said, “What do you care? You’re a priest, not a politician…”
And then Tristan beg
an to understand. “Oh, now I get it!” he said. “It’s the stuff he’s saying! Something about light, and shelter – some people think he’s actually Jesus Christ. I’ll bet that’s really touching your buttons…”
“Never mind about that,” Mark said curtly, “that’s not important. What is important is your mother.”
Now Tristan felt the familiar pain: his mother! Pain, in his chest – pushed away for so long, though not so much now, after Joshua.
“What about her?” he asked.
“Think this Joshua would have stopped her from dying?”
Tristan shuddered. “I don’t know,” he whispered – and now Mark was striding closer to him, his face pressing in.
“I do know,” Mark said. “He couldn’t have cared less.”
Tristan frowned, and found his hands somehow writhing. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said.
“Think Joshua is God?”
“I don’t know!” Tristan said, feeling confused. “God? I don’t know…”
“What use is a God who would let Teresa die?”
Mark’s words felt like a bombardment. Tristan shook his head, and turned away: sweat now starting to drip down his face.
“I don’t know anything about God,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This Joshua Davidson is claiming to be God.”
“What?” Tristan turned again to him. “Honestly, Dad, where do you get your facts from?”
“A shelter for the war to come,” Mark said. “He himself, the shelter! Faith in him, to survive the storm! It is a claim to divinity, Tristan, pure and simple! Surely you remember enough of the Bible to see that?”
Tristan stared at him, and then looked away. Shelter. Storms. Faith.
“I am the way, the truth and the life.” [19]
Could it be? Could it be that Joshua was actually claiming to be God? Could it be that he, Tristan, had missed what was in front of his face all this time?
Bewildered, he shook his head – and Mark was there.
“See it, Tristan,” he said. “This man is the worst kind of liar.”
Tristan struggled to focus on the dry turf on the horizon.
“Even if he is claiming such a thing,” he struggled to explore, “why bother fighting him? Why the fear?”
“Because he is leading our entire nation astray.”
It was a different voice. Tristan turned to look – another man had stepped out of the passenger door. He stood now in front of Tristan.
It was the Prime Minister, James Connor.
Tristan stared at him. “Sir…” he stuttered, and instinctively, wearily, provided a salute.
Connor nodded. “It’s all right,” he said, “you’re not on duty.”
What was he doing there? The Prime Minister himself, on Ruapehu in summer? He was even wearing suit trousers and long sleeves, though now he was rolling them up.
“Can I help you, sir?” Tristan asked, and Connor smiled sadly.
“That’s what I’m hoping, soldier,” he said.
Tristan glanced between Mark and Connor. “Just what exactly is it you want from me?”
For a moment neither spoke. And then Connor began.
“This Joshua Davidson,” he said, “is a real concern to us, Lieutenant Blake.”
“Sir?”
“We have serious concerns for the national security of New Zealand.”
Tristan frowned. “How so, Sir?”
“We fear that if this Joshua movement continues, it may result in civil war.”
Now Tristan felt a heavy weight in his chest. Civil war? In New Zealand? The flashes were suddenly before him again: blood, screams, explosions…
“We can’t have war here,” he whispered. “Not here.”
“We are safe,” Connor said, “if we remain strong – if we remain united, and together. We stand alone: we stand together. But Davidson is starting to divide us – starting to create a movement in the opposite direction of everything we believe in.”
“What do you mean?”
“People are starting to follow him as a king. You saw the parade, Tristan! You saw their devotion! Does he mean to visit Wellington?”
“Yes,” Tristan said, instinctively.
“What will happen when he reaches the Beehive?”
Tristan frowned. The Beehive? Joshua? What were his plans? Did Tristan even know?
“Some are calling for his leadership, Tristan: many people! Hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million – what will happen?”
Tristan stared at him, and then turned away. What would happen? Why hadn’t he thought of this?
“Do you want him to take over, Tristan?”
“No,” Tristan said. “No.”
“What if half our nation wants it?”
Tristan swallowed. “Then we’ll be in trouble.”
“You’re right!” Connor said. “We’ll be in big trouble! There’ll be no going back! It’ll be too late!”
Chills went up Tristan’s spine – he suddenly realized why they were there.
“The police can’t control such massive crowds,” Connor said. “Our nation is in trouble! The Army must act.”
Then call up the Army! Tristan thought, but stopped himself saying it. The Army? Form an actual military state in New Zealand?
“We need a simple solution,” Mark said.
“What kind of solution,” Tristan quietly asked, his back still turned.
“We need you,” Connor said.
Tristan stared down at the rocks at his feet. His vision blurred in the heat. He blinked furiously, and his vision returned.
“You need me for what?” he asked.
“You’re right beside him,” Mark said. “You know where he is. You know where he will be. You’re an insider.”
“You want information.”
“No,” Connor said. “We need more than information.”
Tristan closed his eyes tightly – could this be happening? It wasn’t really happening, was it?
“We need you to contain him for us.”
“‘Contain him’?” Tristan asked.
“Contain him,” Connor said, behind his back. “Privately, securely: we need you to eliminate this threat.”
Body stiffening, Tristan stared up the mountain. Where were they? Could he still see them? Could he still see Joshua, and John, and Rachel, and…and Rau…?
He stifled a sob. Eliminate him? Eliminate Joshua Davidson? How? Where? When?
“We will provide the weapon, when the time comes.”
All of Tristan’s memories suddenly came over him, like a flood – all of the memories of the last few weeks: all of the memories of the last five years. Like a flood, converging, as one, until he could see nothing else but blood.
“Do you have a joint?” Tristan whispered, and Connor patted him on the shoulder.
“We can get you a joint,” he said. And Connor turned, with Mark, and returned back to the Mercedes.
The car drove away: pushing up dust, winding down, down the mountain. Tristan swayed, and fell down to the ground. What had just happened? What had just happened? The Prime Minister himself had just asked him to kill Joshua! The Prime Minister himself!
Dismayed, he groped around – but he had lost his bottle of water. Kill Joshua? How could he do such a thing? Joshua was his friend, wasn’t he? His friend?
And yet, his father’s eyes – and yet, the Prime Minister’s words:
“What will happen when he reaches the Beehive?”
The words plagued him now. Who was Joshua Davidson? Did Tristan even know? Did he even know who it was he had been trusting all this time?
“We’re in big trouble.”
New Zealand couldn’t falter – not like the rest of the world! Not now – not his home.
The threat needed to be contained.
Tristan found himself hardening again: he found his army training coming upon him. Civil war? He would defend his nation, against the threat:
he would defend his home, always.
It was just a matter of when, and how.