Milkshake (6 page)

David read the list of banned items on the large poster and
remembered the small banana in his jacket pocket. The leaflet had
reminded him there was no commercial banana production in New
Zealand. The country imported 120,000 tonnes of bananas from a
variety of countries every year. He also knew South America had the
world’s largest population of insects and bugs, and was the world’s
largest exporter of illegal drugs. Bananas were shipped from that
region to New Zealand in neatly packed, tightly sealed,
boxes.

If he failed to declare the one small banana in his pocket, he
faced an instant $200 fine, plus confiscation and destruction of
the banana. He threw it into the nearest yellow bin and walked
smugly towards the ‘Nothing to Declare’ lane, content that he had
contributed in some small way to the bio security of the country he
was about to call home.

A beagle dragging a customs officer behind it sat at his feet,
wagging its tail. David innocently bent to pet it.

“Sir, you have just walked through the Nothing to Declare
channel. Are you carrying any fruit or vegetables?”

“I was. I had a banana in my pocket but I
put it in the yellow bin back there.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Powerful odour, the banana,
especially to the trained nose. Lingers for days. Wait here,
please.”

It was clear to David this Customs officer took his job very
seriously and was intent on enforcing the law. He turned away,
speaking into his radio, before returning to David. “That’s all
good, sir. We’ve checked the video and confirmed the banana was
disposed of in the appropriate receptacle. Welcome to New
Zealand.”

David felt guilty before he had even stepped from the plane,
convinced he would be arrested once inside the terminal. He
suspected the approach by the customs officer was a low key start
to the arrest procedure. Now he scanned for any signs of movement
towards him by anyone in a uniform. He walked towards the exit and
turned expecting to see Katherine just behind him.

“Are you carrying any fruit or vegetable
material, madam?”

Her expression, the sudden drop of her shoulders together with
the swishing of the sniffer dog’s tail, answered the question for
everyone.

“I have a small banana in my handbag.” The word banana might
as well have described a nuclear device.

“Under the Biosecurity Act, the importation
of listed products without the necessary permit is illegal. I’ll
have to confiscate the banana. There is also a penalty of $200,
payable immediately.”

The Turners were still in the airport terminal. Katherine had
just broken the law, been found guilty and had to accept the
punishment. The new immigrants were already criminals. Not a good
start.

Katherine retrieved the black and yellow banana–shaped piece
of fruit from her bag. Even David could smell it some distance
away. With gloved hands, the officer held out a yellow plastic bag.
It had skull and crossbones and the words BIO HAZARD on the side.
The banana was dropped in. The bag was carefully tied and dropped
into the yellow bin.

“What happens to that lot?”

“Gets incinerated. Now, how would you like to
pay?”

David considered ‘incinerate’ was overly dramatic; ‘burn’
would have been sufficient. Instinctively he felt for his wallet.
“Is a credit card OK?”

So the credit card, its value greater than the entire New
Zealand imported fruit market, made its first purchase - a $200
banana. David hoped the transaction, and the item purchased, was
being monitored somewhere.

“Did you just use that stolen card to pay my fine? That’s
certain to flag up on a computer somewhere.”

“I hope it does. With any luck I’m leaving a trail that the
right people are following.”

They had planned to hire a car at the airport but now David
decided they should take a bus to the city centre in an effort to
elude anyone who might be following.

At the motel David realised their only means of payment was
the credit card. He would have to hand it over when they checked
in. “As soon as the card gets swiped, they’ll know we are here. But
we need to get some rest, so we have no choice but to stay here
tonight. As soon as we get the room, I’m going back out to arrange
a hire car. Then we can leave early tomorrow morning and head
south.”

They fell onto the bed and slept for five hours.

* * *

David made sure Katherine was safe in the room; “Put the chain
across the door and don’t answer the phone. I’ll be back as soon as
I can.”

As he walked onto the street it was already getting dark.
4.30pm on a July afternoon. The air was cool and damp. It was
midwinter in the southern hemisphere. Auckland felt like an
unfamiliar British town - Newcastle or Exeter - somewhere he had
never been but had seen pictures of. There was an air of vague
recognition.

Driving in from the airport, place names and street names
would not have been out of place in the UK. The houses were similar
in style, but no two appeared to be the same and the roofs seemed
to be made from sheets of corrugated iron. It started to sink in
that this was a different country. Zipping up his jacket against an
unexpected July chill, he thrust his hands into his pockets, his
right firmly gripping his wallet, and headed down the street. He
had three things to do.

He decided the less he used the card, the harder it would be
to track him. But they still needed money, so withdrawing a large
amount of cash would be the smartest thing to do. David quickly
found an ATM, slipped the card into the machine, entered the PIN
and pressed the option for cash. But how much? He felt like some
bizarre celebrity - millions of dollars at his disposal but no idea
as to the cost of a loaf of bread. He pressed ‘other amount’ and
keyed in $2000.

For security reasons withdrawals of cash are limited to $500
per day per account.

Shit! Even with a limited knowledge of the exchange rate, he
knew $500 would not last long. Withdrawing that amount on a regular
basis would leave a nice clear trail as they made their way south.
It would have to do for now.

He withdrew the $500, quickly placed the $20 notes into his
wallet and continued. It was 4.40pm. Across the street he noticed a
sign advertising cars for rent.

The woman at the desk looked up as he entered the small
office. “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to hire an estate car please.”

“You mean a station wagon?”

“Yes, can I do a one–way hire to Wellington?”

“One moment please.” She looked at the screen. It was only a
small office, with cars parked in the front area. He could clearly
see she had three suitable cars out there. How long could it take
to find them on her computer? “What about one of those?” he said,
impatiently, pointing back through the window behind
him.

“They’re all due out first thing in the
morning. I’ve got one coming back in the next half hour you can
have. If you can call back first thing in the morning, it’ll be
ready for you.”

David planned on leaving early the following morning, before
daylight. “That’s not much good, I need one tonight.”

She looked back at her screen. “In that case, if you come back
after five-thirty, I’ll make sure it’s been valeted and waiting for
you. We’re open until seven. What name shall I book it
under?”

They was no point in lying, complicating matters further by
trying to come up with a false name, and he would have to show her
his passport for identification anyway. “Turner, David
Turner.”

“Ok David, that’ll be $150 for the one–way
hire, plus a bond of $500. So that’s a total of $650.” He only had
$500 in cash, with more items still to buy. Using the card would
not only give away his current location but also the rental company
name against the purchase would clearly show they now had a
car.

She sensed his hesitation. “Its ok, you can use a credit card
for the bond. We just swipe the details onto one of these
old–fashioned paper slips and just process it if anything goes
wrong.”

“So you don’t need to swipe it electronically?” he enquired
as conversationally as possible.

“No, just a paper slip which we destroy as
soon as our Wellington office let us know the car has arrived safe
and sound.”

David handed her the $150 cash, then watched intently as she
placed the card onto the hand held swipe machine before slowly
pushing the roller forward, then back, imprinting the card details
onto the paper docket. “Just bring your passport details back at
six for I.D.”

“Is there a shop near here that sells mobile
phones?”

‘Yes. Farmers is about half a k down the street. They’re open
until eight tonight.”

“Half a .. ?”

“Half a k - a kilometre. Better start thinking in kilometres,
not miles, now you’re a Kiwi.”

It had never occurred to them that in moving to an
English-speaking part of the Commonwealth, they would still be
considered foreigners in a country that, so far, felt like part of
the British Isles that had just floated a bit too far
south.

Two mobile phones cost $300. Now he had $50 left. David ran
all the way back up the street to their room on the second floor.
He tapped on the door and could hear Katherine’s footsteps inside.
“It’s ok, it’s me.” She slipped off the chain and opened the door.
“Have you unpacked?”

“Not quite, I’ve just had a quick shower.”

“Good, we have to leave.”

“Why? We only just arrived.”

“Because they know we’re here.”

David entered the room, glancing around. She had begun to
unpack. The routine was already becoming familiar, even after just
two days. As they talked, he reversed the process, putting items
back into the bags. “It was the woman at the car rental place.
She’s onto us. I know it sounds paranoid but she said something
about me being a Kiwi now. How could she know that? Why didn’t she
just assume I was on holiday? How did she know I live here
now?”

“You’re right, you do sound paranoid. In
fact this whole bloody thing is beginning to sound like some weird
conspiracy that’s just in your head. Let’s just find a police
station and finish this now.” Katherine had not seen the poor soul
mercilessly tipped over the wall four storeys above Heathrow’s
solid tarmac.

“How can I prove this to you once and for
all, that I was knocked unconscious, witnessed a man being murdered
in cold blood and then had a stolen credit card with millions of
dollars on it placed on me?”

He remembered he had still not told her the truth concerning
what had occurred at Changi Airport. “You remember at the airport
in Singapore my credit card was stolen, and the British Customs,
whom I am sure have no authority overseas, seemed to be on the case
immediately? Well, that’s because they set the whole thing up. They
deliberately had that old woman bump into me and then the kid go
through my wallet so I would have to use this other card. Every
time I use it, whoever planted it tracks where I’ve used it, so
they can decide at what point they can steal it back.”

Katherine saw a look of fear in her husband’s eyes she had
never seen before.

“That guy Burton at the airport seems to think they will just
go for a straight pick–pocket, assuming I know none of this
background stuff. The trouble is, because I do know it, I’m
guarding this card like a bloody hawk! I can’t help it. I’m
expecting something to happen any minute, which is why I would feel
more comfortable, and certainly a whole lot safer, sitting in a
moving car than sitting up all night in a motel room waiting for
something to happen.”

“So why not go to the police, like I said?”

“Because I reckon there is more to this than meets the eye.
The British police must know who I am by now. They could easily
have passed my description to the police here, probably before we
had even left the ground in London. But you saw how we came through
Singapore and Auckland. They made an excuse to stop us, checked
that I had the card, and then let us carry on. Why? Because it
suits their purposes in order to catch the person who will try and
get the card from me.”

Katherine tried reasoning with her husband. “So what? We
forget about our plans to travel to the South Island so you can
play cops and robbers? David, how can you run? You don’t even know
what’s at the end of this street, let alone trying to evade … evade
…. Christ! You don’t even know who’s after you! We don’t know a
soul in this country but you’re acting as if any one of them could
walk up to you at any minute, punch your lights out and steal that
bloody card!”

“And if they do, then what? The police will have their man,
I’ll have a few bruises and it will all be over and done with. An
international smuggling operation will be smashed and the whole
thing will probably be hushed up.”

Katherine calmed down again. “How much money is on that card
right now?”