Shafts of Strife

By David Bates

SHAFTS OF STRIFE...

The New Zealand government – led by autocratic Prime Minister Wynyard Nairn – approves the establishment of a USA naval facility, and in the middle of Wellington’s pristine harbour.
Given the anti-nuclear stance in the country, all hell breaks out!

Daily protests and rallies occur and threats of mayhem are made. Within days anarchy rules; Parliament is occupied, the US Embassy is attacked and two die, a major TV communications tower is destroyed and central Wellington is blockaded. But when the International Airport is forced to close, the situation reaches crisis point.

The Prime Minister – under increasing pressure from the scale of continuing protests – attacks the Police, threatening to remove their independence and bring in the army.

Will Nairn change his mind, is he even listening?
... or will it be up to the people?

A story of democratic power and protest!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Mar 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311217035

Book preview

SHAFTS OF STRIFE…

The New Zealand government – led by autocratic Prime Minister Wynyard Nairn – approves the establishment of a USA naval facility, and in the middle of Wellington’s pristine harbour.

Given the anti-nuclear stance in the country, all hell breaks out!

Daily protests and rallies occur and threats of mayhem are made. Within days anarchy rules; Parliament is occupied, the US Embassy is attacked and two die, a major TV communications tower is destroyed and central Wellington is blockaded. But when the International Airport is forced to close, the situation reaches crisis point.

The Prime Minister – under increasing pressure from the scale of continuing protests – attacks the Police, threatening to remove their independence and bring in the army.

Will Nairn change his mind, is he even listening?

… or will it be up to the people?

A story of democratic power and protest!

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

BENEATH THE CHERRY TREE…

Two lives collide, bonds form and a lifelong friendship commences between two men… a secret relationship blooms and endures through marriage and a single son.

Robert Paul and Frederick Dalton.

Old friends from way back. Way back to the war days, meeting as young soldiers, now dying as old lawyers. Together, one way or another, all of that time, through war and love and the law…

Robert Paul’s personal attributes quickly brought him success as a commercial lawyer; his advice and counsel legend. Now, he was dead. His son, Julian, a successful barrister plagued by a gambling addiction and constant calls for more and more cash, sees a unique opportunity to blackmail his uncle, Judge Frederick Dalton and in the process solve his urgent problems. Cancer will rob the eminent High Court judge of his life but he leaves a timely legacy to ensure the attempt to pervert the course of justice is thwarted.

Will Julian Paul succeed or destroy his family and himself in the process?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Royal New Zealand Navy as a young seaman preceded an early career in the New Zealand Police. He married, there were children while he studied for his law degree. Over the ensuing years he rose to Inspector level, the last six as a Legal Adviser at Police National Headquarters. In 1981 David Bates resigned to practise in criminal law. In 1989, the Government appointed him District Inspector for Mental Health, a position he continued in conjunction with his legal practice for some years. He has since practised as a barrister-sole, specialising in criminal, traffic, youth, and mental health law.

He reads and enjoys writing, cruise ship holidays, and red wine – not necessarily in that order.

Previous publications include Beneath the Cherry Tree first published in 2009 and republished by Custom Books in 2015, The Making of Travis, 2012, two Children’s Books Poppa - There’s a Hole In Your Eugenia, 2010, and My Sister Morgan Rose 2012– all published by Polygraphia Ltd, Auckland, New Zealand. Six specialty law books as author or co-author. Published by The Law Book Company, Australia; Butterworths Publishers; Brooker & Friend Ltd (NZ).

Copyright © 2016 David Leonard Bates

Published by

CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

Asia’s Global Print & Digital Publisher

DIGITAL EDITION

All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

SHAFTS OF STRIFE

A Novel by

David Bates

For My Family

Chapter One

Patrick Edsun leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

For a few seconds he massaged his eyelids. Slowly, deeply, he inhaled. His prolonged exhalation was almost a sigh. He opened his eyes and sat forward a little. With a push of a hand on the edge of the desk he rotated his chair, stood and walked across to the windows. The view from his eighth floor office was always interesting, always a welcome albeit brief distraction from whatever might be troubling him. And what he had just read could only mean precisely that – trouble.

What the hell was going on?

Familiar images and outlines met his gaze. He looked into the distance, past the dull grey of the Australian embassy, beyond the skeletal mantis forms of waterfront cranes to the harbour. Today’s glistening water highlighted the sheer joy a Wellington day could be. Still further away the uneven sawtooth crests of the Tararua ranges basked in the sun under a perfect blue sky. He stood quite still for a minute or so, thinking. It felt good to be able to turn his back on things from time to time. But always, as he knew well, sooner or later he had to turn and face whatever the current problem was. This time it was the latest memorandum from the Director of Criminal Intelligence. No matter how long he might stare out the window it would still be sitting on his desk when he turned around.

Nearly two years had passed since his appointment in 1983 as commissioner. In some respects the last thirty years seemed a blur. At forty-nine he was one of the younger commissioners to be appointed. At nineteen he had applied after a bit of a nudge from the local sergeant, was accepted, signed up, thought he would try to help out a bit for a few years, be a good cop and see where he ended up. The top job certainly had not been on his horizon. Yet somehow here he was. His and Joan’s marriage of twenty-six years remained strong, their one child, their son, somewhere in the U.K., due back by the end of the year to begin his post-graduate studies. It had not always been easy, was bloody hard in fact, to constantly juggle family, work and study. But they had managed, him and Joan. Teamwork.

At last he turned away from the window. It had to be dealt with.

As he turned he noticed one of his university degrees skewed a little on the wall. He liked order, a place for everything and everything in its place. The Bachelor of Laws had come first – ten years into the job. Later, as he began to rise further through the ranks it was clear he needed to broaden his perspectives and the Master of Public Policy was an obvious choice. He realigned the two frames, stepped back and glanced at them again. All good.

In a couple of paces he was back at his desk.

As he reached for the memorandum again he noted the little trinket shop sign nestled between the telephones on his desk. Fools Rush In. Carefully, he re-read the document. On the face of it, it was just another report on police letterhead. Was it what it did not say that niggled him? A chat with his deputy might help. Two heads might be better than one. The commissioner poked a button on the intercom.

‘Colin, are you free for a few minutes?’

‘Yes, sure. What’s up?’

‘Just come on in would you. Something I’d like to go over.’

‘Be right there.’

In minutes Deputy Commissioner Colin Cadman entered his office. They had been workmates and friends since their days on the beat. They knew each other well and respected each other’s opinions, especially when it involved policing. There were no work secrets between them. Each knew the other could hold strong views but even after blunt discussion they seldom disagreed. The Deputy headed for his usual seat, a maroon and mahogany armchair to the left of the commissioner’s desk.

‘Right Pat, what’s up?’ he asked as he flopped down into the chair.

Patrick Edsun held out the memorandum. ‘Have a read.’

Cadman began reading. Initially the room was quiet. Then, a dull droning sound intruded with increasing intensity. The noise peaked then diminished as a Qantas flight inbound from Sydney eased past, around to the south, shedding altitude on its approach to Wellington International Airport.

Patrick Edsun’s thoughts were disrupted, as if being teased by the aircraft noise. What if… What if one of them didn’t make it down safely? Came down in a residential area… or commercial centre? God forbid… but sooner or later, somewhere… look at Erebus. What a bloody nightmare that was.

A movement caught his eye. Cadman had finished reading, had lowered the document to his lap, and seemed to be ruminating.

‘So, what do you think?’ asked Edsun.

‘Well,’ said the deputy commissioner. ‘Arty is usually pretty accurate. Can’t recall a time when there wasn’t a good deal of substance to what he had to say. Doesn’t paint rainbows.’

‘Agreed. My thoughts too. But, what do you make of these specific incidents he refers to? Didn’t seem to be as clear to me as it could have been.’

‘Not sure. Maybe he just hasn’t got enough Intel yet to spell it out. You know he doesn’t keep stuff in reserve. If he’s got it he gives it.’

‘Yes, true, but…’

‘Mm?’

‘Oh, I don’t know Colin. I just don’t like the feeling of it all. It might be the lack of information, the lack of detail. Don’t know. All it really tells us,’ he said, pointing a finger at the memorandum, ‘is something’s definitely cooking but we haven’t got a clue what’s in the pot.’

Cadman glanced quickly at Edsun, raising the document again to reading height. ‘Might just have another quick look at it,’ he said.

‘By all means. Go ahead.’

The commissioner sat silently, watching his colleague, waiting. It was only a couple of pages. He could visualise most of the content.

RESTRICTED

The Head of Criminal Investigation

Police National Headquarters, Wellington

NATIONAL ORGANISATION AGAINST NUCLEAR

ARMS (NOANA): INDICATED PROTEST ACTIVITY

For Period August-December: Interim Report

Information has been received from an undercover operative close to NOANA that a co-ordinated and determined series of protest marches and assemblies will begin within a week to ten days in Wellington.

It is likely similar marches and assemblies will occur throughout the country. This activity will be supplemented and/or followed at unknown times on unknown dates by specific incidents. These incidents will be intended to be highly embarrassing to the Government. It is likely they will be extremely difficult for police to deal with effectively.

It is presently presumed the specific incidents will occur in Wellington

and be directed at the Government. This takes into account advice I have received that protest activity will be in response to the recent government announcement of receipt of a request from the government of the United States of America for approval to establish and maintain a permanent naval berthing and servicing facility for American warships operating in the South Pacific region.

You will be aware the Government made this announcement nine days ago on return of the Minister of Defence to New Zealand from the United States of America. If the request is approved by the Government the naval facility will be established at Wellington.

Note especially: NOANA has resolved at the highest level of its organisation to not communicate with police in respect of intended protest activity. This appears to be a deliberate tactic to render police planning as ineffectual as possible. This is significant in that police planning must take into account the policing of their activities.

Note too: planning and execution of the specific incidents will be the province of only a top level committee in NOANA. This is to avoid for as long as possible any disclosure of their intentions.

Our under-cover operative is not part of or privy to that committee’s deliberations. The operative is attempting to remedy that and if successful it is hoped information will be received with respect to the specific incidents. Even so, it is unlikely such information would be forthcoming until their planning is at a stage which necessitates dissemination of advice and instructions to a wider group within NOANA.

All of this assumes our operative’s linkage with NOANA remains undiscovered. I am continuing efforts to infiltrate NOANA in other ways. As always, I shall immediately advise you of developments.

Arthur Quaife

Director: Criminal Intelligence

Cadman finished reading the document, leaned across and held it out to Edsun. The commissioner took it and put it down on the desk. Don’t suppose you’ve heard any whispers yourself as to what

NOANA might be up to, Colin?’

‘No, nothing. Mind you, I haven’t chatted with the Wellington District Commander lately. The Head of Ops and Development hasn’t mentioned anything either.’

‘Mmm… Well, if Arty’s on target again it looks like we can expect things to happen in the next five or six days. You’d better get on to Ops. Make sure the Directorate gets liaison underway with Wellington District. Top priority. They’ll need to get cracking with planning.’

‘Right, will do,’ said Cadman, casually getting up from the chair. ‘That it for now?’

‘Yes, pretty much all we can do at the moment. Oh, and ask the Head of Ops to keep in touch with Arty Quaife on this,’ said the commissioner, tapping the memo with his finger. ‘This doesn’t feel good, not good at all. You might want to take it with you and run off a copy.’

Cadman nodded. ‘Will do,’ he said, reaching again for the document.

‘I’ll get on to it now.’

Minutes later, back in his own office, the deputy commissioner buzzed his secretary. ‘Trish, get hold of AC Cannary for me please and have him come and see me. Sooner rather than later would be good.’ While he waited the arrival of the assistant commissioner he thought back over the dealings he had had with NOANA in recent years. Pat Edsun was right. This certainly wasn’t their usual MO. What the hell were they up to?

Alone again in his office the commissioner reached for his phone. The Minister of Police had to be briefed.

11.45pm Monday

It had been a long day but a good one. She and Alex had managed to snatch an hour or so together for lunch. They had strolled the public areas on Wellington’s wharf precinct, found a seat for a while, sipped coffees, and shared a salad roll. Seawater gently slapped on wharf piles. Playful zephyrs huffed and puffed around them. They sat closely together. Warming sun embraced them. Skittish raucous gulls hopped and fluttered. Smells wafted here and there – salty drying barnacles, occasional hints of bunker oil – piquant, not unpleasant. A boat’s sisal hawser moaned, chafing on bollard and cleat. And then, a quick kiss and he was gone. Back to his workday life. She too. And soon it was dark and now it was almost midnight.

Kate stepped inside and pushed her body weight against the old, heavy green front door. It squeaked objection from its middle and bottom hinges. She really must oil them one day. With a final shove she pressed it shut. The stubborn latch tongue clicked into place. It was an old place, very old. Perhaps circa 1900. It had gaps it shouldn’t but then, at that age, perhaps it was entitled. Uninvited drafts easily sneaked in and the windows rattled. But, the rent was fair and the bus stop was close. It was just a stone’s throw from Newtown shops and another stone, maybe two, from the zoo. On balmy nights she could hear restless lions’ growls, busy monkeys screeching, chattering. An old place but it was home.

A couple of paces into the dark hallway she flicked on the light. The long narrow central hall, suddenly bright, showed doors off to left and right. Her bedroom was the first on the left. Easing out of her jacket as she walked, tossing it on to her bed as she passed the room, she carried on to the kitchen at the back of the flat. Even though it was late and she was tired, so tired, she needed to unwind a little before attempting sleep. Coffee would be good; maybe not a good idea at that time of night but good anyway. A caffeine boost might rouse enthusiasm for a shower, hit an energy reserve somewhere.

The feeling of tiredness was familiar. It was only about six months or so since she was elected NOANA’s Chairperson. She had been an active member for many years, right through varsity and since. If they had been busy years, the last six months had been a revelation.

The new responsibilities dominated her life. A private life, personal indulgences, were almost strangers to her. But, for now, that was how it had to be. The global nuclear issue and the obscenity that was militarism, were never going to just up and disappear. The problem wasn’t going to evaporate. No amount of wishful thinking would achieve that. Positive action was all that could do it. If not the world then New Zealand at least must be safe.

That was her passion. There could be no compromise. That was all there was to it. Plain and simple. So six months ago she committed on a new level, as NOANA’s Chair. She would, she must give all she could. Anything less would be too little.

Since accepting the leadership role she had publicly made her primary focus well known. NOANA would pressure the government to respect and maintain the historical Lange administration’s policy of a nuclear free New Zealand. She had made it clear even the slightest deviation would be a terrible failure, indeed betrayal of all New Zealanders past, present and future.

Kate would celebrate her thirtieth birthday in November. Determined to complete her post-graduate studies at doctorate level she presented her doctoral thesis at Auckland University the previous year – Pursuing and Achieving Global Productive Peaceful Existence Despite the Nuclear Age. Her PhD had been conferred barely three months ago. Rapidly, affectionately, in NOANA circles she became ‘Doctor Kate’, poster girl, their favourite.

She was one of only three full time NOANA members. There was a very small secretariat, hard-working, but too small to noticeably reduce the workload Kate found herself carrying. Her methodology in promoting NOANA and its cause was deceptively simple – activism. Constant well publicised activism. Always doing something to advance the cause. Always being seen by at least the membership to be doing it. Stuff that worked. Stuff that made one really really tired.

Kate eased down into the well-worn well stuffed old armchair by the coffee table and drew her feet up on to the seat. Her slight build, her folded posture, the shadows below her eyes, hinted fragility. Warming her hands around the mug she carefully held the rim to her lips. Tentatively, quickly, she sipped. Then again. Ah… It was so so good. And as she sat there, gradually warming, gradually relaxing, she mulled over her day.

Mostly it had been administrative, even a little hum-drum. But, there had been that one call, late in the afternoon. It would not leave her thoughts alone, constantly intruding, like a tongue at a chipped tooth. It was probably only a bit of gossip but one of her Beehive contacts had thought it important enough to tell her. If it was only vaguely related to fact it was never the less worrying. It was just possible the Government might be raising the stakes in the game it had been quietly playing with the Americans in recent months. She hoped not. But, she would not be at all surprised. It was the sort of thinking they had come to expect of the Nairn administration. Power. Money. Control. Guns. Bombs. What a mentality. Why did people with power always seem to see the world through enemy-tinted lenses? Why could they not they just govern? Of the people. For the people. Would it be so difficult? Was it so hard to be friends?

Friends, she mused. And sipped. She looked around the quiet room. The telephone caught her eye. How nice it would be to have company. Now. A friend. Would he mind? Kate smiled wistfully. No, not fair. It was past midnight. But then, he always said he did not. Even at some of the crazily odd hours she phoned, when she felt a weight just a little too heavy… Dear Alex. He would have to be one of the most patient men she had ever met. He must have said it a hundred times. She could hear him now in her mind – I’ve told you Kate, over and over. It’s fine. Really, it is. I work for myself and the hours don’t matter. I can juggle them as I please… Even so, she felt darts of guilt each time she made another of her late night calls. No, she shouldn’t… She tapped in his numbers, hurrying in case she changed her mind. He answered quickly.

‘Hello, Alex here.’

‘Alex – Kate. Hi. So sorry to…’ It always came out like that, a sort of stock standard phrase at these times. She anticipated what his response would be and was right.

‘Now, now Kate. None of that. Told you before. Right?’

‘Yes Alex, I know but…’

‘None of those either, okay? No buts.’ It was a gentle admonition.

She wanted to ask him straight out, ‘Can you come over – please?’, but it seemed so unfair. He would never hesitate. She knew that. And so felt she was taking advantage. And she knew she must be a nuisance at times. And knew he would do whatever suited her. It was sort of almost too good to be true but that was him. But, no, she could not just keep asking him to come when she called, when she felt like it. Could she?

‘I know it’s late Alex,’ she began again.

He made the decision for her. ‘Lonely? Want to chat a while?’

‘Mm, yes, lonely and tired. Got in a little while ago. Having a coffee.’

‘How tired?’

‘Not sleepy tired. Just tired.’

He knew what she meant, what was going on in her life, understood the hesitation, her commitment. It was eight or nine months since they had met one afternoon, literally bumping into each other on the footpath on Lambton Quay. The impact and sudden unintentional squeeze of her take-away coffee cup was disastrous. The lid popped. Black coffee drenched the front of his suit jacket and trousers. She insisted on paying the cleaning costs and he sort of joked what with being an insurance broker he would be able to get a good deal and they swapped phone numbers and, well, here they were. He had lost count of the number of phone calls since. He prompted her.

‘Should I come ‘round for a while?’

‘Alex…um… you don’t have to… you know that, don’t you?’

‘That’s not what I asked Kate. Would you like me to come around for a while? Over to you.’

‘Oh Alex, Dear Alex. Would you? Please?’ She couldn’t help herself.

‘Absolutely. Love to,’ he said. ‘Be there soon. Bye.’

Kate finished the last of her coffee, rinsed the mug, left it upturned on the sink bench, then headed for the bathroom. She turned on the shower, undressed, tested the temperature and stepped into the hot steamy watery needles. The soft flannel and creamy soap caressed her skin with each stroke. It usually took him twenty minutes or so to arrive. Kate’s mind wandered as she massaged shampoo through her hair, wishing her busy fingers to be his. She tingled. Not long to wait.

Then, for a few hours at least, the affairs of NOANA would just have to take second place.

NOANA was a large, strong organisation. National membership was over twenty thousand including Wellington at just under nine thousand. Branches were active in all main centres. It had been around in one form or another for close to a decade and there was no real argument it was here to stay. As much as some outside NOANA might wish otherwise, it was simply too big, too vocal, too active and most of all too effective to be ignored.

Its primary aim was to prevent the spread of nuclear arms, particularly in any way that could affect New Zealand. Its origins lay in various anti-nuclear movements formed and disbanded for various reasons over the last two decades or so. Whilst the former Lange administration had popularly ridden the political crest of the anti-nuclear wave, more recent overtures from the current Nairn administration to the Americans was disconcerting. In turn, to the great annoyance of Wynyard Nairn and his government, it had boosted public awareness of and growing support for the organisation. With increasing regularity some social commentators observed that a government which ignored the signs of increasing NOANA support was being at best naive.

But, to Prime Minister Nairn none of it seemed to matter. Since Lange’s demise and, more recently, the ousting of the last Labour government, Prime Minister Nairn and his Cabinet had, at best, been equivocal in their utterances about hosting foreign nuclear powers. The Americans for their part were nothing if not persistent. Their overtures about possible resumption of visits to New Zealand by nuclear armed and powered ships could not be ignored. Neither had there been any rebuff by the Nairn government.

Wynyard Nairn was well into the third year of his first term as Prime Minister. He was firmly in control. If gossip and news media comment were any sort of barometer, the most recent approach by the Americans was not just business as usual along the same old lines. Ship visits were one thing. Operating warships from what would be in effect a foreign-owned naval base in Wellington would be a major risk escalation.

Bridget Awanui and Lyndsay Nuncy-Jones were the other two members of NOANA’s principal committee. Both had graduated in law from Victoria University of Wellington, both were aged twenty seven and held full time jobs. Bridget was a junior lecturer at Victoria in her speciality areas of administrative and constitutional law. For almost the past three years Lyndsay had been on the legal team in the Ministry of Justice head office in Wellington. The three of them, Kate, Bridget and Lyndsay were part of the larger elected council of twenty-three, supported by various branch committees throughout the country.

The principal committee plus at least two other national councillors met each Friday to consider ongoing and more or less routine NOANA business. It was not unusual for more than the five councillors to attend. Somehow or other these regular meetings had become known within the organisation as The Fives. They dealt with a variety of day to day matters but, if in their opinion anything of moment was important enough, it was deferred for consideration in a Double Five meeting. Double Five meetings with at least ten councillors attending were called as required. Kate, chairing this latest one, called the meeting to order.

‘Thank you all for attending,’ she said, glancing around the table at each member in turn. ‘This meeting is formally called to order. You might already have read the agenda. If so you’ll see there’s only one topic for discussion. In any event, I’ll read the topic aloud now and we can proceed from there.’

No-one demurred. Several heads nodded agreement. Kate began reading. ‘This meeting in Double Five session will consider –

‘Firstly, the implications of the government’s announcement concerning receipt of a request from the United States of America for approval to establish a naval base facility in Wellington for servicing USA warships operating in the South Pacific region;

‘Second, whether NOANA should undertake a program of protest activity specifically directed at causing the New Zealand government to decline the USA request;

‘Third, if so, the nature of protest activity to be undertaken;

‘Fourth, if there is to be protest activity, establishment of a special protest group (SPG) to formulate and implement appropriate plans.’ Kate finished reading aloud, put the agenda down on the table and looked around her colleagues again. ‘Before I move on,’ she said, ‘are there any matters arising from my reading of that agenda item?’ She paused. ‘No? Okay, thanks. What I’ll do now is briefly summarise events that have brought us to this point, just to give us focus and context. Alright?’ Various councillors murmured and nodded assent.

‘As we know, the New Zealand and Australian Ministers of Defence have recently completed a one month goodwill tour in the United States as guests of the U.S. government. Speculation has it that increased U.S. naval presence in the Pacific and especially the South Pacific over the past few years has created