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terminal building that Matt remembered he had wanted to ask Aimee how a change in the history of New Zealand could possibly provide some sort of payout to the alternative history theorists. That would be a perfect excuse to call her. He felt in his pocket and confirmed the little piece of paper with Aimee’s phone number was there. Matt smiled to himself. If he continued to meet incredible girls like her on flights, he might have to fly more often.

CHAPTER 9
     

     

 
     
As he walked through the sliding glass doors that led him out to the bright and airy arrivals lounge, Matt saw Warren immediately. They shook hands, exchanging warm hellos, and Warren took control of Matt’s baggage trolley, insisting that Matt must be tired.
‘You’re right, it was a long flight,’ Matt said.
‘And it’ll be a long few weeks. I’m sure you must be excited about finding your father.’
Matt looked at Warren, confused that the first item on his agenda seemed to be his father. But when he saw the imploring look in Warren’s eyes, he realised there must be a reason why he didn’t want to talk business.
‘Yes,’ Matt said, hoping that the look he gave Warren in return would reassure him that he understood. ‘It sure is great of you to have done everything you have to find him.’
Warren’s smile confirmed they understood each other.
‘That reminds me,’ Warren said, as he stopped the trolley to pull a piece of paper out of his trouser pocket, ‘I found the last known address of your father too.’
Matt hesitated for a moment but reached out and took the paper from Warren. Opening it, he saw a three-line address in a town with a name he had never heard of. It could have been anywhere for all Matt knew.
‘Thanks Warren. Where is this … Devonport?’ he asked, wondering how he would feel when he actually made it to the door of his father’s house.
‘It’s on the North Shore, the northern part of Auckland. Sort of in the direction of where I live in the East Coast Bays. I can take you there, or show you a bus. No worries.’
As they had been talking, Warren had led Matt out into the humid summer air and across a sprawling parking lot. They had come to a stand-still next to a big red Toyota Hilux. Matt had seen these on some of the farms in Cornwall too, and figured they were probably popular out here. Warren tossed Matt’s bags into the back part of the double-cab and they climbed in.
‘Sorry I couldn’t talk back in there,’ Warren said, ‘but the boys from the NISO and the DCI are all over the place.’
‘The Detective Chief Inspector?’
‘The Detective what?’ Warren looked really confused.
‘You said the N-something and the DCI… Detective Chief Inspector.’
Warren laughed. ‘I see where you got it wrong. The DCI is the Department of Cultural Identity. They’re the part of the government responsible for how we identify with our culture.’
Matt laughed too. ‘Sounds complex.’
‘In all seriousness,’ Warren said in a mood-changing tone as a traffic light turned green and they started on a motorway, ‘the DCI are trouble. For you and me anyway.’
Warren pulled into the right lane and put his foot to the floor. Matt noticed him make repetitive glances in the rear-vision mirror.
‘The DCI will confiscate the site if they decide that my findings there are too threatening. I had to call them, of course, and let them know what I found, but until now they haven’t interfered directly. But I’m convinced that they’re watching my every move, as if trying to catch me out or something.’
‘Catch you out with what?’
‘With anything that might throw question over the original inhabitants of New Zealand, or cause changes in New Zealand history to be considered.’ Warren checked the mirror again.
‘Don’t they think that a Celtic burial site raises some fascinating questions?’ Matt asked, not believing it could possibly fail to.
Matt watched as a sly grin appeared on Warren’s face. ‘I haven’t