The next day, school or no school, exams or no exams, SOS or no SOS, Tane and Rebecca took their new cash-cards and went shopping. It wasn't every day that you became a millionaire, after all. They didn't go wild, though. Nothing extravagant.

Rebecca bought a new pair of jeans that she'd been admiring for a while, then a couple of pairs of shoes to go with them. Tane bought a new leather jacket that he thought looked really cool.

Then Rebecca bought a few CDs-music she couldn't afford to buy before, just twenty or so of her favorite groups-and Tane bought a new joystick for his computer and a couple of new computer games. There were a few other odds and ends, too.

At lunchtime, Tane said he was going to take Rebecca to the best restaurant in the whole of Auckland, and according to the driver of the limousine they hired, the best restaurant in town was Number Five, which had just reopened up in City Road, near the Sheraton Hotel.

It was very nice. So nice, in fact, that it wouldn't let them in. Not in the clothes they were wearing. But half an hour in Smith & Caughey's fixed that, and Tane toasted Rebecca across a very fine cut of eye-fillet steak wearing the first suit he had ever owned and the second he had ever worn. The first being at Rebecca's father's funeral.

By the end of the day, the score was fifty-seven CDs, eleven DVDs, one top-end laptop computer for Rebecca, twenty-two articles of clothing, one computer joystick, four computer games, seven pairs of shoes, two books, four items of jewelry (of which Tane's new necklace was by far the most expensive), a bicycle, two pairs of sungla.s.ses, a life-sized stuffed toy baboon that sat in a spare seat in the limo and laughed at them the rest of the day, three mobile phones, and a two-storied cliff-top house for Rebecca and her mother to live in that happened to have a boatshed, looking out over the water at West Harbor.

Nothing extravagant.

THE M MAN FROM S SUBEO The man from Subeo was Arthur Fong, which sounded Chinese, although he wasn't. He said he'd be there on Thursday evening, November 26, at seven-thirty on the dot and rang the doorbell as the clock in the hallway just ticked over. Arthur Fong, which sounded Chinese, although he wasn't. He said he'd be there on Thursday evening, November 26, at seven-thirty on the dot and rang the doorbell as the clock in the hallway just ticked over.

Tane, Rebecca, and Fatboy had gathered at Rebecca's new house for the meeting. Fatboy had picked up Tane after school, and they had had a quick dinner of fish and chips while waiting for Arthur Fong to arrive.

It was Tane who answered the door. He'd jumped up like a shot and practically sprinted for the door while the others were still registering the sound of the bell. Then, not wanting to appear too eager, he had sedately strolled down the polished wooden floors of the hallway to the front door.

The door was solid kauri inlaid with panels of stained gla.s.s. It was a nice door. It was a nice home. It wasn't new; in fact, it must have been fifty years old, but it was elegant, and a lot of money had been spent restoring it. None of which had really mattered to Tane, Rebecca, and Fatboy when they had found the place. What had sold them were two things. Firstly, it was vacant and available for immediate possession. Secondly, the back lawn led straight down to the edge of a high cliff above a secluded inlet of the upper harbor. At the bottom of the cliff, down a series of wooden staircases, there was a large, brown, slightly ramshackle boatshed.

From an upstairs room, the sound of a television washed faintly through the floorboards. Rebecca insisted that her mum was only grieving, that her mind was all right, but she had not questioned her daughter when she told her that they had bought a new house. Had not asked where the money had come from. Had just moved in, quietly accepted the room that Rebecca pointed out to her, and turned on the television.

As sad as it was, it was also convenient. It was good that she didn't ask too many questions.

Arthur Fong was tall. Thin of face but wide of bottom, he was rather like a pyramid in shape and when he realized that his appointment was with three teenagers, suddenly found several pressing reasons to leave.

"Sit down," Fatboy said, and added, "please," for good measure.

Mr. Fong sat down. People had a habit of doing things when Fatboy told them to.

"Listen," Mr. Fong said, "I admire your initiative. If this is for a school project, then I'd be happy to send over some brochures, even some of our technical drawings, which we don't normally release. But I am on a very tight schedule."

Tane said, "Mr. Fong-" But Fong held up his hand to interrupt him. "I have spent time-and money-flying over here because I thought I was going to be meeting with a company who was genuinely interested in purchasing one of our products." He rubbed vigorously at his face with both hands, a gesture of tiredness and frustration.

"Can I get you a cup of tea?" Rebecca said demurely, and Tane glanced at her. That was not really like her.

That seemed to soften his att.i.tude slightly, although he declined.

"Not had a good week?" Rebecca asked.

Mr. Fong smiled tightly. "You could say that. I've had flights delayed, lost luggage, canceled orders, and now a wasted trip to New Zealand, so excuse me if I seem a little brusque. You do realize, don't you, that the price of the Nautilus is over a million pounds. It is not a toy!"

"Canceled orders?" Rebecca asked casually.

Fong said nothing.

"In Australia?" she coaxed.

Fong sighed. "Yes. Six months of negotiations all down the drain. And now this." He made moves to get up again.

"Why did they cancel?" Rebecca asked quickly but still with a casual tone. "Is there something wrong with the submarine?"

"Of course not," Fong said indignantly.

"Because if there are problems with it, then-"

"The sub pa.s.sed every test they gave it with flying colors. The cancellation was all to do with bureaucracy and politics in upper management. The sub is fine. It's brilliant, in fact."

"So where is the sub now?" Rebecca coaxed.

Fong looked at her and smiled, realizing where she was heading.

"It's still in Sydney," he said. "But please be serious. It costs a million pounds. I don't know what that would be in New Zealand dollars-"

"Four million, one hundred twelve thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine dollars," Rebecca said from memory. "And ten cents. At today's rate."

Fong rose to his feet.

"It was nice to meet you. But right now, I am going to leave. I don't like my time being wasted."

"Your time is not being wasted," Fatboy said. "We represent a trust that has substantial funding. The Nautilus you have in Sydney. We'll buy it."

"A trust," Fong said skeptically.

"I said we'll buy it."

Mr. Fong looked at Fatboy with a kind of exasperation, as if he were speaking to an idiot who wouldn't see sense. "Sure. It's yours," he said. "Just write me out a check for, h.e.l.l, round it off to four million New Zealand dollars. It's yours."

The doorbell sounded and Rebecca went to answer it.

Fatboy stretched out a hand and said, "Mr. Fong, you have a deal."

Fong ignored the hand.

Fatboy continued, "There are two conditions. You ask no questions, and you don't inform the press. This deal is just between you and us."

Mr. Fong looked at him cynically for a moment, but then laughed and shook Fatboy's hand. "Absolutely. Anything you say. No questions asked. And the check?"

Fatboy shook his head. "We don't have a checking account yet, but-"

"What a surprise." Fong didn't sound surprised at all. "Then I'm afraid the deal is off."

Rebecca's voice came from the doorway. "Mr. Fong, I'd like you to meet our lawyer, Anson Strange."

"Just in b.l.o.o.d.y time," Tane said out loud, without intending to.

MOTUKIEKIE The engine of the small plane roared and spray flew past the window. Tane peered out at the water slipping away faster and faster underneath the hull of the small seaplane. The harbor was smooth, but even so, small waves drummed faster and faster at the hull of the craft. plane roared and spray flew past the window. Tane peered out at the water slipping away faster and faster underneath the hull of the small seaplane. The harbor was smooth, but even so, small waves drummed faster and faster at the hull of the craft.

"I thought it would be bigger than this!" Tane shouted over the noise of the engine, gripping the back of the seat in front of him.

Rebecca seemed unconcerned by the fact that they were about to take off from the surface of the sea and head thousands of feet up into the sky in a piece of motorized tin that was probably built by the Wright Brothers. Fatboy was in the copilot seat, joking with the pilot.

The pilot, a blond-haired man who seemed far too young to be in charge of an airplane, heard and called back, without taking his eyes off the controls, "It's a Grumman Super Widgeon. It's quite large compared to most seaplanes you see nowadays."

"I'd hate to see an ordinary Widgeon," Tane shouted.

He'd been on planes before, plenty of times. But they had video games in the backs of the seats and sixteen music channels and a cabin crew who brought you cold drinks and cookies.

And they took off and landed on land.

This was the fastest way to get to Motukiekie, though. Professor Green had recommended the company herself. Tane was a little surprised that she had agreed to see them, but it seemed that having a famous scientist for a father opened quite a few doors for Rebecca, even if (or perhaps because) he was no longer around.

It was a Friday, but there was no school, as it was the last Friday before exams, and it was officially a study day. Which is exactly what Tane's parents thought he was doing. Studying. At Rebecca's house. Not flying to the Bay of Islands in a prehistoric seaplane.

The rippled surface of the ocean outside turned to a mosaic of blue tiles, painted in flowing brushstrokes, then to a continuous blur, and then it disappeared, and all Tane could see was the sky as the plane banked around in a tight circle, back over the city.

They climbed as they turned, but they were still so low as they pa.s.sed back over the wharves and the harborside apartments and office blocks that Tane could see people eating lunch.

They kept climbing and by the time they pa.s.sed the enormous Skytower, the largest building in the Southern Hemisphere, it was well below the large floats hanging outside Tane's window. From this angle, it looked surprisingly small.

The city slipped away beneath them, and the harbor bridge beckoned, a gray coat hanger joining the central city to the North Sh.o.r.e.

"You should fly under it!" Fatboy grinned at the young pilot.

Tane gripped the back of the seat.

"That's illegal." The pilot smiled back. "I'd lose my license. It's been done, though."

"Really!" Rebecca exclaimed.

"Captain Fred Ladd, back in the sixties or seventies. He was a bit of a legend apparently."

"Did he lose his license?" Tane wanted to know.

"Yeah, but they gave it back to him. He was a bit of a legend, after all."

It took little more than an hour to reach the Bay of Islands, even in this old museum piece. The pilot seemed to know the area well.

"That's Cape Brett," he said. "My great-grandfather used to be the lighthouse keeper there. Of course, it's all automated nowadays. Down to your right, that's the Hole in the Rock."

It was a tiny island with a hole punched right through one end. As they pa.s.sed over it, a launch packed with tourists cruised right through the gap, seemingly oblivious to the danger from the rock walls that surrounded them.

"If you like big-game fishing, we can organize a tour for you," the pilot said. "There's great marlin fishing up here, but if you prefer kingfish, tuna, shark-"

"Sportfishing is murder," Rebecca said quietly, but loud enough to be heard.

The pilot took no offense. "Then I guess you'd be more interested in the bird sanctuary on Roberton Island."

"Another time," Fatboy said. "We're on a tight schedule, this trip."

"Well, that's where we're headed, right there." The pilot pointed. "That's Motukiekie Island."

There were islands everywhere, but the one he was pointing at was easily recognizable thanks to the small complex of buildings surrounded by a wire fence, not far from a small cove at the end of the island. It seemed a stark contrast to the lush verdure of the surrounding islands.

The seaplane began to descend, and they flew low over a small hill at the opposite end of the island.

Fatboy drew in his breath suddenly. "Look at that. A Pa."

Tane heard the undertone and looked, but he saw only a lumpy hillside with curious circular ridges. Fatboy was right, he realized; it was indeed the remains of an ancient Maori fort, a Pa. But it still seemed like just a lumpy hillside to him.

Then, as the plane pa.s.sed alongside the hill, preparing to land, it all changed. For a moment, the hillside seemed to come alive in his mind. He saw women in flax skirts weaving baskets, children playing. Strong-shouldered men preparing a feast in a dug-out earth pit. Suddenly, an attack by warriors of a neighboring tribe, screaming and charging up the hill at the wooden battlements with their wahaika wahaika and and taiaha taiaha-their weapons-held high.

Just for a moment.

Then the floats of the plane hit the water, and a cloud of spray obscured the hillside, and when it cleared, the Pa was gone and he was looking at nothing more than a lumpy hillside.

Professor Green met them at the jetty herself, which seemed a little unusual, Tane thought. Surely the head of the organization didn't meet all her visitors personally at the wharf?

"Call me Vicky," she said brightly, her emerald-green eyes matching her name. Her hair was red and constantly trying to escape from the loose bun she had it pulled back into. Tane figured that loose hair was probably not a good idea in a science laboratory, but Vicky's hair seemed to have a mind of its own.

"We don't normally allow visits, for security reasons," she said, leading them up a concrete path through dense native bush. "But I thought I could make an exception." She looked sadly at Rebecca. "I knew your father. By reputation anyway. And I did meet him once at a conference in Dunedin."