Section F: The Arse-Kickers

Chapter Twelve

"Prime Minister, I have the New Zealand PM for you on the secure line."

"What? Now? Whatever for? He can't be calling to gloat already. I mean, we haven't even played the wretched rugby yet. Have we?"

"I don't believe so, ma'am. If I recall correctly, the first Test Match is scheduled for this weekend."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So what does he want then?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Prime Minister. But he's on line two, if you'd care to ask him."

"Seriously? Isn't this why I have aides? Aides like you? To, you know, find out stuff for me?"

"Yes, ma'am. Only, in this case, the NZ PM was quite adamant the subject in question is for your ears only. He did however indicate it was of potentially global significance."

"Global significance? And this is definitely the prime minister of New Zealand we're talking about?"

"Definitely, ma'am."

"Right. And he's calling me?"

"Yes, Prime Minister."

 "And it's not a wrong number?"

"No, Prime Minister.

"Wow. Hmm. Okay, then. Now, let me see. Is this the button I press?"

"No, Prime Minister. It's the one with a '2' on it."

"The one with a...? Oh, right. Got it. Hello?"

"Hello, Moira. Jim here."

"Ah, Jim. So good to hear from you. Looking forward to the big game, I suppose? You know, I've got a feeling this could be our year."

"Well, both history and common sense would tend to suggest otherwise, Moira, but I do admire your optimism. Having said that, the rugby is not why I'm calling."

"Very wise, Jim. Counting chickens is an exercise fraught with danger, as we all know. In that case, how can I help you? How are things across the Tasman?" 

"As a matter of fact, Moira, they've been better. As you're no doubt aware, we're having a spot of bother over here. Supernatural bother, to be specific. And, well, it's actually more than a spot. A lot more."

"Hmm, yes, I do seem to recall seeing a briefing at some point. What was it again? Sightings of oversized wildlife? Innocent sheep being snatched in the night? Some fellows in fancy dress stirring up the civilians and an AWOL army company or two? Is that the bother you mean?"

"Yes, although to be frank with you, that's just scratching the surface. Strange things are afoot, Moira."

"It certainly sounds like it, Jim. Although, supernatural is a bit of stretch, isn't it? There must be perfectly ordinary, mundane explanations for all these things, surely. I mean, it's not as though you're Elrond and I'm Théoden and big, bad Sauron is on the way."

"Sorry, Moira—what?"

"You know, from Lord of the...never mind. My point is, it seems a bit of a stretch to jump to the supernatural as an explanation for your current troubles. You know, Occam's razor and all that—the simplest answers are usually the right ones. And this sounds like a bunch of pranksters and troublemakers to me."

"Trust me, Moira, there is nothing simple—or natural—about what's going on over here."

"Well, if you say so, Jim. Still, you Kiwis are a competent lot. I'm sure rounding up a few weirdos, supernatural or otherwise, and tracking down your soldiers' latest drinking spot shouldn't present too much of a problem for you. Although, if they're inclined to go wandering off, perhaps in future you might think about microchippping the buggers."