The Mark of Halam (21 page)

35.

H
ow are we doing on the warehouses?” Cunningham asked Moana.

His team was still in shock. He knew the signs. All soldiers in war zones went through it. The first attacks, the first time being bombed and shot at and the first time they had lost comrades. Three of the team had been killed and another seriously injured, but just like in war soldiers needed to keep going. The enemy was still out there and was still determined to kill. Akbar had escaped their trap. But they needed to keep moving. The terrorists weren’t resting and neither could they. He was getting more manpower. He had been told every spare cop in the country was on their way to Auckland, but the key word was
spare
. They wouldn’t be bringing the expertise he needed. The tactics team was on permanent standby as were units from the SAS but they had been deployed to secure government buildings and key personnel. It made his job that much harder but at least he was still in control. The investigation would be split into specialist teams now. New squads with their own team leaders would be talking to witnesses, gathering information, forensics, media control and so on. He would keep his own team as a roving squad with one objective: to follow the leads and find Akbar and his men.

Moana said, “It’s slow work but we are more than halfway through the list. Some of it is access. Locked doors, etc. Especially at night. Then trying to contact owners takes time.”

“Okay, I understand. From now on you carry bolt cutters and sledgehammers. Cut the chains and smash the doors down. Do not leave the building until it is cleared. Anyone hassles you, you direct them to me.”

“Is that legal?” Red asked. “What about warrants?”

“I will take the heat for it. You may suffer a little but this situation is not normal. More people are going to die and I’m not going to have that happen because I couldn’t enter a bloody warehouse. Anyone have a problem with these methods, please say now. I’ll allow you to leave the team. No hard feelings.” Cunningham scanned the faces but no one replied and no one moved. “Okay, thank you.” He sat in his chair. “Now anyone else have any thoughts?”

“I have something that has been bothering me.” It was Red.

“The floor is yours, Red.” The rest of the team looked up from their doodling.

“There is a group of men, international terrorists, moving about our city and the countryside. We don’t know how many but I think we can assume from the mattresses we found in the warehouse not less than six, probably more. Let’s make it a round figure and call it ten.” Everyone nodded in acceptance. “We can also assume, I believe, that for all these men or at least most of them it is their first time in New Zealand.” Again a general nod of agreement. “We now have a city in a complete state of paranoia reporting all suspicious movements of anyone who looks remotely like they might have come from the Middle East yet these guys have remained unnoticed.”

“I think we agree with everything you say, Red. Is this going anywhere?”

“Yes. Hear me out.” Red was not to be put off so Cunningham
sat back. “They must be getting help from locals. Think about it. Ten men. Living in accommodation or a factory somewhere. They have to be fed. They have needs. But they are not being seen coming and going. Someone is doing it for them. Jeff Bradley uncovered Esat Krasniqi because of the link to this Avni Leka. We now know that Leka set him up in New Zealand when he came here as a refugee. We’ve assumed Esat was the end of it and we’ve been screening the Kosovan Albanian community for anyone who might know Krasniqi and might be working aiding him to help the criminals. But what if it wasn’t like that. What if Krasniqi is not the only businessman? What if Avni had helped others establish businesses? Bradley said he had lots of money.”

“Jesus, Red, you just earned yourself a bottle of scotch.” Cunningham jumped to his feet. “Get onto immigration. I want a list of all Kosovan refugees that came here around the time of Krasniqi and then give the list of names to the tax department. Look for export businesses. I want current addresses and I want it yesterday.”

Red ran from the room.

“As for the rest of you, Moana split up the warehouse list. I want it cleaned up today. Any more questions?” No one answered. “Right then. I have to go upstairs and give a report. You all know what to do. Let’s meet back here at 4pm.”

36.

J
eff sat, grim faced, while Barbara made coffee. When he had arrived at her apartment she had welcomed the distraction.

“So much violence and death and more to come,” she said.

Jeff nodded. He found the brandy on the top shelf of Barbara’s kitchen cupboard and poured a splash into the two cups he placed on the coffee table.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. My first husband said I had no sensitivity, especially when I chose to ignore his whining. But I can tell you the scenes at the bomb site have left me numb. These people aren’t civilised, Jeff.”

“No, they aren’t.”

Barbara wiped her eyes. She gave Jeff a fleeting smile. “So tell me, why are you here?”

“I needed someone to bounce some ideas off,” Jeff said. “I don’t expect you to get involved but I have to find these murderers and bring it to an end. I will be taking no prisoners, Barbara. I want you to understand that right from the beginning.”

Barbara nodded.

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, for a start Brian and I agreed these guys have local help. People like Esat Krasniqi.”

“Other Kosovan Albanians?” Barbara said. Jeff nodded. “There must be a few hundred families. Where would you start?”

Jeff said, “I need to get into Esat’s office. See if I can find anything in his computer files.”

“The police will have already have searched the computers, won’t they?”

“No, they haven’t. Brian made a point of telling me they had been left in Krasniqi’s office. I was slow on the uptake and thought he’d had too many whiskies. But he was giving me a message. They’re short staffed and the Brian Cunningham I know will prioritise and he knows I will use my Kosovan connections. These guys are operating in cells. They all work independently of each other and usually are not aware of the other cells until show time. Brian will certainly believe that checking out Esat Krasniqi’s computers needs to be done ASAP but he will also know it’s a dead end for anyone who doesn’t know what to look for. I have the Albanian contacts so he’s using me by putting bait on the trail. He can’t just hand them over to me. He expects me to go in there and take them. That’s how I’d do it. I know it’s not good policing but then Brian’s not really a cop in spirit, even if he thinks he is. We’re both SAS and we do what needs to be done.”

“Won’t the police be guarding the compound?” Barbara asked.

“Just the gate. But it will be a private security company. They won’t expect the terrorists to return. We can get in from behind.”

“So what is it exactly I might be agreeing to here?” Barbara asked, already knowing it involved breaking the law.

Barbara had persuaded Jeff to use her car and she was driving. She slowed as they passed the entrance to Esat Krasniqi’s warehouse; as Jeff had said, a security guard sat in his car parked in front of the gate. She followed the side streets as memorised on her map and parked directly behind the warehouse. It was a no-exit street with a small children’s playground backing onto the wall Jeff was to climb over. Approximately fifty metres of grassed area to cross. Opposite were private houses and either side of the park more homes. A strategically placed street lamp ensured the play area was lit. Trees ran down the fence line.

“Not the best place to stay parked without arousing suspicion, is it,” Jeff said.

“That’s a high fence. We should have brought a ladder.”

“I used to scramble over fences that high when I was a kid.”

Barbara patted Jeff on the chest. “Yes, well you’re not a kid any more.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I’d better get moving.”

Barbara watched Jeff until he disappeared into the trees. She unscrewed the cap off a bottle of mineral water and took a swig. Then she remembered the neighbourhood she was in and locked the doors.

Jeff was gone twenty minutes. She was relieved when she finally saw him scrambling back over the fence. The lights of an oncoming car caught her attention. It was moving slowly. She could just make out it was a police car.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Barbara muttered to herself.

The door opened and Jeff climbed in beside her.

“That’s a police patrol car. Someone must have reported us.”

“Well, we can’t just rush off.”

“Quickly. Cuddle up to me,” Barbara said, moving closer.

“Are you sure?’

“For God’s sake, Jeff, you do know what to do with a woman don’t you?”

Jeff shook his head, laughed then took her in his arms. As the patrol car drew alongside he kissed her. Barbara responded.

A torch was shone through the window and they pulled apart. Barbara waved and smiled. The policemen talked to each other. Jeff tried to look relaxed. Barbara stroked his hair and nuzzled the top of it. Jeff kissed her again until the light switched off. He ran his lips across her neck. Barbara let out a soft moan. They stayed locked in each other’s arms longer than necessary. Long after the patrol car had disappeared into the night.

“Well, there goes my reputation,” Barbara whispered as they slowly untangled themselves. “I’m sure they must have recognised me. By tomorrow the whole city is going to know I have a new lover.”

37.

J
amil Khallid had no idea what time it was, or what day for that matter. There had been no respite from the discomfort of the cold, hard, damp concrete floor. Every bone poked against his flesh and had gone from a dull ache to agony. Every few hours someone removed his hood and a water bottle was placed on his lips. He gulped water until he coughed. Still spluttering, the hood was replaced and he was left alone. In the dark, images of his childhood merged with the faces of those he had killed. He tried to sleep but whenever he succeeded in escaping into slumber he was woken by his captors.

He heard the door open. Footsteps come towards him. Water-drenching time. He had come to welcome it. The removal of the hood was a moment of pleasure.

This time, a difference. Hands gripped his wrists. The click of a key then his handcuffs fell away. Strong arms pulled him to his feet. He stamped the numbness from his legs and rubbed his wrists. His legs wobbled and his head spun but strong arms held him steady. Joints ached and stiffness remained but the relief was immediate. The hood was still in place and he made no attempt to remove it. A chair was pushed against the back of his knees and he collapsed onto it. When he settled the man behind him lifted the hood. He blinked at the light and covered his eyes with a hand. It took him a few minutes to adjust. Finally his vision cleared. Four men wearing balaclavas surrounded him. One of the men pulled a table and a chair from against the wall until it was in front of him. A man in a suit came and sat in the chair placed opposite. He did not wear a balaclava.

“Good morning, Jamil.” The man was an American. “My name is Lee Caldwell; I’m here to talk with you.”

So he was not in the hands of Zahar. The Americans had taken him. He relaxed a little. He was not going to be killed. They would only want information.

“You would like some water?” Caldwell asked. Jamil nodded. “Give him some water.”

A small bottle of mineral water was placed in his hand. Jamil twisted off the cap and swallowed a few mouthfuls then screwed the cap back on.

“Now, Jamil, I’m sure you must be hungry so as soon as we get this over with you can have something to eat. Do you understand?”

Khallid nodded.

“Good. Now tell me. Why are you here, Jamil? What is your mission?”

Jamil looked at him. Who did this American think he was talking to? Did he really expect an answer to these questions? What could they do if he didn’t? This was New Zealand. There were laws. They couldn’t torture him. Jamil found his bravado returning. He didn’t have to tell this man anything. So what if he went to jail. The prisons were civilised and the prisoners well fed. Besides what did they really have on him? Nothing. He had been driving a vehicle that had been rammed off the road. He was the victim here.

Jamil smiled his non-response back at Caldwell.

“I see,” Caldwell said. “You don’t want to talk with me.” Caldwell sat back in his chair. Jamil watched him, satisfied he had won the first round. They had kept him locked up for days. Made him soil himself and then expected him to have weakened. They had guessed wrong. He was made of sterner stuff than that.

Caldwell pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number.

“Are you in place?” He listened to the reply all the while looking at Jamil. Then Caldwell held out the phone. “It’s for you, Jamil.”

Jamil looked confused.

“Go ahead,” Caldwell said. “It’s your mother, Jamil. Talk to her.”

Jamil hesitantly took the phone and placed it to his ear.

“Hello,” he whispered into the phone.

The sound of his mother’s voice replying shocked him. Caldwell pulled the phone away.

“We have your mother, father and two sisters in a safe house in Cairo, Jamil. Do you believe me?” Jamil nodded, “Good, that is very good.” Caldwell spoke into the phone.

“If I have not called back within ten minutes kill the mother in front of the rest of the family. I want them to be able to describe it to Jamil.” Caldwell rang off.

“Did you really think I was going to waste time on you, Jamil? I know that inside that sick mind of yours you will find some semblance of bravery and justification for what you do. These things I do not care about. No – either you tell us what we want to know or your family will be killed.”

“You cannot do this,” Jamil said. “They have nothing to do with this. They are innocent. You are an American, you will not kill innocent people.”

“You are right, Jamil. An American would not intentionally kill innocent people but your family is not in the hands of Americans, they are in the hands of people just like you. Cairo criminals. They will do anything for money and the price for killing your family is very cheap, Jamil. Now do we have an understanding?”

Jamil nodded.

“Good, very good.”

There had been three computers in Esat Krasniqi’s office. Jeff had downloaded the contents of two onto one memory stick and the one he had assumed to be Esat’s own computer onto a separate memory stick. They opened his file first.

“Jesus, it’s in Albanian,” Jeff said. “We could spend the rest of our lives here and not find what we’re looking for. It’s a pity Sulla isn’t here.”

“Sulla?” Barbara asked.

“He helped me in Kosovo. He now manages Arben Shala’s vineyard for the Shala family.”

Barbara nodded. “How about transferring the data to him? That’s easy enough.”

Jeff laughed. “Of course we can do that. My brain has gone dead.” Jeff pulled out his mobile. “Okay, I’ll call Sulla. Hopefully we’ll have something back by morning.”

Senior Sergeant Moana Te Kanawa decided to check one last warehouse before they called it quits. She was tired, but experienced
enough to know that even though the searches might be proving
fruitless the elimination process brought them closer to their goal. As she looked at the gates she sensed this one was different. They were in a heavy industrialised area of East Tamaki. The long lane that ran down between two two-storey buildings was an ideal entrance to a secluded location. Certainly the warehouse was not visible from the road. Both sides of the lane were lined with trees.

Moana ordered the driver to proceed with caution. Slow and steady. Now, at the end of the lane, she and her team stayed sitting in the car scrutinising the chained gates and the two-metre high wall that surrounded the complex. Two black Range Rovers were parked outside the office block.

“What do you think, Red?”

“Same as you do. If I was looking for somewhere to hide this would be it. I smell spices. Someone inside has been cooking.”

“Campers? Then the question to be asked is, are we going to be silly or sensible?”

“I think,” he began, “that we back out and park in another driveway and call in backup. It might be nothing but better to be safe than dead. If it’s a false alarm then you can buy everyone a few beers and we’ll laugh it off.”

Moana smiled. “Good call. You might make sergeant one day.”

“Maybe, but I won’t get there if I let my current sergeant get shot up.”

“Why do I get the bullet? Why not you?” she laughed. Moana reached to pick up the handset. “I’ll call it in.”

Red reached across and touched her arm.

“I think it might be best if you call Inspector Cunningham on your mobile. We should assume they have equipment tuned into the police band.”

“Yes, you’re right. You really might make sergeant. I’m impressed.”

Caldwell felt he had everything he was going to get from Jamil. As with most of the modern terrorist operations they operated in cells and the men were on a need to know basis. If they were captured the final mission would not be compromised. They were operating in groups of four and would only come together when Zahar the leader called them in to do so. Each cell had a team leader and
only he would be in contact with Zahar. His team’s job had been to hijack a container truck and deliver it to the warehouse. Another group had then taken over. They then returned to an apartment to await further orders. No, he hadn’t known what was in the container.

The trip to Waipu had been ordered by Zahar. The man they had been chasing was to be eliminated. Their apartment was in the city but they moved every few days. Sometimes they stayed in a warehouse and then another apartment. Once a house in the suburbs. Someone would come daily with food and newspapers and whatever bits and pieces they wanted. He gave the location of the warehouse and of the apartment. Caldwell shook his head. They already knew about the warehouse and the apartment would have been cleaned and abandoned by now.

The terrorists had flown in from various locations in the Middle East. He did not know of the others but he flew in from Syria on a Syrian passport. The visa was arranged by a New Zealand export company.

He flashed Jamil a reassuring smile. The terrorist looked tired but relaxed. Caldwell was convinced that he had told the truth. They had all that Jamil was going to give them. That was unfortunate for Jamil. But lucky for his family.

It took thirty minutes for Cunningham and his team to arrive at the warehouse. Cunningham crept down the lane. The top of the two-metre-high wall was covered in broken glass. He scrambled up the
tree closest to the wall. The warehouse was an oblong shape with a two-storey
office complex on the far end. It was surrounded by a sealed parking area and security lights had been mounted on each corner of the building. Sensors picking up movement would turn night into day. With fifty metres of ground to cover to the warehouse it would be difficult to approach without being seen.

A lone figure walked out to the first vehicle and started the motor. Then he started the motor of the second vehicle. A second man crossed the courtyard to the gate and unlocked the chain. He let it drop to the ground and pulled the gates open. He walked back across the courtyard and both men went back inside the warehouse.

Cunningham climbed back down and hurried back down the lane and joined the others.

“Okay, guys, there are two black Range Rovers inside and a light on in the upstairs office. They have just started the engines and opened the gate. They’re about to leave. Red, call the Tactics Group and tell them to get their asses here right now.”