The Mark of Halam (10 page)

Barbara showed him to the door. When she returned she eyed Jeff. He held her stare.

“I feel terrible.”

“Really? Why?” Jeff asked.

“I think Brian thought that he and I might get together last night. I saw his face when he saw you sitting there. I can imagine
the thoughts racing through his head. Not that it’s any of his busi
ness what I do. But it makes me uncomfortable the way you are with each other, and your being here this morning might have made it worse.”

“You can relax, Barbara. Really. What you saw between us had nothing to do with whether you and I slept together. Brian and I go back a few years. Let’s just say we aren’t the best of friends.”

Barbara picked up her coffee and cradled it. “Are you going to enlighten me?”

Jeff smiled. “I can’t. Sorry.”

“Of course you can.”

“No, really, I can’t. What happened between us is under the Official Secrets Act. Sorry.”

“Are you for real?”

Jeff nodded.

“Now I really am intrigued. I’m a journalist. Secrets are what I uncover. I’ll be watching you, Jeff Bradley.”

20.

E
sat Krasniqi pulled down his warehouse roller door for the last time. Before he climbed into his car he took a moment for one last look at the building he had occupied for the last three years. There would be no returning. He had a pang of regret for the staff. They had been loyal to him. Helped build his business. He would miss life in New Zealand. It was a beautiful country. He could not return to Kosovo but Albania was large enough for him to get lost in. For Albanian Kosovans, it was the mother country and he would be welcomed like a lost brother. He regretted that he had been forced to betray his new country but Avni Leka had ensured neither he nor the others had any choice.

Zahar’s men had managed to get everything into three vehicles the size of DHL courier vans. It had meant manhandling equipment out of the crates. It would have been much easier to forklift the crates onto small trucks. Two of the items had weighed more than two hundred kilos. But Sami Hadani insisted it was less conspicuous in the vans and everyone knew better than argue with Sami. It was done now and they would move out at five-minute intervals.

Sami had not mentioned his driving away and leaving the big man behind in the Domain the previous night. He had at least stayed in the vicinity, and when called upon had collected Hadani in the hospital grounds that backed onto the Domain. But cold eyes had met his when Sami climbed into the passenger seat and the atmosphere in the car turned to ice. Esat had shivered throughout the drive back to Sami’s house. He would have preferred it if Sami had yelled at him. But what the hell, all had turned out to the good in the end and Sami was safe. Maybe that was it for Sami. He had lived that sort of life in Kosovo and Serbia – near misses went with the territory.

The details of his escape route out of New Zealand were only known to Sami and Zahar Akbar. Esat would learn the arrangements when they met up. Until then he would hide out with Akbar’s men. The police would be crawling all over the building in the next few hours. It would take time to find it. Neither the factory nor his home was in his name.

As he drove down the lane and onto the street he tried to think if there was anything he might have forgotten that might lead police to the others. There was his customer list on the computers but that was in customs as well. They had been good clients. Never argued over price and always paid on time. He and Avni Leka had communicated from time to time but then he had spoken to hundreds over the years. He doubted his communications would lead anywhere.

Right now all that was important was that the equipment from the stolen container had been extracted. In another ten minutes it would be in a new and secure location. The new warehouse was held in a trust. He had assured Zahar that it was untraceable but of course if the police knew where to look they would eventually find it. However, he was not about to say such a thing to Zahar Akbar. He feared the terrorist leader as much as he feared Sami Hadani and was already worried at Akbar’s reaction to his leading the police into the Domain. He assumed the only reason he still lived was because Sami had escaped. Praise to Allah that he had. He wasn’t about to give Zahar a reason to change his mind.

Zahar Akbar tilted the china pot and poured a fresh cup of lemon tea. A chocolate biscuit buried under shortbread and crackers caught his eye. He dug it out and bit off the end, then leaned back in his seat. Freshened from a few hours shuteye he sifted through the information bouncing about in his head. Sami had evaded capture. A lucky break.

This man Bradley. How did he know to ask Esat Krasniqi such questions? What made him think Esat would have any knowledge of the operation? The good news was that he had mentioned the name of Zahar Akbar. It meant the police had told him of the message left in the blonde’s house. Esat said the blonde and Bradley danced together like lovers. He was right to choose her. She wasn’t just someone he knew from the lawyer’s office. Good. He would find her again and this time she would not be so lucky.

The only answer was that he had known Esat was Kosovan and the approach and questioning in the nightclub was a fishing expedition. That fool Esat had taken the bait. What else had he said? This Bradley had managed to find a way to his men when the entire New Zealand police force had failed. Was it dumb luck?

He decided to phone his boss, Avni Leka. Leka did not like surprises. He set up the satellite phone. Avni would not allow the use of any phone that could be traced.

The call was answered on the second ring. “It’s very late. I was sleeping. What do you want?”

Zahar ignored Leka’s belligerent tone. What did it matter to him if the man had the manners of a pig? Money in the bank was all Zahar cared about and Leka made certain his account overflowed. He had met Avni Leka for the first time in Kosovo. But he and his brother had worked for Avni a number of years before that. When
his brother, Halam, and Leka tried to escape across the Macedonian
border, Halam had been killed and Leka managed to evade capture and escape to Italy. When he made his own escape from the Americans he had left a series of messages on long-arranged secret email addresses. Avni, now hiding out in Italy, had talked him into taking over the running of the operation left vacant by the death of Halam. He agreed because he needed the money, and Avni had the
resources to keep him hidden, turn him into a ghost. And now the
ghost had come out of hiding. But Avni Leka was a banker, no more than that. He did not feel inferior to him and he certainly was not about to be intimidated by him.

“We have a problem.”

Zahar quickly related the events of the previous evening. “This man Bradley approached one of your exporters and started asking a lot of questions. He mentioned your name and mine and my brother Halam. He knows I am here. Sami Hadani was led into a trap. It could have been messy if he had been caught. Esat Krasniqi has been compromised. They will be after him. They will know where he lives and his business address by now but everything is moved.”

“Bradley is not to be underestimated. Your brother did, and paid the price.”

At the mention of his brother’s death Zahar sucked air through his teeth. It made a whistling sound. His fists clenched as he rose from his chair and paced the room.

“Again he is making a nuisance of himself,” Avni continued. “Normally I would not support a man seeking to avenge his brother if it interfered with my business, but now he has found you . . . This man is not a man who will go away. I think there is no choice. You have my permission to get rid of him. The mission is too far advanced. I can’t have it jeopardised by a meddling New Zealander. But be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I will not make any mistakes.”

“Maybe it is better that you do not do it. Send some of your men. How is the rest of the project progressing?”

“Under control.”

Avni Leka rang off.

Zahar put the phone back into its container and packed it away under the loose floor board. He returned to pacing the room. Avni Leka was right of course. Disposing of Bradley should be a task for his men. Reluctantly he would give up his desire to see this man’s eyes pleading for mercy as he drove a knife into his heart. The operation was too important. Right now it did not matter who killed him as long as he was dead.

He turned his attention to Esat Krasniqi. The fool had outlived his usefulness. His stupidity had endangered them all.

Avni Leka was unable to return to sleep. Once again the New Zealander Bradley was entangled in his fortunes. Halam Akbar had
told him as they attempted to escape in his car across the Macedo
nian border that men like Bradley had a habit of getting in your face at inopportune times. They needed to be eliminated. Now the words had come back to haunt him. When Bradley and his
friends had destroyed his Kosovo operation he had lost his wife, his
mistress, and worse, he was now in hiding. All international organisations knew his identity and were looking for him and any day might be his last.

The loss of funds had hurt his organisation but he had recovered. The heads of the terror groups he worked on behalf of had been unhappy but had responded to his moment of crisis. Avni was much too valuable to them to be lost. They respected his genius in establishing a worldwide network of terrorist bases. His links with the Albanian mafia in Italy had secured him a new home on the outskirts of Rome and his millions ensured discretion and anonymity. The ruthless Albanians were feared by their counterparts from Sicily, and Avni and his men grew more powerful by the day. He had woven them into an efficient criminal and security unit.

The blood of many hundreds on his hands was something he had gotten used to. He had no real hatred of anyone. That had dissipated long ago. The dead were only numbers on a balance sheet to him.

But now he had new clients seeking his unique services.

He was moving on to a newer and bolder initiative, and the success of the New Zealand operation would ensure a demand for greater payments than previously asked for. Bradley now threatened it. Well so be it. He might have been prepared to let him be to protect the mission but the New Zealander had forced his
hand. He could not stand aside and allow Bradley to bumble his
way across the path of the mission and wreck everything as he had done in Kosovo.

21.

C
unningham dozed on the settee in Moana’s office; half his body on the settee, his legs on a chair. He was not exactly comfortable, but some wriggling had made it bearable. Barbara Heywood came to mind. The shape of her mouth. Bradley had stayed the night. Had they slept together? Tension and stress could be emotionally disruptive, affect judgment. It sometimes brought people together who might never cross paths otherwise. The thought of Bradley and Barbara together irritated him. And that was a surprise. He had never been good with women. If he had left his run too late then so be it. However he could not deny he had feelings for her. And in the back of his mind he hoped to hell Bradley would fall down a lift shaft.

The squad re-assembled in the crime room. A few hours of sleep had not helped. Elbows on the table supported heads drooping onto hands. Eyes peered through half-closed lids. Moana sympathised but it couldn’t be helped. Catch the bad guys, and then they could go to bed for a week.

“There has been a development and we need to act quickly. One of the men Jeff Bradley chased last night was a Mr Esat Krasniqi.

“Mr Krasniqi is an Auckland businessman. He owns two properties, a home in Glendowie and a warehouse in Mount Wellington. Warrants to search both premises will be available in the next few minutes. We’ll split into two teams. Inspector Cunningham will lead one and I will lead the other. Inspector, you take the warehouse if you will, I’ll take the house.” Cunningham nodded, grateful Moana had included him. “If, for some reason, Mr Krasniqi is still hanging about then there is every reason to believe that he might have company. Armed company.”

She paused a moment. All eyes were now wide open.

“You will draw weapons and wear protective vests. Any
questions?”

“Isn’t this a job for the Inspector’s anti-terrorist unit?”

“Yes, it is. Any other questions?”

Everyone looked from one to the other, uncertain. “Okay. I know how it looks but this is our investigation. Do you guys really want someone else to take over?” No response. “We don’t know the home and the warehouse are occupied. Let’s play it by ear. If we see a bunch of bad guys with guns we’ll call in the heavy squad.”

Red grinned. “Sergeant, it’s not that we aren’t willing but we’re not soldiers. The Inspector might be used to this stuff but the rest of us have never been to war.”

Cunningham smiled.

Moana said, “Point taken, Red. As I said, any sign of armed men and I’m sure the Inspector will call in the cavalry. Okay?”

The squad filed out, unconvinced.

Cunningham was in the lead vehicle. A chained gate blocked the entrance into the warehouse.

“What do you think, Red?”

“It looks empty to me.”

Cunningham studied the fifty metres of sealed car park his team needed to cross to reach the building’s outer wall. The warehouse was a single storey with offices at the far end. Cunningham breathed a sigh of relief. A two-floor administration block would have given a gunman an advantaged field of fire. He wouldn’t mention that to his team. Red gave him a quick look. Cunningham ignored him. He was not about to tell Red they could be walking into a trap. At the gate end of the warehouse was a roller door, ‘Deliveries Only’ painted in red lettering on a white board bolted to the wall above it. To the side of the door was a blue knob that looked like a doorbell. No vehicles in sight and no sign of movement inside. But Cunningham knew appearances could be deceiving. He was trained to be perceptive and right now his gut told him they were too late. The goose had gone.

“Okay, Red. Get the bolt cutters out of the boot and get rid of that chain. Tell the other car to go round the back and block any exits.”

“Will do.”

Cunningham remained watchful. It took a few seconds and a number of grunts before Red had cut through the chain. He pulled back the gates and waited for the lead car to drive forward. He climbed into it, dropping the bolt cutters onto the floor. The cars sped into the compound, Cunningham’s targeting the administration block. He and Red leapt from the car as it slowed. Weapons drawn, they dashed the last few metres and flattened themselves against the wall. Red peered in through the window. Shook his head at Cunningham. No sign of any occupants.

The office doors were secured with deadlocks.

“I’ll get the sledgehammer,” Red said.

Cunningham stood, gun at arm’s length and trained on the windows. Red swung the sledgehammer against the lock. Wood splintered exposing the lock mechanism but brass teeth maintained a tenuous hold. A determined Red raised his size ten police issue boot and smashed the door open.

“Well, if there is someone inside they’ll know we’re here,” Cunningham said. He waited for Red to draw his pistol. “Cover me.
But stay back. Any shooting get the hell out.” He turned to the men standing back. “You two get behind the car and keep your weapons trained in this direction. If you hear shooting, don’t shoot Red.”

That brought a smile.

Cunningham entered. They were in a small reception area. There were two doors, one to the offices, the other to the warehouse. Two doors further along had male and female toilet symbols. Cunningham pointed to the office door. Red nodded and moved forward. Cunningham knelt on the floor in front of the door his weapon raised.

Red, against the wall reached out and pushed at the door. It swung open.

No activity. Red dived through the door, rolling over and coming up on one knee. No gunfire. Cunningham flicked on a light switch. The office was empty. They cleared the warehouse next, also deserted.

“Well done, Red.”

Red grinned. “Thanks, boss.”

“I need to tell you this, Red, and I hope you didn’t learn what you did in basic training, but you don’t need all that roll along the floor rigmarole. Anyone in the room could have emptied a magazine into you before you were ready to shoot back. That’s for the movies. Next time just dive through the door, weapon outstretched and shoot anything that moves. Okay?”

Red pursed his lips then made to say something but didn’t. He holstered his handgun and brushed dust off the front of his trousers.

A truck with a trailer holding a shipping container filled 70 percent of the warehouse. Nothing unusual in that, Cunningham ruminated, after all it was an exporting company. He told one of the two constables securing the entrance to call through the truck license plates. “Then the two of you go close the gate and stay there, I don’t want anyone entering without my authority.”

Cunningham and Red moved along the vehicle and past its trailer. Near the roller door were four mattresses. Unfinished cups of coffee covered an upturned fruit carton acting as a table. A number of chairs surrounded it and in the corner sat a gas cooker.

“I think there have been campers here,” Cunningham said.

“Looks like it.”

The doors of the container were open and it was empty. There were opened crates spread over the floor.

“If I was a betting man,” Red started, “I would say there was something very interesting in the back of this truck.”

Cunningham’s mobile rang.

“Brian Cunningham speaking.”

“Inspector, it’s Moana. How is it your end?”

“Signs of activity. Campers in the factory but no bodies.”

“You’d better get over to Krasniqi’s house. We have him.”

“On my way. Red, you take charge. Make sure no one touches anything. I want forensics in here ASAP.

It was a fifteen-minute drive from the warehouse to Esat Krasniqi’s home in Riddell Road, Glendowie. Even without knowing the correct address it would have been easy enough to find. There were four police cars outside, two camera crews and almost everyone in the neighbourhood by Cunningham’s reckoning. Moana had called in reinforcements for crowd control.

The house was two-storied and set back off the road. Lots of trees. Very nice, Cunningham thought. This was an expensive part of town. He parked then walked up the footpath. Moana stood on terracing which ran the length of the house issuing orders. She waved when she saw him.

“Where is he?” Cunningham asked, stepping onto the terracing
.

“Upstairs. Follow me.”

Esat was lying on the bed. His arms spread. A human cross. He was very dead.

“Jesus,” Cunningham whispered. He moved closer and saw it immediately. A black marker pen lay beside the body. Zahar Akbar had used it to write a message across Esat’s chest: ‘Another one on your head Bradley.’ Barbara Heywood’s half-hearted supposition had come true. Now they really did have a killer on the loose.

Wiki Herewini was ecstatic when he hung up the phone. He went back into the bedroom and woke Marama.

“Good news,” he said. “That was the police. They’ve found my truck.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said sleepily. Then, as she laid her head back on the pillow, “But I’m not certain I want my husband out alone at night driving the streets of Auckland any more.”

Leaning against the window frame in the crime room, Cunningham looked out across the city. For the first time in weeks the protesters and the nuclear submarine were not the lead television news story. A killer roamed the streets of Auckland and had claimed his second victim. The headline annoyed the hell out of Cunningham because Esat was really the first murder. Why the police hierarchy had seen fit to issue such a press release was beyond his comprehension. This should have been kept under wraps. At moments like this he missed the military. It also meant he might be moved aside. Classified as a murder, the hunt for Zahar Akbar clearly came under the jurisdiction of Moana and her team. Without the terrorism label attached to it, nor any evidence of it, it was a murder investigation. The Tactics Group had no place unless called upon when Akbar was found.

Cunningham had sympathy for Senior Sergeant Moana Te Kanawa. She wasn’t the type to play games with the press and had made herself unavailable for comment. The police had public relations personnel. They could deal with it but public image was all part of the career-building exercise and right now her investigation had become high profile. If she didn’t step up someone else would. She had surprised him when she chose to go it alone when they raided Krasniqi’s warehouse. The Special Tactics Group should have been called in. If it had gone awry it would have wrecked her career. That it hadn’t was a feather in her cap. But the Moana he knew was a by the book copper. He doubted she would take such a risk again.