The Mark of Halam (16 page)

Lenny waited a moment, “Excuse me a moment my friend. I need the toilet.”

Sami turned on him as soon as Lenny closed the door.

“Where is your phone?”

“I left it at the warehouse.”

“You’re an imbecile.”

Lenny grew cold. It felt like insects were crawling over his skin. He knew Sami’s moods and now the big man’s grey eyes revealed he was on dangerous ground.

“Sorry, Sami. But the business is now concluded. No harm done.”

“How wrong you are,” Sami spat at him. “Do you think I am here for pleasure? Your man Agnew has been followed. By the police. They have found out about you.”

“We had discussed that this might happen. I will just disappear.”

“It is too late for that, the police are outside.”

Lenny wiped his brow. He needed a towel. There was no back way out of the toilet block. He had little option but to re-enter the café and be arrested. Sami smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Okay, Lenny. Everyone makes mistakes. But be careful. No more. Understand?”

“No. I will be careful. I promise, Sami.”

Sami smiled assurance and Lenny noticeably relaxed. “Get back in there and finish up then walk out with Agnew as if nothing has happened.”

“What about the police?”

“They’re only watching. They will probably tail you, I’m betting. Trying to find out who else you are working with. Slip them as soon as you can and make your way back to the safe house.”

“Sure thing, Sami.”

As Lenny turned to re-enter the café Sami shot him in the back of the head with a silenced handgun. He spat on Lenny’s body as he stepped over.

Amy watched Agnew through the window. Her hippie boss kept looking about him but it wasn’t nervousness. The man he had been sitting with had gone to the bathroom and Agnew was probably wondering what was taking him so long. Amy was wondering the same. Finally Agnew stood up and walked to the toilet door. He hesitated a moment. Embarrassment, Amy surmised. Men don’t go chasing each other into toilets. She watched as he pushed the door ajar, enough gap to poke his head through. He jumped back and continued the backward steps to the door. Odd, she thought. Then he spun round and ran outside.

As he ran off up the hill Amy spoke into the microphone in her bra. “Something is wrong, I’m going in to have a look.”

There was no two-way communication. Red cursed and leapt from the car. Jessica, already chasing after Amy, was right behind her when Amy pushed the toilet door open.

Cunningham and Moana were sitting at the table in the crime room drawing up a new duty roster when Moana’s phone rang.

“Jesus,” Moana whispered under her breath. She nodded as she listened then closed her phone.

“The protestor’s paymaster has been murdered.”

Cunningham frowned. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What the hell happened?”

Moana related the information.

“Jesus bloody Christ.” He threw the documents he held across the table. “This is way out of control.”

“What makes it worse,” Moana said, “is that the killer must have walked out right under our noses. I’m going down there to check it out for myself.”

She stopped in the doorway.

“Look, Inspector, I’ve had a thought. It might lead to nothing but right now we’re scratching at dirt and only getting grubby fingernails.”

Cunningham nodded. “What are you thinking?”

Moana stepped back into the room. “This Esat Krasniqi must have organised new premises for these guys before they killed him. They’re hiding whatever it was in that container somewhere.”

“Apart from stating the obvious, Sergeant, do you have a point? We’ve checked all his documents and found nothing.”

“I worked in fraud for a while. I had to find things. People go to great lengths to hide ill-gotten gains. You’d be surprised how many trust funds there are out there hiding money. Trusts are difficult to trace.”

“Yes, and you have pretty much answered your own question. Where the hell would we start?”

Moana stiffened, locked eyes with Cunningham.

“I apologise, Moana. This is your investigation. I was a bully at school.” He offered a conciliatory smile then stooped and picked up a document from the floor. “Too used to having my own way. An officer and all that.”

“I’m thick skinned. Don’t worry. You are still the senior officer,” Moana said. “My guess is that the new premises must be in the same area as the other one. Not too far anyway. They couldn’t risk moving gear and equipment, especially weapons, too great a distance. More chance of discovery. Some dumb-ass cops, like us, might pull them over for a broken tail light. Krasniqi has only been in New Zealand four to five years. There are only so many real estate companies that deal in commercial properties. They might not have Krasniqi’s name on an agreement but they might be able to tell us how many properties were bought by trusts. Then it’s a matter of elimination.”

Cunningham looked interested.

Moana shrugged. “I think it is worth pursuing.”

“So do I.”

“After I’ve checked out the café I’ll have someone follow up on the warehouses.”

Cunningham sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on the sergeant as she left the room. She had impressed him. Smart, capable and not unattractive. If they weren’t colleagues and she wasn’t married he might be tempted to ask her to dinner. He shrugged and dismissed the thought. It wasn’t going to happen.

He phoned Barbara Heywood and outlined the incident at the café, then ordered a car to deliver Amy to the television station. The shock of seeing a dead body for the first time was not a pleasant experience; he still remembered his own first time. Amy would be traumatised and would probably be much better off in a crowd than at home on her own. He would call by later to talk to her but doubted she would have anything further to add to what they already knew.

Agnew would be picked up but other than being able to identify the body he doubted he would have any useful information either. Zahar Akbar was smart. Nothing led to anything. Typical terrorist operation. Work in cells. No connections. Kill off the links when compromised.

But it did lead to an interesting question. Without the paymaster the financing of the protestors was at an end. His gut told him it no longer mattered. And that worried him to hell.

His phone rang.

“Cunningham.”

“Inspector, I’m Area Commander Galbraith’s secretary. Can you please come up to his office? He apologises for the short notice but wishes me to assure you the matter is urgent.”

Cunningham closed his phone. He had known this time was
coming. It surprised him it had taken so long. Someone else was about to take over. It irked him but what could he do? The newcomer would not have the experience he had dealing with these types of criminals but his superiors would believe a more experienced and higher-ranking police officer would be more capable of leading the investigation.

The secretary waved him on in to the commander’s office. He didn’t think he should push his luck and ask for a cup of tea. There were three men seated together on one side of the small meeting table. He recognised Galbraith but not the other two. A lone chair sat opposite for Cunningham. Jesus, he thought, a bloody inquisition.

“Sit down please, Inspector,” the commander said quietly, forced politeness. No hint of a smile. Not that the commander ever smiled. Always the same stony-faced exterior, no one ever knew what he was thinking.

“Thank you, sir,” Cunningham said.

“Any new developments, Inspector?”

Cunningham nodded. “Yes. Another killing. An hour ago.”

“And this is to do with the case Sergeant Te Kanawa is leading or the shootout in the north?”

“Both, really. A suspect was under surveillance. A good lead. Unfortunately they must have twigged we were onto him.”

“I see,” the Area Commander said. “One might be forgiven for believing we were at war. Are we at war, Inspector?”

“Not yet but we’re close.”

The commander glared.

“Perhaps you might bring us up to date,” said one of the two men
sitting next to the police chief.

The commander made no attempt to introduce his guests. Two sets of stranger’s eyes studied him like two scientists looking at a microbe in a petri dish. It pissed him off.

“And you people are . . .”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Inspector Cunningham. Just answer the question.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cunningham spent the next twenty minutes going over the details and the chain of events. How seemingly isolated incidents were slowly linking together. The connection Jeff Bradley had made to Kosovo and Barbara Heywood’s theory that the idea was to stretch police resources. He did not however mention Barbara by name. He knew his bosses well enough to know that allowing the press to have unrestricted access to the inner workings of a police investigation might not go down well.

“And do you have any theory as to what the real purpose of these people is?”

“Guesses only, I’m afraid. This man Akbar and his brother liked big crowds to plant bombs in.”

The commander frowned.

“I see. But for the moment you have no reason to believe this might be about to happen.”

Cunningham shook his head, “No, sir. The counter argument is, why come to New Zealand to blow up a bomb?”

The commander looked down at the documents in front of him and then back at Cunningham. Here it comes, Cunningham speculated, I’m about to be replaced. Cop to scapegoat in the time it took to draw a line through his name.

“You realise of course I’m under enormous pressure from almost everyone,” the commander said. “Understandable of course. Citizens are being killed. Gun battles in the north. Now you tell me of another murder downtown. To say that chaos reigns might be an exaggeration but you can understand these are the words being bandied about. Not good, is it, Inspector?”

“No, sir,” Brian replied.

“I have everyone on my back. The Prime Minister’s office, the army, the secret service, civil defence, not to mention the Minister of Police, my superiors and of course the mayor. They want a result. They want it finished. They are screaming at me to put someone in control with the experience to get the job done. I’m sure you will agree that as a detective inspector with only a few years’ behind you, you’re not equipped to handle the political manoeuvres needed to coordinate the various branches. You certainly don’t have detecting skills, nor the required rank to get the job done.”

So there it was. The commander could not have been more clear.

Cunningham sat back in his chair. It was a fait accompli. Life in the public service didn’t come with guarantees of fairness. He had given it his best shot and had been deemed inept. Now he was to be replaced and his career was as good as over. There would be no surviving this type of demotion.

“Yes, sir, you are probably right,” Cunningham answered. There was no point arguing. He had been in the services long enough to know that once a decision had been reached it was final.

“That I am right, there is no doubt. It is the natural order of things,” the chief went on. “So why is it that I am sitting here with a directive from the Police Minister advising me that not only has the Prime Minister himself insisted you are to be in charge of the investigation, but you are also to be given a ranking that will allow you access to any government department? This includes the air force,
navy, SAS and anyone else you might see fit to utilise. Within rea
son they will not turn down any request from you. All the departments have been notified. As of now someone else has assumed your role at the STG. Right now your job is to hunt down whoever these criminals are, stop whatever it is they are doing and bring them to justice.”

Cunningham straightened. Eyes wide in disbelief. The commander’s two guests watched his reaction with mild amusement.

28.

T
he two glass doors beneath a large screen displaying New Zea
land scenes slid across to allow arriving passengers into the terminal. Jeff waved to Lee Caldwell. Caldwell gave a nod of recognition and walked towards him.

They shook hands.

Caldwell said. “I read your report on the plane. Any further developments?”

“Some. Let’s get out of here. We can discuss it in the car. Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere as yet. Take me into the city. I’ll find something.”

“You can stay with me if you like,” Jeff said.

“Thanks for the offer. But, no. I like to be a free agent and I have a good budget. Take me to the best hotel in town and I’ll stay there.”

“Maybe we should bring Brian Cunningham in on this right away. He’s the police officer I told you about.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I’ll give him a call.” Jeff said and pulled out his mobile. “Brian. It’s Jeff. What are you up to at the moment?”

A pause.

“If you must know I’m checking up on Barbara Heywood. Brought some Chinese and we were about to have dinner. You’re not going to ruin our evening are you?”

“Sorry. Can’t be helped.” Jeff laughed. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

Barbara and Cunningham were sitting in the lounge with glasses of wine when the doorbell rang.

“Brian, let me introduce Lee Caldwell,” Jeff said.

“Mr Caldwell. Nice to meet you. Seems I owe you a thank you for saving my career,” Cunningham said, shaking hands with the American.

“It might not turn out to be the favour you think it is when all this is over.”

“Be that as it may, thank you anyway. I might ask how you come to have the influence but I guess you wouldn’t tell me. So I won’t ask.”

Cunningham studied the American. Slightly built and close to forty he guessed. It was hard to tell. He had a friendly demeanour and his overall appearance was unremarkable. He looked more like a businessman than a soldier or law-enforcement officer. He would not stand out in a crowd. But the eyes. There was coldness there. The mouth smiled but the eyes did not.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Barbara said.

Caldwell gave Barbara a once over. Jeff caught it.

“We can talk freely in front of Barbara. She has been in on it from the start. Was with me in the car the other night when they tried to kill me,” Jeff said, answering Caldwell’s unspoken query.

“She’s a journalist but has agreed to confidentiality until I give the go ahead. For that she gets to be on the inside,” Cunningham chipped in.

“Fair enough, but I’m never to be mentioned,” Caldwell said, speaking directly to Barbara.

“We’ve never met,” Barbara smiled back. Reassuring.

Caldwell nodded. Cunningham saw a hint of skepticism in Caldwell’s manner. Well, screw him – Akbar was in New Zealand because Caldwell and his mob let him go. He was not prepared to give Caldwell an inch when it came to determining who was allowed access to information.

“Reminds me of Kosovo, Jeff. You’re gathering a new ragtag team,” said Caldwell. “No offence intended.”

For the next hour they went over the detail of what had taken place to date. Caldwell only interrupted to clarify a point and to ask where he could find Waipu on the map.

“Now, this prisoner,” Caldwell started. “When do you expect him to be brought to Auckland?”

“Day after tomorrow. The police Special Tactics Group will escort him,” Cunningham said.

“Not the SAS?”

Caldwell leant forward, making an arch with his fingers, and then leaned his chin on them. Thoughtful.

Cunningham said, “If it was up to me, and thanks to you it is, the Squadron would have the lead. But the police have jurisdiction when it comes to transporting a prisoner from town to town. I have confidence they can cope.”

Caldwell nodded.

“So apart from the prisoner you don’t have any leads.”

“No. Not really.”

“And you still have no idea what these guys are planning?”

Jeff said, “We’re guessing that whatever is going down has to do with the arrival of the submarine but we’ve dismissed a direct attack.”

“Hmmm, that makes me nervous. The eyes of the world will be on the visit. Let’s hope they’re not going to set off a bomb. I’ve already seen Akbar’s dirty work first hand.”

Barbara looked worried. “They wouldn’t, would they?”

No one answered.

Cunningham told Caldwell what he had found in Esat Krasniqi’s
warehouse.

“I’d like to see the warehouse. As soon as possible.”

“We can go in the morning. I’ll pick you up from the hotel. Where are you staying?”

“When I know I’ll let you know.”

After Jeff and Caldwell had departed, Barbara sat on the couch next to Cunningham.

“What do you think of Mr Caldwell?” Barbara asked.

“I think you need to be extra careful keeping his name out of your broadcasts. A slip of the tongue and I could be bringing flowers to your graveside every Sunday.”

“He seemed harmless enough.”

“Yes. Harmless like a snake,” Cunningham responded. “I’d like to know just who he is and who he works for. When Jeff phoned Caldwell in Waipu I thought it was all pie in the sky but after my promotion he has shown himself to be a man of great influence.”

Cunningham refilled their glasses. “Brian, what is it between you and Jeff? When I asked him he didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he said he couldn’t because it was a matter of national security. Is that true?”

Brian tilted his head and gave a tight-lipped smile.

“It does still have a security classification, but really the secrecy is no longer necessary. The knowledge of what took place can no longer affect the people most involved.”

Barbara stayed silent. She sensed Brian was about to tell her something and an interruption might break the spell. He cradled his wine glass.

“We were on a mission in Afghanistan. I won’t tell you all the particulars but Jeff had a contact named Josef. For some months Josef had fed Jeff a regular supply of intel on regional tribal movements, including the Taliban and Al Qaeda. It had led to a number of captures, and killings when capture was impossible. Apart from the money, Josef had personal reasons for helping us: the Taliban had killed his mother and father. He hated them more than we did.

“Anyway, it was getting dangerous for Josef. Terrorists like the Taliban might not lead lifestyles we would agree with but they weren’t stupid and they were beginning to suspect that when raids followed Josef’s visits that maybe he might be responsible. And they weren’t interested in western legal practices. They didn’t need proof of guilt, suspicion was enough to have him killed. Josef received word that a rebel named Banderman was about to arrive in his uncle’s village. The allied forces had been after Banderman for a year and to stop him would bring an end to Al Qaeda and Taliban movements throughout the region. Banderman’s tribe was strong and could guarantee the terrorists safe passage but without his ruthless leadership his men would fall into disarray.

“Josef, in an attempt to remove suspicion from himself and his uncle, took his wife and children with him when he made the visit. To make it look like an innocent family get-together. Once
Banderman arrived, he would inform us and we would go in and take him out. Our section sat on a hill overlooking the village waiting for his signal. A drone passed overhead and fired missiles destroying the house. Banderman was visiting and also Josef’s uncle’s house. I will never forget the look on Jeff’s face. He had promised Josef that he and his family would be safe but the Americans had decided that it was too risky to trust taking out Banderman in a raid by our section. Better to blow the place apart. Josef and his family would be unfortunate collateral damage
.

“Of course, I knew of the plan but I hadn’t given this information to Jeff. As the sky filled with dust from the explosion Jeff turned on me. The look of naked hatred for that one moment was truly fearful. I thought he was about to open fire on me. But he didn’t, instead he slung his fist full into my face.”

Cunningham rubbed his jaw as the memory of the day flashed by him.

“Jesus, poor Jeff,” Barbara said. “You killed his friend. I know Jeff well enough now to know when he accepts you into his life there is no middle ground.”

“You’re right, and I rather expected him to react that way.”

Barbara leaned forward, confused. Brian gulped a mouthful of wine.

“Josef wasn’t just working with Jeff, he worked with the Americans. For them he had established a network of spies across Afghanistan and the Americans had paid out a lot of money to set it up and keep it going. Josef had been smart, he had worked out early on that his personal security was not threatened as long as he kept his list of spies secret. The Americans did not like it but the intel was so good they accepted Josef working for them on his terms. A few hours before Banderman was to enter Josef’s uncle’s village, the Americans learned that Josef had been betrayed by one of his own spies. The reason for Banderman’s visit was in fact to kill Josef and his family. Men working for Banderman had purposely let it slip that the tribal chief was to pay a visit, knowing that Josef would make the trip as well. The Americans could not afford to lose Josef and his contacts.”

“What did they do?”

“Josef and his family arrived a day earlier, made a show of walking through the village and chatting to as many people as they could to ensure Banderman’s men were aware of their presence, and in the middle of the night the Americans smuggled them out. Josef, his family and the uncle.”

Barbara raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand – if Josef and his family weren’t killed why is Jeff so pissed off with you?”

Cunningham said, “The Americans knew that Banderman’s men had been watching Jeff. When the drone went overhead and Josef’s uncle’s house was destroyed Jeff had no idea they were not in it. He reacted exactly the way we knew he would. Your character assessment of Jeff was accurate. He would lay his life down for his friends and his worse fault is he always feels so fucking responsible for everyone. So Jeff belted me one. Hitting an officer in the field on active service is a serious offence. A sham court martial took place. Jeff was the only one who thought it was for real. Of course I refused to testify and it was suggested to Jeff he resign. Which he did.”

“But why? If Banderman was dead why keep the charade going?”

“Banderman wasn’t killed. While the Americans were playing games so was he. He sent someone disguised as himself. So it was important that Banderman be convinced that Josef and his family died in the bombing. That meant sacrificing Jeff’s career. There were spies everywhere and we made sure it became common knowledge that Jeff had struck a superior officer because his friend had been killed by the Americans. We were later informed that Banderman accepted this as true.”

“Bloody hell, Brian. Poor Jeff. And he continues to live with the guilt. Why the hell haven’t you told him? If you can tell me, why not Jeff?”

“Jeff would never believe me and I no longer have proof of the truth.”

“Why not?”

“A few months later Josef and his family and his uncle were having dinner in a Kabul café which was destroyed by a suicide bomber.”

“Jesus. And you don’t think telling Jeff would help him?”

“Jeff is a soldier. He’ll get over it.”

Barbara gulped some wine. “Fucking men.”

Lee Caldwell paced his hotel room, an idea formulating. He had had a shower and was sipping a scotch as he moved about. The unfolding drama was puzzling. What the hell were the terrorists up to? It hadn’t surprised him to find that Jeff Bradley was at the epicentre. And, as had happened in Kosovo, a group of loyal friends were gathering round him. Bradley’s actions had managed to bring the cockroaches into the sunlight and in his opinion the path to Zahar Akbar was the prisoner in Whangarei, but getting information from him might prove difficult. This was New Zealand. Three small islands, four million people and a bunch of sheep stuck at the bottom of the world. New Zealanders believed everyone was good and everyone had rights. If the prisoner chose not to speak then he wouldn’t be forced to.