The Mark of Halam (27 page)

43.

T
here was disappointment all round as Cunningham and Caldwell entered the boat shed. No boat and no terrorists.

“Looks as if we got it wrong,” Cunningham said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Caldwell replied as he moved to the back of the shed. I think we were just too late.”

Small paper cups still sat on the table. He touched the coffee pot. It was still warm. “Acetylene torches against the wall. Tools of every description. Sleeping bags. Someone has been very busy,” Caldwell said as he cast an eye round the boat shed.

Cunningham looked through the shed to the waters of the inner harbor, the tarpaulin now removed. Night had come.

“What do you think?” Cunningham asked.

“Same as you. I think they’re out there and I think it’s going down tonight.”

Cunningham nodded, already fearing the answer and knowing it to be true.

He turned to his sergeant. “Moana, contact the police launch. I want it out on the harbour checking boats.”

“There are lots of protest boats out there, Brian.”

“We’re looking for a motorboat around forty feet long. It will have some sort of racking that will have a torpedo sitting in it. That should narrow it down.”

Moana showed no sign she had picked up on the sarcasm. She walked away a few metres to make the call. However, Cunningham knew she was right. The nightly vigil of protest craft had increased the day the
Ulysses
came into harbour. There were seven wharves from Princes Wharf through to Fergusson. Freighters were anchored in the sea-lane waiting to berth. Tugs were working overtime. Ferries were crossing the harbour at regular intervals from various points of the city to the outer islands of the gulf. It would be like looking for a needle in haystack. His mobile rang. He recognised the caller number.

“Yes, Barbara.” He listened as she explained what had taken place. He caught Caldwell’s eye. Caldwell moved toward him. “All right, thanks, Barbara. A car is on its way.”

Patrons of O’Hagans gathered round the unconscious form of Demi Myftari. A man dressed in the same red T-shirt and black trousers combination as the waitress came forward. He had an air of authority. The manager, Jeff guessed.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone aggressive.

“Keep out of it,” Jeff replied, equally belligerent.

“I’ll call the police.”

“We are with the police.”

The barman looked them over and then down at Demi. Uncertain of what to do, he decided discretion was best and went back to tending the bar. The crowd stayed where they were. Jeff said to Barbara, “I have a feeling that whatever is going to happen is going to happen tonight. If the terrorists have left the safety of their apartments they need to act and get the hell out of New Zealand.”

Barbara nodded in agreement.

“I need to get on the water.”

He pulled out his mobile. Luckily he had entered his neighbour Larry Connor’s number into his address book the night of the barbecue. He pushed the button.

“Larry Connors.”

“Hi, Larry. Jeff Bradley here. Your neighbour from across the road.”

“Hi, Jeff. What can I do for you?”

“I need access to a motor boat. Something quick. And I need it now. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“I have one. I use it to hop across to the city from time to time. But right now is impossible, Jeff. I’m about to sit down to dinner. We have guests. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I need it now, Larry, and I’m on the Auckland City side. I hate to do this to you, but Larry, your family is in danger.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The terrorists I fought with in Waipu are now on the water and they are going to try and blow up the submarine. It’s nuclear. Do I really need to explain the consequences if that happens?”

“No, of course not. Jesus. So why do you need a boat? Aren’t the navy and police out there?”

“Everyone is out there, Larry, but when my life is threatened then I’d prefer taking matters into my own hands and not rely on someone else. I’m good at this shit, Larry. I can stop them.”

“Christ, Jeff, I don’t know. I’m no bloody hero.”

“Of course you are and really Larry there is no choice. I need the boat and you need to bring it to me.”

“What I should do is drive my family and friends out of here. Right now.”

“Yes you should, and if I was in your shoes that’s exactly what I would do.”

Jeff waited.

“You are an absolute asshole neighbour. All right, I’ll bring the boat just as soon as I load the family into the car. Where do I come?”

“There are three small jetties between the ferry buildings and the Hilton. You know where I mean?” Jeff said.

“I know it. Old Admiralty steps. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Jeff thanked God his neighbour was a natural adventurer.

“Barbara, you need to wait here with our friend and get him back to the station. Tell Brian and Caldwell everything this little shit has told us.”

“What if he wakes up before the police get here?” Barbara asked.

“Good point.” Jeff surveyed the crowd and his eyes fell upon two bulky blonde men. Not New Zealanders. He waved them forward. They each had a beer in hand but passed them to the girls they were with.

“You guys speak English?” Jeff asked.

They nodded. “Yah. We are from Sweden,” the taller of the two offered.

“Good. This is Barbara Heywood, a famous New Zealand television news woman. I have to leave but the police are on their way. If this guy wakes before they arrive, hold him down.” He took some money from his pocket and put it on the table. “Free
drinks for the rest of the night.” Two Swedish faces broke into broad grins. Friends behind cheered.

Two young women approached with table napkins.

“May we have an autograph, Ms Heywood?”

Jeff turned to leave and Barbara held his arm.

“Be careful.”

He kissed her on the cheek and left. Barbara smiled at the two girls and reached out for the pen and napkin.

The three jetties were seven minutes away. Jeff did it in five. He stepped out onto the middle one and walked to its end. He turned back and took in the scene behind him. The pavement that ran along in front of the Ferry building entrance was a popular promenade and walkway to the Viaduct restaurants and the Hilton Hotel. It was crowded with citizens enjoying an evening constitutional, none of whom had any idea of the drama unfolding on the water. It occurred to Jeff to stop and shout a warning to get out of the city, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. He would be viewed as a crazy man and it would be wasting precious time trying to convince them otherwise.

He spotted Larry Connor and waved. Larry turned the stern of his outboard-engine boat towards the steps. When it was close enough Jeff jumped aboard.

“Okay, Jeff, tell me again why I had to give up a relaxing night of wine and friends?”

“The terrorists have converted a launch into a torpedo boat. The submarine is the target, Larry. It’s a nuclear sub. Think Chernobyl. Think of the recent Japanese reactor meltdown. Not only the food chain in the inner harbour but much of the gulf will be destroyed and contaminated for a bloody long time. Radiation leakage will mean much of the city will become uninhabitable, not to mention the deaths from radiation poisoning. I could go on but you have an imagination.”

Larry gripped the steering wheel. His head dropped. Jeff waited as his neighbour took a moment. Soft words came from his mouth. A prayer, Jeff surmised. He had never considered Larry as religious, but then he was an ocean racing sailor and mariners were never far from God. Just as very few soldiers were atheists.

Larry lifted his head and caught Jeff’s eye. “Our home will turn to shit.”

“You’ve got it. Did you send the family away?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take you back to the other side and drop you off. Just show me how the boat works. Does it have gears?”

Larry offered a wry smile.

“No need for that. For one thing it would take too long to teach you and secondly I can’t have you wrecking the family boat. I’m coming too. No arguments.”

“Larry, these guys are armed and there’s a good chance we won’t come out of this alive.”

“I’ve sailed the Southern Ocean, Jeff. It can’t be worse than that.”

“Okay.” Jeff slapped Larry on the back. “I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s go.”

Larry pushed the throttle lever and the boat moved forward.

“How fast can this go?” Jeff asked.

“What size boat are we chasing?”

“A forty-foot launch.”

“It’s powerful enough to run down a forty-foot launch.”

Larry pushed to full throttle and Jeff clung to the railing as they sped past an incoming ferry and out into the harbour proper.

Barbara was sitting in the public waiting area of the police station, Demi on a seat opposite, watched over by two policemen. The two constables remained unmoved by Demi’s protestations that Barbara and a man she was with had assaulted him. Barbara avoided eye contact as best she could but now and then they connected just long enough for Demi to hurl the type of accusatory stare given a traitor. ‘Screw you’, Barbara thought. She folded her arms and sat stiff backed and locked eyes. She was not about to be intimidated by a man who had helped kill her countrymen. Demi looked away first and Barbara nodded in satisfaction.

“This is the man, Barbara?” Cunningham asked.

Barbara looked up. She hadn’t seen Cunningham enter, Caldwell behind him.

“Brian, this is Demi Myftari. He has unwittingly been working with the terrorists. Accommodation mainly, but he knows what has been going on. He also knows the names of the others who have been helping. But he did come forward of his own volition to help expose them. To do the right thing for his new country. I think if you cut him a little slack and make him a deal you’ll get all you want.”

“Okay.” He turned to the constables. “Take him down to a cell and watch him. I want someone in the cell at all times. I don’t want any suicides.” The two constables marched the complaining Demi away. “Now, tell me everything. Quickly. I’m in a hurry.”

“Jeff’s friend in Kosovo came back with another name. Demi Myftari. Jeff phoned him and he said he would meet with us right away, at O’Hagans in the Viaduct.” Barbara ignored Cunningham’s incredulous look. “To cut a long story short, it seems Myftari and six others, including Ibrahim Mustafa, came to New Zealand as refugees and were funded into business by this Avni Leka. Two months ago they were told twenty-eight men were coming to New Zealand and Myftari and his friends had to look after four each. Demi said he had no idea why they were here, but lately he started putting two and two together.”

“Well at least we now know how many there are,” Cunningham said. “So this Myftari wanted to approach Jeff to hand himself in?”

“Kind of. He wanted to tell Jeff his story. Ease his conscience. Get help to keep him out of it. Maybe ask for immunity. Jeff said if he wanted to leave the bar he wanted all the names of the other businessmen. Demi refused so Jeff knocked him out. That’s when I rang you.”

This time it was Cunningham’s turn to laugh.