The Mark of Halam

by Thomas Ryan

Barbara nodded and dialled the number. Cunningham answered. Barbara pressed speaker.

  “Brian. Jeff here. I’m at the top of the Brynderwyns and about ten minutes from Waipu. I’m being followed by a black Range Rover. No doubt about it.”

  “Can you get through to Whangarei?” Brian asked.

  “Not without gas.”

  “Okay, Jeff. Be careful. The driver of the truck we found in Esat Krasniqi’s warehouse said he was stopped by four men in a black Range Rover. They were armed.”

  Jeff said, “Can you do me a favour?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We’re at the top of the Brynderwyns now and I can see the lights of Waipu. Phone the local cop and ask him to meet me in front of the supermarket. Tell him he needs to be armed but dressed in civvies and no police car. I’ll drop Barbara off then lead them away. I can’t get into a shooting match in a small place like Waipu. Not if these guys have machine guns and there’s no time for backup to arrive from Whangarei.”

  Jeff’s eyes were drawn to the petrol gauge. The red light flickered and stayed on. That was all he needed. “I’ll be less than ten minutes, Brian.”

  “Doing it now,” Brian said, and rang off.

  At the bottom of the Brynderwyns, Jeff slowed. He needed to allow time for the village cop to get to the supermarket ahead of him. It was only a few hundred metres from the police station but shit happened and he could get delayed. Jeff turned off the highway into the Braigh, the road that led into the Waipu village main street: a 500-metre stretch with a smattering of cafés, shops and restaurants. It got busy on market days and in the summer when holiday makers came to enjoy the beaches of Ruakaka, the Cove and Lang’s Beach. Jeff had spent much of his youth surfing at the Cove. He checked his mirror. The Range Rover was still behind them. Any suspicions that it had not been following him had now vanished. As he passed the memorial for soldiers lost in past wars Jeff saw a man ahead standing beside a car. Dressed in track-suit bottoms, a T-shirt and running shoes he looked like a holiday maker but Jeff recognised the demeanour of a policeman.

  “Well done, my friend,” he said out loud, as he pulled over next to the cop.

  The Range Rover stopped a hundred metres away and turned off its lights.

  He touched Barbara on the arm.

  “Whatever you do, do not look at the vehicle,” Jeff said. “This needs to look casual and pre-arranged.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “No time to explain. Just trust me. Your safety is what’s important. Now get out of the car.”

  Jeff climbed out before Barbara could protest. He forced a smile as he walked around his vehicle to the police officer. It took great will not to look towards the black vehicle.

  “You must be Jeff Bradley. I’m Gareth Wilson,” the officer said.

  “Gareth,” Jeff said, holding out his hand. Gareth shook it but looked confused. “This is Barbara Heywood.” He tilted his head toward Barbara now out of the car holding the top of the passenger door. “I’m leaving Barbara with you. I have something in the boot.” Jeff lifted the lid.

  “Inspector Cunningham told me I was to do exactly as you asked but I’d still like to know what’s going on,” Gareth said as he leaned forward, now looking even more confused as he watched Jeff fiddle about in the empty space.

  “You are to wait a few minutes until I’ve left and then take Barbara back to the station. Do not look but a hundred metres down the road is a black Range Rover. Make sure they follow me before you move. I don’t want them following you. Is that clear?”

  “These guys are bad news?” Gareth asked.

  “Very bad.”

  Jeff took out a bag of tyre-changing tools and passed them to Gareth, then slammed down the boot lid. A worried and bewildered Barbara watched Jeff walk to the driver’s door.

  Barbara said, “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I’m coming with you.”

  “Just stay here with Gareth. If I have to knock you out and throw you in his car, I will.”

  Barbara paled.

  “Jeff, I’m the police,” Gareth said. “Tell me what’s going on. If need be I’ll arrest whoever is in the vehicle.”

  “Gareth, listen to me. The men in the vehicle are terrorists. They are after me and they don’t care who else they kill to achieve their end. I am going to lead them away and I need you to get Barbara to safety. There is no time to argue.”

  “Even so,” Gareth tapped his tracksuit pocket, “I am armed.”

  “These guys have machine guns and there are four of them. You wouldn’t stand a chance. It is best I lead them away from the town and along the coast road. My chance will come.”

  Jeff held out his hand and smiled. “Make out like we’re brothers. It has to look convincing.”

  Gareth reluctantly shook Jeff’s hand and then stood back as Jeff climbed into the BMW and drove away. Gareth didn’t look up as the black car followed. He caught it passing out of the corner of his eye.

  “Okay, Jeff, you’re making the sacrifice,” Gareth whispered. “I promise I’ll get Barbara to safety.”

  Gareth drove the length of Waipu’s main street in two minutes. He turned into a driveway beside the pizza restaurant. Barbara observed the eatery was filled with diners, oblivious to the unfolding drama. As with most rural police stations it had a house attached. The lone constable was responsible for all of the surrounding district. Gareth rushed the door to his house and flung it open, Barbara on his heels.

  “Miriam,” he yelled. “We have company.”

  “What’s up?” A voice called back.

  A pretty woman appeared in the hallway, drying her hands on a tea towel. She ran a hand across her hair when she saw Barbara.

  “Miriam, this is Barbara. Barbara, meet the wife. We have a problem, Miriam. I’m collecting extra ammunition for my handgun and leaving. I need you to look after Barbara until I get back,” Gareth said.

  “You can’t be serious,” Barbara said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  Miriam said, “This must be the reason for the call from Whangarei station. Cars have been dispatched.”

  “That will be Inspector Cunningham. Good, I’m going to need the help. Right then. Miriam, you man the phones and I’ll get my ammo.”

  Gareth disappeared along the hallway. Miriam turned her attention to Barbara.

  “Can I make you a coffee?”

  “No thanks, Miriam. I’m going with your husband.”

  “He won’t like it. You’ll need to stick to him when he dashes past.”

  The petrol warning light was now permanently on. Jeff assessed he might make it beyond the Cove but not much further. Certainly not as far as Mangawhai, and he’d be lucky to make Lang’s Beach. Lights reflected in the rear-view mirror indicated the Range Rover was keeping its distance, its headlights stalking him like the eyes of a mythical beast. Homes along the riverbank to his left and right were dotted across the rolling landscape; the inhabitants settling down to dinner, all unable to help. Another kilometre and he would pass the entrance to the Cove camping ground, and then isolation until Lang’s Beach. Nowhere land. That’s where they’d make their move. It was what he would do if he were in their shoes. They were not locals and therefore likely to be unfamiliar with the terrain, but Jeff, throughout his military career, had been in many similar situations. They would recognise when the time was right to strike. He always had.

  Time to consider his options. The lack of petrol ruled out trying to outrun them. He could abandon the vehicle and run into the darkness. Try and seek refuge in a farmhouse. He dismissed that idea. It would endanger the farmer and his family and secondly, if they had a night scope, he would be an easy target on the barren landscape.

  He could now see the glow of lights from the Waipu camping ground. Past it was a winding uphill drive to La
ng’s Beach. A move needed to be made before then. For what he now had in mind he needed light. The lights from the camping area would be his last chance.

  As if reading his mind they closed.

  He accelerated. Accelerating meant wasting precious petrol but he needed to stay ahead. As he raced past the camping ground entrance the motor began to stutter. Jesus. Come on old girl, just a little further. He started up the rise then stopped in the middle of the road. The Range Rover slowed and stopped also. The two vehicles were thirty metres apart. Jeff tightened his seat belt. His hand gripped the gear lever.

  “Okay, Jeff. This is not a great plan. But a bad plan’s better than no plan. Right?” He pulled the gear lever into reverse and crushed the accelerator to the floor. The BMW jumped backwards and sped towards the black Range Rover. He spun the wheel at the last moment and hit it on the driver’s door. Both vehicles slid across the loose gravel and over the bank, plummeting three metres into the shallow stream below.

  Flickering headlights beamed into the night sky like fairground searchlights.

  Gareth returned to the lounge with a box of shells. “I’d be happier with a shotgun. Can’t be helped. Any news on the cars from Whangarei?” Gareth asked his wife.

  “Ten minutes. You be careful. Bullets kill. Keep your silly head down.”

  He kissed Miriam on the cheek, waved and disappeared through the door.

  Barbara noted the worried look on Miriam’s face. She had paled. The policeman’s wife stood silent in the centre of her lounge; behind her on the wall hung a wedding photo. Barbara recognised a younger Miriam and Gareth. Both smiling. A happy day. Now she saw a different Miriam. The brave face shown her husband erased, now, a worried wife, wringing her hands and her face the colour of chalk dust.

  As Gareth opened the driver’s door of his police car Barbara slipped into the passenger seat.

  He smiled. “No way, Barbara. Police business. You need to stay out of my way.”

  “Gareth, I’m a journalist. This is what I do. Cover breaking news.” She gave her warmest, friendliest smile. “I’m not being left behind. Now let’s get out of here. Jeff needs your help.”

  Gareth eyed his passenger, defeated.

  “Just keep out of my way. If Bradley takes a swing at me for your tagging along it’s your fault.”

  “I’ll handle Jeff. Let’s go.”

  Moana and Cunningham stood against the back wall of the communications room. The dispatcher had logged into the Whangarei police band. They heard Gareth Wilson call in.

  “I’m on the Cove road. No sign of vehicles as yet. I have a passenger. Please notify Inspector Cunningham I have Barbara Heywood in the car with me.”

  Cunningham’s mouth dropped open, “Bloody hell, what does she think she’s doing?”

  “Support isn’t far away,” the dispatcher said.

  “Send one vehicle to the station,” Gareth said. “I want home base protected.”

  “Roger that.”

  Cunningham said to Moana, “I need to call the Waipu police station. I want to talk to Wilson’s wife.”

  Moana ran her finger down the list of New Zealand police stations on the wall until she found Waipu then dialled the number.

  Miriam answered. Cunningham quickly introduced himself.

  “What the hell is happening?” Cunningham asked. “And why is Barbara Heywood in the car with your husband?”

  “A strong-headed woman that one. She has her mobile with her. She knows more than I do.”

  Cunningham found his mobile and dialled Barbara’s number.

  “Barbara? It’s Brian. What are you up to, why are you in Wilson’s car?”

  “I’m a reporter, Brian, I can’t go into hiding when the biggest story in decades is breaking, can I?”

  Cunningham held his phone in front of him and stared at it, angry and frustrated. There were many words he wanted to say to Barbara right then, most of them unkind.

  “I suppose not, but be careful,” Cunningham replied, careful to control his tone. “Hopefully Jeff can just keep driving. The Cove road goes through to Lang’s Beach and then Mangawhai and then onto the highway back to Auckland. Somewhere along that route we can set up a roadblock.”

  “That won’t happen. He’s running out of petrol. The red light went on at the top of the Brynderwyn mountains. He’ll be lucky to go twenty kilometres.”

  “Jesus. I’ll get back to you shortly.” Cunningham hung up then moved back to stand beside Moana.

  “I have a bad feeling that tonight is not going to have a happy ending.”

  Gareth Wilson passed the camping grounds and as he rounded the corner he saw the headlights.

  “Bloody hell,” Gareth said. “Someone’s gone over the bank.”

  The rear of his car heaved sideways as he skidded to a halt. He flung open the door and made to climb out then stopped. He touched Barbara’s arm.

  “You need to do what I tell you, Barbara. You do not come anywhere near those crashed vehicles until I have given an all clear. Okay?”

  Barbara nodded.

  He opened the glove compartment and took out two torches. He passed one to her and a second radio.

  “Can you walk back down the road fifty metres and wave at the cars to slow them down? I don’t want any crashes. And tell the bloody campers to keep out of it.”

  The sound of the crash had brought the few campers who lived in the camping ground through winter to gather at the entry gate. The small shop and restaurant were both open and now diners, having heard the crash, cautiously joined the growing crowd of onlookers. “Bang them on the head with the torch if you need to.” Gareth ordered.

  Barbara frowned.

  “Well, okay, don’t hit them but make sure they stay back. When the reinforcements arrive show them where to go. And tell them to come armed and not leave their weapons in their vehicles. They already know to do this but a reminder never hurts. Whatever you do, do not follow them. Got it?” His voice softened. “Please don’t follow.”

  “I’ve got it, Gareth. Get going and be careful.”

  “You don’t have to worry on that score.”

  Barbara made her way back down the road.

  Gareth held his pistol with a thumb on the safety. He moved forward, each tentative step scrunching loose stones and making a sound loud in the silence. Twenty metres from the headlights he edged towards the bank and peered over.

  He clicked on his radio. A direct link with the Whangarei police station.

  “Gareth Wilson here. I’m at an accident scene. Two vehicles over the bank just past the Waipu Cove camping ground.” he said. “One of them is a BMW, the other a black Range Rover. I can confirm these are the two cars I was looking for. Better send an ambulance. Make that two to be on the safe side.”

  “Roger that, Gareth. Your back up is only a few minutes away. It might be best to wait. Can you see any movement?”

  “No movement from either car.”

  Bob Sutton, the senior sergeant from Whangarei, led three of his men to where Gareth knelt on the embankment. He ordered three to take up positions along the bank and keep their weapons trained on the vehicles.

  “Okay, Gareth, it’s you and me.”

  Gareth and Bob scrambled down the bank, landing in the small stream that wound its way down through the bush behind them and into the ocean. Waipu Cove was a surf beach. The sound of waves crashing onto the shore could be heard on the other side of the dunes. The black Range Rover lay on its side. The front wheels of Jeff’s BMW were still up the bank, the rear rammed into the big four-by-four.

  “How are we going to do this?” Bob whispered.

  “Take care of the danger first. We need to check the Rover,” Gareth replied. “I’ll do the check. You cover me.” Bob nodded. “Assume a firing position. I’ll come in from the right.”

 
Gareth waited until Bob was in position and then moved forward. He would either have to climb up to look into the vehicle or move to the front and look through the windscreen. Either way they would know he was there and if they were armed he would be presenting himself as a target. Scary shit was his last thought before he moved forward.

  “Okay, cover me,” Gareth whispered as he moved forward. He peered in through the shattered front windscreen and shone his torch onto a crumpled shape. Not moving. “I have one person. Either dead or unconscious but not moving.” He pressed the barrel of his weapon against the fallen man’s foot. Still no movement. Gareth took a deep breath. “Bob take aim. If he lifts a finger, shoot.” Gareth reached in and felt the neck for signs of a pulse. It took a minute but he finally found the spot he was looking for. It was weak but the man was alive. With help from Bob, Gareth pulled him from the vehicle and laid him on the ground. A quick check found no serious injuries.

  With the terrorist secured Gareth turned his attention to Jeff. He dreaded to think what might have happened to him.

  24.

  Jeff had underestimated the power of his BMW. The force of the heavy-bodied vehicle had smashed into the Range Rover, buckling the door panels and sliding the black vehicle sideways across the loose metal. His tires screamed as tread burnt into bitumen, shoving the terrorists until they disappeared over the bank.

  “Woohoo, take that you assholes,” Jeff screamed with delight. “Holy shit.”

  To his horror, the BMW followed. Jeff gripped the steering wheel. He looked straight ahead, keeping his body firm against his seat and his head against the head rest, and waited for the jolt. He reached out and pressed the button to stop his engine. It revved and then went silent. Then came a sickening thud as the BMW scrunched into the Range Rover and Jeff was flung back into his seat.

  He was facing back up the bank like a NASA astronaut waiting for the launch countdown. At least the car hadn’t rolled. He looked into the rear-view mirror. It was too dark to see anything.

  “Okay, Jeff, relax. Think straight, think quickly,” he muttered to himself. “Safety belt.” He felt along the strap, found the buckle and pulled the release. It opened. He wriggled his arms free. “Now open the door.” He tried the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Fuck it. Do not panic, Jeff. Use the passenger door.” He swung his legs across first and when they found the footwell he manoeuvred the rest of his body into the passenger seat. He pulled on the handle. Nothing. “Bloody hell. Think. Window. Electronic.” He found the button and pushed. “Thank you, God.” The window opened. He climbed through the gap then let himself fall the last few feet. He bounced off the Range Rover’s tires and landed on his back. Water rushed over him. A shallow stream, one he had splashed about in as a child. He shuddered as the icy water seeped through his clothing.