The Mark of Halam

by Thomas Ryan

  “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 reason 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.

  The two glass doors beneath a large screen displaying New Zealand 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. T
he 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.

  Caldwell opened his phone and checked for messages. Nothing from the Admiral. That surprised him. When he started a new mission the Admiral liked to keep tabs and he expected regular updates. He was struck by a mental image of his square-jawed boss with the bulldog bearing, pacing his office as he waited for news. He must be at dinner. Even bulldogs had to eat.

  Caldwell’s business card read that he was a Technical and Management Advisor for Devon Securities. What it didn’t show was that Devon Securities was a subsidiary branch of Incubus, the world’s second-largest private security company. Caldwell’s directive was to ensure the safety of American citizens outside the United States, especially high-level government personnel, and then find those who threatened American security and American lives and get rid of the garbage. The Admiral protected him and others working to the same objectives from crusading politicians. In practice Caldwell and his colleagues had a free hand and access to any government agency they needed but to keep a low profile. With men like Bradley in the mix, it made that particular order difficult. The village of Waipu was now splashed across the front pages of the world’s newspapers and the lead story on major television networks.

  He dialled a number.

  “American Embassy.”

  “I know it’s late,” Caldwell said, “But I need to talk to the ambassador urgently. Please contact him and have him call me back.” Caldwell gave the number of the hotel. “My code name
is Nemesis.”

  29.

  Caldwell was in the Hilton Hotel lobby when Cunningham arrived. “Would you like a coffee before we start?” The policeman asked.

  “I’ve had my fill. If you don’t mind I’d like to get this out of the way. I have a busy schedule today.”

  Cunningham gave Caldwell a sideways glance as he led him to the car, and Caldwell suppressed a smile. Cunningham was probably wondering how a man who’d only just arrived in the country – friendless – could have any schedule at all. He didn’t see any point in attempting to explain, not yet anyway. He was waiting on a response from the Admiral and until he had one there was little point discussing his plans with the New Zealand police officer. That he had demonstrated he had influence should be enough for Cunningham. He figured Cunningham was smart enough to know that if he had something to tell him he would, and in their world they did not idly chinwag about state secrets to pass the time. However, New Zealand did have laws and he knew Cunningham was probably worrying whether he should be allowing an American he didn’t know to wander Auckland streets uncontrolled.

  Caldwell stayed silent as they drove through the city. His appraisal of Cunningham was that as an ex-military man he was making a reasonable fist of policing, but doubted he could ever truly be a cop. Special Forces soldiers were trained to make their own rules. They followed their instincts to survive, which meant sometimes the rule book had to go out the window. From what Jeff Bradley had told him, Cunningham was already operating outside police dogma, which was to obey the law without question.

  Cunningham had no future in the force. He was a good man to have on side in a fight. He undoubtedly could handle himself. With the SAS training he could at least make a decision, think outside the box. He guessed Cunningham’s ready acceptance of him was because of Cunningham’s SAS cloak-and-dagger background and his experience working with men who lived in the shadows. Jeff had been right to insist Cunningham stay in command.