The Mark of Halam

by Thomas Ryan

  He heard the door open. Footsteps come towards him. Water-drenching time. He had come to welcome it. The removal of the hood was a moment of pleasure.

  This time, a difference. Hands gripped his wrists. The click of a key then his handcuffs fell away. Strong arms pulled him to his feet. He stamped the numbness from his legs and rubbed his wrists. His legs wobbled and his head spun but strong arms held him steady. Joints ached and stiffness remained but the relief was immediate. The hood was still in place and he made no attempt to remove it. A chair was pushed against the back of his knees and he collapsed onto it. When he settled the man behind him lifted the hood. He blinked at the light and covered his eyes with a hand. It took him a few minutes to adjust. Finally his vision cleared. Four men wearing balaclavas surrounded him. One of the men pulled a table and a chair from against the wall until it was in front of him. A man in a suit came and sat in the chair placed opposite. He did not wear a balaclava.

  “Good morning, Jamil.” The man was an American. “My name is Lee Caldwell; I’m here to talk with you.”

  So he was not in the hands of Zahar. The Americans had taken him. He relaxed a little. He was not going to be killed. They would only want information.

  “You would like some water?” Caldwell asked. Jamil nodded. “Give him some water.”

  A small bottle of mineral water was placed in his hand. Jamil twisted off the cap and swallowed a few mouthfuls then screwed the cap back on.

  “Now, Jamil, I’m sure you must be hungry so as soon as we get this over with you can have something to eat. Do you understand?”

  Khallid nodded.

  “Good. Now tell me. Why are you here, Jamil? What is your mission?”

  Jamil looked at him. Who did this American think he was talking to? Did he really expect an answer to these questions? What could they do if he didn’t? This was New Zealand. There were laws. They couldn’t torture him. Jamil found his bravado returning. He didn’t have to tell this man anything. So what if he went to jail. The prisons were civilised and the prisoners well fed. Besides what did they really have on him? Nothing. He had been driving a vehicle that had been rammed off the road. He was the victim here.

  Jamil smiled his non-response back at Caldwell.

  “I see,” Caldwell said. “You don’t want to talk with me.” Caldwell sat back in his chair. Jamil watched him, satisfied he had won the first round. They had kept him locked up for days. Made him soil himself and then expected him to have weakened. They had guessed wrong. He was made of sterner stuff than that.

  Caldwell pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number.

  “Are you in place?” He listened to the reply all the while looking at Jamil. Then Caldwell held out the phone. “It’s for you, Jamil.”

  Jamil looked confused.

  “Go ahead,” Caldwell said. “It’s your mother, Jamil. Talk to her.”

  Jamil hesitantly took the phone and placed it to his ear.

  “Hello,” he whispered into the phone.

  The sound of his mother’s voice replying shocked him. Caldwell pulled the phone away.

  “We have your mother, father and two sisters in a safe house in Cairo, Jamil. Do you believe me?” Jamil nodded, “Good, that is very good.” Caldwell spoke into the phone.

  “If I have not called back within ten minutes kill the mother in front of the rest of the family. I want them to be able to describe it to Jamil.” Caldwell rang off.

  “Did you really think I was going to waste time on you, Jamil? I know that inside that sick mind of yours you will find some semblance of bravery and justification for what you do. These things I do not care about. No – either you tell us what we want to know or your family will be killed.”

  “You cannot do this,” Jamil said. “They have nothing to do with this. They are innocent. You are an American, you will not kill innocent people.”

  “You are right, Jamil. An American would not intentionally kill innocent people but your family is not in the hands of Americans, they are in the hands of people just like you. Cairo criminals. They will do anything for money and the price for killing your family is very cheap, Jamil. Now do we have an understanding?”

  Jamil nodded.

  “Good, very good.”

  There had been three computers in Esat Krasniqi’s office. Jeff had downloaded the contents of two onto one memory stick and the one he had assumed to be Esat’s own computer onto a separate memory stick. They opened his file first.

  “Jesus, it’s in Albanian,” Jeff said. “We could spend the rest of our lives here and not find what we’re looking for. It’s a pity Sulla isn’t here.”

  “Sulla?” Barbara asked.

  “He helped me in Kosovo. He now manages Arben Shala’s vineyard for the Shala family.”

  Barbara nodded. “How about transferring the data to him? That’s easy enough.”

  Jeff laughed. “Of course we can do that. My brain has gone dead.” Jeff pulled out his mobile. “Okay, I’ll call Sulla. Hopefully we’ll have something back by morning.”

  Senior Sergeant Moana Te Kanawa decided to check one last warehouse before they called it quits. She was tired, but experienced enough to know that even though the searches might be proving fruitless the elimination process brought them closer to their goal. As she looked at the gates she sensed this one was different. They were in a heavy industrialised area of East Tamaki. The long lane that ran down between two two-storey buildings was an ideal entrance to a secluded location. Certainly the warehouse was not visible from the road. Both sides of the lane were lined with trees.

  Moana ordered the driver to proceed with caution. Slow and steady. Now, at the end of the lane, she and her team stayed sitting in the car scrutinising the chained gates and the two-metre high wall that surrounded the complex. Two black Range Rovers were parked outside the office block.

  “What do you think, Red?”

  “Same as you do. If I was looking for somewhere to hide this would be it. I smell spices. Someone inside has been cooking.”

  “Campers? Then the question to be asked is, are we going to be silly or sensible?”

  “I think,” he began, “that we back out and park in another driveway and call in backup. It might be nothing but better to be safe than dead. If it’s a false alarm then you can buy everyone a few beers and we’ll laugh it off.”

  Moana smiled. “Good call. You might make sergeant one day.”

  “Maybe, but I won’t get there if I let my current sergeant get shot up.”

  “Why do I get the bullet? Why not you?” she laughed. Moana reached to pick up the handset. “I’ll call it in.”

  Red reached across and touched her arm.

  “I think it might be best if you call Inspector Cunningham on your mobile. We should assume they have equipment tuned into the police band.”

  “Yes, you’re right. You really might make sergeant. I’m impressed.”

  Caldwell felt he had everything he was going to get from Jamil. As with most of the modern terrorist operations they operated in cells and the men were on a need to know basis. If they were captured the final mission would not be compromised. They were operating in groups of four and would only come together when Zahar the leader called them in to do so. Each cell had a team leader and only he would be in contact with Zahar. His team’s job had been to hijack a container truck and deliver it to the warehouse. Another group had then taken over. They then returned to an apartment to await further orders. No, he hadn’t known what was in the container.

  The trip to Waipu had been ordered by Zahar. The man they had been chasing was to be eliminated. Their apartment was in the city but they moved every few days. Sometimes they stayed in a warehouse and then another apartment. Once a house in the suburbs. Someone would come daily with food and newspapers and whatever bits and pieces they wanted. He gave the location of the war
ehouse and of the apartment. Caldwell shook his head. They already knew about the warehouse and the apartment would have been cleaned and abandoned by now.

  The terrorists had flown in from various locations in the Middle East. He did not know of the others but he flew in from Syria on a Syrian passport. The visa was arranged by a New Zealand export company.

  He flashed Jamil a reassuring smile. The terrorist looked tired but relaxed. Caldwell was convinced that he had told the truth. They had all that Jamil was going to give them. That was unfortunate for Jamil. But lucky for his family.

  It took thirty minutes for Cunningham and his team to arrive at the warehouse. Cunningham crept down the lane. The top of the two-metre-high wall was covered in broken glass. He scrambled up the tree closest to the wall. The warehouse was an oblong shape with a two-storey office complex on the far end. It was surrounded by a sealed parking area and security lights had been mounted on each corner of the building. Sensors picking up movement would turn night into day. With fifty metres of ground to cover to the warehouse it would be difficult to approach without being seen.

  A lone figure walked out to the first vehicle and started the motor. Then he started the motor of the second vehicle. A second man crossed the courtyard to the gate and unlocked the chain. He let it drop to the ground and pulled the gates open. He walked back across the courtyard and both men went back inside the warehouse.

  Cunningham climbed back down and hurried back down the lane and joined the others.

  “Okay, guys, there are two black Range Rovers inside and a light on in the upstairs office. They have just started the engines and opened the gate. They’re about to leave. Red, call the Tactics Group and tell them to get their asses here right now.”

  Red pulled out his phone.

  Eyebrows arched. Heads turned, checking the reactions of the others. Feet shuffled. Tension mounted as each team member contemplated the reality of what was about to take place. They were all armed but none of them had ever been in an armed confrontation.

  “Now the plan. Not a great one I’m afraid.” Cunningham smiled trying to make light of the situation. “We have to hold them until the STG get here. Jessica and Red, you will stay here and use the car to block off the lane.” Speaking directly to them both, he said, “Make sure no one gets past. If you hear gunfire take up a defensive position. Behind the vehicle would be best. Got that?”

  They both nodded, but Cunningham picked up the puzzled looks.

  “Lie on the ground or take cover so if they shoot your way they won’t hit anything. Now, once we’re in Ross and Jim will take up positions either side of the gate and cover our approach. Keep an eye on the second-floor window. They will have a lookout. Communicate our movements to Red and Jessica. Under no circumstances are any of you four to leave your posts. Okay, everyone check your weapons.”

  They were all wearing bullet-proof vests. Cunningham waited a few moments for each of them to mentally prepare.

  “You are joking aren’t you, Inspector,” Moana said, dumbfounded. “This is a job for your lot. The STG are on their way. We should wait. They’re trained for this, we aren’t.”

  “By the time they get here these guys will have flown the coop.”

  “The bad guys get away sometimes. That’s the lot of a police officer. We live with it.”

  “Point taken, Sergeant, but this is not a normal situation. These assholes exploded a bomb and killed some friends of ours. We all know what these guys are. If they get away there is every chance it will lead to a gunfight on the street and people will die. You know that. It’s our job to protect the public whether they want us to or not. Now I’m going in. Are you with me or not?”

  Moana glared then she pulled her gun.

  “All right let’s do it,” Moana spat out. “But I think you can lead. I’ll be right behind you.”

  The others nodded in agreement with their sergeant.

  Cunningham smiled.

  Red and Jessica watched Cunningham lead his group down the lane until they disappeared from sight, then they parked the police car in the lane and took up firing positions behind it.

  Jamil stood and waited as his hands were again handcuffed behind his back. It hadn’t been so bad, he thought. He had told them everything he knew which, really, in the end wasn’t much. He had saved his family as was his duty and now he would be taken to prison. How long, he wondered. He was young. He would get through it. His knowledge of New Zealand prisons was favourable. They would be humane. The food would be good and there would be television. He wanted to shower. He smelt and it was disgusting. Yes, a hot shower right now would be welcome.

  He was led outside. It was dark. He did not know whether it was early evening or early morning but then what did it matter. It was over and that was all that counted. It was good to breathe in the fresh air. The smell of pine needles a welcome aroma compared to the stench he had been forced to endure over the last few days. The bag was again placed over his head. Security. He understood the procedure. He allowed himself to be led. He counted off thirty metres. He waited for the sound of the car door to be opened. To his surprise, he felt himself falling. Confused and disorientated, he grunted as his shoulder hit the soft earth. What was happening? He tried to move his legs, his body, but it seemed to be confined by his surroundings. Horror replaced confusion as reality dawned. He was in a pit. He began to scream.

  Caldwell stood above the freshly dug grave and looked down at the screaming, struggling Jamil. He felt no sense of remorse. He had lost those emotions long ago. Jamil was a merciless killer. He had killed many innocent people and he was in New Zealand to kill hundreds more. He should just shoot him and be done with it. But now Jamil had experienced how it felt to have death come calling, he might be more willing to talk on other matters. The CIA would be interested in how he was recruited and any other connections.

  He turned to the three men behind him. “Drag him out of there and take him back to your base. Put him in a body bag so he doesn’t soil the vehicle.”

  Everyone was in place.

  “Okay, Moana, let’s do it.” Brian whispered.

  They sprinted across the open area. Half way across the security lights flashed on. “Move it,” Cunningham yelled.

  Shots rang out.

  38.

  More shots followed the first.

  Red and Jessica, feet glued to the pavement, stretched to look down the alley then turned to each other then back down the alley. Neither had heard gunfire except on the police training range. Confused minds struggled to accept a real live gun battle had erupted within metres of where they stood. A staccato burst.

  “Jesus, bloody hell,” Red blurted. “That sounded like a machine gun. This is it.”

  Jessica dived into the driver’s seat and picked up the microphone. Red pressed a button on the handheld radio.

  “Inspector, come in. Inspector, are you there?” No answer. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Jessica returned to Red’s side. “The STG are on their way.” Her face was pale but she had her sidearm in her hand, knuckles white on the grip. Red noted her finger across the guard not on the trigger. As frightened as she was she wasn’t about to fall to pieces. And she wasn’t about to shoot him accidentally. Safety first and by the book.

  “The Inspector isn’t answering.” They both looked down the lane. The shooting was heavier.

  “Keep moving! Run to the wall!” Cunningham yelled.

  The shots came from one of the upstairs windows. Cunningham raced ahead, giving a lead to the others. They ran like him, weaving from side to side. Instinctively ducking but keeping running.

  “Now drop to the ground!” he ordered as they made it to the safety of the warehouse roof overhangs. Now no one above could see them.

  Cunningham did a quick head count. All accounted for. They were not in a good position and a squad of inexperienc
ed amateurs fighting automatic weapons with handguns was a fight they were never going to win. His people had limited ammunition and who knew what other armaments the terrorists had. Rockets, and maybe hand grenades. Their only advantage was time. The terrorists would know that from the time they opened fire, reinforcements would be on the way.

  Cunningham could hear Red screaming into his headset.

  “Red. All is okay. No injuries, just lots of shooting.”

  “You’re not kidding. The whole city must be able to hear it.”

  “How about backup?”

  “On the way, sir. Do you want us down there?”

  “Stay where you are.”

  Cunningham yelled to Moana, “Reinforcements are on the way but don’t expect anything for at least twenty minutes.”

  “Too long,” Moana said, her voice cool and controlled.

  Her demeanour impressed Cunningham. The sergeant was tougher than he’d given her credit for. Most soldiers experiencing combat for the first time were scared shitless.

  “Just stay where you are, Red, and keep that bloody escape route blocked.”

  “Roger that.”

  “We’re sitting ducks out here,” Moana whispered over Cunningham’s shoulder. She had crawled up beside him.

  “We can’t retreat, not just yet,” Cunningham said. “Crossing the open ground is not an option. Now they know we’re here they will be expecting it. We’d be dead before we made the gate. Those two vehicles are their only escape and they need to cross open ground to get to them. Bit of a stalemate I think.”

  “Unless there is an exit out the back. They could be running through it right now,” Moana said.

  “You’re right, and if that happens so be it.” The lane that ran down the back of the warehouse had a two-metre-high fence running parallel and no cover. “If I send anyone down that alley it would be like sending them into a tunnel. Even a blind man couldn’t miss with an automatic weapon.”