The Mark of Halam

by Thomas Ryan

  Cunningham gave Moana a thumbs-up.

  “My husband has not lived in this house for more than two years now.”

  “Oh, I see. I am so sorry. Nevertheless it is important I find him.”

  “Have you tried his mobile?”

  “Yes, but I’m not getting through. I have documents for him to sign. I can have a car take them to him but I don’t know where he is.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. He’s probably at the Kebab. It’s a Turkish restaurant on Ponsonby Road.”

  “I know it. Good food. Thank you, Mrs Hadani. I’ll have someone go there immediately.”

  “She thinks he’s at the Kebab,” Moana said. “About half a mile from the Skenderberg. But, hang on, won’t he go on the run? I mean, after all that has happened.”

  Cunningham shook his head. “No not yet. Anyone connecting him to Akbar is dead. He won’t know we have two of his men. And once the terrorists left the safe houses earlier today he and the others would have had no contact. No, I’m guessing Hadani has no idea what has taken place and will follow through with his task and wait in the appointed spot to hand out the documents. Now for the million-dollar question, is the Kebab that spot?”

  47.

  The Ponsonby fire station was set back off the road. The perfect spot as far as Cunningham was concerned. He banged his fist on the station house door a full minute before it opened. The fire chief filled the doorway, eyes half open. A stifled yawn exposed he had been dozing.

  Cunningham held up his badge. “I need to park a couple of cars on your front courtyard,” he stated in a belligerent tone. He wasn’t about to make a request. The man was sleeping while the city is turning to shit, screw him.

  “What the hell are you on about? You can’t block the entry way,” the chief responded, suddenly awake.

  “Yes, well, if you stayed awake long enough you’d know there are fucking terrorists out there and some are across the road, or likely to be. We need a surveillance spot and your courtyard is the best position.”

  The chief leaned forward in Cunningham’s face. Jeff looked at Caldwell. He was certain the fireman was about to throw a punch.

  “Just for the record, you asshole,” the chief said through clenched teeth, “I know all about your frigging terrorists. My men were killed in the bomb blast the other night. What is left of my team and I have been on duty round the clock since. So excuse me for taking a fucking nap.”

  Cunningham held up his hands and stepped back.

  “I need to park in the courtyard.”

  The chief stared daggers. “Park where you fucking like, but don’t block the entrance. If I’m called out I’ll drive over the top of you pricks.”

  He slammed the door.

  Cunningham turned to the others. “I’m not certain I handled that as well as I could have.”

  “Jesus, Brian, you need to get some people skills.”

  “Okay. You heard the chief. A car either side of the entrance. Don’t block it.”

  Cunningham and Lee Caldwell sat in the front seat with Moana and Jeff in the back. In the dim light the cars did not stand out. Cunningham drummed his fingers across the top of the steering wheel. Jeff watched, frustrated by the inactivity. Across the road and fifty metres to the right they had a good view of the Kebab restaurant squeezed between a women’s fashion store and a working-men’s club. He would love nothing more than to charge in and drag this Sami Hadani into the street and kick the shit out of him.

  “Looks as if the restaurant is full. How do we work out who Hadani is?” Cunningham said, more to himself.

  “Myftari said he was a big man. Fat pig, as he put it,” Moana said.

  “One of us has to go in there and scout it out. As much as I’d like that to be me, I’d say the whole gang has my photo with orders to shoot on sight,” Jeff said.

  “And we’re not going to achieve anything blasting the place apart,” Caldwell said.

  “You called it right there, Lee. A restaurant full of dead, innocent diners and no terrorists would not look good on my CV.”

  “I need a weapon. Got a spare?” Caldwell asked.

  Cunningham raised his eyebrows, Arming an American tourist might not go down well with his superiors. He walked Caldwell to the boot of his car and held up a Glock 17 pistol.

  “I assume you know how to use one of these.”

  Caldwell nodded. He took hold of the handgun and weighed it in his hand. Cunningham passed him a loaded clip. “And if I shoot someone with this, are there any legal ramifications?”

  “I don’t think so, do you?” Cunningham allowed himself a smirk. “You had the power to keep me in my job; I think you could get a blind eye turned to killing a terrorist who just attacked an American nuclear submarine. Anyway, you have diplomatic immunity and a mandate to protect your own. Now let’s catch us some bad guys. Any bright ideas?”

  Caldwell said, “We need to start screening everyone who leaves. Not going in. We can concentrate on males only. Either in a group or singles. Couples we let go. To begin with however I would put two people round the back. Maybe the restaurateur knows what is going on and maybe he doesn’t, but let’s assume he does for the moment. Two people either side of the entrance but fifty metres back, and two more waiting here who will follow up behind depending on which direction they decide to take.”

  Cunningham nodded.

  “Remember, these guys are going to be as jumpy as hell so make sure your people have their weapons at the ready and are not frightened to use them,” Caldwell said.

  “What about me, do I get a weapon?” Jeff asked.

  “Not a chance in hell. You’re going to have to duck if the shooting starts. Besides, you have one.”

  A shake of the head from Jeff. “I left it with Mary. She is still in danger.”

  “As I said, keep your head down.”

  “As soon as your people are in place I’m going in. An American tourist looking for something to eat,” Caldwell said.

  “Moana, I want a couple of men down Anglesea Street to block the rear. Two straight across here by Zambesi Fashions. Another couple further down the street by the Glengarry Wines store. A couple along the road here on the corner of Norfolk. And the wagon to hold prisoners down Lincoln Street. They should find a spot to park. If not tell them to use a driveway. And don’t take no for an answer. With us here that pretty much surrounds the place. Everyone else tell them to keep out of sight.”

  Moana gave a mock salute. “Will do.”

  Moana’s salute brought a smile from Jeff.

  Cunningham said to Caldwell, “What about a microphone?”

  “No. If I’m sitting there talking to myself it might look a little weird. I will call you on my cellphone and let you know if there is anything worthwhile.”

  “What if it’s a no show?”

  “Then you need to grab this guy Sami Hadani, but I think if he is in there then they’re coming. They can’t go anywhere without documentation. And after tonight they need to run.”

  Caldwell waited until everyone was in place. He wasn’t overly concerned if some of the terrorists got away; as long as they had Hadani the rest would be on the run without a means to escape. But with restaurants busy with diners and pedestrians window shopping there could be casualties.

  As Caldwell entered the Kebab his nose was assailed by the aromas of Turkish spices. They triggered memories of nights in Istanbul. A sniff revealed the smell of roasting lamb and a quick search found the rotating spit behind the service counter. The haunting sounds of Turkish folk music playing softly in the background completed his imagery.

  He made a quick count of the diners. Thirty, maybe thirty-five, but it was the ten men in the furthest corner that caught his interest. Hadani would be one of them, Caldwell was certain of it.

  The men, sitting around two tables pulled together, were
engrossed in their conversation and ignored the other diners. They talked louder and louder as each sought to emphasise a point. Then laughter would break out and they would become silent until the next discussion started up. Empty plates sat on the table; the men had finished their meals and were now concentrating on cognac and coffee. He quickly dismissed any of them as being Zahar’s men. They were too relaxed. All except for the fat man sitting with his back to the kitchen, his head slightly tilted towards the door. He fitted the description given by Myftari. His eyes flitted round the room every few minutes. He was nervous, his coffee untouched.

  Hadani. Caldwell would bet his life on it.

  The waitress came and Caldwell ordered a beer and asked for a menu. He wouldn’t normally have an alcoholic drink but if someone in this crowd was checking out strangers then a drinker was less suspicious.

  As prearranged, Cunningham called him on his mobile. Caldwell did not bother to lower his voice. His actions needed to look as casual as possible. He told Cunningham he was fine and for the moment he could find his own way home. He would phone if he needed a car. The waitress wrote down his order of smoked chicken and a fresh leaf and choban salad and placed a jug of cold water in the centre of the table. Caldwell figured that as he had to wait and he was hungry he might as well eat.

  As the waitress returned with his order, two men, undoubtedly Middle Eastern, walked in. They stood just inside the door. Eyes scanned the tables and settled on the man Caldwell had picked to be Hadani. Bingo, Caldwell thought to himself.

  They sat at the only spare table. One of the men spoke quietly to the waitress, and as he did so she gave a quick glance at the table where Hadani sat. She tapped Hadani on the shoulder. When he looked up the waitress thumbed at the two men and then carried on into the kitchen. In Caldwell’s opinion she was passing on a message and had no idea what was going on, which confirmed his earlier suspicion that it was only a meeting spot and that the owner of the restaurant had no idea.

  Hadani picked up his briefcase and walked through to the toilet block. After a few minutes the two men followed.

  Caldwell’s mobile rang. He answered it quickly.

  “Anything yet?” Cunningham asked.

  “I think we have two ready to go. Maybe five minutes. Both dark-haired. Late twenties. One white shirt and red jacket. The other a red shirt and black leather jacket.

  “Okay we’ll be waiting.”

  “There is something else. Can you send Sergeant Te Kanawa in? She is to be my girlfriend. I want a kiss. Make it look real.”

  “Okay, will do.”

  After a few minutes the two men emerged from the toilet block. They passed Moana as she walked through the door. Moana didn’t blink. She walked straight up to Caldwell.

  “Darling. I am so sorry I’m late. Couldn’t be helped.”

  “That’s okay. I started without you. Sorry, but I was hungry.”

  Moana gave Caldwell a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The men at the two tables had glanced their way when Moana had entered but quickly dismissed them. Hadani didn’t give them a second glance.

  The waitress came over and Caldwell ordered the same meal for Moana.

  “Brian said we are not meant to know that you exist,” Moana said smilingly. “Does this mean you will have to kill me?”

  “I’m afraid so, Sergeant. No choice.”

  “Why the urgency?”

  “The man with the grayish hair wearing the olive hound’s-tooth sports jacket. He is sitting with the group of men in the corner.”

  Moana placed her handbag on the floor to enable her to have a quick look.

  “Got him.”

  “That is Sami Hadani. Two men just left after collecting documents from him.” Moana nodded. “All the documents are in the briefcase on the floor beside him. Your job if something goes wrong is to follow the briefcase. Don’t lose it. If you’re shot and dying, too bad. Do not die until you have taken possession of that case. If he won’t hand it over, shoot him.”

  “Are you serious? Shoot him.”

  “Yes. You don’t think you can do that? Shoot a man in cold blood?”

  “It’s against the law.”

  “Yes it is,” Caldwell said. “You are absolutely right.”

  “Now you’re being condescending.”

  “This is not a game, Sergeant. And yes you do live in a civilised society and if we don’t play by the rules then we are no better than they are. I know all the arguments. But these men do not play by the rules. Remember, they just tried to nuke your city. That man is one of them. In his case are the names of all the others. If they get away they will kill again, maybe not here in New Zealand, but somewhere. These are not even men of war prepared to sacrifice their lives for a higher ideal, they are just killers and they do it for money. No other reason. This is one of those times, Sergeant, when the good guys, that’s us, have to make the ultimate sacrifice, whether it be our ethics or our lives, the sacrifice must be made.”

  Moana nodded. “I assure you the case will not be lost. What I do to not lose it will be my decision.”

  “Fair enough. Now eat your salad.”

  48.

  An hour later, six men had been arrested after leaving the restaurant. Moana and Caldwell had had dessert and were on their second cup of coffee. The Kebab was emptying and they were struggling to keep up their subterfuge as the happy couple.

  “What now?” Moana asked. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  “No, we can’t. As much as I’m enjoying your company I don’t think I can eat any more and I certainly can’t drink any more coffee. I think two people in love with each other as much as we are should be home in bed.”

  Moana laughed. “I’m certain that’s what the waitress must be thinking. She looks like she wants to clear the table.”

  Four men entered.

  “We have more company,” Caldwell said. “I’m going to ask for the bill.”

  He waved to the waitress and when he told her he wanted the bill she went to the front desk to make it up. One of the men said something to her as she passed them and she nodded toward Hadani. One of the men glanced Caldwell’s way. He whispered something to the others. The other three looked across at Caldwell. The waitress brought back the bill in a leather folder and placed it on the table then went back to Hadani’s table.

  Caldwell reached across and took Moana’s hand. She smiled at him but did not pull away.

  “I think we have a problem.”

  “A big problem or a little problem?”

  “I think one of them has a problem with me.”

  “Why would he?” Moana asked.

  “These are men on the run. They have a gut instinct for anything out of place. Potential danger. It saves their lives. If they feel something is not right they assume it isn’t. Reach down and pick up your purse. Apply some lipstick or something but make sure your weapon is close at hand.”

  Moana did as instructed.

  “Remember, whatever happens, do not lose Sami and the suitcase.”

  “We need backup.”

  “Cunningham will phone again in a few minutes but I do not think it is a good idea for these four to leave the restaurant.”

  Caldwell could feel the piercing stares but resisted looking in the direction of the four men. Now they would be questioning Sami. Asking about him about the man and the woman sitting at the table by the window. Caldwell took out some money and pretended to be checking the bill, then he placed some money in the folder and waved to the waitress. He knew something was wrong instantly. The excited chatter first and then the sound of a chair crashing to the floor.

  Moana looked perplexed as Caldwell rose, pulling the Glock from his belt and thrusting it out in front of him in one fluid motion. Moana, with her back to the terrorists, had no forewarning of the violence about to erupt. As the first shot was fi
red she dived to the floor with her purse. As she rolled onto her back her gun was in her hand but any targets were obscured by the tables. Caldwell fired and then dived onto the floor beside her. The terrorists were scrambling for the door.

  Caldwell turned to Moana.

  “Don’t forget the case,” he yelled, then he was on his feet and after the men running from the restaurant.

  Cunningham, Jeff and two detectives saw four men approach the restaurant. Their vigilant manner signalled to Cunningham they were another group of terrorists. It had been easy dealing with them in twos. They had simply been outnumbered and had no time to draw weapons or to escape. But four, this was different. This shifted the odds in the terrorists’ favour.

  Cunningham watched them enter and climbed out of the car in anticipation. The shots instigated instant activity. The restaurant door flew open. Two men rushed out. A third fell in the doorway. Cunningham and the two detectives, guns in hand, dodged traffic as they ran across the street.

  Caldwell leapt over the body in the doorway and gave chase. The two terrorists fired behind them as they ran. Caldwell ignored the danger and continued to chase. Fearless, Cunningham noted.

  At the corner Caldwell slowed and began to walk. Cunningham was quickly at his shoulder, Red and Ross came out of the side street to join the pursuit. The officers positioned further down moved onto the pavement to block the terrorists. They both assumed a kneeling position with their weapons aimed at the approaching men. The terrorists were flinging pedestrians out of their way in their desperate bid for freedom. Then they saw the danger and stopped, looking about them. Caldwell, Cunningham, and Red had spread out across the footpath. Two detectives walked down the centre of the road. There was nowhere for them to go. They were going to die but not today. The two men lowered their weapons and dropped them on the ground. It was over. Cunningham’s men moved forward and forced the remnants of Akbar’s army onto the ground. Guns stayed trained on them until they had been handcuffed.

  Cunningham saw Red and Ross. “What the hell are you two doing here? Why aren’t you at the back of the restaurant?”