by Peter Kozmar
“Now for the tricky bit,” he said quietly to himself.
Andy opened the door slowly, checked on the gunman and went outside. He carefully removed the sleeping bag from the washing-line making sure not to make any noise and went back inside. He placed the sleeping bag inside the bunk shelter with some of it showing. Finally, he reached for the tomahawk axe, went to the door and stepped outside again.
He carefully looked and listened to confirm the gunman was still covering the clearing. Confident he was not in immediate danger, he slammed the door shut. The sudden unnatural sound in the quiet of the valley, and carried well. His heart raced as he walked eight paces to a dense thicket and crawled underneath to a spot where he’d be well concealed while maintaining a clear line of sight on the front of the hut.
***
The gunman didn’t take long to cover the short distance between his lookout and the hut. Andy could hear his approaching footsteps close by, then they stopped. Had the gunman seen me? he thought, then banished his doubts. No, if he had I’d be dead. Andy turned to face the gunman who was looking around making sure he was alone.
The gunman cautiously approached the hut, pistol raised and ready to use. Stepping onto the wooden floor, he paused at the door. Andy knew he was steadying his breathing, his head slightly tilted, listening for any activity inside. Satisfied it was quiet the gunman gripped the door handle and pushed the wooden door open taking a small step inside and bringing his weapon around in a semi-circular sweep.
An instant later, Andy heard several loud thuds, as each round struck the mattress.
Once the gunman had emptied his magazine, Andy made his move. He quickly crawled forward, got to his feet and, with the tomahawk axe in his right hand, sprinted towards the gunman.
Andy’s movement caught the gunman’s attention as he’d stepped back out of the hut while reloading his weapon. The gunman turned towards him with a surprised expression on his face and started to level his pistol at Andy’s head. Running out of options, and with as much strength as he could muster, Andy threw the small axe at the gunman.
As the pistol drew level with Andy’s face, the tomahawk found its mark. With a sickening thud it buried itself into the forehead of the gunman. The force propelled the gunman backwards onto the deck. Andy didn’t slow and continued to charge forwards.
On reaching the gunman, Andy grabbed the heavy log-splitting axe from the woodpile and with both hands and a hefty swing, brought the axe down hard onto the gunman’s neck. With a single powerful blow from the heavy axe, he separated the gunman’s head from his body, sending the head rolling off the wooden floor and onto the dirt.
For a few moments blood pumped from the neck of the headless body as the body twitched and jerked. The air filled with the sweet sickly smell of blood mixed with the rancid smell of excrement as the gunman’s bowels relaxed and expelled their contents.
As the pumping blood eased to a flow, Andy couldn’t bring himself to look at the spectacle he’d created. He walked a few paces away from the stench of death. He was high on the adrenaline cruising through his own bloodstream. He knew he’d made the right decision: kill or be killed. Despite the fact that the man had taken his son away, it didn’t stop Andy feeling guilty for taking a life so brutally. It was going to take some explaining when help arrived.
Andy bent double and emptied the contents of his stomach.
CHAPTER 16
With the back of his hand Andy wiped the bile from the side of his mouth, then removed his cell phone and powered it up. He wasn’t surprised to see there was no cell service this deep in the valley. He stepped back and started to take photos of the general scene as well as the positioning of the gunman’s body … and head.
Andy moved closer and captured more detail of the immediate area and of the body. He stood over the head and zoomed in until the gunman’s grotesque face filled the entire screen and took several photographs from different angles. Satisfied with the pictures he’d taken of the body and scene, he turned his attention to the gunman’s pistol which was still in his right hand.
He took more pictures before putting down his cell phone to pries the weapon from the gunman’s grip. He flicked on the safety catch, removed the magazine from its housing, but left the round in the chamber, just in case. He knew the gunman had managed to reload before Andy came into his view. He placed the weapon and magazine on the floor.
He retrieved his cell phone as he carefully unfurled the gunman’s hand and took close up photos of each of the gunman’s fingertips. They were clean, so the ridges stood out clearly. He took photos of the gun, zooming in on its serial number. He reviewed the photos to make sure the serial number was clear and easy to read.
He put his cell phone in his jacket pocket and started to go through the gunman’s trouser pockets, carefully removing each item: a leather wallet, car keys and a small paper wallet containing the electronic key for room 812 of the Sofitel Hotel in Wellington.
He picked up the wallet and opened it. A United Kingdom driver’s license with a photograph of the gunman identified him as Craig Jones. There was some cash, a single twenty-pound note together with a few hundred New Zealand dollars in mixed denominations and some New Zealand coins. He took more photos at each stage of the reveal, checking each grouping once he finished.
The car keys were for a hire car, the details on the electronic key fob gave the registration and identified it as a silver Nissan X-Trail. In the pockets of Jones’s hiking jacket were five magazines: one full and four empty. In the inside pocket Andy found a cell phone. He powered it up but couldn’t get beyond the lock screen without knowing the six-digit code. He put it down and took photos of the magazines and cell phone.
He looked around and considered his options for a few moments. Then Andy quickly scooped up Jones’s wallet, car keys, room key, cell phone and pistol placing them in various pockets in his jacket. He knew the police would be annoyed he’d disturbed the crime scene and removed vital evidence, but he could live with that.
He looked at the wet, muddy socks which covered his sore feet then strode back into the hut and picked up the boots he’d used as part of the decoy. He sat on a bench, brushed the mud and twigs off his socks before he tried the left boot. The worn and badly scuffed leather boot was tight, but after a firm pull, it popped onto his foot. He did the same with the right boot and quickly laced them up. Andy stood and took a few steps to check how the boots felt. Though cramped and pinching, the boots would get him across the river and to the helicopter.
He made his way out of the hut and looked around one last time to confirm he’d not missed anything. Before the hut was out of sight , he turned and took a photo of the way he had left it, making sure he had the positions of the head and body of the gunman relative to the hut. If, by chance, someone had been following the gunman’s progress and came looking to tidy up, Andy wanted to make sure he had all the evidence he needed.
There was a small drop to the water from the riverbank and, as Andy stepped into the river, this time the rocks didn’t rub or hurt his feet. The river ran wide, shallow and flowed fast over its rocky bed. He waded through the cold water and was soon across. He climbed up the bank onto the grassy terrace and headed across the valley floor and intersected the track from Totara Flats Hut.
He turned left and walked along the track away from the hut until he reached a rotten tree stump a good hundred meters further along. Andy removed the USB stick from his pocket, looked for a hollow under the tree stump before he dropped to his knees and placed the USB stick deep into the hollow. Satisfied the USB stick couldn’t be seen Andy stood and moved away from the stump.
The sound of the beating rotor blades echoed around the valley and grew louder long before the helicopter came into view. Soon the sleek machine flew overhead and descended, its downwash beat the grass down and forced Andy to close his eyes. With the helicopter on the ground, Andy ran to the passenger door, climbed in next to the pilot, placed his headset on to drown o
ut the screaming engine noise and buckled up.
“Welcome back Andy, no sign of your son?” the pilot asked as he applied power and they were climbing.
“I found him.”
The pilot looked around the clearing, “Great. Where is he?”
Andy stifled an emotional cough, “He was killed as we were about to leave Totara Flats Hut to meet up with you here. I was with him. His murderer is dead … I killed him before he killed me.”
“Shit! I’ve got to call it in, the police have to be involved. I’m so sorry, I really am.”
“Just get me out of here. I have no idea how I’m going to tell his mother, I promised her I’d bring him back alive.” Andy was curious about the fault they’d had earlier. “What was the problem from earlier?”
“As I suspected, a faulty sensor. All it needed was a quick clean and it was fine. The job took ten minutes.”
The helicopter climbed high above the valley. The pilot steered it away from the Tararuas and started to change the channel settings on his radio. Andy reached for his cell phone and was relieved to see it showed full service and had already started downloading messages. The noise from the helicopter made it too loud to make a voice call, so he prepared an email for Hobbs which he quickly typed out and attached the photos of the gunman’s severed head, fingerprints, the pistols serial number, the driving license and the car hire key fob. With his message complete, he hit ‘Send’.
The pilot was already talking with the police control room. “Andy. I’m being asked how many fatalities there are?” the pilot called out to him.
“Three. Two at Totara Flats and one at Sayers,” Andy replied working hard to stay in control of his emotions.
“Thanks, Andy,” the pilot relayed the information before asking, “Are there any casualties who need immediate medical assistance?”
“No.”
The pilot continued to speak with the control room. “Okay, Andy, I’ve been instructed to take you to Greytown police station. They’ll take good care of you. I’ll be heading back out here with some officers. I think it’s going to be a long day.” Andy nodded, it already had been the longest day of his life.
Andy keyed in another message, this time to Vladim. He briefly explained what had happened and that the pilot had diverted to Greytown police station. The final message he sent before they landed was to Carter, saying Mark had been murdered by a gunman who he’d killed in self-defense and where he was being taken.
The journey to Greytown was short. From the air, it looked small, quaint and the housing sections looked generous and well-spaced out. Andy could see the main highway running through the town as they headed towards the landing zone.
Looking down Andy could make out a police officer wearing a yellow high visibility jacket acting as the ground crew. The officer waved both arms over his head to guide the helicopter down. The helicopter turned into wind and faced the constable as it descended onto the temporary landing zone located behind the fire station. Andy could make out the police station just across the road. Seconds later the pilot made a gentle landing and commenced his shut down sequence.
Two uniformed police officers approached the helicopter and opened the passenger door. Andy removed his headphones and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Andy Flint?” one of the officers shouted above the engine noise.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied.
“Please come with us.” Andy nodded, climbing out of the helicopter and ducking under the spinning rotor blades as he followed the officers towards the police station. The first officer to reach the station opened the door for Andy and her colleague. Andy was led into a small meeting room which had a map of the Tararuas pinned onto the wall.
“Okay, I’m Senior Sergeant Mike Jackson and this is Senior Constable Paula Kingi. We’ve been assigned to look after you. We want to you to tell us what happened and indicate on the map where all this went down,” Jackson said as he pointed to the map.
“I went into the Tararuas to find my son, Mark Flint, he’s been missing for a few days. Inspector Copeland waved me off from Wellington this morning. I went to Jumbo and Powell Huts, but the helicopter developed a fault which needed to be checked out so I walked down to Totara Flats Hut and that’s where I found him.” Andy walked over to the map and pointed to Totara Flats Hut.
“He made me a coffee and we talked for a while before getting ready to leave and meet up with the helicopter at Sayers Hut. As Mark opened the hut door he was shot twice in the head and the warden got hit by the next set of rounds. Both were killed instantly. I ran and made my way to Sayers. The gunman came after me and tried to kill me, but I killed him.” Andy pointed to Sayers, “You’ll find his decapitated body there.”
“Can anyone back up what you’ve told us?” Kingi asked.
“You think I’m making this up?” Andy sounded exasperated, “I took photos of the scene at Sayers. As I was running for my life I didn’t have the chance to do the same at Totara Flats. If you give me an email I’ll send them to you so you have the same record. This was no accident. The gunman was trying to find my son. Mark was the only survivor of the massacre at the UN office in Wellington. I was asked to bring him in by your Government and the UN.”
“Okay, we’re going to leave you for a few minutes. Can I arrange a tea or a coffee for you?” Kingi asked.
“Black coffee. Two sugars. The stronger the better.”
Jackson took out his police business card and said, “If you could send me the photos you took that would be very helpful. The wi-fi password is ‘Guest111’, if you have any problem we can take your phone away and download the images directly onto one of our computers.” Andy nodded, but the last thing he wanted to do was surrender his cell phone to the police.
The two officers left the room and closed the door it automatically locked behind them.
***
On the seventh floor of the Intercontinental Hotel in Wellington, The Listener’s laptop emitted an alert tone. The Listener unlocked his screen and looked at the message which notified him that his target had sent two emails and an instant message. The Listener sat at his desk and read the emails. He clicked on the attachments and studied them. Next he selected the instant message and took his time reading it, taking in all of the material he had received.
“We underestimated you Mr. Flint. Now we need to find out what your son told you and finish the job.”
He closed the intercepted messages and prepared one of his own.
CHAPTER 17
While he was waiting, Andy used the map to figure out the route he’d taken when he’d bomb-burst out of Totara Flats to get to Sayers. He identified where he’d left the memory stick and made a mental note. He could hear the sound of the helicopter firing up its engines readying for take-off. He knew this would be the first of many runs to the huts. He listened to the roar as the helicopter took off and then the noise faded as it headed towards the mountain range.
Andy powered up his cell phone and connected to the station’s guest wi-fi. Due to the number of photographs, Andy ended up sending five emails to Jackson, each with five images attached. Once the last of the emails had gone, Andy powered it down and placed it back in his pocket.
A few minutes later Jackson and Kingi re-entered the room carrying a cardboard cup holder which held three disposable paper cups.
“Mr. Flint, here’s your coffee,” Kingi pointed to the cup nearest to Andy, “black, two sugars, I hope it’s strong enough, I got an extra shot put in.”
“Thanks,” Andy said as he took the cup from the tray. The cup was too hot to hold and he quickly placed it down on the table, “and call me Andy, I have a feeling we’re going to be spending some time together.”
“Okay, Andy, don’t make yourself comfortable, we’re moving to another room,” Jackson said.
“Sure.” Andy removed his cotton handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wrapped it around his coffee cup to absorb the heat then stood up to leave the room.
T
he officers led Andy down a corridor and deeper into the station. There appeared to be a buzz of activity as groups of officers moved with purpose. Andy was sure some of the officers gave him strange looks when he briefly made eye contact. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but it sure wasn’t friendly.
“In here, Andy,” Jackson said, as he stopped and opened the door of another room.
He walked into what appeared to be an interview room. There was table and four metal chairs which were bolted to the floor. On the table, next to the wall, sat a recording machine and camera which would capture everything during an interview. Andy’s heart started to race.
“Take a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Jackson said pointing to the opposite side of the table so that the officers were nearest the door. Andy sat and placed his drink on the table. The two officers sat opposite him.
“You’re sending officers to the scene?” Andy asked.
“Yes. We’ve had to bring in officers from across the district so we can secure the two scenes as they cover a large area. We’ve spoken with Inspector Copeland and he’s confirmed that he knows you and it could be linked to the recent incident in Wellington. He’s on his way here with someone called Amy Carter?” Jackson replied.
“I bet this sort of thing doesn’t happen here very often?” Andy sighed.
“Never before in Greytown,” Kingi replied.
Jackson interrupted, “Okay Andy, we’re going to tape this interview. Are you okay with that?”
Once he’d confirmed he understood, Jackson hit record and said, “For the record we have Senior Sergeant Mike Jackson and Senior Constable Paula Kingi interviewing Andrew Flint, the time is now fifteen fifty-two. Can you please confirm your name?”
“Andrew Flint.”