Crystal Ice

by Warren Miner-Williams

  “They did well Tomaž, they will be remembered as heroes of our cause. Today has been a good day for all the oppressed peoples of the World. Tonight, everyone will hear of our action to free the oppressed. The infidel has been punished again. Allahu Akbar.” Tomaž Rozman was a giant man, his huge frame was that of a professional wrestler. With a squashed nose and heavily scarred eyebrows his face reflected the many fights he had won and the few he had lost. At well over 2 metres, he looked down at Korošec and replied.

  “Yes sir, we have shown the World that the little people too have a voice.”

  Turning away from the scene playing out behind them on Thomas Jefferson Street, Matej Korošec patted his lieutenant on the chest and replied, “Yes Tomaž they will, they certainly will.”

  ***

  Ten minutes later, in Trieste, Goran Sumovich answered his pre-paid cellular telephone only after it had rung for three cycles, fell silent and then rang for another three cycles.

  “Dino, nice to hear from you again, I have good news for you, Matej Korošec has just called to say what a successful day it has been. You should be watching the television, I’m sure that it will be very entertaining tonight, or is it the morning where you are?

  “Thank you, Goran, that is good news I will put the television on as soon as the country wakes up. It is just after two in the morning here. I have just come home from work.”

  “I hope business is good, I shall be with you soon and I am looking forward to eating in your wonderful restaurant. My mouth is watering already. It is unusual for you to call me so close to my sailing, is there anything wrong?”

  “Yes, Goran there is, I need Matej’s assistance in a little matter. I wonder if you could get a message to him.”

  “Certainly, after today he should be only too willing to help you. What shall I say to him my friend?”

  “I have the need of an expert; we have a little trouble with the natives here and it requires a demonstration that one cannot renege upon contractual obligations. I have all the details ready to e-mail to you, your phone can still accept e-mail?”

  “Yes, yes it can. You have me intrigued now Dino. I will telephone Matej as soon as I receive the information and decrypt it. You know we sail tomorrow; I hope that Matej has someone suitable who can sail with me at such short notice, you know ‘tide and time’ and all that stuff.”

  “Yes, I understand, but please give it your best, this is a critical matter.”

  “I am sure it won’t be a problem; he will certainly be in a good mood after today. I will ring him directly.”

  “Thanks Goran I think I’ll get off to bed now. Come by the house on Ocean Beach Road as soon as you dock, Frančiška is looking forward to your visit and the Slovenian food you always bring. I’m sure Fran can cook a much better meal than we would serve you in the restaurant. See you soon.”

  “OK Dino, see you just before Christmas then.”

  ***

  Half a world away from Trieste Dino Sutic sat in the lounge of his luxury house in Mission Bay, Auckland, New Zealand and flicked his ‘Sky’ controller onto CNN, just in case an early bulletin carried news of Matej Korošec’s great achievement. While he was waiting, he keyed the special number into his pre-paid phone and sent Captain Goran Sumovich the e-mail requesting the help of Matej Korošec the terrorist leader. Once the message had been sent, he removed the Sim card from his phone and destroyed it. Opening the file, he had on his HP Compaq Notebook he looked up the serial number of the next sim card from a sequential list and then fitted it into his phone. He did this every tenth call, inconvenient but safe. To those who might need to call him, like Matej Korošec or Captain Sumovich, Dino sent them both a coded text message each time he changed his sim card, informing them of the new number. It was standard operating procedure as Dino was the money mine.

  Dino Sutic was short and compact with a mass of dark hair bunched into a short ponytail. He wore fine rimmed glasses that gave him a geeky appearance that disguised the hatred he held deep in his heart. He was a planner, a leader and entrepreneur. His public image was that of a restaurant owner and loving family man. However, behind that façade Dino was a drug manufacturer, an enterprise that generated millions for the Jihad.

  At 2.35 a.m. the bulletin he had been hoping for appeared on CNN, it described in detail the carnage that had occurred at both the American embassy and at the restaurant where many of the embassy staff were eating lunch. The CNN reporters close to the scenes of the two explosions told of a death toll of over three hundred. It was also believed that more than five hundred others were injured as a result of the bombings. Graphic pictures illustrating the ferocity of the attacks were also broadcast. Throughout the newscast Dino sat thoughtfully watching and listening intently to the facts and figures that were being quoted. He filled a tumbler with his finest brandy and drank it in three quick swallows. Dino was not a heartless man, he had a wife and three daughters, he knew how devastated he would feel if someone had killed his family. But this wasn’t a war about individuals. It was regrettable that innocent lives were lost, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters. The bulletin detailed that many Croatian nationals had lost their lives, some of them were Muslims, but their sacrifice was justifiable, they were martyrs. They were what the Americans called collateral damage.

  The American military had condoned the ill treatment of Muslim prisoners in post-war Iraq. Only when pictures of such brutality were made known to the World were, they forced to apportion blame. Then it was the little people that carried the can, the poor foot soldiers that were following orders. No senior officers were court-martialled. No politicians were censured. It was all a whitewash. There was never any justice for the peoples of Allah. No U.N. condemnation. Dino knew that nearly 1500 prisoners were being held without trial in the stockades and cages of Guantanamo Bay. Where was justice for these brothers? Where were the pro-bono lawyers to represent them? It was always different when American nationals were imprisoned without charge. Dino felt that the entire civilised world stood witness to the crimes of America and did nothing. Just as the whole world watched the genocide of his Muslim brothers in Croatia and Bosnia. In law those who witness a crime and do nothing are accomplices. In law they are just as guilty as the perpetrators of the crimes. The Americans and all the others who stood, watched and did not intervene were complicit in genocide. They were as guilty as those who pulled the triggers, as guilty as those who raped the women and children, as guilty as those who tortured the sons and daughters of Allah. They would all be made to pay. As long as he had breath in his body he would fight in the Jihad.

  1.

  Alex MacLean

  Alex MacLean, a talented chemistry teacher, stepped back into the shadows cast by the buildings of the Science Suite of the North Harbour High School. Any respite from the scorching sun overhead was very welcome. Alex had been teaching chemistry, his passion, to high school students for just over five years. He was a good teacher, one of the really good ones. But now he had decided that he needed to move on. He loved teaching, chemistry especially, but he was disillusioned by the introduction of the new National Certificate of Educational Achievement, (NCEA), he could not stand in front of his students and lie to them about the advantages of the new exam. Alex deplored the achievement standards that were so subjective no one could agree what the examiners wanted. If things were so good why were the top schools now offering Cambridge exams. Alex could no longer comfort students who had failed to attain the requirements for university entrance because the goal posts had been shifted. In truth Alex believed NCEA had devalued knowledge and was breaking teachers like him throughout New Zealand.

  As he made his way down the side of the science block many of the students, he passed wished him good luck in his new job. Surprisingly some of them he had never taught. Though he would not miss the school he knew he would miss the students, all those hard working, appreciative students, the unique characters who had made the job so rewarding. As Alex entered the science q
uad it was unusually quiet. Normally this area was filled with students eating their lunch, playing games and having fun. Strangely too the vertical blinds at the windows of his laboratory were closed. Only after unlocking the door to the lab did the “penny drop”, the lab was packed with students who wanted to say their farewell. Then as he stepped over the threshold of the room all the students cheered in unison.

  “Sir we just wanted to say thanks for the tireless devotion you have given to teaching. Thanks for being there for us, for teaching us. We all clubbed together and thought that this small gift might help you remember us.”

  Alex was stunned there must have been over sixty students in the lab, all smiling at him, all hoping that he would change his mind and stay.

  “Thanks Karen, thank you all, for once I am quite speechless.”

  “That’ll be a first then Sir.”

  “Thanks Jessica, you know me more than most. Look, I’m not good at goodbyes they’re too emotional for me. Teaching you all has been a privilege; you have helped me perhaps more than I have helped you. We have had some great times, and a lot of good laughs. If teaching was just what happened in the classroom wild horses couldn’t drag me away from the job. Sadly though, teaching has involved more and more ‘administrivia’ as each year passes. Teachers are drowning in the stuff. So, I have come to the point where I have had to say enough is enough. You guys are what this job is all about and I will miss you all. Thanks.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to say very much? I think I want a refund.”

  “Thanks Jessica, life is going to become pretty boring without you to keep me amused.”

  “Open the present Sir, I want to see what I have bought you. I wanted to buy you a puppy but they said that they couldn’t gift wrap one at the pet shop.”

  “OK Jess’ give us a break.”

  The whole body of students crammed in the lab laughed in unison as he started to unwrap the gift. As he opened the parcel, he found it contained a spy’s disguise kit, a set of spectacles with an attached plastic nose and moustache. When Alex tried it on there were more hoots of laughter.

  “Thanks, this will be very useful. What do you think Jess?”

  “Suits you Sir I always thought you were a spook.”

  Another parcel was thrust into his hands and without taking off his disguise he carefully unwrapped this one too. It turned out to be a framed photograph of nearly every student in the room, on the back they had all managed to sign their names and a few had written a message. One stood out, signed by Erica Chan it was what he knew as mirror writing. He hadn’t a clue what it said and he would have to wait until he had access to a mirror before he could decipher it. As Alex MacLean looked at the photograph, he felt the emotion start to rise and a tear start to form in the corner of his right eye.

  “Give him the other one Karen before he starts to cry.”

  Jessica Thomas had saved him yet again and as he started to unwrap the final parcel the melancholia thankfully subsided. Inside this parcel was a box that contained a cut-glass vase that was inscribed with the school crest and a simple four-word message; “You will be missed”. It was a unique vase, simple yet elegant, a gift that he would always treasure.

  “Thanks guys this is fabulous, all these gifts will be treasured, thank you all.”

  With the formalities over Alex mingled with the other students as he helped himself to some of the delicacies from the smorgasbord buffet they had organised. He was glad of the opportunity to speak to many of the quieter students that he appreciated as much as the more vocal ones. When the bell went to signify the end of the lunch break Alex gathered up his gifts and the cards that he had been given so that the room could be cleared and returned to its primary function, a science laboratory. Alex had two non-contact periods that afternoon and so his teaching career had just fizzled to a close.

  At the end of the day Alex MacLean was on traffic duty outside the school, he laughed and joked with a few more students before he had to face the farewell that his own colleagues had organised. There were a few speeches of gratitude for what he had achieved in such a short teaching career, lots of hand shaking then another gift, and another buffet. There were a number of other teachers leaving at the same time as Alex so he managed to float around the one hundred or so staff, saying his final goodbyes before fading away, out of the school gates for the very last time.

  ***

  Daniel Tua crashed open the door of 18 Waitemata Crescent, in the Otara district of Auckland, with a ferocity that almost took the door off its hinges. Daniel was nearly two metres tall and weighed over 120kg, he was the size of the proverbial brick shithouse. His hands were massive and as a demonstration of brute power he would often crush walnuts effortlessly with just a single squeeze. Daniel was of Māori decent and he was fiercely proud of his heritage. The tattoos that covered most of his body were of traditional Māori designs. His long black curly hair was always neatly groomed and tied tightly in a ponytail. His face was contorted by his perpetual grimace of contempt for everyone he ever met. He was a thug and a bully that many feared and few respected.

  “Sonny, where the fuck are you. Get your black ass down here.”

  As Daniel, the co-leader of the Skorpion Motorcycle Gang, sat heavily in a protesting armchair dust and stuffing puffed into the air. Two minutes later Sonny Rewaka pushed open the door and stared menacingly at Tua. Sonny Rewaka, who shared the leadership of the Skorpions with Tua, was as tall as Tua yet had a more athletic build. At only 100kg it was always debatable which of the two would win a stand-up fistfight. Rewaka was of mixed race, his father Māori and his mother Tongan. He had always wanted to be a Rugby League player and would have been a very good one if he had not been side tracked into gang life. Both men were co-leaders of an Auckland based gang that made vast sums of money through the sale and distribution of hard drugs. The current market leader was methamphetamine, crystal ice. At $1000 a gram it was their most profitable line. With over two hundred patched members and probably twice that many hangers-on they ruled over an empire that had its roots in South Auckland and yet touched the lives of perhaps ten thousand people all over Auckland and Hamilton. Their clients ranged from high school and university students to young business people employed in many of the top firms that occupied the central business district of Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city. The Skorpions had connections with many top officials throughout Auckland, including the police and judiciary, through their many side-lines, the most shocking of which was prostitution. However, as co-leaders of the gang, they were so high up the food chain they could in all honesty say that they never directly touched anything that was illegal.

  “Why’ve you disturbed me and my misses Danny. Where’s the fucking fire that you need to do this so urgently you rude bastard?” said Rewaka adjusting the belt of his black leather pants.

  “I’ve just had a phone call from Levorko Sutic threatening us, to pay up or face the consequences. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? Talking to me like that Bro? Doesn’t he realise that we could take him and his family out with the blink of an eye. In fact, why don’t we just fuck him over, him and his king shit brother, then take the business over ourselves.”

  “Because Bro’ he is king shit, we might think that we’re the heavies but I know for a fact that both Dino and Levorko are heavily connected. If you want a war, just pick on one of their clan and you’ll reap a real fucking whirlwind. Don’t forget that they provide the raw materials for our business, they set up the meth lab, and it’s their chemist that makes the stuff. All we do is share in the profits.”

  “No. Fucking wrong actually, they share in our profits. You’ve got it all fucking arse about face again. We’ve got the distribution network, it’s our soldiers who market the shit, not theirs. We take all the risk, not them, and they take most of the money.”

  “Shit Danny, you don’t know when you’re well off do you? Why the fuck is he on your case anyway? What have you done?”

/>   Rewaka could see by the look on Tua’s face that he had done something foolish.

  “Come on Danny, tell me, what the fuck have you done?”

  “I didn’t give them the last payment and sent them a little message to go screw themselves. I’m not going to take their crap any longer. They’re shafting us Sonny, you know it, I know it, and they surely know it. I ain’t giving in to them’, not any more. I ain’t scared of them, Russian assholes. Let them take some of the fucking risk.”

  “Well Bro we’re fucked. They’re the suppliers of the chemicals that the lab needs, so, even if we could take over the meth lab and turn the chemist to work for us, where the fuck do you think we’ll get the chemicals from? You stupid shit. What are we going to do now, because I don’t have a new source of all the stuff the lab needs and I know for a fact you don’t?”

  “We can get more of that stuff. It’s only drums of chemicals anyway, it’s no big deal. I’ll get the boys onto it. We can steal some of that shit no problem.”