Crystal Ice

by Warren Miner-Williams

  “Nothing for you buster if you don’t finish what happened at the meeting.

  “OK, but if I faint with low blood sugar it’s all your fault.”

  “Take another swig of wine and finish the story.”

  “Where was I? Oh yes, when I finished talking, Colin Cooper, the director of the intelligence branch and Terry Brightwell – he’s the director of the operations branch – exchanged a few words, then said that they were going to start a new operation. To “sort the buggers out,” they said. It’s called “Operation Iceflow.” Catchy little title, eh?”

  “Isn’t that a bit close to what’s going on? Surely the bad guys could figure out what you are doing if they heard that”

  “Well, I suppose, but they always name their ops with something relevant. All this is completely confidential, so unless you’re going to tell them, they won’t get to hear the operational name. If you do tell them, you know I’ll have to kill you, don’t you?” Alex joked.

  “Don’t say that, it sounds awful. Anyway, what will your roll be in Operation Iceflow?”

  “Robin will be the key analyst, because of his seniority. I will assist him. I think that means I’ll have to do all the work. Anyway, when the Olga Tovic docks in Tauranga next, a team will go aboard and mark all the ether drums, then look for any other contraband. We’ll then keep a discrete watch on what happens, then check the drums again when they get to Uni-Glue, in Hamilton.

  “Tell me again what happens with the ether shuffle, as you called it.”

  “Well, it’s only a theory, but if you remember the Olga Tovic docks in Tauranga loaded with 210 litre drums of ether. Some of these are destined for Uni-Glue in Hamilton, while the rest are for Kuipers, a petrochemical processing company in Newcastle, Australia. Some of the drums destined for Uni-Glue contain the chemical precursors of methamphetamine, probably pseudoephedrine. These “special” drums are separated from the genuine ether barrels and are transported to the meth lab. These missing barrels are then substituted for others from which the pseudoephedrine has already been extracted. I presume a similar thing happens to the final product, the crystal ice. Barrels containing the methamphetamine are taken on board the Olga Tovic and substituted for other barrels of pure ether. The methamphetamine barrels are then taken to Oz, where another barrel substitution takes place. All very simple when you have in your control; the meth lab, the ship, and the transport companies in Croatia, New Zealand and Australia, that haul the ether from the ship to a legitimate business.”

  “God, it makes your head spin, all this ether to-ing and fro-ing. Just one small point though, when they take away the barrels of ether that contain the pseudo stuff, why don’t they replace it with some of the barrels that contain the crystal ice that are destined for Oz?”

  “Good point. I don’t know what the percentage conversion of pseudoephedrine to methamphetamine is but I understand that it’s about 50-60%, so that would mean that for every 10 barrels of pseudoephedrine, of a fixed concentration, you would only get 5, or at most 6, barrels of methamphetamine of a similar concentration. So, for simplicity’s sake I thought they would treat them separately.”

  “Simple is best I suppose.”

  “That’s why I married you.”

  “You cheeky sod, I bring in three times your salary.”

  “Yes, you’re right again, that’s the second reason I married you.”

  “Joking apart, what about the lavender oil bit?”

  “Well, when Doug phoned me this morning, he told me there was an industrial sized egg incubator at the farm. Well, it ain’t rocket science to conclude that they are behind the terrorist attacks when,” continued Alex, marking off the points using his fingers, “they have a bloody big incubator, they transported the lavender oil from Tasmania to Tauranga, then hauled it to Auckland where it was put aboard a legitimate container ship bound for the good old US of A. I just hope that the forensic team can find some trace of the viruses, that would be a feather in New Zealand’s cap in the fight against terrorism.”

  “Yes, it would,” said Leanne absentmindedly.

  “What’s up Sherlock?”

  “Well, you told me earlier that to multiply the viruses you need embryonated hen’s eggs, yes? Well, they would need a hell of a lot of them, wouldn’t they? Well…”

  “Who supplied all the eggs?” interrupted Alex enthusiastically. “Yes, I see, circumstantial, but the more there is, the more it diminishes reasonable doubt.”

  “Now you’re talking my language.” She got up. “Lasagne for dinner, ready to eat?”

  “You bet I am. I’ll give Doug a ring after dinner, he might know a local egg supplier. I would bet that embryonated eggs only come from specialised suppliers. Surely there can’t be many of them who can supply hundreds of the bloody things, eh?”

  “Calm down super-sleuth, let’s get dinner sorted first. By the way what type of eggs do they have to be?”

  “Embryonated, why?”

  “Oh, nothing I just like the way you say it.”

  “How do I say it?”

  “Quite sexily actually.”

  “If I say it often enough, will it improve my chances tonight?”

  “I think it might. You can embryonate my eggs whenever you like.”

  39. Searching

  When Andrea Price walked into the suite of offices of the Joint Investigations Division at the heart of the US Embassy in Zagreb, she had no idea of the welcome celebrations awaiting her. She was humbled by the scores of people who gathered around her, whistling and cheering, with buntings and large signs welcoming her back. The new Ambassador, Conrad Thomas, walked forward and shook her hand before making a short speech.

  “Andrea, I realise that we haven’t worked together before, but all these good people have been singing your praises so much that I feel as if we have been colleagues for decades. When I asked around the office as to what sort of person you were, I was overwhelmed by the love and respect they had for you, both professionally and as a friend. There are a lot of warm-hearted people here all wishing to welcome you back, so I’ll step aside, though not before presenting you with a small token of our appreciation for the bravery and loyalty you have demonstrated in returning to us here in Zagreb. Welcome back Andrea.” Then almost like a magician, he produced a large bouquet of flowers.

  Andrea put her walking stick aside and accepted the flowers. “Thanks guys, I really appreciate this, it’s wonderful. To all the people who sent cards expressing love and encouragement, a very big thank you. This embassy has been my home for over five years and though over that time some staff have come and gone, I have come to look upon the more perennial members of our community as family. I have some very special friends amongst you, who have given me the strength and resolve to come back. What else can I say but thank you all.”

  To rousing applause and whistles, Andrea moved amongst her friends and colleagues to thank them all personally. By the time she got to her office tears had begun to form in the corners of her eyes. Andrea had worked on the staff of many embassies all across the world. As an agent for the CIA, she had been involved with many investigations to “winkle out” terrorists, but the embassy in Zagreb was different. It was here, in two separate attacks, that she had lost many valued and much-loved friends and colleagues. Here it was personal. During the weeks in hospital and the months of rehabilitation she remained focused on one thing, to find the perpetrators of the two bomb attacks and bring them to justice. In fact, it was probably the single most motivating factor in her recovery. It had become a passion, even an obsession that drove her on through the pain and the suffering of her injuries. At first her fractured skull had been the cause of complete paralysis down her left side. However, as a result of a tough, self-imposed rehabilitation programme, most of the paralysis had receded. Now, though she needed a stick to support her when walking, she was nearly 100% fit.

  ***

  Tony Graham-Collins walked into Terra Brasil looking as though he had just
slept in a rubbish skip. In fact, he had slept at The Pines motel in Howick. However, he had left home in such a muddle that he had forgotten his shaving equipment, and a comb. His demeanour exacerbated his appearance, for he was clinically depressed. He had telephoned Nadine six times that morning, hoping to better explain his actions, but he hadn’t got that far. She had picked up the first two calls, after he had spoken, “Hi Nadine it’s me.” During the first call she had replied “Leave us alone,” and then put the phone down. The second time she picked up, Tony had just said “Nadine” before the line went dead again. Calls 3, 4, 5 and 6 only got him the engaged tone.

  The moment Dino saw Tony enter the restaurant he rushed over to him and quickly ushered him into the office.

  “I’ve had a call from Nadine,” he said, “she told me to get lost in no uncertain terms and to keep you away or she’ll report us both to the police. Will she do that Tony?”

  “She probably will if I don’t accede to her wishes. But if I stay away then I don’t think she will.”

  “That’s not good enough. Will she, or won’t she?” Dino commanded.

  Tony sat in the chair staring at the floor. He seemed not to have heard the question.

  “Will she or won’t she Tony? Answer me,” he repeated.

  “No, she won’t,” he whispered. If he had said yes, he wondered, would Dino have had her killed? This was a horror his mind couldn’t deal with.

  “Listen to me very carefully Tony,” said Dino, shaking Tony’s shoulder “Nadine also said that if you go to the house or to your daughter’s school, she’ll call the police. If that happens, then the police are bound to find out about our little enterprise. And that would mean gaol time for all of us. I won’t allow that to happen Tony, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” replied Tony, realising that Dino had just confirmed what he feared the most. Dino would kill her. Tony lifted his head and stared at Dino, trying to seek, in his boss’s eyes, anything that would betray his murderous intentions. There was nothing. Dino had a heart of ice, to him everything was just business, just dollars and cents.

  “We won’t be able to set up another lab until the heat dies down a little,” he declared.

  “Well, I can’t be the chemist anymore,” Tony replied aghast that Dino could conceive of such an idea. Set up a new lab? That’s ridiculous, he thought, the police would be knocking down the door at any minute. Besides, what would Nadine say about that? He naively thought that the current problem regarding his illegal behaviour would resolve itself, and that she would soon have him back. He didn’t want to jeopardise his chances by setting up another lab.

  Dino studied Tony for a second, wondering if the guy was still rational enough to hold an intelligent conversation. A lot still rested on absolute security, the last thing he needed was for one of the team to be a liability. Tony was not indispensable; he could be replaced, as could any other worker bee. Dino would sacrifice anyone or anything to ensure that he and his family stayed out of prison. Secrecy was paramount.

  “Look Tony you’ve obviously experienced a great shock with Nadine reacting the way she has. I am sure that when things calm down, she’ll ease up and you’ll be back with your family in next to no time. Levorko and I will help you all we can, we have valued your expertise and loyalty in our little enterprise and we are here to support you however we can. Now, I think you had better stay with Frančiška and I for a while, till you get sorted.”

  The last thing Dino needed at home was some crazy stranger, but if Tony was unstable, he wanted him to be close, it was a case of damage limitation.

  “Now, I want you to work in the restaurant for the moment. I’ll send you to town with Levorko and we’ll get you a decent wardrobe of clothes and the everyday things you’ll need. Let me tell Levorko what I have in mind, and then you can go on a shopping spree. What do you say to that?”

  Tony had been staring at his hands all the time Dino had been talking. Eventually he looked up and croaked;

  “Yes, thanks Dino, I appreciate your help.”

  Dino asked Tony to stay where he was while he went to talk to his brother. Still worried about Tony, he briefed Levorko in detail and instructed him not to take his eyes off the chemist. The last thing they wanted was for Tony to rush home and be reported to the police.

  “OK Tony, off you go now,” said Dino encouragingly, To Levorko he instructed, “Get him a couple of suits, half a dozen shirts with matching ties, underwear, socks of course and a couple of pairs of shoes. He’ll need a suitcase and toiletries as well. Some after-shave wouldn’t go amiss either., We can’t have you putting the customers off now can we Tony?” Dino gave his brother the nod and Levorko took Tony by the arm and marched him towards the door. Just as Levorko was opening the door Tony turned to face Dino once more. He struggled to speak.

  “Thank you, Dino, I appreciate this.”

  “That’s OK, off you go.”

  Once he was alone, Dino wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and slumped into the chair behind his desk. He was far from convinced that his chemist was still an asset and not a liability. He would give him a couple of days to see if he could sort himself out. If he couldn’t, well, he would see. A loose cannon was always a disposable commodity.

  ***

  Ngaire Rakena had spent the two days since the fire in the seclusion of the Airport Motel in Mangere. She knew that Sonny Rewaka would be looking for her and that no stone would remain unturned until he captured her. She had spoken to her mother early on the first morning and coerced her into looking after the children. She had told her mother that she didn’t know when she would be back, but Mere Rakena had not asked her daughter why she would be away for so long, because she had learned at her cost not to ask. In the end it was a wise thing to have done, as Mere was the first-person Sonny interrogated as to the whereabouts of her daughter.

  While Ngaire was keeping out of sight, she wondered where Brian Rupene would be, she had an outstanding appointment with him, one that she was eagerly looking forward to. Early on in her second day of hiding she remembered a conversation that she had had with him, just after he was released from Auckland Hospital. They had all got together, one last time, to discuss what they were all going to do next. The beating they had sustained from Sonny and his goons had frightened them all, and everyone had agreed that the best thing to do would be to drop out of sight for a while. Brian Rupene had boasted that the best place for the ‘fox to hide was close to the hounds.” Janet had almost fallen off her chair laughing at Brian’s stupidity, she said that he had the intellect of a four-year-old and that he would surely be caught first. If Ngaire hadn’t stopped him he would have clobbered Janet there and then for her comments. He had said she knew fuck-all about what they should or shouldn’t do as she had escaped being crippled by Sonny. When pressed, Brian had said that he had a distant cousin who lived in Tui Glen Road, at the other end of the road from the now abandoned drug house in Papakura. “Sonny doesn’t know anything about my cousin,” Brian had declared, “he’d never look for me there.” Both she and Janet had laughed at Brian’s logic and told him that if Sonny didn’t search for him in Tui Glen Road, they would tell him where to look.

  In a city the nights are never dark, they are just tinted by the changing hue of the different streetlights. The sodium vapour lamps located all around the Airport Pacific Motel bathed the area in a warm orange tone. Ngaire needed wheels if she was to confront Brian, the chicken, Rupene. She blamed Rupene for Janet’s death and her hatred for him was so intense she could feel it, even taste it. consuming her very soul. Devastated by the death of her lover, her insatiable bloodlust could not be assuaged by simply killing Rupene, she craved to inflict on him the greatest pain and suffering she could devise. Death when it came would be a relief.

  It took Ngaire less than a minute to break into the Holden Barina that she found three streets away from the motel. Lacking the sophisticated security measures sported by more modern models Ngaire was on her
way to Papakura in less than five minutes.

  205 Tui Glen Road was a classic New Zealand kauri villa, a single storey home with white painted weather boards, sat on its own quarter acre plot. There was plenty of cover at the rear of the home, so she could observe the house without being seen. At 11.30 she saw Rupene preparing for bed. Lit by a single naked light bulb, the bedroom was stark, with gaudy brown and yellow flora wallpaper. Before switching the light off Brian obligingly opened the window. Getting in would now be a breeze for Ngaire who had learned her burglary techniques from Danny when she was fifteen.

  At 2.00am she crept up to the house and crouched beneath the window through which she had seen her quarry. Thankfully there was no dog to raise the alarm, no gravel paths to signal her approach. She could hear Rupene snoring inside, oblivious to his fate. Ngaire smiled as she stood beside the window. “This one is for you Janet,” she whispered.

  Switching on the bedside lamp, Ngaire pressed her fillet knife hard against Rupene’s throat. He was instantly awake as Ngaire jabbed the blade into a fold of loose skin at the side of his neck.