The Mark of Halam (A Jeff Bradley Thriller) Page 22

  “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.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that decision, Brian. We aren’t soldiers, just cops. You won’t be getting any volunteers for a suicide mission. Best if we wait for the backup.”

  Cunningham smiled at his sergeant’s sarcasm.

  “Unfortunately the bad guys will know there is no time. They have to make a break for it. I want everyone to stay flat on their stomachs. Weapons held out in front. Make as small a target as possible. If they do make a break for it they’ll be firing on the run. Unlikely they’ll hit a grounded target.”

  He checked everyone was obeying his orders. He mentally kicked his own ass. What an idiot he was. He had reacted emotionally and not professionally. He had not wanted to bring in the police anti-terrorist squad on a hunch. There had been no evidence of the terrorists being in the building and even so with his team he had felt they would be more than a match. Now he was forced to face reality. Zahar Akbar had more men than they had estimated and they were well armed. He had made a terrible mistake. He needed to make sure no one paid the ultimate price for his stupidity.

  Two men burst from the building and took up positions behind the first Range Rover. The speed of their movement and the unexpectedness of it meant no shots were fired by Cunningham or his team.

  “Everyone, stay down. This is it. Don’t move until I give the order.”

  One of the gunmen fired in Cunningham’s direction. The other at Jim and Warren behind the gate posts. There was no possibility of returning fire. Two more men burst out and climbed into the second vehicle. As the Range Rover moved forward the two who had been giving covering fire jumped into the back. The vehicle sped forward, the terrorists firing through the open windows. Cunningham watched helplessly as it sped past and through the now open gate. He leapt to his feet and chased after it. He was already halfway across the compound before the others responded.

  “Red and Jessica,” he shouted over his shoulder to Moana.

  Warren and Jim fell in behind Brian. They were eighty metres from the end of the lane. They would be far too late.

  After the shooting had started Red and Jessica stood beside the blocking vehicle debating what it was they should do next.

  “I’m not certain standing where we are is such a good idea,” Red said. “Let’s say for argument’s sake they manage to get clear in a vehicle and it comes speeding down the lane towards us. We’ve blocked the lane. They will have no choice but to ram us.”

  “Agreed,” Jessica answered nervously.

  “If we stand behind the vehicle we’re dog meat. The car could flip back over us. At worst we will be forced to get out of the way and that means we become sitting ducks.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I think we position ourselves behind that wall. That’s twenty metres away. We are secure and have good cover and we also have a good view of what’s happening and have time to react.”

  “I agree, Red. Let’s do it.”

  Once they were in position Red touched Jessica on the arm.

  “Everything will be okay. We take no risks.”

  Jessica nodded. “I’m shit scared, Red, but I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t, Jessica, I know you won’t. Now remember we do not stand up and say, ‘Police drop your weapons’. These guys have machine guns. We shoot and shoot to kill. Got it?”

  Jessica nodded. Uncertain.

  The dull roar grew in volume as a vehicle raced down lane.

  Red touched Jessica’s shoulder.

  “This is it.” He held his gun out in front and rested his arm on the wall. Jessica mimicked his action. She couldn’t stop her hand shaking.

  Out of the corner of his eye Red saw a flash of black as the Range Rover careered towards the police Holden Commodore. Metal impacted metal groaning and wrenching and windows exploded, spraying shattered glass through the air like a park fountain. Airbags filled in an instant trapping the occupants in their seats, but only for seconds. The bags deflated quickly and then the doors were flung open. Armed men looked to escape their mangled vehicle. The two closest to Red and Jessica saw the crouching figures of the young police officers and aimed their hand guns.

  “Fucking hell,” Red cried. “Just fire at the vehicle, Jessica. You the front seats, I’ll shoot at the back seats.”

  They pulled their triggers.

  Cunningham fired his police issue glock as he ran. A terrorist leapt from the car. Disorientated for a moment, maybe concussed from the car smash, he swung his head in different directions like a chicken looking for seed. Cunningham pumped two slugs into his chest. The man crumpled to the ground. Cunningham fired twice more then switched his focus. He didn’t need to check to know his target was dead.

  He turned and yelled at the team members behind to get down. He continued moving forward firing his pistol as fast as he could pull the trigger. When the magazine emptied he stopped. He pushed the release lever and the empty magazine dropped to the ground. He reloaded. Sporadic shots came from the left. Jessica and Red.

  He yelled, “Red. Jessica. Hold your fire.” Cunningham waited. The shooting stopped. “Are you okay?”

  “We’re good,” Red yelled back.

  “Okay, I’m moving forward. Hold your fire.”

  “Come ahead,” Red yelled back.

  “Moana, with me,” Cunningham ordered. “The rest of you stay down until I call you forward. Moana, stand over there and cover me. Anyone moves, shoot them. Got it?”

  Moana nodded. “I’ve got it.”

  She held her weapon at arm’s length. Hand steady.

  Cunningham smiled. Sergeant Moana Te Kanawa would not have been out of place in Afghanistan. He walked cautiously forward until he reached the rear of the Range Rover. He placed his hand on the rear guard then slid it forward, his body following. Reaching the open rear door he relaxed. A thumb flicked the safety and his gun went back into its holster. The three men inside were dead.

  “All clear.”

  He looked skyward and whispered a thank you.

  The sound of sirens. Cunningham couldn’t help but think that sirens were becoming an unwelcome but regular addition to the sounds of Auckland city. He walked across to check on Red and Jessica. The two young police officers sat on the ground with their backs against the wall.

  “I guess we did okay,” Jessica whispered to Red.

  “I guess we did.”

  “My hands won’t stop shaking, Red. Fuck it.” She dropped her pistol on the ground. “I killed a man, Red.”

  She was crying. Red put his arm around her and she didn’t resist as he pulled her to him.

  Cunningham peered over the wall. Red caught his eye. They needed a few moments. Cunningham nodded and walked back to the others.

  Moana said, “I’ve checked the bodies. No documents. Nothing to identify these guys. We’ll take prints and send them to Interpol but for the moment it’s another dead end.”

  “There are four less to concern ourselves with, that’s a plus.”

  Flashing lights raced towards them.

  39.

  Jeff had walked to the top of Mount Victoria. The township of Devonport had been built on the mountain’s slopes in the 1900’s and its southern reaches ran along the shoreline from the naval base past the ferry terminal to North Head and round to Cheltenham and Narrowneck, then back towards Takapuna and the harbour bridge. From where he stood he looked down on the sprawling naval base and across the inner harbour to the Auckland CBD. Using binoc
ulars he followed the line on the city side across the ports to Mechanics Bay and then the waterfront drive that ended at St Heliers Bay. A mist had drifted in from the Hauraki Gulf and settled over the Eastern Suburbs. The waterfront traffic was heavier than usual. Motorists driving through fog from the suburb of St Heliers to the city were forced to observe cautious driving habits. Jeff guessed the usual half-hour drive was now taking an hour.

  All along the waterfront drive not covered by mist, he could see excited crowds thronging every vantage point. Thousands lined the walkways and beaches and more spectators on the hill that was Bastion Point. Protest boats sped back and forth across the inner harbour. The bombing that had partially destroyed Mary’s apartment building had not deterred the masses gathering. Closer to the city the crowds, building up on the pavements, had now spilled over onto the road, bringing traffic to a standstill and adding to the chaos.

  The atmosphere of anticipation that shrouded the city was electric. Thousands of pairs of eyes were fixed on the harbour entrance hidden behind the wall of cloud. Eyes squinted as the masses searched the misty wall seeking signs of movement, shadows. The New Zealand frigate the HMNZS Te Hana appeared first, its greyness matching the gunmetal sky. It slowly forged a path through the armada of dissident boats.

  And then there it was, emerging from the mist, the black shape of the conning tower of the Virginia-class fast attack submarine the USS Ulysses. The 7800-tonne, 377-foot-long nuclear-powered submarine slid through the water as easily as a killer whale, its sleekness as deadly as its magnificence. A cacophony of marine horns announced the arrival of the long-awaited visitor. The crowds surged forward, captivated by the sinister boat, but stayed silent as they experienced mixed emotions of awe and fear.

  Protest boats crisscrossed the submarine’s path, police and naval launches in pursuit.

  Motorised rubber dinghies were now leaving the shores from both sides of the harbour, manned by protestors in wetsuits whose sole purpose was to bring the submarine to a halt. The protest leaders knew they could never prevent the submarine getting to anchor, but stopping it would be a success in their eyes. Some got close enough to hurl flour bombs.

  Two tugs emerged from the naval yards, water cannons mounted on their bows. They quickly took up position in front of the Ulysses and began drenching the protest boats, forcing them back. Some of the smaller boats overturned. New Zealand navy inflatables moved in quickly to rescue the crews and dump them ashore.

  Crowds on both sides of the harbour now cheered at the chaotic scene. Although the protest vessels slowed the progress of the Ulysses the convoy continued on its course, but not to the naval base but across to the city side, Bledisloe Wharf.

  After thirty minutes the tugs manoeuvred the submarine into its final position and ropes secured the vessel to the docks. Navy boats formed a protective curtain to block the protest runabouts and it was all over. The mass of protestors on both sides of the harbour were confused. Uncertain. No one had expected Bledisloe Wharf as a final destination. On the city side it was blocked from view and the side roads leading to the port already blocked off. The vigil at the naval base grew quiet as protest leaders met to decide the next course of action.

  Grim faced, Jeff pushed his way through the crowd on Mount Victoria and made his way down to his car. He needed to get to the city side. Whatever the terrorists were up to would happen in the next three days.

  Cunningham and his team re-assembled in the crime room. Restless sleep had left everyone tired but still hyped. Coffee and adrenaline had not succumbed to the shots of whisky Cunningham had ordered them to drink. In the military alcohol had been a prime pacifier after ops and a shootout in an Auckland suburb more than qualified. However he noticed a spring in their step. They’d had a win. Red and Jessica sat together, listening to the banter but not joining in. He made a mental note to keep an eye on them.

  “Good job last night, people. That’s one group of bad guys that won’t be killing any more of our citizens. The bad news is, after a thorough going over there was nothing in the warehouse. We have to assume it was a safe house only. This means for those of you who aren’t rocket scientists there are more of these assholes out there, maybe a lot more.”

  A nod of heads acknowledged the statement.

  “Unfortunately, because they are organised, killing off one cell takes us back to where we started. No leads.”

  Cunningham thought of Khallid. Caldwell had been in touch and informed him that Jamil was no longer able to supply information. He hadn’t elaborated and Cunningham didn’t ask. He had misgivings about Lee Caldwell’s lone wolf status but it was too late now. He had made the decision to allow him to roam the prairie unhindered and would now have to see it through to the end. The danger to the nation overrode Queensbury rules.

  “The submarine is here. I don’t have to tell any of you what that means. Whatever shit is going down will happen over the next couple of days. Red, you and Jessica follow up on the immigration list.”

  Red nodded. Jessica sat, wide eyed, looking in his direction but through him. Blank. He wondered if he should stand Jessica down. She needed counselling. He was certain of it, but he was so short staffed.

  “The rest of you get out to the warehouse. See if you can’t find something. Right, let’s do it. Moana, stay back a moment, will you.”

  When they were alone, he said, “I’m concerned about Jessica. She could be in shock. Happens to first-time-combat soldiers.”

  “Should I have a doctor look at her?”

  “Keep an eye on her. Soldiers get over it. You be the judge. We’re too bloody short staffed and can’t afford to lose expert personnel.”

  “What about the other cities?”

  “You know the answer to that. The police manning levels were already low. Most of the regions are operating on skeleton staff as it is. The personnel they’re sending are not the trained investigators we need.”

  “I have a thought,” Moana said. “How big is your budget?”

  “I don’t think money is a problem anymore. What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I know it might not be desirable,” she said, “but most of the private investigators in the city are ex-coppers. How about hiring a few to do some of the donkey work? Like the immigration lists for example.”

  “Good idea. I’ll put it to the chief and twist his arm until he writes the cheque.”

  Caldwell sat in his hotel room. He had watched the arrival of the Ulysses and taken in the news reports of the incident in East Tamaki. Four killed. Just how many more terrorists were there? It worried him, and he didn’t for one moment believe that the loss of a few men would have any effect on their overall mission. They would have calculated losses into the planning and ensured they had more than enough manpower.

  It surprised him that Cunningham and his team hadn’t suffered casualties. He had put that down to sheer luck. Next time they might not be so fortunate. He had a lot of respect for the New Zealand policeman. He liked that he was prepared to operate outside the boundaries, but this was now an American problem. They were going to attack the Ulysses and he had Pentagon approval to do whatever it took to stop it. He also needed to meet with the submarine commander to inform him of what was about to take place. He hadn’t any ideas on how Akbar was going to fire his torpedoes but they were fanatics and when the time came the torpedoes would be fired.

  Cunningham and Caldwell met in the café in the foyer of the Hilton. Caldwell didn’t want to meet at the police station and Cunningham did not want him there anyway. He didn’t have time to waste dodging questions about the American.

  “Tell me about last night,” Caldwell asked.

  Cunningham quickly went over their reasons for being there and his reasons for proceeding without backup.

  “You’ve checked the premises?”

  “My team is out there now. Nothing to report so far. I think it’s
going to be a repeat of the last warehouse. Signs all over the place showing that they’ve been there but nothing to tell us where they might have been going. Another dead end. But we now know Akbar has a mini army.”

  “And, knowing what awaits them if they’re caught makes them even more dangerous. Remember that.”

  “I do know the type of men we’re dealing with, Caldwell.”

  “Yes, of course you do,” Caldwell said. “I need to meet with the commander of the Ulysses. He’s already received a briefing from my boss but there’s nothing like a face-to-face to get all the facts.”

  Cunningham said, “The submarine is here for three days. I think it unlikely they’ll leave it for the last day. They won’t strike in daylight, I shouldn’t think, so that leaves any one of the next two nights.”

  “I think not tonight,” Caldwell replied. “They would expect security to be tight on the first night until the crew has settled. Now, if they’re going to fire the torpedo they’ll need a delivery system. A plane or a boat.”

  “Rule the plane out,” Cunningham said. “The sub is between two mountains. They could never get a low enough run to make a drop. Well, at least I assume that to be correct. Besides, they’d have to commandeer an aircraft, of the right size, and then fit it out with whatever would be required to launch a torpedo. Doesn’t sound like a realistic option to me.”

  “I agree. So it’s a boat. However the sub commander might give us another option. Would you like to come with me? You know the area. Once we have an idea of how they might do it, it might help with where to look.”

  “When are you meeting?” Cunningham asked.

  “Hopefully, in the next few hours. As soon as I can make contact I’ll have a time.”

  “Let me know.”

  Barbara had put in a half day in the office then made her way home via the supermarket. She bought mince, pasta and fresh herbs. In her larder cans of tomatoes and tomato concentrate clogged the shelves. Italian was her comfort food. A glass of wine and bolognese at her balcony table was a treat she rarely indulged. Today was to be one of those days.