The Mark of Halam (A Jeff Bradley Thriller) Page 26

  Jeff thanked God his neighbour was a natural adventurer.

  “Barbara, you need to wait here with our friend and get him back to the station. Tell Brian and Caldwell everything this little shit has told us.”

  “What if he wakes up before the police get here?” Barbara asked.

  “Good point.” Jeff surveyed the crowd and his eyes fell upon two bulky blonde men. Not New Zealanders. He waved them forward. They each had a beer in hand but passed them to the girls they were with.

  “You guys speak English?” Jeff asked.

  They nodded. “Yah. We are from Sweden,” the taller of the two offered.

  “Good. This is Barbara Heywood, a famous New Zealand television news woman. I have to leave but the police are on their way. If this guy wakes before they arrive, hold him down.” He took some money from his pocket and put it on the table. “Free drinks for the rest of the night.” Two Swedish faces broke into broad grins. Friends behind cheered.

  Two young women approached with table napkins.

  “May we have an autograph, Ms Heywood?”

  Jeff turned to leave and Barbara held his arm.

  “Be careful.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and left. Barbara smiled at the two girls and reached out for the pen and napkin.

  The three jetties were seven minutes away. Jeff did it in five. He stepped out onto the middle one and walked to its end. He turned back and took in the scene behind him. The pavement that ran along in front of the Ferry building entrance was a popular promenade and walkway to the Viaduct restaurants and the Hilton Hotel. It was crowded with citizens enjoying an evening constitutional, none of whom had any idea of the drama unfolding on the water. It occurred to Jeff to stop and shout a warning to get out of the city, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. He would be viewed as a crazy man and it would be wasting precious time trying to convince them otherwise.

  He spotted Larry Connor and waved. Larry turned the stern of his outboard-engine boat towards the steps. When it was close enough Jeff jumped aboard.

  “Okay, Jeff, tell me again why I had to give up a relaxing night of wine and friends?”

  “The terrorists have converted a launch into a torpedo boat. The submarine is the target, Larry. It’s a nuclear sub. Think Chernobyl. Think of the recent Japanese reactor meltdown. Not only the food chain in the inner harbour but much of the gulf will be destroyed and contaminated for a bloody long time. Radiation leakage will mean much of the city will become uninhabitable, not to mention the deaths from radiation poisoning. I could go on but you have an imagination.”

  Larry gripped the steering wheel. His head dropped. Jeff waited as his neighbour took a moment. Soft words came from his mouth. A prayer, Jeff surmised. He had never considered Larry as religious, but then he was an ocean racing sailor and mariners were never far from God. Just as very few soldiers were atheists.

  Larry lifted his head and caught Jeff’s eye. “Our home will turn to shit.”

  “You’ve got it. Did you send the family away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take you back to the other side and drop you off. Just show me how the boat works. Does it have gears?”

  Larry offered a wry smile.

  “No need for that. For one thing it would take too long to teach you and secondly I can’t have you wrecking the family boat. I’m coming too. No arguments.”

  “Larry, these guys are armed and there’s a good chance we won’t come out of this alive.”

  “I’ve sailed the Southern Ocean, Jeff. It can’t be worse than that.”

  “Okay.” Jeff slapped Larry on the back. “I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s go.”

  Larry pushed the throttle lever and the boat moved forward.

  “How fast can this go?” Jeff asked.

  “What size boat are we chasing?”

  “A forty-foot launch.”

  “It’s powerful enough to run down a forty-foot launch.”

  Larry pushed to full throttle and Jeff clung to the railing as they sped past an incoming ferry and out into the harbour proper.

  Barbara was sitting in the public waiting area of the police station, Demi on a seat opposite, watched over by two policemen. The two constables remained unmoved by Demi’s protestations that Barbara and a man she was with had assaulted him. Barbara avoided eye contact as best she could but now and then they connected just long enough for Demi to hurl the type of accusatory stare given a traitor. ‘Screw you’, Barbara thought. She folded her arms and sat stiff backed and locked eyes. She was not about to be intimidated by a man who had helped kill her countrymen. Demi looked away first and Barbara nodded in satisfaction.

  “This is the man, Barbara?” Cunningham asked.

  Barbara looked up. She hadn’t seen Cunningham enter, Caldwell behind him.

  “Brian, this is Demi Myftari. He has unwittingly been working with the terrorists. Accommodation mainly, but he knows what has been going on. He also knows the names of the others who have been helping. But he did come forward of his own volition to help expose them. To do the right thing for his new country. I think if you cut him a little slack and make him a deal you’ll get all you want.”

  “Okay.” He turned to the constables. “Take him down to a cell and watch him. I want someone in the cell at all times. I don’t want any suicides.” The two constables marched the complaining Demi away. “Now, tell me everything. Quickly. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Jeff’s friend in Kosovo came back with another name. Demi Myftari. Jeff phoned him and he said he would meet with us right away, at O’Hagans in the Viaduct.” Barbara ignored Cunningham’s incredulous look. “To cut a long story short, it seems Myftari and six others, including Ibrahim Mustafa, came to New Zealand as refugees and were funded into business by this Avni Leka. Two months ago they were told twenty-eight men were coming to New Zealand and Myftari and his friends had to look after four each. Demi said he had no idea why they were here, but lately he started putting two and two together.”

  “Well at least we now know how many there are,” Cunningham said. “So this Myftari wanted to approach Jeff to hand himself in?”

  “Kind of. He wanted to tell Jeff his story. Ease his conscience. Get help to keep him out of it. Maybe ask for immunity. Jeff said if he wanted to leave the bar he wanted all the names of the other businessmen. Demi refused so Jeff knocked him out. That’s when I rang you.”

  This time it was Cunningham’s turn to laugh.

  “Jesus. Well, okay. Jeff did the right thing. Where is he now? Why isn’t he with you?”

  Barbara shrugged.

  “What the hell is he up to now?”

  “Jeff reasoned that if the terrorists had left their burrows then the attack on the sub was underway.”

  “Okay. I don’t disagree. Caldwell and I have come to the same conclusion. So where is he?”

  “He’s on a boat on the harbour. He rang an acquaintance with a speedboat. They were meeting down by the ferry buildings. He’s gone looking for them.”

  “Bloody hell.” Cunningham looked across to Caldwell. “Who does he think he is? Rambo or something?”

  “Maybe he is.” Caldwell laughed.

  44.

  After five minutes, spray thrown back by the speedboat smashing through waves had left Jeff saturated. Larry wore the yellow jacket of his wet-weather gear.

  “There’s only one on the boat,” Larry had said when he pulled it on. “Sorry, seafarers’ regulations. The captain must be comfy at all times. A clear head makes for competent decisions.”

  “Yeah sure,” Jeff said, not believing a word.

  After a few minutes of watching Larry manoeuvre the boat Jeff was thankful the international sailor had volunteered. He would never have been able to drive it as it needed to be. Now, out on the harbour, the realisation of the enormity
of the task ahead hit home. Standing on the Auckland city side and looking across the harbour at the northern banks, lit up by thousands of homes, made it appear close enough to throw a stone at. But now, out on the vast expanse that was the harbour, which took a ferry twelve minutes to cross, how would he ever find the launch? The protest and recreation craft and the darkness made the mission impossible. Even with the illumination from the city and harbour bridge the dark patches existed. And there was a danger of being rammed by the smaller vessels. Most did not have radar.

  He needed a start point to begin the search. The terrorist boat was coming from the inner harbour. He yelled to Larry to get as close to the no go zone near Bledisloe Wharf as he could and then track back toward the harbour bridge. Larry gave a thumbs-up and spun the boat. The manoeuvre threw Jeff sideways. He clung to the aluminium railing. When they were close to Bledisloe, Larry turned the boat and cruised back toward the harbour bridge. After five minutes he stopped.

  “We can’t zip about all night. We’ll run out of gas,” Larry said.

  Jeff nodded. After ten minutes the bobbing of the boat was making him queasy.

  “Hell, Larry, on land this looks such a small area but out here . . . we’ll never see them coming.”

  “That is why sea rescue is so difficult,” called Larry. “There’s a hunting light under the seat in the cabin.”

  Jeff found what looked like a car headlight on a small handle. “Found it.”

  “Okay, there is a switch on the side. Turn it on for a test but make sure it’s pointed away from me.”

  Jeff did as instructed.

  The area in front lit up like day.

  “Jesus. It’s like a bloody searchlight,” Jeff said.

  “Okay, switch it off and keep it ready. Now hold on tight. I’m going across current to get out more into the middle of the harbour.”

  Jeff, thankful to be moving again, rubbed his stomach and dry retched.

  Cunningham waved to a constable.

  “I want the police launch to come into the ferry buildings. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And I want a car at the door waiting in two.”

  As he prepared to leave he sensed two sets of eyes on him. He turned to Caldwell and Barbara.

  “Okay. It’s a big boat. Come on.”

  Caldwell and Barbara were on his heels as he walked through the door.

  “We don’t know for certain they’re out there yet,” Caldwell said when he reached Cunningham’s side.

  “What do you think, Caldwell? What does your gut tell you?”

  “That they are out there.”

  “What about questioning Demi Myftari?” Barbara asked.

  “Not now,” Cunningham replied. “He has nothing to tell us. Not about where the boat might be and that’s all that counts right now.”

  Larry slowed a few hundred metres short of the tank farm, so named because of the proliferation of empty silos and petroleum tanks, no longer in use. Redevelopment of the area had begun and apartments, restaurants and cafés had turned the farm into a new exclusive suburb. Jeff wished he was in one of the cafés right now. Unable to hold back he leant over the side and vomited. Larry held onto his shirt.

  “Are you okay?” Larry asked.

  “No, I’m not. I hate boats. Now I remember why I joined the army and not the navy. Next time I ask you to take me out on a boat tell me to get lost.”

  Larry said, “I’ve seen many a seasick sailor and there’s no answer to it. I tell my crews either take tablets before sailing or get over it.”

  “Good advice, Larry. I’ll try to remember.”

  “So tell me, Jeff. I know it’s not a lifestyle choice, or maybe it is, but how is it you got caught up in all this? I understand you were in the military and then there was Kosovo and now this. You have money don’t you? You can afford an easy life. Why aren’t you playing golf?”

  “Believe me, Larry. After this is over all I will ever do is play golf.” His stomach began rumbling again.

  “You’re like some sailors I know. When ocean racing most of us choose to go round the storms. The madmen who want to win at all costs go through them.”

  “Believe me I am not doing this by choice.” As soon as he said it he knew it wasn’t true. Larry was right. He was one of those sailors. “Maybe you’re right. But hell, Larry, you’ve raced in the Antarctic. Icy waters, high seas and icebergs. How sane is that?”

  “It’s as crazy as hell, that’s why I know what I am talking about.”

  Jeff half laughed then dropped his head over the side again. More dry retching. It was a hopeless situation. As he lifted his head he saw a boat silhouetted against the lights of Stanley Point. If he hadn’t been leaning over he would have missed it. The launch’s lights were off. But the shadowy shape was distinctive and there was no mistaking the racking on the side. A torpedo chute. It was too dark to make out the torpedo but he supposed it was loaded. The launch disappeared again.

  “I think I’ve seen them,” he said as Larry pulled him upright.

  “Really? Where?”

  Jeff pointed. “In that direction. In a direct line with Stanley Point, they have no lights, but they’re way ahead of us.”

  “Hang on, we’re moving.”

  Larry pushed the throttle to full. Jeff fell backwards onto the fibreglass bottom of the speedboat. As he crawled back to his feet Larry was racing to where he had pointed.

  “The tide is coming in. I’ll aim the bow higher to allow for drift. Have you actually thought about what you are going to do when we find them?”

  “Not really.”

  “So we have no plan?” Larry said.

  “This is the plan. Step one, find them.”

  “Great.”

  “Only way I can think,” Jeff said. He rubbed his stomach. Fought against throwing up.

  “Okay. Grab the light and don’t drop it,” Larry yelled. Jeff picked it up again. “When I say, flick the switch. As soon as you spot them turn it off again. If they’re armed we don’t want them shooting at us. But I want to know how much more distance I need to cover.”

  Cunningham instructed the captain of the twin-hulled police launch Deodar III to take them in the general direction of Bledisloe Wharf. They would put themselves between the terrorists and the target.

  “There are hundreds of boats out here. It’s like the Anniversary Day regatta. How will you identify them? It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack only this haystack is water,” the captain said.

  “If we do find it we may have to ram them,” Cunningham said. “Can your vessel handle that?”

  “The hulls are aluminium plated with a 6mm Sealium alloy. Built for speed not ramming.”

  “Could you ram a forty-foot launch and do damage?”

  “Is that authorised?”

  Cunningham said, “No it’s not. If our air force had a fighter jet I’d have them blown out of the water or if they had an attack helicopter I’d have them fire a few missiles. But we don’t have those options. So it’s us. If the navy sees them maybe they’ll get off a salvo. But with all the spectator craft they might hold off, who the hell knows. Right now if we find them and we’re close enough, we ram.”

  “They may never give me another boat.”

  “No, they may not.”

  “Good. At least that’s clear.” The captain smiled. “Are you going to enlighten me as to what is happening? Just so I know why I’m throwing away a perfectly good career.”

  “The boat we’re looking for has been converted to launch torpedoes. They are going to try and blow up the Ulysses.”

  “Okay, I can see that would be a problem.”

  “So if it comes to it, we either wreck your launch or they blow up the city.”

  “I’ll do what has to be done. You can count on me. But what about the Te Hana? The bloody frigate
is right there. They have a chopper and it has missiles.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No I’m not. I’ll get onto them and get it in the air.”

  Cunningham joined Barbara and Caldwell at the stern. Barbara was rubbing her hands. Caldwell was leaning on the railing looking out to sea.

  “The captain has assured me he will ram them if that is the only option,” Cunningham said.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Caldwell said. “This craft looks fragile; it might come off second best.”

  Cunningham nodded in agreement. “However he tells me the Te Hana has an attack chopper. We’re getting it in the air.”

  “Have you heard from Jeff?” Barbara asked.

  “Not as yet. I just hope he doesn’t get himself killed this time.”

  Larry had them in a position where he thought the terrorists’ launch should be.

  “I can’t see anything – Jeff what about you?”

  “Not a thing. Should I use the searchlight?”

  “Not yet. Not until I’m certain where they are. They must be hugging the shore. I’ll get in closer too. Try to silhouette them against the ferry terminal lights.”

  It took another few minutes until they were in position.

  “There they are. Shit, they’ve got well ahead.”

  “I see them,” Jeff yelled. “They’re getting away.”

  Larry yelled back. “Don’t worry we have some muscle in our motors.”

  As Larry opened the throttle Jeff gripped the railing. This time he didn’t end up on his ass. He still managed to hold fast to the handle of the hunting light and tightened his grip as the small speedboat bounced off the waves. He could see they were gaining on the terrorists. The launch passed the top end of the ferry terminal and pointed towards Bledisloe Wharf only a few hundred metres ahead.

  “They’re lining up the Ulysses. Jesus, Larry they’re about to launch the torpedo.”

  “Get ready to light them up.”

  “Remember,” Jeff said, “they have automatic weapons.”