The Mark of Halam (13 page)

As Gareth opened the driver’s door of his police car Barbara slipped into the passenger seat.

He smiled. “No way, Barbara. Police business. You need to stay out of my way.”

“Gareth, I’m a journalist. This is what I do. Cover breaking news.” She gave her warmest, friendliest smile. “I’m not being left behind. Now let’s get out of here. Jeff needs your help.”

Gareth eyed his passenger, defeated.

“Just keep out of my way. If Bradley takes a swing at me for your tagging along it’s your fault.”

“I’ll handle Jeff. Let’s go.”

Moana and Cunningham stood against the back wall of the communications room. The dispatcher had logged into the Whangarei police band. They heard Gareth Wilson call in.

“I’m on the Cove road. No sign of vehicles as yet. I have a passenger. Please notify Inspector Cunningham I have Barbara Heywood in the car with me.”

Cunningham’s mouth dropped open, “Bloody hell, what does she think she’s doing?”

“Support isn’t far away,” the dispatcher said.

“Send one vehicle to the station,” Gareth said. “I want home base protected.”

“Roger that.”

Cunningham said to Moana, “I need to call the Waipu police station. I want to talk to Wilson’s wife.”

Moana ran her finger down the list of New Zealand police stations on the wall until she found Waipu then dialled the number.

Miriam answered. Cunningham quickly introduced himself.

“What the hell is happening?” Cunningham asked. “And why is Barbara Heywood in the car with your husband?”

“A strong-headed woman that one. She has her mobile with her. She knows more than I do.”

Cunningham found his mobile and dialled Barbara’s number.

“Barbara? It’s Brian. What are you up to, why are you in Wilson’s car?”

“I’m a reporter, Brian, I can’t go into hiding when the biggest story in decades is breaking, can I?”

Cunningham held his phone in front of him and stared at it, angry and frustrated. There were many words he wanted to say to Barbara right then, most of them unkind.

“I suppose not, but be careful,” Cunningham replied, careful to control his tone. “Hopefully Jeff can just keep driving. The Cove road goes through to Lang’s Beach and then Mangawhai and then onto the highway back to Auckland. Somewhere along that route we can set up a roadblock.”

“That won’t happen. He’s running out of petrol. The red light went on at the top of the Brynderwyn mountains. He’ll be lucky to go twenty kilometres.”

“Jesus. I’ll get back to you shortly.” Cunningham hung up then moved back to stand beside Moana.

“I have a bad feeling that tonight is not going to have a happy ending.”

Gareth Wilson passed the camping grounds and as he rounded the corner he saw the headlights.

“Bloody hell,” Gareth said. “Someone’s gone over the bank.”

The rear of his car heaved sideways as he skidded to a halt. He flung open the door and made to climb out then stopped. He touched Barbara’s arm.

“You need to do what I tell you, Barbara. You do not come anywhere near those crashed vehicles until I have given an all clear. Okay?”

Barbara nodded.

He opened the glove compartment and took out two torches. He passed one to her and a second radio.

“Can you walk back down the road fifty metres and wave at the cars to slow them down? I don’t want any crashes. And tell the bloody campers to keep out of it.”

The sound of the crash had brought the few campers who lived in the camping ground through winter to gather at the entry gate. The small shop and restaurant were both open and now diners, having heard the crash, cautiously joined the growing crowd of onlookers. “Bang them on the head with the torch if you need to.” Gareth ordered.

Barbara frowned.

“Well, okay, don’t hit them but make sure they stay back. When the reinforcements arrive show them where to go. And tell them to come armed and not leave their weapons in their vehicles. They already know to do this but a reminder never hurts. Whatever you do, do not follow them. Got it?” His voice softened. “Please don’t follow.”

“I’ve got it, Gareth. Get going and be careful.”

“You don’t have to worry on that score.”

Barbara made her way back down the road.

Gareth held his pistol with a thumb on the safety. He moved forward, each tentative step scrunching loose stones and making a sound loud in the silence. Twenty metres from the headlights he edged towards the bank and peered over.

He clicked on his radio. A direct link with the Whangarei police station.

“Gareth Wilson here. I’m at an accident scene. Two vehicles over the bank just past the Waipu Cove camping ground.” he said. “One of them is a BMW, the other a black Range Rover. I can confirm these are the two cars I was looking for. Better send an ambulance. Make that two to be on the safe side.”

“Roger that, Gareth. Your back up is only a few minutes away. It might be best to wait. Can you see any movement?”

“No movement from either car.”

Bob Sutton, the senior sergeant from Whangarei, led three of his men to where Gareth knelt on the embankment. He ordered three to take up positions along the bank and keep their weapons trained on the vehicles.

“Okay, Gareth, it’s you and me.”

Gareth and Bob scrambled down the bank, landing in the small stream that wound its way down through the bush behind them and into the ocean. Waipu Cove was a surf beach. The sound of waves crashing onto the shore could be heard on the other side of the dunes. The black Range Rover lay on its side. The front wheels of Jeff’s BMW were still up the bank, the rear rammed into the big four-by-four.

“How are we going to do this?” Bob whispered.

“Take care of the danger first. We need to check the Rover,” Gareth replied. “I’ll do the check. You cover me.” Bob nodded. “Assume a firing position. I’ll come in from the right.”

Gareth waited until Bob was in position and then moved forward. He would either have to climb up to look into the vehicle or move to the front and look through the windscreen. Either way they would know he was there and if they were armed he would be presenting himself as a target.
Scary shit
was his last thought before he moved forward.

“Okay, cover me,” Gareth whispered as he moved forward. He peered in through the shattered front windscreen and shone
his torch onto a crumpled shape. Not moving. “I have one person
. Either dead or unconscious but not moving.” He pressed the barrel of his weapon against the fallen man’s foot. Still no movement. Gareth took a deep breath. “Bob take aim. If he lifts a finger, shoot.” Gareth reached in and felt the neck for signs of a pulse. It took a minute but he finally found the spot he was looking for. It was weak but the man was alive. With help from Bob, Gareth pulled him from the vehicle and laid him on the ground. A quick check found no serious injuries.

With the terrorist secured Gareth turned his attention to Jeff. He dreaded to think what might have happened to him.

24.

J
eff had underestimated the power of his BMW. The force of the heavy-bodied vehicle had smashed into the Range Rover, buckling the door panels and sliding the black vehicle sideways across the loose metal. His tires screamed as tread burnt into bitumen, shoving the terrorists until they disappeared over the bank.

“Woohoo, take that you assholes,” Jeff screamed with delight. “Holy shit.”

To his horror, the BMW followed. Jeff gripped the steering wheel. He looked straight ahead, keeping his body firm against his seat and his head against the head rest, and waited for the jolt. He reached out and pressed the button to stop his engine. It revved and then went silent. Then came a sickening thud as the BMW scrunched into the Range Rover and Jeff was flung back into his seat.

He was facing back up the bank like a NASA astronaut waiting for the launch countdown. At least the car hadn’t rolled. He looked into the rear-view mirror. It was too dark to see anything.

“Okay, Jeff, relax. Think straight, think quickly,” he muttered to himself. “Safety belt.” He felt along the strap, found the buckle and pulled the release. It opened. He wriggled his arms free. “Now open the door.” He tried the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Fuck it. Do not panic, Jeff. Use the passenger door.” He swung his legs across first and when they found the footwell he manoeuvred the rest of his body into the passenger seat. He pulled on the handle. Nothing. “Bloody hell. Think. Window. Electronic.” He found the button and pushed. “Thank you, God.” The window opened. He climbed through the gap then let himself fall the last few feet. He bounced off the Range Rover’s tires and landed on his back. Water rushed over him. A shallow stream, one he had splashed about in as a child. He shuddered as the icy water seeped through his clothing.

He heard noises. The Range Rover. Were the men inside climbing out, readying themselves to come after him? He scrambled to his feet. A blinding light forced him to shield his eyes. He was standing in the rover’s headlights. As he stepped back he saw movement inside the terrorists’ vehicle. They would be entangled in seatbelts. It gave him time. The only exits were up through the driver window or passenger window or through the front windscreen or the rear window. He needed a weapon. Anything would do. He spotted a piece of driftwood the length of his arm and as thick as his wrist. He reached for it. The narrow end was slim enough to hold in one hand. He hit it on the ground. At least it wasn’t rotten and felt solid enough; light but heavy enough to do damage.

The driver’s door window opened. A rifle barrel appeared, then the whole weapon. Jeff recognised it as a Kalashnikov. He looked at his piece of wood and back at the automatic rifle. Outmatched. A head popped up.

He took three strides and swung the piece of drift wood as hard as he could. The sickening thud brought a grunt and then a scream. The connection jarred his arm but he smiled at the terrorist’s cry of pain. The head disappeared back inside. The Kalashnikov teetered on the doorframe. He grabbed for it. Too slow; it fell back inside.

The night erupted with gunfire.

The Rover’s windscreen shattered. Pieces of glass flung over the light of the headlights, a shower of sparkling diamonds. Jeff had little choice. It was time to run. In a few seconds they would be out
of the vehicle and a piece of wood was no match for an automatic
rifle. He didn’t have time scramble up the bank onto the road. With the vehicle’s lights he would be an easy target. He ran across the stream into the brush. After fifty metres he was at the top of the small hill where he followed the well-used track down onto Shelly Beach. Running on ground shell that was not as fine as sand was still as bad as running on sand, if not worse. The spongy bed sucked at his feet, slowing his pace, the effort of movement tightening his calves, and small fragments found their way inside his shoes. After a few minutes it felt like he was wearing sandpaper.

It was a small bay with a cliff face at either end. In the dark it would be too risky climbing rocks. He ran across the sloping shore to the sound of the crashing waves. In the distance he heard sirens and the incoming security of the police but there was no turning back. The terrorists would be chasing him and they were between him and the road.

“Gareth Wilson,” Gareth said into his radio.

“Go ahead.”

“I have one man down from the Range Rover. He’s not moving. I’ve checked his pulse. He’s still alive.”

“An ambulance is on its way,” the radio operator said. “What about Jeff Bradley?”

“Gone, and no sign of any others. There have been shots fired on the beach. I have to assume Bradley is the target. I’ll leave men to guard the guy in the vehicle. The Sarge and I will go looking for Jeff.”

“Take care.”

“Should we be going out there just the two of us?” Bob asked.

“It’s nighttime,” Gareth replied. “Too many of us and we’ll end up shooting each other. It’s better this way.”

“Yeah, right. Lead the way. I’m right behind you,” Bob said.

“Now don’t get in front of me. I’m going to shoot at anything that moves and I don’t want that to be a cop.”

“Don’t worry, Gareth, I know how to play tail-end Charlie.”

Jeff stopped to catch his breath. When he had it under control he listened but heard nothing. The noise from the crashing breakers drowned out any chance he might have of picking up approaching footsteps. The moon, now high in the sky, increased visibility. Jeff could clearly see the rock face in front of him. Too sheer to climb. He had run himself into the seaside equivalent of a blind gully. It suddenly dawned on him that if the moon was silhouetting the rock face then it must be silhouetting him. He dived onto the shells and then spun round and looked back the way he had come. There was only darkness. He could see lights in the distance. Farmhouses and holiday homes.

He couldn’t go any further. Back towards the road were the hills and bush, and his pursuers. Behind him was the ocean. He cursed himself for being all kinds of stupid and not sticking with the bush. Too late now. He crawled towards to the sea until the first lapping of sea water splashed cold on his hands. He shivered. Hesitated. Too long in this water and he’d be suffering from hypothermia in no time. He looked back. In his sightline shadowy figures were closing in. He continued his crawl into the water. When he was waist deep he turned his back to the incoming waves. Unsteady on his feet. His shoes, filled with water, were sticking in the now sandy bottom. He should have removed them. He tried to kick them off but the water acted like glue.

The three shadows stopped short of the tideline. Eyes searched the darkness. At any moment they might turn and see him. Jeff crouched down his head barely above water. He saw one of them point in his direction. They must have assessed this as his only escape option. He looked behind him. The ocean was frothing up, the waves growing bigger. At any moment a freak wave might hit and wash him ashore, plonking him at their feet. He shuddered from the chill. They raised their weapons. Aimed in his direction. He had no choice. He turned, and as they fired he dove into the surf.

When Gareth and Bob heard the burst of machine gun fire they dropped.

“Sarge, are you okay?” Gareth whispered.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“So they are either lousy shots or they weren’t firing at us.”

“I hope you’re right. It sounds as though we might be a little out gunned.”

The sky again lit up with gunfire. The noise was deafening.

“Holy shit. Sounds like a bloody war. One thing is for sure. Jeff is still alive and is pissing them off,” Gareth said. “Let’s crawl to the top of the hill. Keep your head down.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be standing up.”

Another burst of gunfire.

“How many bullets do they need to kill someone?” Bob asked.

“I don’t care how many shots are fired. As long as they’re shooting, Jeff is still alive.”

Gareth and Bob paused for a breather. They had crawled fifty metres. There had been no shooting for more than a minute. They crawled up the last few metres to the top. They now had a good view of the beach but saw no one. “HQ are you there?” Gareth whispered into the radio.

“Go ahead, Gareth.”

“The shooters seem to have gone. They must have cut back up into the bush. They didn’t come past me. We need road blocks and cars patrolling up and down the road.”

“Roger that, Gareth.”

“Okay. I’m moving forward to the water’s edge.” Gareth said. “Stay behind me, Sarge. If you see anything then shoot but make sure you don’t shoot me.”

Jeff watched as the two figures split. Where was the other one? They could be setting a trap. He was frozen. He needed to get out of the water. He wondered why they were not clearing off. They must have heard the sirens. He could see the flashing lights of torches from where he was; they must see them as well. Then the two figures were back together, talking. Rather loudly. They were being a little too casual. He heard the unmistakable sound of a radio receiver. Torches were now being shone towards them from the dunes. The two figures stayed still and in fact one of the men was waving. Police?

“Hello,” He called out.

“Jeff, is that you?” Gareth yelled back.

“I’m in the water.”

Gareth and Bob ran to the water’s edge. Jeff waded inshore. Bob and Gareth grabbed an arm each.

“That answers one question,” Gareth said. “Smart move running into the water.”

Jeff didn’t answer. His body shook. He rubbed his hands.

“Come on, let’s get you up on the road and warmed up. Keep an eye out, Sarge. Those guys are still out there somewhere.”