by K W Frost
Samantha put her arms around Child’s waist.
‘Simon, I told you that I’m going to see this thing through.’
She turned to the bed and picked up a two foot-long, black cylinder.
‘What’s in this?’
Taking the cylinder from Samantha, Child opened up the end and pulled out the mechanism inside.
‘This is a crossbow,’ explained Child, expertly assembling the wickedly powerful bow. ‘I used to go hunting with this.’
He tipped out a small black quiver from the cylinder. Undoing the flap, he showed Samantha the six flat-edged hunting arrows that were used to puncture and slide between the ribs for a fatal blow to the heart and lungs.
‘I’ve got the odd deer and goat with this, but now I mainly use it on rabbits.’
Child wiped the bow down carefully and then checked the other climbing gear. His harness, carabiners, figure of eight, Prussic cord and special climbing boots, all got a careful look over. In the second pack was a set of Army camouflage gear, two small briefcase type bags, spare clothes and a metre-long piece of wood with a hole through the middle.
Samantha picked up the Army camouflage gear.
‘This yours?’
‘Yeah, I was in for almost five years.’
There was a trace of bitterness in Child’s voice as he answered.
‘That explains a few things,’ she said.
‘Like what?’
‘Like why you’re still prepared to follow through with this, and not just hand it on to the police. Like how you survived last night.’
Samantha had picked up on Child’s darker tone.
‘Why did you leave?’ she asked gently.
Child thought back to a day about four years ago. The events of the day were still crystal clear in his mind…
Since he was a teenager, Child had only ever wanted one thing: to be a soldier. Not just an ordinary soldier though. He had wanted to join the elite SAS unit. As a young man, Child had lived and breathed this goal. Anything and everything that could help him reach his goal was grabbed with both hands. He joined a karate club, eventually becoming a second dan black belt. He climbed and tramped all over New Zealand, even spending a week in snow caves while traversing the Southern Alps. He hunted animals, using the crossbow to challenge himself and improve his bush craft skills. He passed his scuba certificate and went on dives regularly. His natural hand-eye coordination meant that he always had a good aim with a gun.
Everything had seemed to be on track for Child.
At twenty-two he was one of the youngest ever trainees to be put through the rigorous SAS introduction course. He crossed the notorious Mangere swamp, where he had waded up to his armpits in water and mud, racing against time and the tide to complete the challenge. He excelled in the mock assaults for eliminating terrorists at the specially designed facility at Papakura. He and his team carried the twenty litre cans of water, twenty kilometres up and down sand hills. If anyone fell during this exercise, the whole unit had to do extra push ups. Then the night classes and manoeuvres meant only getting a couple of hours of sleep before the next day.
For a week during his training, Child punished himself; aware the he was being assessed all the time, not just physically but psychologically as well. Finally, there was a sixty-kilometre march in full kit during the heat of the day. Child not only survived the tests but also seemed to enjoy the challenges they brought.
Even then, no one knew until they spoke to the Colonel whether or not they would be joining the elite team.
Child sat outside the office of Colonel Lew Stevens waiting for his interview. In his mind, he knew he was in. Child knew he had completed everything with ease and he was feeling confident.
The office door opened and out walked Sergeant Turoa, a well-muscled Maori man. When the door closed behind him, a big smile lit up his face.
‘I’m in… I’m in, Simon,’ he said, beaming. ‘God, if I’m in then you’ll breeze through.’
Even the other soldiers in the small units recognised the strength of the characteristics that Child had.
‘We’ll party tonight,’ Turoa said, still grinning.
‘Come this way, Sergeant Child,’ the adjunct ant said, holding the office door open.
Child walked into the office smartly, stopping next to the chair set in front of the large desk. Facing Child were the three leaders of the famous SAS unit, but of these three Child concentrated on the key figure of Colonel Lew Stevens, a legend in the army. There wasn’t a war in the past twenty years that he hadn’t been involved in, officially or otherwise.
‘Sergeant Child,’ Colonel Stevens said with a slight nod.
Child snapped a salute, staring directly in front of him.
‘At ease, Sergeant, sit down.’
Child sat down in the chair, looking directly across at Colonel Stevens.
Colonel Stevens studied the report in front of him one last time, despite having done so several times already.
‘You performed well this last week, Sergeant Child.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You really want to join the elite unit, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How long have you worked towards achieving this goal?’
‘Seven years, sir.’
‘How did you feel during this week?’
‘Fine, sir. I felt tired at the end of some days, but I felt that I recovered quickly.’
Colonel Stevens looked down at the report, still not believing it himself, but it was clear in the final medical report. There wasn’t an easy way to tell Child the news.
‘What sort of maximum pulse rate can you work under, Sergeant Child?’
‘Up to two hundred beats per minute, sir.’
Looking back on this conversation in later life, Child wondered why he hadn’t sensed something wrong by this stage.
‘You have performed exceptionally during the last week, Sergeant Child,’ said Colonel Stevens. ‘I would’ve liked to have you on the unit, but unfortunately you failed the final medical examination.’
Child was stunned.
He began to see his dreams crumbling before him.
‘But…’ said Child, his mind whirring, ‘there must be some mistake, sir. There’s nothing wrong with me… perhaps the examination cards have been mixed up?’
The words rushed from Child, knowing, hoping, there had been some mistake.
‘There’s been no mistake,’ explained Colonel Stevens. He kept voice gentler than usual, showing some compassion to Child. ‘You have a heart defect. An unusual aneurism — you could have heart failure at any time. Have you ever noticed any heart palpitations?’
‘Nothing, sir… as I said, there must be some mistake.’
Child’s insides were churning now. How could this be happening?
‘There is no mistake, Sergeant Child. I had this report re-checked myself. Did you not think it was strange that you had a second cardiogram at the end of the check up?’
Colonel Stevens paused for a moment. Even he found the next bit uncomfortable to accept.
‘Unfortunately, Sergeant Child, this does have other implications. Your whole future in the Army is now in doubt. You cannot be a front-line infantryman in any form.’
Child stared at Colonel Stevens in disbelief. His whole life — everything he had ever worked towards — now lay in tatters before him.
‘However, the Army will find a job suitable for you…’ continued Colonel Stevens. Child wasn’t listening any more. His mind was far, far away.
In a daze, Child stood up and half-heartedly saluted the Colonel before walking out of the office for the last time.
Child clearly remembered that day. He resigned from the Army that same afternoon.
In the following three weeks, Child had drunk heavily on and off. It was only after being robbed in the street, as he lay helpless in a gutter, that he realised that he had better get his life back together again…
Sudde
nly, Child snapped back into the present.
He looked at Samantha for a moment.
‘I failed a medical,’ he said, plainly.
Samantha looked searchingly back at Child, realising that there were depths to his character that she had yet to fathom.
Breaking away from the intense stare, Samantha looked down at the metre-long piece of wood. It was well oiled and glistened dully in the light. In the middle of one end was a set of grooves. Picking it up, the wood felt surprisingly heavy in her hands.
‘What is this then?’ she asked.
Child took the wooden shaft from Samantha and started to twirl the bar expertly using his fingers and wrist.
‘This is a small wooden kendo stick — something like a cross between a staff, a short sword and a baseball bat.’
Stepping out into the middle of the room, Child started to use both hands and the stick whirled about with blinding speed.
Suddenly, without a sound, Child stopped the movement and posed his body in a fighting stance with perfect balance and suppressed energy. Samantha, who had seen and participated in many an unarmed combat role, recognised the potential lethal intent that the simple weapon could have. Child relaxed his pose.
‘It also doubles as a blowgun,’ he explained. ‘That’s why the hole is down the middle. It’s reasonably accurate over thirty feet, and absolutely quiet.’
Samantha looked perplexed.
‘Can I ask why? Why have a blowgun? Why a crossbow? Why have all this stuff ready to go, locked away in a cabinet?’
Child started to sort and re-pack his gear as he answered Samantha’s questions.
‘When I left the Army, it created a big hole in my life, all I’d ever wanted was to be a soldier, and suddenly I couldn’t be one. Well, after I got myself sorted out, a couple of old Army friends looked me up and suggested that I go paint balling with them. You know what paint balling is?’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it, but never given it a go,’ replied Samantha.
‘Well, after a couple of times it got a little boring for us… same scenery etc. So we divided ourselves up into two teams and went out into the bush. We picked our own territory, made our own rules and developed the game to be more like real warfare, only with no killing.’
‘But you could kill someone with that crossbow,’ said Samantha.
Child picked up a small brief case and clicked it open. Inside lay a dozen small shafts set in foam, to be used by the crossbow.
‘These are specially adapted mini arrows,’ he explained. ‘I can change the tips of these to place paint pellets on them. My friend Gray adapted these for even greater purposes when our games started to get really interesting, with tactics and counter-tactics. It got to the stage where we used espionage to find out what the other team was planning, with games going on for three or four days at a time.’
‘You have some interesting hobbies, Simon,’ Samantha smiled. ‘So, how is all this equipment going to help us?’
‘Sam, I think it’s time we sat down and decided where our next step lies.’
Henry J Smaille (alias Eagle One) sat in the hotel room wondering what to do next.
All night he had reviewed what he knew, and what he could do next, Unfortunately, he had come up with few solid ideas.
Smaille was twenty years old and a veteran of the United States Secret Service. He was medium height with short, sandy hair. He had a slim, agile body, kept trim by running every day. He was also supposed to be the brains in the Eagle Team.
Now he was waiting for something to break — and waiting was the hardest part of any operation.
Smaille’s cellphone was always set to vibrate, as he couldn’t afford for it to go off at an inappropriate moment. He even had a special attachment on his chest for when he had the cellphone in his belt holder.
This time, he felt its pulse in the front pocket of his shirt.
‘Hello,’ he said, formally.
‘Kiwi C34.’
‘Eagle One.’
‘Any progress on finding the principal target?’
‘Nothing as yet, we’re just trying to find a way to contact the target.’
‘Principal target is tall about six foot three, lean, clean shaven. Light brown to sandy hair. Arm probably dislocated so will have an arm in a sling. He drives an American car.’
‘Yes, we recognised it as a four door Continental. Black with chrome trim. Early nineties model. There must be hundreds around.’
‘No, remember this is New Zealand. There are only a limited number of big American cars over here. A list of all the makes we could think off is being sent to me as soon as possible.’
‘Good idea. We’ll get a list through official sources.’
‘Also, get a copy of the rich list. Look for an owner who lives in Auckland and has a property, a warehouse, probably in the downtown area. Put all of those factors together and there can’t be more than three or four people in Auckland. Then it’s just a matter of finding out if anyone has become recently injured. I want a list of possibilities back within the hour. Call me when you have the information.’
Smaille looked down at the cellphone after Kiwi had hung up. Finding the principal target should be easy really, when you put all the pieces together. Smaille felt glad someone was thinking practically. They should know by lunchtime who the principal target is, and then they would get digging. He was impatient to find out everything about the mystery man, and see if he was actually involved in a major plot, or just a local drug runner.
Samantha sat back on the bed in the unit, thinking about the discussion she had had earlier with Simon. They had argued back and forth about what to do and how to do it. Finally, Sam had agreed to track down the owner of the big American car, and although she had tried hard she couldn’t stop Child from pursuing the biker gang connection.
Child had even worked out a cover story that would allow Samantha to visit offices and to talk with the top businessmen. Samantha had contributed little to the overall plan, but she couldn’t really find fault with his reasoning. She was in favour of a single line of approach, rather than the more dangerous gang connection link.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It took Child two hours to prepare for his attack on Snake and the other gang members. He had got the addresses from Ben via the police files. He then bought a small white panel van from a second-hand dealer and affixed some custom lettering on it.
Child now sat in the van advertising Jake’s Aerial Services. He thought it was fitting that his fake company used the gang leader’s name.
Looking across the street at Snake’s home in South Auckland, Child got out of the van dressed in overalls with a simple services label pinned to the outside. He grabbed his bag of tools and crossed the street.
Snake’s property was unusual in that fence did not surround the property, rather, just formed a division from the neighbouring house. The picket fence was waist-height and badly in need of a coat of paint. The fence didn’t run around the front of the house, so the black V8 commodore with blackout windows could drive straight off onto the street from the lawn.
Child casually strolled past the car, whistling a country melody. It was obvious to anyone that the car was a prized possession. Child could almost visualise the up-to-date stereo ready to blast out the latest rap music to its occupants. The darkly tinted windows bordered on being illegal, and the car had a set of wide mag radials.
Child continued past Snake’s house and strolled up to the next-door neighbour’s house instead. He rapped gently on the front door. After a short wait, the door opened to reveal a Tongan woman dressed in a bright red lava-lava with large white flowers.
‘Talofa,’ said Child, ‘my name is Jimmy Briggs, although most people call me Jake. I’m a TV and aerial repairman, and I’m just starting up in this district. You are the lucky person on this street to get a free TV tune up and aerial check! How is your reception?’
‘Um… look, our TV is working fine, and we don’t re
ally need a check up,’ replied the woman, looking nervous.
‘When was the last time you had your aerial checked? Did you know that they should be checked every three years for corrosion and loss of reception? Look, there really is no charge. All I was hoping for, was for you to tell to your friends that I was an okay guy and I can get things done.’
‘Well, okay then… come in,’ she said, still looking suspicious.
Child walked into the small lounge, and started to fiddle with the TV. He adjusted the resolution on one channel. A naturally charming person when he wanted to be, Child quickly established a rapport with the lady of the house. She said he could call her Nessy. After he had finished his checks in the house, Child led the way outside.
‘Look, Nessy, I’ll just grab a ladder and shoot up onto the roof,’ Child explained. ‘I can check the connections on the aerial from up there. I noticed a faint bit of static that could be coming from some corrosion. I won’t take a minute.’
Two minutes later, Child was up on the roof. As he examined the aerial’s connections, he peered over at Snake’s house next door. He took a mental picture of the three rooms that he could see. It looked like a lounge, a shared kitchen dining room, and one small bedroom.
It took only thirty seconds for Child to load and aim the blowgun. He expertly landed two bugs that looked like pieces of dirt on the lounge and dining room windows. Child ignored the window with a pink curtain across it.
The bugs were one of Gray’s special inventions. What looked like dirt was actually a putty like substance impregnated with metal receptors, which made the whole window a receptor for sound. With a tiny pin transmitter, it had a range of fifty metres.
Child rewired the junction box for the aerial, adding in a transmitter so that he could download the recordings from the transmitters anywhere within a kilometre radius. After checking that everything was working properly, he then climbed back down off the roof, said his goodbyes to Nessy and left in the van.
Later that day, Child repeated this process for the Black Power headquarters. The fence around this property was six feet high and completely surrounded the property, but from a neighbouring roof, the windows were still accessible. This time he planted four bugs.
