Tony paused for a moment. “Gosh, I never thought of that, and Levorko’s wife too has to be told. I need to phone Frančiška, Dino’s wife, straight away. Sorry Paul, I’d better go.”
“Don’t fret yourself Tony, use my phone. State Insurance pays for it.
“Thanks, if you don’t mind.”
Paul switched his phone on, then pressed the record button before he passed it over to Graham-Collins. Now the SIS man would have the number in Mount Maunganui and both sides of the conversation recorded.
Graham-Collins keyed in the number and waited for it to be answered.
“Frančiška? It’s Tony Graham-Collins here. Is Dino there?”
“No sorry Tony, he had to go to Auckland early this morning. Someone set fire to the restaurant. He should be there. Why what’s the matter?
“Haven’t you been told? Levorko has been found dead in the ruins of the restaurant. I’m sorry to have to tell you such terrible news.”
There was a sharp crack as Frančiška dropped the telephone handset. In the background Graham-Collins could hear her sobbing. He suddenly forgot his pain and empathised with his boss’s wife, he wanted to comfort her. Eventually Frančiška came back on the line. Her voice was high-pitched, distraught.
“I will have to tell Nika, she and the children are here. You are sure it is Levorko? Is Dino there? Should I worry about him too?”
“No, I haven’t been able to find him, he’s probably with the police giving a statement. I can assure you, though, that there was only one body in the ruins of the restaurant and that appears to be Levorko. He had that distinctive pinkie ring, yes?”
“Yes.” She sobbed. “I must tell Nika… When you find Dino, tell him that we are all coming up to Auckland, we will wait at the house for any further news. – take note of my mobile number will you, just in case you need to contact me, if you hear anything else.”
Graham-Collins wrote down the number on the back of a beer mat he commandeered from the table in front of him, then switched the phone off and handed it back to Paul.
“This is an awful business, just bloody awful. That’s another family devastated. God, I wish I’d never woken up this morning.”
“Look Tony, I’ve been here all morning and beside yourself I haven’t seen anyone who even remotely looked like the owner of the restaurant. I honestly don’t believe he has turned up. Is there a need to worry about that? Where else could he be? I can’t do my job without him.”
“I’ve no idea, other than his home here. Can I borrow your phone again, I’ll give his house a call?”
The SIS operative handed over his phone again. Tony punched in the numbers, then waited for it to be answered. After two minutes he handed the phone back.
“No reply.”
“Had he got any urgent business to attend to first?”
“No, I’m sure he hasn’t.”
“I hate to say this, but he isn’t the suicide type, is he?”
“No, he’s a tough cookie. He would be angry, yes, but this would be just a minor setback to him. Suicide wouldn’t be in his vocabulary.”
“Does he travel abroad much? Perhaps he’s had to meet someone, and with the stress of the fire, and the trauma of losing his brother, he’s forgotten to tell anyone.”
“He has the occasional business trip, of course,” replied Graham-Collins. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s my job to ask questions, I do it for 8 hours a day, every day. It’s an awful habit I know, so sorry if it sounds like the third degree.”
“Oh, I see. Well anyway, I know the family has a holiday home in Australia, somewhere near Cairns I think, they go there quite a lot, but surely he wouldn’t go off like that and abandon everyone and everything he holds…” Then the penny dropped. That’s exactly what he would have done, Tony thought, it’s what he would have done if he had got a place abroad. Worst of all, he was the only one left. So, all this – the drugs, reproducing the flu virus, the deaths – would all land in his lap. He would take the fall for the whole lot.
“Oh fuck…Oh my God…”
“What’s the matter, Tony?” said Paul, watching his prize starting to deal with his inner demons. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever’s the matter?”
“Sorry Paul, but I have to go, I’ve just remembered something. Sorry to rush off like this, and thanks for the coffee, but I really must fly.”
“I’m sure you must,” said the SIS operative, raising his hand high into the air as if he was signalling the waitress. Tony saw him whirl his outstretched forefinger in the air, then point it straight at him.
“Sorry Tony, but you’re not going anywhere, ever.”
Realising something wasn’t right, Tony turned away from the table to flee. As he did so he was grabbed by the strong hands of two very large plain clothed policemen. Graham-Collins sank to his knees. The game was over.
“Tony Graham-Collins you are under arrest for….” The rest of what the policeman was saying became a blur and slowly faded away. When Tony looked behind him, the insurance man, Paul something, had vanished.
***
Petera Mokaraka spoke to the pig as if she were human. He loved her dearly and would miss her almost as much as Rewa. Alice had been his friend for a lot longer than Rewa and he treated her as he would a sister.
“Look Alice, I’ve got to get out of this country before they lock me away. I’d be in prison for the rest of my miserable life, I’m sure you can see that. I think Sonny blames me for what happened at the farm, so I’m not the flavour of the month. I don’t think he would kill me, but I can’t take that chance. Dear Alice, we’ve been together for I don’t know how many years now, too long to remember. I’m really going to miss you. I hope you can forgive me for abandoning you like this, but Jerry will look after you. He’s a nice guy, you’ll like him, he’s got a daughter called Paula, she loves pigs, she’s got one of her own, a Kuni called Oskar. I’m sure you’ll like him, he’s a funny little guy. He’s really little by the way, if you sat on him, you’d crush him to death, so be careful aye? Paula knows how special you are and she’s promised to be your best friend if you’ll let her. This mess at the farm has cost us all, you as well. I had to leave your other friends; I couldn’t get them in the trailer.”
Alice looked up at Petera as he continued to scratch behind her ear. Her dark brown eye seemed to convey to him a sadness he’d never seen before. He gave her another apple and continued his explanation of why he was leaving.
“I’m going to have to go to Australia for a while, until things have calmed down and it’s safe for me to come back. I have a mate who works for Sea Tow; they transport coal out of Westport to Newcastle in Australia. He’s going to give me a ride on the Koranui, she’s a bloody big tugboat that pulls the coal barges across the Tasman. When we get close to the shore, I’ve got another friend who’ll pick me up in his lobster boat. Just for a couple of years, then I’ll be back, I promise. So be good.”
Petera gave Alice his last apple, scratched behind her ear one last time, then moved off into the darkness.
***
“Now Captain Sumovich, you’ve been master of the MV Olga Tovic for how many years?”
“I’m …sorry…I speak not good English. Sorry.”
“Sir, we could get an interpreter, but we both know that isn’t really necessary, don’t we? It will be hours before she arrives so let’s quit the bullshit and get this interview over and done with, Shall we?”
“Sorry…. I cannot understood what is said. So sorry.”
“What do you think your wife Sara will say when she is interrogated by the Americans in Zagreb, Captain? They are not as nice as we are in New Zealand,” said the SIS interrogator. “They might even torture her till she gives them the information they want to hear.”
Sumovich looked sternly at the man he only knew as Malcolm. What he had just been told brought memories of the civil war flooding back, memories of those who escaped the clutches of their sadistic t
orturers. Memories of unspeakable cruelty, of friends dying agonising deaths, of survivors, like poor Anica, who bore both the physical and mental scars of her treatment at the hands of the Serbs and whose tormented mind was the reason for her nightmares. Goran tried to envisage how his beloved wife would survive such torture. Although Sara was tough, it made him feel sick just to imagine the love of his life suffering. The Americans would stop at nothing to root out those who had fought so bravely. What would they do to his daughters Nina and Milena? Would they be found in a ditch with their throats cut, as others had been?
Sumovich saw his interrogator’s mouth moving but he could not hear what he was saying. The pain across his chest made him gulp for air. He remembered such a pain before, it would pass.
“…. Did you hear me Cap……will be…out of bed……this…...? …..morning……survive the beati….”
He couldn’t remember the pain being this bad before. It was excruciating. As he held his breath between the pulses of pain, the room went out of focus. When he hit the floor, he gasped for breath and prayed for respite from the burning stake that pierced his chest. He could feel his temples pounding, his chest being crushed, and was unable now to breathe. Then, blessed Allah, it passed away, no more pain, just tumbling into darkness.
Malcolm shot out of his chair and got to Sumovich as he hit the ground. “Ambulance, get a fucking ambulance now!” he screamed. Sumovich was turning blue. He quickly rolled the captain over onto his back and pulled his head back to clear his airway. Then, pinching his nose, he blew three breaths into him, each time checking that his chest was rising and falling. Suddenly the door burst open and another SIS officer came in, the so-called insurance assessor.
“Here, I’ve got an Ambu-bag,” the newcomer said. “Breathe into this shit.”
“Thanks.” said Malcolm, “His breath stinks of pear drops, he must be a diabetic. He had nothing in his pockets. Did he have an auto-injection thingy?” gasped Malcolm as he put the Ambu-bag together. “Check his carotid pulse.” he told the newcomer.
“His what?”
“Come out of the way, quick,” said Malcolm, checking for a pulse in his neck. There was nothing. “Do you know how to do CPR?”
“Sort of. I did it on a dummy once.”
Malcolm gave Sumovich three more breaths using the Ambu-bag and then showed his partner how to apply cardiac compressions. More breaths, another demonstration. “Can you do that?”
“Yep, I think so.”
Soon the pair had got a rhythm going, 15 to 3, fifteen chest compressions to three breaths. 15 to 3, 15 to 3, and so it went on until the paramedics arrived. But even with oxygen and the defibrillator they couldn’t bring the old man back. He was gone. The old man lay silent, his face reflecting a timeless contentment.
“From his breath I would say he was an insulin dependent diabetic, so we didn’t have a chance really. Did you know he was diabetic?” asked the senior paramedic.
“Hadn’t a clue. And he wasn’t saying anything either, stupid old fool.”
The paramedic looked at Malcolm quizzically.
“Silly bugger, it’s as if he wanted to die.”
***
Just before Petera Mokaraka left the shores of New Zealand he received a letter from his lifelong friend, Hohepa Morgan. It was full of ‘best wishes’ and ‘don’t forget to keep in touch stuff.’ But it also included another letter, one from Rewa. Petera looked at it with dread, anticipating what it said. For a second, he was going to throw it away without opening it. His hands shook as he stuck his thumb under the flap, he hardly had the strength to tear it open. And as he read the first sentence his worst fears were confirmed.
“Petera, I find it hard to put into words how much you have hurt me. I thought I knew you. I knew you were a Skorpion gang member and I could accept that. But I never dreamed that you manufactured drugs on that farm. Looking back though it all makes sense; the way Robbie and I were kept away from the main farm buildings. I loved you Petera like no one else. I thought we had something special, but I guess that all lies in the burned-out ruins of that farm. I am writing to you, to tell you how much I hate you for betraying my trust and that of my son. You’re a hurtful, stupid man. Never darken my door again Petera Mokaraka, because if you do, I’ll call the police myself. So be warned, KEEP AWAY, and leave us alone.”
Though the letter was unsigned, there was no mistaking who it was from. He dropped the letter on the deck, then looked down to see it slowly absorbing rainwater that covered the deck of the Koranui. Though he had tried to anticipate how he would react to such a letter, he was completely unprepared when the real thing had arrived. He sank to his knees in repentance, his tears mingling with the rain. He hated himself for what he was and for hurting Rewa and Robbie so badly. If only he had been more forceful with Sonny and insisted that he should be released from the farm immediately. If only.
***
Tomaž Rozman was snatched from the Zagreb Sports Dome car park, off Metalčeva. As Rozman tried to escape the US agents, dressed as Zagreb police, shot him in the leg. They took him to a farm an hour north of the city and a Delta Team doctor saw to his wound. It was not to be his only wound either, for the CIA agents treated him as he and his henchmen had treated Charles Powell III, except that Rozman was not unconscious. However, unlike Aleksander Kolarič, the now dead Chief of Police, Rozman said nothing. All the Americans got were bloody hands and another dead body to get rid of.
Witnesses to the kidnapping of Rozman reported all that they had seen, and although the Zagreb police had neither the body of Rozman, nor that of Kolarič, they knew exactly what had happened to both men.
The language of international politics is extremely vague and complex, but when the Croatian Minister of the Interior, Zlatko Jelavic, spoke to the new American Ambassador for Croatia, Conrad Thomas, the language was straightforward.
“Ambassador Thomas, we both know that recently operatives of your CIA have kidnapped both Aleksander Kolarič, the Zagreb Chief of Police, and a man called Tomaž Rozman. I am sure that I am correct in saying that by now both men are dead. We have a team of over 140 officers investigating the two tragic bombings that killed Americans and Croatians alike. I suspect that you have completely bypassed our investigations and have taken matters into your own hands. I believe like avenging vigilantes you have interrogated and killed these two men.”
“I must protest sir,” interrupted the American Ambassador, “at your insinuation that any of my men may be involved with these unspeakable acts.”
“Ambassador,” Jelavic said raising his voice so that Thomas would stop talking, “please don’t interrupt again.”
Conrad Thomas was livid. He was just about to protest once more when Jelavic raised his hand to stop him.
“Ambassador Thomas, the Croatian President has told me to convey to you his anger at the US taking the law into their own hands in our country. This is not the Wild West, this is Croatia. Though this embassy may be deemed American territory,” Jelavic pointed downward to indicate the land on which the embassy stood, “you are here at the invitation of my government. If any further illegal action takes place on Croatian soil this embassy will be closed and the US delegation expelled. Is that clear Ambassador Thomas?”
“I have never been spoken like that in all……” Jelavic held his hand up once more to stop the ambassador saying any more.
“I hope that what I have said is clear enough and that there will be no future confusion as to the behaviour of embassy staff. I have been instructed not to become embroiled in any discussion over this message; hence it is in plain English. The killing must stop, Ambassador, however heinous the crime of those we pursue. The law must take precedent in the pursuit, capture and imprisonment of those guilty of crimes against the United States, as well as against the citizens of Croatia. May I remind you that we too lost people in both bombings and are just as keen to see the perpetrators of these acts of brutality behind bars as you are. Justice applies to al
l, Ambassador. Wasn’t it Martin Luther King who said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere?” Enough, Ambassador, is enough.”
Conrad Thomas was speechless; he had never been spoken to like that in all his years in the diplomatic service.
“We will conduct the investigation into the acts of terror that have occurred on Croatian soil,” continued Zlatko Jelavic, “and we invite you to be part of that investigation, Ambassador. But you will not continue to be judge and jury.”
“Thank you for delivering such a warning from your President. I will convey the essence of this message directly to the Whitehouse.”
“Thank you, Ambassador Thomas. And good day.”
Epilogue.
Crystal Ice Page 51
