Read Online The Mark of Halam by Thomas Ryan - Free Book Online Page B

Failing that, a freighter was standing by in international waters 250 kilometres off the New Zealand coastline. They would not become trapped on the New Zealand islands.
    When this was over he would take his money and retire to the village in northern Iran with the two daughters the village headman had promised to him and his brother. Halam was dead but the village elder was still keen on the original deal. The price for his daughters was already set. The headman had said Zahar would be a happy man with two beautiful women to care for his every need. Zahar was not so sure. It was not the life he had wanted but it was now the only life available to him. Terrorism had no future, and as much as he had learned to live knowing each day his life might end, he had no desire to die. He would fulfil his brother’s dream. As his brother’s image came to mind he clenched his fist. Halam had protected him as a small child then raised him when their parents were killed. He carried him through the rubble of Palestine and sheltered him in the Hezbollah camps in Lebanon. Halam was his mother and father, his life. Bradley had killed his brother’s dream. Bradley was going to experience what it was like to lose someone close to him. Then he would die.
    Zahar placed the teabag in the cup and poured in the boiled water.
    A sip. Too hot. He placed the cup on the breakfast bar and pulled up a stool.
    A knock on the front door had Zahar looking for Sami. Halfway down the hall the big man emerged from the bathroom drying his hands on a towel. He tossed it at Zahar who reluctantly caught it.
    “Hang that up for me.”
    Zahar’s glared message, I’m not your nursemaid, stopped him in his tracks. Sami half smiled. “Please. And stay in the bathroom until I call.”
    Zahar closed the door but the aromas Sami had left behind had him holding his breath and opening the window.
    After a minute Sami called out to him.
    Esat Krasniqi stood in the lounge, face flushed and rubbing the top of his forehead. Nervous eyes flittered round the room, avoiding eye contact. Zahar inwardly smiled at Krasniqi’s discomfort. Avni Leka’s man was frightened. Good. Frightened men were more easily controlled.
    “How are the men in your care, Esat? No problems I hope.”
    Esat shook his head. “No, Zahar, I have supplied the men with everything they need just as Avni said I should. They are becoming restless, as I have told to Sami. I am wondering how much longer they will stay?”
    “As long as it takes,” Zahar snapped. “Is this a concern for you?”
    “No. Of course not,” Krasniqi answered, the flush of redness now fading to pale.
    Sami said, “Zahar, leave him be before he shits himself, I don’t want it all over the carpet. Come on, Esat. I will be a few hours, Zahar. Make yourself at home. There is a list of hookers above the phone if you need some comforting. And can you turn off my cof fee. Esat can buy me a cup before he buys me lunch.”

15.
    B arbara Heywood arrived early for her meeting with Brian Cunningham. She sat at a table by the window. The space between it and other occupied tables was enough that they would not be overheard.
    The University Campus which had started life on Symonds Street now spread from Waterloo Quadrant past the top of Wakefield Street and down the slopes into Queen Street. The Central City Library had been in the path of this ever consuming academic lava flow. The café, once a coffee stop for readers dropping off and borrowing books, was now a haven for students seeking time out from classes and the bustle of campus life. Hunched figures sat glued to laptop screens, sipping from bottles of mineral water and munching blueberry muffins.
    Barbara needn’t have concerned herself with the self-absorbed students. None had even glanced her way.
    She waved when Cunningham entered the café. He mimed drinking a coffee. Barbara held up her cup and waggled her finger. He was as she remembered him: tall, good-looking, a bulky