Crystal Ice: New Zealand Gangs, Drugs and International Terrorism

1. Zagreb

Having placed the open bottle of Kraski Teran at the centre of the table Branko Kovač saw a single drop of the red wine run slowly down the side of the bottle and onto the starched white tablecloth. At the same moment, his attention was diverted to a small six tonne fuel tanker passing the restaurant for the third time. The driver was struggling to engage the correct gear, making a real hash of it. Odd Branko thought he couldn’t remember seeing a fuel tanker like that in this district. There weren’t any gas stations close by. It was a similar vehicle to the one his father had driven. As a boy he had accompanied his father many times around the local farms, refilling their diesel tanks with fuel for the farm vehicles.

“Excuse me. Excuse me.” persisted the customer he was serving. “Could I have your attention please?”

“Certainly madam, I’m sorry, I was distracted. What can I get you?”

The same single drop of red wine that had reached the tablecloth slowly spread through the white fibres of the linen cloth, staining them blood red. Branko was once again distracted from the needs of his customer. The blood red stain reminded him of a photograph he had seen in an exhibition of war photography, of a body wrapped in a snow-white shroud with a…