Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (10 page)

“Mmm, eight fluently, or near enough I suppose. Plus English and a tiny, tiny bit of what you taught me in Vietnamese. But not Dutch. Never needed it. Anyway, you’re not so bad yourself. You’ve got three, haven’t you?”

“I guess,” agreed Tien. “But that’s only because Mum insisted we spoke them. She was kind of strict about it.”

Kara faced her, “Strict? Your Mum? I can’t imagine it.”

“Ha,” Tien laughed. “All you see is the sweet little lady act she puts on for visitors. Don’t let that fool you. She was a right disciplinarian when we were little. We had to speak English when we were outside. She said if Britain was good enough to give us a home then we should be good enough to speak the language in public. At home in the evenings we swapped to French and at weekends we would only speak Vietnamese. Thing is, I never realised other families didn’t do that sort of thing until I was in high school and found out that language classes were a choice. I couldn’t understand why you needed to learn French at school. I just expected everyone would know it.”

It was Kara’s turn to laugh, “I never knew that. Seriously, you swapped to French every night?”

“Yeah, regular as clockwork. The six o’clock news would come on and it was bonjour or bust. I don’t remember it ever being a problem. We just grew up trilingual. Bit like the Dutch kids, I presume.”

The waitress returned to the bar. “Your coffee will be here soon,” she said in passing as she went to check on the rest of her customers.

Tien dialled Jacob’s phone, told him to call off the search of the marina and to rendezvous at the hotel. By the time she’d finished the call, a waiter was bringing their coffees.

Kara was mesmerized. The waiter was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. His skin was a rich dark-oaken colour, his eyes a deep brown and his black hair close-cropped. He stood about six feet, maybe taller. As he approached, balancing the coffees expertly in their saucers, she noticed that his black shoes, black trousers and crisp, white shirt looked like they had come straight from a valeted laundry service. The creases on the sleeves and trousers could have sliced butter and the shoes gleamed with a polish as bright as anything she’d seen in the military. She was reminded of a clothed version of an actor who had been in a series of adverts. “Hey Tien, what was the name of the deodorant the hot black guy advertised, with the horse?”

“What?” Tien asked, looking up from her phone as the waiter arrived.

“Never mind,” Kara said, half twisting on her stool to face the man. “Hi, these are ours I assume?”

“Yes miss. I hope you enjoy them. Would you like anything else,” he said, placing the cups on the counter.

Kara’s mind flashed through a range of inappropriate answers. Instead she said, “Well, I was just wondering, sorry, I’m Liz,” she said and offered her hand. The man took it in his and held it just a fraction longer than would have been usual. Kara didn’t object and held her eye-contact with him for the same fraction over the norm.

He smiled and said softly, “Hi Liz. I’m Henk.”

“Are you busy, Henk?” Kara asked and held her hand out in invitation to the empty stool beside her.

Henk gave an overly-emphasised, sweeping look around the restaurant and said, “No Liz. We are not busy. We are redecorating all our bedrooms so we have no staying guests at present. I can be all yours for a few minutes. What can I do for you?” He moved to the stool then paused momentarily and added, looking past Kara to Tien, “And your friend?”

Kara almost laughed out loud and thought, ‘Oh, such a shame and you were doing so well until then.’ But she let it slide, “Henk,” she said and leaned towards him. He leant in too. “My friend and I are being joined by some other friends soon. We really, really wanted to go out on a fishing trip. The pretty boats out in the harbour, do they hire them or are they all tied up for the winter?”

His expression dropped but, to his credit, Henk managed to hide most of his disappointment at Kara’s question. “Oh, I see. Yes they can be taken out. They come with a crew and can be hired, sometimes in the winter. It depends on the weather.”

“Oh that’s great. Do you arrange it from round here?”

“Yes. There is a small office just along the quay, but it is closed for the winter. We do have some brochures. Wait, wait a second,” he said, raising a long, slender finger.

Kara watched him head out the door that led to the main hotel and found herself reflecting that even the man’s hands were quite gorgeous. He was back in less than a minute and handed her a glossy tri-fold flyer.

“They have their contact details in there so you and your friends can book.” He paused before adding, “Are you staying locally?”

“Oh we’re in Amsterdam. It’s a shame you are not open for business.”

“Yes, a real shame,” Henk agreed. “We will be again in three weeks. You would have liked it here. Perhaps you stay that long?”

“I’m afraid not. Maybe I shall come back next year? I’d like to spend a few days here. Is it a good hotel?”

ɸ

“Is it a good hotel?” Tien was laughing.

“What? What?” Kara asked, her voice and eyebrows raised in equal measure.

“That was terrible. The poor guy. You had him eating out of your hand right up until Chaz, Sammi and Jacob arrived. He looked crestfallen when he came out to serve us.”

“No he didn’t. Well, maybe. But then he realised there were only two guys and three girls. I made sure to sit between you and Sammi so he still thinks he’s in with a chance.”

“And is he?”

“No,” Kara said emphatically. Then added, “Well, not until we find out who owns the boat. Maybe we should come back for a holiday after we track down Swift?”

“So you can mix it with a guy half your age?”

“Tien! He’s not half my age. He’s just a bit younger.”

“Oh yeah,” Tien teased. “At least a decade.” She began to laugh again as their car followed Sammi, Chaz and Jacob’s into the IJTunnel and back to the rental apartment.

ɸ

The phone rang only twice.

“Hi. It’s Henk.”

“Hello Henk. What can I do for you?”

“He asked me to let him know if anyone unusual was asking about the boats.”

“And?”

“Some English were in today.”

“Good work Henk. I’ll ask Rik to call you.”

Volendam, Holland. Sunday 22
nd
November.

Chaz stretched t
o
work the knots out of his shoulders and back. He stood, walked across to the bed and tapped Jacob’s foot. The ex-gunner was instantly awake, sitting up and looking around the dulled room.

“Anything?” he asked.

“We have movement on board.”

It had been two days since they’d found the boat on the waterfront. The company website had revealed the only office was the one on the quay and, as Henk had indicated, it was shut for the winter. The phone number listed had gone to a message bank that instructed callers to leave a name and number and they would be in touch.

Tien had sent a dummy email from an untraceable account enquiring to hire a boat for a day. As yet there had been no response. Not that any of that was unusual. The website also said that during the winter months it could be a few days before they would respond and that any excursions would be subject to cancellation due to weather.

Meanwhile, Sammi had scouted the streets around the harbour and found a plethora of holiday-lets but none that were open out of season. She did find one small bed and breakfast that, according to a gaudy neon sign, had vacancies. A quick check on TripAdvisor showed it was clean, neat, reasonably priced and critically, it claimed that its third-storey rooms had harbour views. Chaz had run a number of line-of-sight predictions using available imagery and agreed that it probably had enough of a view to be of use.

He and Jacob booked in with a cover story that they were two friends travelling around Europe who needed some rest and recuperation before setting off once more. The landlady, seemingly thinking they were more than just friends, offered them her last double room instead of a twin. When she confirmed that it had views of the harbour, they decided to play along. Although it was just as well she missed the under-breath, ‘Fuck off you twat,’ that Jacob had hissed when Chaz had reached out and taken hold of his hand. Sure enough the room did have a view of the red boat’s mooring and the two men swapped watch every couple of hours.

On the Saturday, frustrated by the lack of progress, Kara had decided to revisit the waterfront hotel. She reprised her role as Liz and spoke to Henk again but the waiter said he had no other information on how to book the boats. He apologised, flirted a bit more and then asked if she had decided to come back next year. She said she might, before departing with one last lingering gaze.

But now, on Sunday, as the sun struggled to raise itself out of the eastern waters of Lake Markermeer, a man was moving about on the deck of the red-hulled ‘Fair Winds’.

“Good morning,” Chaz said as Tien answered her phone. “We have movement on-board. One man. No cars in the vicinity so not quite sure how he got here. Assume he was dropped off before sun-up,” continued Chaz, not for the first time regretting their inability to get much in the way of surveillance gear across with them on the flight from London.

“No worries. We’re on our way,” Tien said.

Kara and Sammi, who had been sitting next to her at the rental apartment’s breakfast bar were up and moving before she had disconnected the call.

Less than five minutes later they pulled both cars out of the parking bays in front of the apartment and headed for Volendam. Kara trailed Sammi and, given it was the early hour of a Sunday morning, she was surprised at the steady volume of traffic on the opposite carriageway, heading into the city. Even on her side of the road, there were a half dozen cars in her wake. As the only main road between Amsterdam and Volendam she reflected it would have made running a surveillance operation a complete pain. There would have been little chance to turn off or swap trail cars in and out on route. She looked into her rear-view mirror again and, as if to confirm how terrible a surveillance environment it was, the same six cars were there, ever present going to the same place she was.

Twenty minutes later Sammi led them down into the town before turning left to go to the guesthouse, while Kara and Tien headed into the harbour district. Kara checked her mirror. Only two of the half dozen cars were still behind.

The plan was straightforward. Kara and Tien would keep eyes-on the boat until Sammi brought Chaz and Jacob down to the harbour. Both men would make the initial approach. It played into the stereotype that men would book fishing excursions more than women and so would be less suspicious.

Once out fishing the plan was to engage the crew in conversations and try to elicit as much information as possible. It wasn’t the best plan, but they had little else.

Kara turned for the harbour. Another sweep of her mirrors revealed there were no more cars following behind. She pulled into the same carpark she had used previously and again theirs was the only vehicle in sight. She supposed it being a Sunday accounted for the lack of schoolchildren, but there were no joggers or quayside fishermen either. The view of the red troller was still shielded by the sailboat so they climbed out of the car.

“Brrr!” Tien called across the roof and pulled her coat tight. “Reckon we can keep an eye on it from the hotel?”

“Suppose so,” Kara said. “It’ll be better than freezing out in the open.”

Kara clicked the remote and the car lights gave a small flash, confirming locking. As they walked towards the quayside a couple of heads appeared on the deck of one of the recreational boats moored at the near end of the harbour.

“So then, what’s one of those called?” Kara said nodding towards the sleek lines of the vessel.

“I don’t know,” Tien said. “I only looked up the ones I needed to know about. But at a guess I’d say that’s a speedboat-cum-cruiser.”

“Very nice too,” Kara said as the two heads on the deck developed bodies and moved towards the small gangway and ladder that led to the quay. Both men were wrapped in heavy overcoats and gloves. They didn’t look to Kara like they’d been doing much boat work, but as she hadn’t much of a clue what that would entail, she didn’t worry. The second of the men, much fatter and older than the first, stepped down onto the cobblestoned quay just as Kara drew level. She made to walk around him, just as his younger companion turned to face her. He gave a courteous nod and stepped out of her way. As she passed, he said, “Good morning… Liz.”

Kara’s brain took a second to process the discrepancy. Then she yelled for Tien to take on the other man as she prepared to take on the one who had greeted her. All she managed to do was step into a full-force punch that hit her in the temple. She was conscious just long enough to see Tien adopt a fighting stance.

Tien relaxed he
r
knees, centred herself and faced the man who had just stepped onto the quay. He was fat, thick-necked, with long strands of grey hair to the sides of an otherwise bald head and was less than three feet from her. She anticipated his right-hand whipping in towards her head and instinctively moved to block it with her left arm. Her speed of reaction was equal to that of years gone by, but the pendulum weight of her prosthesis took her arm higher than desired. The full force punch impacted into the side of her forearm and she felt the light but incredibly strong structure absorb the shock. The man yelped in a voice uncharacteristic of his stature and Tien was aware of the deformity shattering through his hand. She saw at least two of his gloved fingers had broken in the blow. But she was also aware that her lower arm had detached itself.

Her prosthesis wasn’t secured with straps or bindings like old fashioned models. Instead, the socket attached to the residuum of her arm, about two inches below the elbow joint, in a precise fit that allowed it to slip on and off like a shoe. It had taken four visits to perfect the fitting and while it was exact and robust, it wasn’t designed to withstand a blunt force trauma. Detached and heavy, it was only prevented from falling onto the ground by her jacket’s elasticated cuff.

She sensed movement in the periphery of her left eye. Stepping back she saw the second man moving towards her. Tien could see Kara’s prone body on the ground behind him. She registered what she was looking at but denied the emotion any space to grow. She refocussed.

This second man, Kara’s assailant, was much younger and leaner than his broken-handed colleague. His short hair and goatee beard made his face seem elongated. Tien shifted her gaze up and down the length of his body and ignoring the limp weight in her left sleeve, settled herself again. Both men moved forward slowly, approaching on a split vector that would have presented her real problems if they had been equidistant. But the older of the two was a few steps behind his partner and Tien measured her next move based on that. She was about to launch an attack when she heard the squeal of car tyres entering the carpark behind her.

Rapidly backing up to give herself more room, she glanced over her shoulder, hoping desperately to see Sammi and Chaz and Jacob. But the two men visible behind the windscreen were unknown to her. The car accelerated across the narrow space and as Tien turned back to face her assailants, she knew she was in real trouble. They were still advancing, undeterred by the oncoming car. She realised it wasn’t a possible rescue, it was more opponents.

Springing off her heels, she launched forward and sprinted to her left. Avoiding the outstretched arm of the younger man, she positioned herself between Kara’s body and what would soon be four attackers. She knew she couldn’t reattach her arm as the T-shirt and jumper she was wearing under her jacket would get in the way, so she settled herself again, breathed deeply and forced herself to relax.

The car came to a skidded stop and the two newcomers stepped out. They walked purposefully forward and brushed their colleagues aside. Tien registered the new arrivals were higher in some pecking order than her previous opponents. The man on her left, the passenger from the car, was short, small-framed, with thinning brown hair and large, thick-framed black glasses. He wore Chelsea-boots, jeans and a check-patterned shirt under a half-zipped, expensive looking leather jacket.

The driver, approaching to her right, was the youngest of the four, barely out of his teens. He had dark brown hair and his skin was the colour of milky-coffee. He was substantially taller than six foot, but thin and fragile looking. He wore no jacket, just trainers, jeans and a T-shirt with a faded picture of Einstein on it. Tien decided he was the least of her problems.

She positioned herself to attack the passenger and mentally rehearsed dropping low, taking her weight on her right hand and launching an outside sweep kick. Correctly delivered it would knock him out of the fight. Then she could attack the driver with a series of withering front kicks to what she imagined were spindly legs. The other two would be dealt with after that. Tensing her core muscles, she waited for the passenger to step inside her attack radius. At a distance of four feet, he stopped walking.

Tien watched him reach inside his jacket and withdraw a handgun. Its muzzle swung round to Kara’s prone body.

“You will kneel on the ground and put your hands behind you or I will shoot your friend. Then I will shoot you,” the passenger said in Dutch-accented English.

Tien made to move between the gun and Kara.

“Fine, I shall shoot you first and then your friend. The order is of no matter. I will not count down or give you another chance. Either kneel, or die.”

Tien looked into the man’s eyes, boxed within their thick frames… and knelt.

“I have an artificial hand. I can’t put my arms behind my back,” she said.

The man looked to her limp sleeve and then issued a set of instructions in Dutch. The man with the goatee beard circled around behind Tien, avoiding stepping between her and the handgun. He picked her up in a bear hug and carried her to the car. His broken handed colleague held the rear door open and she was forced down into the footwell of the back seat. A black hood was put over her head and she felt the weight of two men climb into the seat above her. Their feet pressed down harshly on her.

Tien shut her eyes and centred her focus. She heard the click of the car boot opening, felt a weight being placed into it, heard the boot close. She felt the weight of two men climbing into the front of the car, heard all four car doors slamming shut and then felt the car reverse, before it accelerated forward.

There was no conversation in the vehicle and her ear, jammed down on the floor, was engulfed by the roar of the road noise. It reminded her of static hiss, like loud white noise. She shut her eyes and remembered a military training course from long ago.

ɸ

Kara heard a roar like a rushing tidal wave. The fear of instant death by drowning jerked the sound, from a distant part of her brain, into dead-centre of her consciousness and caused every synaptic nerve to fire for her survival. Her eyes snapped wide open but the blackness was unaltered. Her breath began to catch, her heartbeat raced and her thoughts were swamped in panic. She twisted and squirmed but she was confined in every direction. She tried to raise her head and smashed the side of it into a metal surface. Her breathing speeded up. She was in a box, filling with water. She was going to die. She started to scream but no sound came, her mind yelled to get out, get away. She felt tears in her eyes, her breath coming in rapid but shallow pants, her stomach spiralling in nausea and fear. Then a small voice said, ‘Be quiet now Kara and think.’

She knew the voice. It had always been a hidden part of her but had only been revealed by her participation on the worst, yet best, training she had ever undertaken. The voice had been hewn from her, then returned, and finally embedded in her deepest psyche. It was her voice. The real Kara. The only part of her mind that had remained when the rest of her had been broken completely. The core of her, as she was built back up.

It spoke softly, ‘Can you breathe?’

Yes.

‘Are you hurt?’

Her consciousness detached itself and surged through her body. Her focus settled on her feet. Not hurt, still wearing her boots, not tied but her heels were pressed against a solid surface. She mindfully examined her legs. Not hurt, still clothed in her jeans, not restrained, but cramped. Bent at the knees. She was lying on her right side. The surface under her not quite solid, but not a sponge. A slight spring to it. The whole of it rocking and bouncing. The roar was not water. Kara knew what it was. She recognised it, and her prison, from that same training so many years before.

‘Continue your checks please.’

Her arms behind her back, restrained at the wrists by a plastic tie. Her head covered with a dark hood. Her neck tilted at an awkward angle. The top of her head, hard against another restraining surface. Her temple, the target of the punch was pierced by a stabbing, throbbing, aching jumble of pain. But she wasn’t dying.

Her core voice asked again, ‘So, are you hurt?’

No.

‘Where are you?’

I’m in the boot of a small car.

‘And?’

And I’ve realised my situation.

‘Good. What now?’

Plan for what could be coming.

‘What else do you know?’

He called me Liz.

‘And?’

And I’m still alive.

‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’

ɸ

Tien felt the car decelerate and then swing left onto an unsealed road. The wheels bucked and jumped in and out of significant ruts, and bigger potholes jarred the whole chassis. She concentrated and when the car decelerated again she reckoned the rutted road had been no more than a few hundred yards long. She was jostled and rolled under the feet of the men as the car swung around in a half circle before reversing and stopping with a harsh jolt. The engine was switched off and an oppressive silence enveloped her. She heard doors being opened and felt the shift in weight as the two men in the front got out. She heard their feet crunching on a gravel mix. She heard the boot release catch click open. The two men sitting above her got out. She felt hands on her legs and she was pulled backwards. Bracing herself for the drop onto the ground, four hands grabbed her, carried her a short distance and then let her stand on her own.

A foot pressed into the back of her knee. She buckled and sank to soft, damp ground. She wondered if she was in a field. Hands on either side grasped her shoulders and held her upper arms fast. Her head remained hooded and she could hear no noise, no talking.

The muzzle of a pistol was thrust into her left temple. She fought the urge to cry out. Biting down on the inside of her cheek she breathed deeply and tried to calm her thoughts. She heard her mother’s voice, ‘Don’t you dare Tien Margarethe Tran. Don’t you dare let these people know you are afraid. You bite down and if this is it, then you will go with the dignity of your forebears.’

Tien realised she was smiling. The thought of her mother scolding her gave her strength. The fear slipped away. She silently recited the Hail Mary and waited for the trigger to be pulled.

ɸ

Kara lay in the boot of the car, her left leg bent high, waiting. She heard footsteps on a crushed-gravel surface. She drew a deep breath and tensed. Sensing the change in light as the boot lid was raised, she waited until the flare of light filled her space. Releasing her tensed muscles she exploded her leg out to where she thought her captor would be.

She missed.

Four hands grabbed her and lifted her. She smelled grass and earth, the faintest notes of manure, fertilisers and nearby livestock. A foot kicked her in the back of the knee and she collapsed onto soft, damp ground. Hands grasped her shoulders and held fast. She could hear no talking but as she concentrated she heard a soft rumble. It was another car, coming closer, growing louder. The rutted road made its own cacophony of sound as it attempted to rip the suspension out of the vehicle. Kara stayed kneeling. Listening. She heard the tyres crunch onto crushed gravel as the car came past her, close, then reversed. She heard the engine cut off and one door open and shut. The muzzle of a pistol was thrust into the back of her left ear.

‘Breathe.’ her inner voice commanded. ‘Not one sound out of you. You will not say one word. This is a tactic, but if it isn’t then nothing you can say or do will change it. So you will say and do nothing. Are we clear?’

Yes.

‘And if it is a tactic, when we get out of this, then we will make this bastard eat his own fucking gun. Agreed?’

Yes.

‘We will fuck him and his friends up and make them weep as they beg for a mercy we will not give. Agreed?’

Yes.

She often wondered what it would be like if her inner monologue could become corporeal. She always imagined her inner self to be cleverer and prettier than the woman she provided the commentary for. She could certainly sing better than the voice that came from her mouth.

‘Now, think your happy thoughts.’

Kara’s mind blanked out the pressure of the muzzle and conjured visions of the people she most loved. She saw her parents, at the door of their house. Smiling at her as she walked up the path. Her father, arm around the waist of her mum, raising his hand in greeting. His right index finger stained yellow-brown from nicotine. His eyes bright and mischievous, like a five-year old boy, held hostage in a sixty-five year old body. His silver hair still thick and still blessed with the full wave that in summers long ago he had tried to pacify with tubs of Brylcreem, in homage to his Mod idols.

Her mother, elegant in everything she ever wore, dressed in a summery cotton skirt and a brightly coloured top. Her hair, still the vibrant reddish-brown of her youth, albeit now artificially maintained. Her high cheekbones and oval eyes testament to the beautiful girl she had been. The vibrant, youthful hippy-spirit who had fallen for the moped-riding, suited and booted Mod. The only Mod her mum could ever remember seeing out in the wilds of Yeovil in Somerset.