Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (16 page)

Camden. Tuesday, 24
th
November.

Sammi had slep
t
in Tien’s spare room, Chaz in Kara’s and Toby had headed home for the night. Jacob had insisted on sleeping on Tien’s couch so he could be nearby if needed. Sammi had said it wasn’t necessary but Tien had said she liked the idea.

Now they were all gathered together again in Kara’s office. Takeaway cups of coffee, wrappers from McMuffins and hot pancake plastic trays were balanced precariously in the small wastepaper bin, like some fast food house of cards.

The Harrop brothers were both reading sports pages they had separated from a tabloid, Chaz was looking at his Facebook, while Tien painted Sammi’s finger nails.

“It’s a shame I never get a chance to do fancy designs anymore,” Tien said.

Sammi held her left hand out and admired the work, “Plain is fine. I still forget how good you are at this.”

“Wasted youth in this very room,” Tien laughed.

“Really?” Sammi asked, looking around at the office with its functional working desk that Kara sat behind, the small coffee table and three occasional chairs off to one side and the open door off to the other side that led to a kitchen area. “You learnt to paint nails with Kara?” The surprise in her voice made Kara look up from the Kindle she’d been reading.

“Oi, I have my nails done, thank you.”

“Yeah, course you do. You’re the epitome of the girly-girl aren’t you?” Chaz chimed in without looking up.

Kara raised a middle finger to his bowed head.

“No, not with Kara,” Tien laughed. This was my Mum and Dad’s original nail salon business when they first came to London. When we got older, my sisters and I worked in here after school. Then my oldest sister and her husband took the business on when Mum and Dad retired.”

“But not here?” Sammi asked as she placed her right hand in Tien’s prosthetic palm.

“Oh no, they had seven other shops by then and this place was in need of a bit of tender loving care.”

“And they thought Kara was the woman for that?” Chaz piped in again, still without raising his head.

Kara raised her finger again.

“No. It stayed empty for a while and then when I got out of the Army, Mum offered to have the top floors converted into an apartment for me and asked if Kara would be interested in leasing the office space.”

“All like it was meant to be,” Kara said and looked across at the other two women. “I can onl-”

She was interrupted by the chirped tone of an incoming message on the cloned phone. The echoing ping caught everyone off guard and they all held position like someone had shouted freeze.

Chaz slowly raised his head, “Well, what’s it say?”

Kara checked her watch. It was precisely twelve hours since Tien had sent the opening message to a conversation they hoped would determine their next moves in finding Derek Swift. Now the response was in.

It was a gamble and they knew it, but it was based on the recovered messages from Rik’s phone. Most of them had been written in Dutch, taken Tien some time to process through Google Translate, and turned out to be superfluous. But one exchange, dating from the day before Swift had vanished, had piqued Tien’s interest. Not least because it, and the responses received to it, were all in French. The initial message from Rik had simply asked for ‘The extraction of a package’ and had been sent to a French mobile number. The resulting conversation, while not mentioning a person or a specific destination, was obviously the setup for getting someone out of Europe. That, combined with the date of the messages, was enough for them to postulate they might have stumbled into something significant. It was worth the gamble.

Kara reached for the phone and opened the text, “It says, ‘Where to’.” The relief that the response to their text was the same as that to Rik’s original, was reflected in the various shouts of ‘Yes’ that went around the room. Jacob and Toby high-fived each other.

“Okay Tien,” Kara called, “You’re up.”

Tien took the offered phone and, referring to the transcript of the original messages, began to type in French.

Don’t care, but like last time, outside of UK Extradition

There was a short delay before the reply popped up.

When?

Within 24 Hours

This time the reply took longer to come through.

This is all same as last time?

I’d like a security check.

Tien looked up, “Well that’s not in the script. What’s that mean?”

“We know that their security is good. Unorthodox, but good. Maybe because everything is the same they’re concerned the mobile has been compromised,” Sammi offered.

“Probably,” Kara agreed. “Whatever it is we need to respond sharpish. If we get it wrong then we get it wrong, but we have to try. Just send ‘Okay’.”

Tien typed
d’accord
and sent it.

The five of them had migrated to a tight semi-circle behind Tien, peering over her shoulder, watching the phone. Kara was willing a reply to appear.

“If they ask for a face time call we’re stuffed,” Toby said.

“Yeah, but I really don’t think they will,” Tien said looking up at him. “I think the reason the Dutch operation only deals with certain countries is because it acts like another sort of air gap. They don’t have any French contacts in their chat rooms, so I don’t reckon the Dutch and French sides know what one another look like, and there were no deleted face time calls on the original phone.”

Kara thought Toby’s idea was a distinct possibility but she also knew she had no control over what would be asked. That meant she didn’t have to worry about it. She’d always run her operations by controlling what she could and reacting to what she couldn’t. ‘Until a couple of days ago,’ she thought. The dull ache in her stomach returned and she bit down on the tip of her tongue as she reconsidered how her laxness and laziness had almost cost them everything. She began to replay her second visit to the waterfront hotel, her conversation with Henk and all the security holes she had created in not controlling that operation. She felt a rising wave of guilt and disappointment within herself. The ping of the phone rescued her.

Previous Package

Provide Pin.

“That’s clever,” Tien said. “That assumes we not only know who the previous person was, but that we have access to the chat room lists. There was no pin disclosed on the original text messages, so you’d only know it if you knew who it was.”

“What pin?” Chaz asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Tien said.

“How would they expect Rik to know it?” Kara asked.

“Because whoever the previous package was would have been a member of the Dutch chat rooms. The French would know that Rik would have access to it,” Tien said as her thumb pressed down on the send button.

I need to get that from my system. One moment.

“Are we sticking with the big assumption that Swift was the last person,” Sammi said.

“I don’t see we have an option. Anyway, if he wasn’t then we don’t really want to be following this trail anyway,” Chaz countered.

“You’re both right,” Kara said, before turning back to Tien. “Do we
have
Swift’s pin number?”

“Yeah. He was still on the access list I showed you. The one with the names and numbers, remember?”

“But they were only first names. There must be more than one Derek?”

“Of course there is, but we have Amberley’s text that told us Swift’s id number. It’s all good Kara. I have it, I just need to get the text file from my thumb drive.”

Not for the first, or the thousandth time, Kara was so grateful that she had Tien as a partner. She was about to smile and thank her when a physically painful stab of remorse tore through her. She saw the image of the wooden frame and the tear-stained leather. The intensity of the emotion caught her breath and stifled the ‘Thanks’ in her throat. All she could do was pat Tien on the shoulder.

Tien read the number ‘175’ off her PC screen then picked up the phone. She typed it in and was about to press send but stopped.

“What’s wrong,” Sammi asked.

“Just a hunch,” Tien said, deleting what she had typed and entering a new number.

826

Not quite.

175

Excellent.

But security tight after

Recent terrorist attacks

Controls back in force on all borders

Complicates journey in and out

Price will be more

“What shall I say?” Tien asked, looking around to Kara.

Kara pushed her guilt back down and refocussed on the phone. “Ask them how much in total, I guess.”

Tien sent the message and then gave a small whistle before holding the phone up for them to see.

90,000 euro

“Seems it’s not cheap to get trash out of the country,” Chaz said. “Now what?”

“We wait a couple of minutes. If we are Rik we’d have to talk to the, umm, runaway, client or whatever they’d call him. They’d have to make the decision,” Kara said, looking at Tien and knowing from the frown and the twist to her lips, that there was a problem. “What’s up?”

“If they ask us to transfer money we’re busted. They’ll use that bitcoin account I found and I’ve no way of getting into it.”

“Well, like we said at the start of this, we go as far as we can.”

The phone beeped again.

?

Kara nodded and Tien responded.

Agreed

Do you need more time?

Tien shrugged and again looked up to Kara, “For what?”

“Don’t know. Difficult to have half a conversation with no idea about what we’re getting into. Suppose you’ll just have to ask them.”

For what?

To get the cash together

Package must have it

on arrival or no go

Tien smiled, “That’s handy.”

No, we are good

Restaurant de George

Rue Damrémont, Montmarte

rendez-vous 21h00 tonight

“Paris anyone?” Chaz asked.

“That’s different from the original message,” Tien said. “We might not be handled by the same people.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Send what Rik sent the last time,” Kara said.

Agreed - Safe travels

Kara stepped in front of her team. “We have less than twelve hours. We’ll need to take kit, so Toby and Jacob, I want you driving the van. The rest of us will go in by plane and train,” she paused while she considered the logistics of what they would need. “We’ll hire cars and bikes when we get there but Jacob, you’re going to have to see them so you recognise them as ours. We’ll also need to get the Euros and hand them off to you. It means meeting up, but I’m not sure where yet. Toby, keep your phone on and I’ll send the location later. Once done, Jacob, we’ll get you into the outer suburbs and from there you’ll make your own way in, completely independently. I don’t want the remotest chance of anyone seeing you in our company. The rest of us will figure out our surveillance options and be in place before you arrive. Questions?”

They shook their heads.

“Right then, let’s get busy.”

Their reaction was immediate and sent a different emotion through her. She was going to be responsible for them and the operation and this time she would not screw up.

18
th
Arrondissement, Paris. Tuesday, 24
th
November.

Chaz imagined tha
t
the awning of the establishment wouldn’t have looked as inviting if it had said
‘George’s little restaurant welcomes you’
.

“Amazing isn’t it,” he said quietly, but knew that his voice would be perfectly audible over the radio net, “how
Le petit restaurant de George vous accueille
, sounds so much more romantic. Honestly, I reckon the French could make the idea of dropping nuclear weapons on beautiful Polynesian islands seem like a good idea.”

“Very droll Chaz. How’s it looking?”

“Same as half an hour ago, Tien. No noticeable counter-surveillance assets, no noticeable problems. But then again, we know what that means.”

“Yeah. Maybe they’re as good as us.”

“Mmm…,” Chaz let the rest of his sentence go unfinished. He knew he had dropped the ball in Holland. He knew that he had been too relaxed, thinking that they were up against amateurs. His attitude had meant that Jacob had relaxed too. But, it was all Chaz’s fault. He was meant to be the senior operator out of the two. He was meant to have led Jacob and kept them both switched on. Instead they’d nearly lost Tien and Kara. As it was, what Tien had had to endure was down to him. He wanted revenge on anyone and everyone involved with the organisation that Rik and the others had been part of.

As if reading his hesitancy from the other end of the street, Tien said, “It’s okay Chaz. We won’t underestimate them again. If we all just do our jobs we’ll be fine. We need to remember, we’re good at this stuff.”

“Does anything ever get you down girl?”

“Sitting in the back of a van in a Parisian street with the smell of cafes and restaurants wafting all around while I get to eat cashew nuts and drink water. That’s getting up there on my list.”

“Try being the homeless bum sleeping in a doorway.”

“Yeah, fair enough. You win that one.”

“Don’t I get to enter?” Sammi said, joining the conversation from the other end of the street.

“Oh please,” Chaz responded, “you’re in a four-series beamer. What’s the hardest thing you have to contend with?”

“I accidently switched the heated front seats on. It got quite warm for a while.”

Tien’s laughter made the other two smile. Sammi felt a small lightening of the guilt she felt from the Dutch operation. She knew that Tien had had a truly lucky escape from a terrible experience and she was sure that she would bounce back, but she was still relieved to hear unhindered laughter from her friend. She was about to give Chaz a bit more stick when Jacob, his shoulders hunched, head down and hands in his jacket pockets, walked past her car, heading directly for the restaurant opposite Chaz. “He’s inbound,” Sammi said.

Chaz didn’t move, he didn’t look round, he just held his place and waited for Jacob to appear in his field of vision. Less than a minute later he saw Jacob cross the road in front of him and go into the restaurant. “He’s in Kara.” There was a single click in acknowledgment.

ɸ

Jacob allowed himself to loiter in the doorway of the small restaurant, unzipping his heavy leather jacket while his eyes adjusted to the low light of the interior. The Parisian streets he had walked through for the past half an hour had been cold, but brightly lit. He checked his watch. It was ten minutes to nine but they’d decided a bit of slack in his timekeeping would add to the overall effect. He looked about, remembering the lessons Chaz had taught him back in London.

“You ever see David Attenborough and the gorillas?” Chaz had asked.

“Yes,” Jacob said, wondering how this was relevant.

“You walk and stand like an Alpha-Male, Jacob. You need to be a broken man-on-the-run. I can’t change your height or your build, but just like Attenborough did, you need to become subservient. Lower your head, hunch your shoulders, stoop and walk less confidently. You need to shuffle, be non-threatening. Speak quietly, avoid eye contact, but not furtively, more like you’re afraid.”

Jacob had felt like he was in an acting class rather than a quick introduction to fieldwork and said the same to Chaz.

“Yeah. You’re right, but your stage debut is going to be up close and personal with your audience, and there’s no second chances.”

Jacob dropped his shoulders and stooped his head, then made his way to the restaurant’s counter. The room paid heed to the description on the awning. It was certainly little, but it used its space to maximum effect. The raised counter at the far end was dressed in dark oak and hosted a number of what Jacob guessed were ‘specials of the evening’ boards. More boards, with elaborately chalked pictures of grapes and flagons surrounding crammed wine lists, were mounted on the low walls. Below these were benches that provided one half of the seating to the three tables that lined each side wall. On the room side of each table were two tall dining chairs. In the middle of the room, four round tables with six chairs at each completed the dining area. Interspersed throughout, tied to the backs of chairs, table legs and wall-mounted light holders were bunches of herbs and small sheafs of wheat and corn. On top of the already small counter were wicker baskets overflowing with vegetables and peppers. Behind the counter, filling the rear wall of the room in width and from just above counter height to ceiling, were shelves teeming with bottles, only a small number of which Jacob recognised. He thought that if he ever wanted to open a French-themed restaurant anywhere on the planet, then this place would be a great model. It reminded him of a pub he’d gone to in Dublin. It had looked like all the themed, plastic-Irish-pubs he’d ever been in, but it was the real thing.

There were only four other people in the place. Two couples, one elderly sitting at a table to the left and one young, sitting to the right. Jacob reached the counter just as a thick-set man, dressed casually in an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt, came out from a door set into a niche to the side of the bar. Jacob reckoned he was in his fifties, his hair was clipped to at least a Grade-3 cut, he was about Jacob’s height and both his broad forearms sported faded tattoos.

“
Bonne soirée, que voudriez-vous?
”

Jacob gave him a nervous smile, looked around self-consciously, leant forward and said quietly, “I’m sorry. I don’t speak French. I was wonder-”

“Did you have an appointment time,” the man interrupted in flawless English.

“Umm, eh, yes. Nine. I was to be here at nine.”

“You are early.” The man turned, retrieving a glass and a bottle of red wine. He poured a generous amount and offered it to Jacob. Jacob shook his head to decline. The man stared at him and held the glass out. Jacob still didn’t reach for it. The man looked discretely towards the other diners, then back to the glass then pointedly at Jacob. Jacob nodded as if he had finally realised why he should take the glass. He reached out and with a distinct tremor in his hand, raised it to his lips.

The barman poured himself a glass, took a small sip then said, “Who arranged for you to come see me?”

“Eh,” Jacob hesitated, looking around the room again.

The man behind the counter reached out and touched him on the arm, forcing Jacob to look back to him.

“Who told you to come here?”

“Eh,” Jacob lowered his head, leaned into the bar once more and whispered, “Rik. Rik told me to come here.”

The man let go of his arm. “And what did he tell you to tell me?”

Jacob’s first thought was, ‘Oh fuck, that’s screwed it’. He had no communication system on him as they had decided it was far too risky. A physical search or a quick counter-bug scan would have revealed even the most discrete system and they couldn’t risk that. He was truly on his own with regard to the content of the conversation. He improvised with the continuation of the nervous and self-conscious fugitive. “I, uh, I don’t remember. I’m sorry, I’m uh… not too sure what…”

“His name. Rik told you his family name. You say, eh, surname in English. Rik told you it. What is it?”

Jacob was about to continue the stammering obfuscation but stopped as he remembered the moment in the farmhouse, just before they’d discovered the computer room. He saw in his mind Chaz running his fingers over a license lying on top of the sideboard. Jacob reached for the red wine and took a long, slow sip. He concentrated on the memory.

“I need a name from you,” the barman said, moving his own glass to one side and folding his arms. He suddenly looked like a doorman that would provide security to the roughest of bars. Jacob slowly set his glass back down and willed the man to try and start something. He would so gladly rip him and the restaurant apart, but he also knew that wasn’t what he was here for.

“De Vries. His name is Rik de Vries.”

The big barman relaxed and unfolded his arms. “Good. Have you eaten?”

The question surprised Jacob, but he decided to tell the truth, “Umm, no.”

“Fine. Do you eat meat?”

Jacob nodded.

“I will get you some food. Go and sit in the corner table.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said and offered his hand, “I’m-”

The barman held his own hand up, index finger raised, and shook his head, “No. No. I don’t want to, or need to, know your name. I don’t wish to know where you come from either. You will be Pierre from Paris for tonight. You will eat and drink here and stay tonight and tomorrow. Then you will go. In the time you are here I wish to know as little about you as possible. Now go sit.”

As Jacob went to turn away and the barman went to go into the kitchen, the young couple approached the bar. She was attractive, in her mid to late twenties and was saying something in German to her partner who looked like he could have been a poster boy for a different time and place. He was tall, athletically built, had short blond hair, blue eyes and generally light colouring. The woman swapped to French and, as Jacob took his seat, he watched the blond man hand over a bunch of Euros which she used to pay the bill. Amidst a chorus of
Merci
and
Au Revoir
the barman returned to the kitchen and the couple turned to go. Jacob barely noticed the subtle movement as the man passed his hand under the lip of the counter top. He looked down at a menu as the young couple left the restaurant.

ɸ

“Kara?”

“Go ahead.”

“Dinger and Eloise are clear,” Chaz said from his increasingly cold and uncomfortable doorway.

“Okay. You all heard the copy from inside. He’s going to be there for a day. We need to find somewhere to stay.”

“Chaz raised himself on one elbow and peered down the street. “Kara?”

“Yes Chaz?”

“I’m looking directly at a Holiday Inn. It’s less than fifty yards away.”

Kara, from the confines of the observation position she and Toby had established to monitor the rear of the restaurant, said only, “Tien?”

“On it. Give me half an hour.”