Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (2 page)

Stanmore, London.

Tien pulled ou
t
of her parking bay and headed northwest. She liked systems and especially simple, elegant systems. She considered the meeting-code a simple, elegant system and especially liked that it didn’t dictate transport options. That meant she could initiate all manner of security sweeps and dry-cleaning runs before Kara set foot near the meeting place. It was one reason why there was a four-hour gap between the call time and the rendezvous.

She also knew the precautions probably weren’t strictly necessary, but Tien and Kara had routines. Well-practised and much used, their extensive pre-meeting security procedures had not let them down, be it in Iraq, Afghanistan, or much closer to home. Besides, it was how they were trained to operate and Tien still wasn’t all that comfortable with the idea of Franklyn and the shadowy people he represented. People who formed a deniable organisation for purposes that may well have been admirable, but certainly fell outside of the law. They, whoever they were, had decided that the law and justice were often incompatible and on occasions it would be necessary to step in to redress the balance of the scales. Or rather, necessary for others to step in.

Tien had no problem believing that the UK Legal system was neither simple nor elegant. It was often overly-complicated, flawed and ugly but, it was still the law and that gave her cause to be cautious. Although she was the first of her family to be born in the UK, she was the product of her heritage. Her Mother’s parents had both been lawyers in colonial Vietnam. They were born to a society that had been skewed toward their French masters, yet, they had gained education and worked from within, trying to make a bad system better. When they had met as lecturers in Saigon University, they had found kindred spirits. Passionate for the plight of the common people as much as for each other, they had begun to organise peaceful protests, but time had been against them.

Tien slowed for the double-roundabout, the powerful BMW automatic dropping effortlessly through the gears. She steered without having to use what she still referred to as the
suicide knob
and it caused her to smile. Her new prosthesis gripped the leather of the steering wheel as well, if not better, than the left hand she had lost in Afghanistan. Relaxing and firming her grip through sensors in her upper arm muscles, the Bebionic hand was a quantum leap in technology and had instantly relieved the mounting frustrations she had been encountering. Tien had come home from the London clinic after the final fitting and, in the privacy of her own apartment, cried with a mixture of joy and relief for nearly three hours. The intensity of the emotions had surprised even her.

As the car accelerated she passed a turn that led to the expanse of Highgate Cemetery, with its most famous internee. She mused on Franklyn and the organisation he represented. Perhaps he just wanted a better, more just society, like Marx, who was turned to dust over her right shoulder. Perhaps, but actions always had consequences and those worried her. She doubted Franklyn’s actions would have the ramifications of Karl’s. But she also doubted Karl had foreseen what would come of his impact on society. How his theories would be manipulated, leading to wars and non-wars, the mass slaughter of peoples and enforced migrations. She steered the car onto the dual-carriageway and wondered, if Marx had not lived, would she be here, driving past his resting place. Her Grandparents, on both sides, had been the victims of communist regimes sweeping through their homeland.

Tien shook her head and decided that philosophical musings on the reasons why she was in London, or on whether Franklyn was a safe bet, were not what she needed now. Besides, when Kara and she had discussed Franklyn’s offer back in July, the day after the initial Police Station meeting, she had agreed to support her friend. There had been no coercion, no pressure. Kara, sitting in the wrecked old armchair that still held pride of place in her apartment, had been plain-spoken, eventually.

“Tien, this offers us a chance to do something that could make a difference. Something that matters.”

“And what else?”

“And get paid for it?”

“We don’t exactly need the money now, do we?” Tien had said, uneasiness in her voice as she spoke about the windfall they had received courtesy of their last case.

“No, I suppose not,” Kara had conceded, “But we can help when things aren’t fair. We can be a force for good.”

“Great, shall I rush and get us some capes, a mask maybe? I look good in an all-in-one cat-suit.”

Kara had laughed and reached for her drink, toasting Tien, “I’m sure you do.”

“What’s the real reason?”

There had been a pause. Kara had stared down at the gently swirling, golden-brown bourbon.

“It’s okay Kara, just tell me.”

Continuing to stare at the glass, Kara had said, “I miss the rush, Tien. Following the odd cheating partner or finding the employee who’s dipping the till isn’t enough. Last week, when we were working with the old team, it was a thrill, a buzz. Franklyn’s cases are likely to provide more of that. I want it.”

“No you don’t.”

Kara looked up, frowning.

Tien continued, “You don’t want it, you need it. Simple as that. You need it and to be honest, I enjoyed last week more than any other since I left the Army, so yeah, it’s okay by me. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“We both have to agree to every case. No agreement, no case.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,” Kara had said and downed her bourbon.

They’d set up a second meeting with Franklyn, sorted out all their protocols and then waited, but there had been no word from the old man. No contact, no excitement to get worked up about. Just silence. So they went back to doing routine. Not that they strictly needed to. The cash they had acquired while tracking down a less than respectable middle-aged couple meant they could have retired for good, but that would have driven both women insane. So now Franklyn had called and Tien had instigated the security measures that might not be necessary, but that she was going to oversee anyway.

Reaching to the steering wheel controls she pressed a small button marked with a telephone symbol. The BMW’s head-up display in her windscreen showed a ‘Dial by Name’ command box.

“Call Jacob Harrop,” Tien instructed. There was a small pause before a sultry voice responded with, ‘Calling Jacob Harrop’. Tien needlessly said, “Thank you Marlene.”

When she had taken delivery of the new car she had cycled through all the available voices, from the austere clipped English of an actor whose face she could see, but whose name she couldn’t remember, through to an over-emphasised robotic voice. She had finally settled on the velvet tones of the female she had christened Marlene.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Jacob answered, his Essex tones neither sultry nor velvety.

“Good. You in place?”

“Roger that. Toby too. All is clear. You?”

“I’m about ten away. I’ll confirm when I’m there. I make it ten-hundred hours,” she paused and waited for the digital numbers on the head-up display to roll over, “now.”

“Roger that.”

She disconnected the call without any further formalities. The elegance and simplicity of using trusted colleagues on outer protection screens meant that she didn’t have to waste time explaining the situation. They knew their job and Tien trusted Jacob and his brother Toby, both former Royal Air Force Regiment gunners, to protect Kara. Their role was to be the equivalent of the Seventh Cavalry and she knew they would come charging if required.

Tien’s job was to be near with a vehicle. The Central London locations on the list would make that difficult, but out here in the North West suburbs, it was altogether easier. In the weeks that followed the second meeting with Franklyn, Tien had spent her time researching all thirty-one locations. Visiting each in turn she had assessed their surroundings, how many entrances each had, where the nearest parking spots were and based on what she found, she graded them into easy, medium and hard. The hard ones were those she dreaded due to the difficulty in protecting Kara, or being able to remove her from harm’s way. She began to put rudimentary plans in place and then set about refining those plans as time allowed. Because Franklyn hadn’t called in months, she had refined and improved her counter-surveillance plans for the complete list. The Canons Park location, a small coffee shop next to a Tube station, was graded as ‘easy’. Open, above ground, a single front entrance and an exit door to the rear, albeit accessed through the kitchen, good road links surrounding it, parking in sight and no issues with mobile signals or line-of-sight radio communications. Tien would have chosen it herself for the first rendezvous.

She drove past the Tube station entrance and continued to the next roundabout, mentally registering the cars and vans parked within the vicinity. Looping back, she pulled into a parking area adjacent to a long row of shops called ‘Station Parade’. The small café was located midway down its length, sheltering between a newsagents and a picture framing business. Her position gave her a clear line of sight to the café entrance and allowed her to scan all the vehicles in the immediate vicinity. Being a Wednesday, the morning activity had slumped into a post-rush-hour-post-school-run hiatus, so activity around the Parade was minimal. She was parked directly in front of a car-parts shop that had been forlornly abandoned some time ago. The rest of the businesses in the row were still trading and there was light foot-traffic into the newsagents, the bookmakers, the florists and the rest of the sundry shops. The patrons toing and froing were wholly unremarkable.

Across the street a Number-79 bus slowed to a stop, then pulled away again having deposited a young mother with a baby-buggy and two older sari-attired ladies. As the bus moved off Tien noted a white male still sitting in the shelter, his head down looking at his mobile phone. He looked about mid-twenties, had short dark hair and was wearing black trainers, jeans and a dark-blue padded ski-jacket.

She checked the London Transport sign at the near end of the shelter. It showed three route numbers so she relaxed a little, considering he may have been waiting for one of the other buses. She pulled her own mobile and searched for the routes. According to the online timetable the Number-186 was due in two minutes and the Number-340 two minutes after that. She relaxed some more and dialled Jacob’s number.

“I’m here now. You still good?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said.

“I have one possible. You?”

“None, I’m clear. Toby’s happy their trail is clear too. Do you want me to come take a walk-by?”

“No,” Tien answered. “Hang tight. If he is a sighter he won’t be on his own. I suppose we should expect our guest to be running safety too.”

“Okay, your call. I’ll let Toby know.”

“Good, talk soon.” Tien disconnected and watched as an iconic red double-decker bus came into sight at the far end of the road. She could see ‘340 Harrow’ in the vehicle’s window display and thought it was typical that the second one due was the first to arrive. As it moved around a parked car she caught sight of the Number-186, a single-decker, following close behind.

An elderly couple, probably in their early seventies, had joined the young male at the shelter. The dapper old man stepped forward and raised his arm to signal the approaching bus. His wife waited a few steps behind. The young man didn’t move.

Both buses trundled to a halt and although her view of the stop was obscured, Tien could see the elderly couple getting on to the first bus and making their way unsteadily to a seat. She was impressed that the driver waited for the couple to sit down before he hauled the double-decker back into traffic. The Number-186 trundled behind like a half-height sibling, patiently following in the tracks of its bigger sister.

The young male still hadn’t moved. His eyes were sweeping from his mobile phone to the front entrance of the café. He hadn’t yet looked up the opposite length of the street to where Tien was ensconced. She watched his hands. They held his mobile down on his lap but his fingers weren’t moving the way they should if he was texting or surfing the net or accessing any other type of app. Then he raised his right hand to his mouth and spoke into his cuff. At the same time he turned in her direction. Tien, behind dark tinted side windows, scrunched down, making her movements very slowly, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching a dark-maroon Jaguar XF saloon as it cruised down the road. When the car slowed and stopped outside the Tube station’s entrance, the nearside front and rear passenger doors opened and two men, also in their mid-twenties, stepped from it. They glanced across to the man at the bus stop and nodded in acknowledgement. It was a quick gesture, but unmistakeable. The Jaguar pulled away as soon as the doors were slammed shut.

Tien called Jacob again, “Hi, I have two more males, short dark hair, wearing suits, making their way to the café.”

“Do you want me to come to you?”

“Negative. You stay on the rear entrance. I think these two are doing a less than covert sweep. We should probably offer them some advice. This is not how to avoid attention.”