Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (21 page)

Kara looked to Tien. She had bowed her head and was smiling.

“Good on him,” Chaz said.

“Yeah, it was good,” Toby agreed. “But the reason he still uses the phrase with me is because of what he did next.” Toby’s face had broken into a broad grin.

Tien looked up and tilted her head just enough to prompt Toby to continue.

“On the morning of the last inspection of his Phase One training, their CO walked into the ablutions with the Sergeant in tow, ready to deliver the reaming that was to be expected, but the tile was a glistening, unblemished white. There were a lot of double takes and stuttered umms and aahs, but they couldn’t say anything. Jacob and his mates had chiselled out the flawed tile and replaced it.”

Chaz gave a cheer, “Ha, brilliant, I love it.”

“I went to his Passing Out Parade and at the end of it, when the students were all together for their final photograph with the instructors, and all the friends and families were looking on, Jacob presented his CO with a small parcel. He said it was the flawed tile and it needed to go back on the wall to help the next guys coming through. Then he said, what he and his mates had done on the final inspection was proof that however difficult a task, however bleak the prospect of success, hard work, a dose of ingenuity and a good team would always prevail over dark hearts. It became his personal motto when things got tough. ‘Dark hearts’ for Jacob means he won’t give up. Ever.”

The room was quiet for a few moments. Kara looked sideways to Tien and saw the sadness in her eyes.

Sammi, at the far end of the street and not witness to the room said, “Well, if that’s what he thinks then I don’t see we can do anything but back his decision.”

“Agreed,” said Chaz.

“Agreed,” Kara said. “Tien?”

Tien just nodded and got up. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She lifted the smartcard to her hotel room and left.

When the door shut, Toby asked, “Is Tien okay?”

“Yep,” Kara answered. “She’s fine. I just think, ah, never mind. Yeah she’s good. Right,” Kara said, rising from her kneeling position, “If we’re going to support this mad dash into the unknown, what do we need to do?”

The next fifteen minutes passed with the four of them throwing ideas around with regards to how they could best help Jacob, when he finally figured out a way to let them know where he had ended up.

As they were agreeing on a course of action, there was a knock at the door. Chaz answered it and let Tien in. She had a single sheet of paper in her hand.

“Ah, Tien, good timing,” Kara said. “We reckon Chaz is right. The chances of getting on the same flight as Jacob is unlikely, so we’re going to trail him to the airport and try, but if that doesn’t work out we’ll head back to London. Wait until he contacts us, then go straight to Heathrow and take the first available flight to wherever he is. What do you think?”

“Shit no!”

Kara saw Chaz’s head whip round so fast she thought it might detach. She heard Sammi let out a small gasp, audible enough to be picked up by her voice-activated mic. Even Toby, who hadn’t worked with Tien for as long as the others, looked surprised. ‘You should be’ Kara thought. ‘I’ve worked with this girl for almost a decade, she lost her hand in a firefight that she pulled me out of and I’ve never once heard her swear. Shit is huge’. What she managed to say was, “Oh, okay. Umm, what do you suggest?”

“If we do what you said it could be hours, maybe even a day or more before we get a plane to the right part of the world. He’ll have disappeared again. We need to be in a position to track him when he gets off at his final stop. I think we use some of that precious money we have and charter this.” Tien handed the piece of paper to Kara.

“Wow, nice. Umm, yeah, okay by me. How much?”

“To have it on standby for five days and for it to go anywhere on the planet and back again, that much,” she pointed to the six figures scribbled at the foot of the page.

“Oh. Okay. Is that in pounds?”

“Yes, is that a problem? It’s not like we can’t aff-”

Kara held her hands up and Tien stopped. “I’m not arguing Tien. I think it’s a great idea. Have you already booked it?”

“No,” she said and looked shocked at Kara’s assumption. “We need to agree on it.”

Kara stepped forward and gave Tien a tight hug. She gently whispered, so the men didn’t hear her, “Of course I agree. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. We’ll be there for him.”

Tien squeezed her back, “Thanks.”

Sammi’s disembodied voice asked, “Umm, someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

Kara let Tien go and referred to the sheet of paper in her hand, “We’re going to stay in Paris Sammi, and hire a corporate jet. It means we can leave at short notice and get to wherever we need to quickly. I think it’s a great idea and by the look of what Tien’s just handed me, it’s going to be way nicer than commercial cattle-class and definitely better than the back of a C-130.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Always thought I should join the jet set. So what else do we need to do?”

Kara sat down at the desk and picked up the notepad Tien had written on. “He doesn’t know the final location but he does say it’s going to be a warm climate. I’ve looked at the countries that don’t have an extradition treaty with the UK. Apart from Belarus and a few others, the majority fit that criteria. They range from desert to jungle so we’ll need some different gear. If we’re going to stay in Paris I’ll get Dinger to bring what’s useful from Camden and he can go shopping for the rest.”

“So he’s coming back on the op?” Sammi asked.

“No reason why not. We’ll relocate nearer to,” Kara paused and looked again at the details of the aircraft charter, “Le Bourget airfield. That’s where the charter company operates from. We won’t be exposed to the same people from then on so it’ll be okay.”

“Are we going to need weapons?” Chaz asked.

“I hope not, ‘cos even in a private jet, I don’t think they’re going to allow us to bring them,” Toby said.

Kara thought Chaz had made an interesting point. She was about to ask Tien her thoughts when Sammi came on the air again.

“We might have to answer that later. Black Peugeot, three male occupants, just pulled-up, rear entrance to restaurant. Two passengers have gone inside. The driver hasn’t moved and the engine is running. Wait.”

Kara reached for a small backpack.

Jacob had run
g
the bell to the rear entrance of the restaurant on his return and been greeted by the small man.

“Ah Mr London. Welcome back.”

Jacob frowned in a way that the small man found amusing.

He gave his deep, discordant laugh, “That’s you Jacob. You’re Mr London. Follow me.” He led Jacob back up to the fourth floor apartment.

Once inside, the small man took Jacob’s case and backpack. “You don’t mind if I take a look at what you bought?” he asked, handing over a beige envelope.

“No, not at all,” Jacob said, opening the envelope and finding a New Zealand passport, a collection of bank cards, a UK driving license, a Nectar card and a small photograph of a beautiful looking Asian woman. His heart lurched. He knew instantly it wasn’t Tien, but the woman’s complexion, the shape of her mouth and the long, straight dark hair were so similar as to be disconcerting. He held the photo and felt his heart beginning to race. Thoughts jammed in to his head, ‘Had they seen her at the Métro station? Was his cover blown? Was she alright? Had they gotten to her?’ As this last one occurred to him he felt nauseous.

“Oh, I see you’ve found her,” the small man said.

“Uh, what?” Jacob asked, completely numb with the thought she was in harm’s way again.

“The photo. Beautiful isn’t she?”

“What the fuck’s this all about?” Jacob was no longer the confused fugitive. His anger was clear and he realised the look on his face alone had startled the small man.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all okay Jacob. It’s just a photo. It’s like the cards and the driving license. It all adds texture to your wallet. To you. You know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Jacob said, still angry.

The small man sat down on the edge of the bed, “When you go through security at airports, you need to appear like the average man. Like your luggage. You need luggage to look normal. You need things in your wallet to look normal. The photo’s just an addition. She’s meant to be a girlfriend. We’ve given her a name and an identity. Even an address. She’s the reason you are travelling to your first stop. You need to fill in arrival documentation and it asks for things like where are you staying and why are you there. Do you see?”

Jacob nodded, trying to rein his emotions in, “Sorry. It’s just… well, it’s…” he paused and tried to think of a reason he would have become so angry. He fell back on something Chaz had said about mixing lies with lots of truth. “I’m sorry, she just looks like someone. Someone you shouldn’t know about. You said last night you didn’t want to know about why I was running.”

“Oh! Oh hell! I’m sorry Jacob. It wasn’t meant to give you a shock. I didn’t, I mean, I don’t know. She’s just a random photo we took from a catalogue. I had no idea.”

“No, you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did,” Jacob sat down on the chair next to the window and looked at the photo again.

“Are you going to be okay with it?” the small man asked. “It’s just I don’t have any other photos with me that we could use.”

Jacob decided to try to be as appalling sick as the men he was dealing with, “No. I’ll be fine. I mean, this one is a good bit older in all honesty.” He ended with a laugh that the small man joined in with.

“Oh, that’s very good. I like it Jacob. Well done.”

Jacob thought he would enjoy seeing this small, bespectacled, little bastard swinging at the end of a rope. He used the thought to maintain his smile.

Crisis over, the small man went back to looking in the suitcase. Jacob noticed that he was taking each item out, removing the price tags and other labels that identified it as ‘just bought’. He then folded the clothing and packed it neatly back in the case. Except for one set of underwear, socks, a T-shirt, the light jumper and the light jacket. These he set carefully to one side of the bed. Jacob turned his attention back to the envelope.

He emptied its contents out and picked up the passport. Turning to the back, he found a picture of himself with the name of Jacob London, born in Auckland on the Fourth of July, 1989. The cards showed the same name and the driving license had the addition of a home address in Grays, Essex, England. All the items bore the same signature.

“This is all nice gear you bought,” the small man said, zipping up the suitcase and the backpack. “You did well lad. It looks exactly like what it should.”

“Thanks. It wasn’t a bad day. Nice to not have to be looking over my shoulder to see if the cops were there,” Jacob said before holding up the passport. “So, I’m a New Zealander from Essex?”

“That’s right. You lived in England for a few years. Hence your accent.”

“And the signature?”

“You’ll have to practise but I wouldn’t get too stressed. Even those people who try to compare a signature haven’t got a clue. If it’s close enough, then it’s close enough.”

“What does Jacob London do for a living?” Jacob asked.

“Whatever you do. No point making up stuff we don’t need to.”

“And this address in Essex, it’s real?”

“Well Maple Road exists, but there’s no actual number sixty-nine. If you google it though, it’ll show up. It’ll even put a flag on the map. That’s just a quirk of the system.”

“And I was born on the Fourth of July. Really?”

The small man smiled. “It’s easy to remember. Like the number sixty-nine. We just need it to be enough to get you through a few simple questions if you get asked them.”

“That’s why you wanted to know if I’d been born in July?”

“Yes. It would be a coincidence but a complication we could do without. Dates of birth and real names are the keys to most police databases worldwide. If we avoid showing up on them, then we have the advantage.”

“And these?” Jacob held up two debit cards, two credit cards and the Nectar card.

“They’re purely for appearances. People carry cards and a wallet without a collection of bank cards and other cards looks strange. You’ve got enough to look right, but sadly there’s no money and no points on them.”

Jacob took out his wallet and slipped all the cards, the license and the photo of the woman inside. “You’re right. This feels a lot more like my wallet did before I had to ditch everything.”

“You see,” the small man said, cheered by the recognition finally being shown for his work. “This is what we do Jacob and we’re good at it. Everything will be fine.” He checked his watch, “Now, you have just enough time to get a shower and change clothes. Wear the shoes and jeans you have on but put this lot on,” he said pointing to the clothes he had laid out on the bed, Just leave what you take off and we’ll get rid of it.”

Jacob looked at his leather jacket, draped over the back of the chair, “I need to leave my jacket?”

“Yes, especially the jacket. It makes you look like you. Anyway, where you’re going you’re not going to need it.” The small man grinned at Jacob’s look of disappointment. “It’s okay Jacob, there will be compensations. I promise. Especially if you…” he trailed off.

“If what?”

“Well… I shouldn’t say, but that photo in the wallet?”

Jacob nodded slowly.

“Let’s just say if you like that look, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now go! Get ready!”

Before Jacob could ask anymore the small man left the room.

ɸ

Showered and changed he was putting his shoes on when there was a knock at the bedroom door. Again, without waiting, the small man came in. Behind him were two other men. One was in his early twenties, average height, average build, his long brown hair secured in a ponytail, he wore black boots, black jeans and a heavy black duffle coat. His only distinguishing feature was a set of three silver loop earrings through his right eyebrow. The other man, older, was Jacob’s height and heavily built. Sturdy was the word Jacob thought of. His hair was similar in length to the barman’s. In fact, as Jacob looked more closely at him, he decided there was a definite family resemblance. He wore brown boots, blue jeans, and no coat, just a heavy dark brown jumper, the sleeves of which were pushed up. Unlike his potential brother he had no tattoos, faded or otherwise, but he did wear a small gold hoop earring in his left ear.

The two new arrivals flanked the small man. “This is Jean-Paul,” he said, indicating the younger of the two, “and this is Thierry.” As if on cue Thierry folded his arms and gave what he must have thought was his best, most intimidating stare. Jacob saw he wore two gold rings on his right hand; a medium sized square cut, black onyx set in gold on his ring finger and the other, also gold, also square but larger and with a diamond solitaire set centrally, on his index finger.

Jacob gave a weak wave to the men.

“You’re leaving now,” the small man continued. “There’s a car outside. When you get to the airport Thierry will accompany you. You’ll travel together. When you get to the next place, Thierry will hand you over to the next courier team.”

Jacob struggled to keep his alarm and frustration hidden. His plan for communicating back to Tien and Kara was dependent on not having a minder in the air. He had to try to dissuade the small man. “Oh really, that’s so much trouble to go to. Surely that’s not necessary. I can co-”

“Now, now Jacob. You have paid and this is what we do. Besides, it’s safer this way.”

Jacob wondered how much more a real fugitive would protest. He decided to switch tack, “It’s just, almost like, you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you Jacob. But those…” He pointed up with his finger as he had done the night before.

Jacob filled in, “The higher-ups?”

“Exactly, the higher-ups. They don’t trust anyone. Nothing personal. Just safer.”

Jacob knew it was a lost cause. He managed a shrug, “I see. Well, I suppose it makes sense. Thank you, it’s kind of you Thierry.”

Thierry moved his head the tiniest fraction which Jacob figured was his way of saying, ‘Don’t mention it’.

The small man reached forward and shook Jacob’s hand, “Great, well, here, Jean-Paul, take Jacob’s bags and let’s get going.”

ɸ

“We’re rolling. Black Peugeot, I’m on point, heading north on Rue Damremont,” Sammi called as she scrambled into the driver’s seat and pulled the van out into the traffic flow.

“They’re on it Sammi,” Tien called as the others made for the vehicles. “Swapping to telephones, and I’ll coordinate them into the chase. How is it out there?”

“Sun’s dipping rapidly which is good, Should be dark before much longer. What I need are eyes on me to clear my back.”

“They’ll be minutes out Sammi, hang tight.”

As it was it took six minutes for Chaz, on the Z800e Kawasaki, to weave his way through heavy traffic and pick up Sammi, less than three kilometres from the restaurant. A series of turns, combined with narrow streets and rush hour congestion had slowed the progress of both her and the Peugeot. Toby, on the other bike, arrived a few seconds later. With the sky blackening and the Peugeot slowing to turn off the Boulevards des Maréchaux,

Sammi pulled out of the pursuit. “He’s heading for the on-ramp of the highway, Tien. Looks like he’s going to Charles de Gaulle Airport. Chaz and Toby, I’m gone, all yours.”

Tien routed Kara, in the BMW Four-series, to the Place Auguste Baron. She paced her driving by Chaz’s non-stop commentary on the road signs and distance markers he was passing and intercepted the pursuit seamlessly twelve kilometres later. “Chaz, how’s it looking?”

The Bluetooth mic and earpiece, Jerry-rigged to fit inside the bike helmet, worked well enough but the roar of the powerful Kawasaki engine meant Chaz had to shout his answer, “Good Kara. He’s clear. He has no other cars providing cover. They’re running solo.”

“Okay, I’ll take it from here. I’d say it’s almost certain he’s going to Charles de Gaulle, so you and Toby get ready.”

“Roger that,” Chaz yelled and first he, closely followed by Toby, powered past her.

Kara was left to maintain the pursuit alone. It called for considerable effort and concentration as twilight had given way to darkness and all three lanes of the motorway, although congested, were fairly free-flowing. She had to balance the need to identify and keep in contact with the target, against the risk of getting too close.

After a further five kilometres the Peugeot made the turn for the airport and although the traffic was still significant, it thinned considerably. Kara allowed some more distance and a few more cars to get between her and Jacob.

“Chaz, Toby, we’ve just pulled off to the airport. According to my satnav I’ve still got seven clicks to run before I get there. Have just passed a large sign for the Hyatt Regency. Where are you?”

Chaz’s voice was clearer and the background noise much less, “Just keep coming, we’re in the Total service station, about two minutes ahead.”

The traffic was slowing and bunching and the two minutes took nearer four, but as she passed the service station she saw Chaz’s Kawasaki with Toby riding pillion, come up the on-ramp and join the main road.