“Captain? Might I make a suggestion?” Rollo asked.
“Fire away.”
“Have you tried calling him back? Maybe he’s waiting for your response.”
Kaine winced. “Sorry, Rollo, should have told you. We did that last night before you arrived. No reply so far.”
“When was the last time you checked your other phone?”
“Before I left my room this evening. Good point though. Hang on.” He pulled the burner from his pocket and checked the screen. “No, nothing new from our man.”
“Interesting,” Lara said. “I wonder what he’s up to?”
“Who knows? Lara, can you download the file and see if you can read the number plate? You’ll stand a better chance with your monitors than I do with the TV I’ve been using. This thing’s old enough to have been around for the coronation—of Queen Victoria.”
“I’m doing that now. Sabrina left me with an idiot’s guide to her picture enhancement app. I’ll try working on the image myself. Get some sleep and I’ll have the information to you by morning.”
“Sleep? Yeah, sure.”
“Ryan, you need your rest.”
“Thank you, mother.”
Plenty enough time to rest when I’m dead.
“I have another suggestion, Captain,” Rollo said, this time with less enthusiasm.
“Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“Why not send a copy of the film to the police and let them do their jobs?”
“Yes,” Lara said, reinforcing Rollo’s suggestion. “That way you can come back here where it’s safe.”
“Are you guys playing tag-team against me again?”
“Ryan, be serious for a moment.”
“I am being serious.”
Deadly serious.
Rollo received the tag from Lara and continued the attack. “If you hand it over to the police, you can come back and we can try to work out who Texter is before you land yourself in real trouble.”
“I second that suggestion,” Lara called, sounding more distant.
Although she’d no doubt turned her head to upload the images, it seemed she still had the spare capacity to question his decision making. Not good for his supposed leadership of the team.
“Listen you two, this isn’t a bloody democracy.” He stopped talking when he recognised the aggression in his voice. “Sorry to play the old soldier, but I’m on the ground and will be making the operational decisions.”
“Ryan Kaine, behave yourself,” Lara interrupted, using her best schoolmarm delivery. “We’re not in the navy and only trying to look out for you.”
And I’m looking out for The 83.
“I understand that and, believe it or not, I did consider your option, Rollo.”
“But?” he asked.
“I rejected it for two reasons. First, the police would be able to use this film to work out where it was taken from. It would lead them back to me and I’d have to leave. Doesn’t look as though there are any other decent observation points within easy access. Second, the cop, Blackstone, gave me a bad vibe. Either the Metropolitan Police aren’t all that fussed about what they see as an act of vandalism, or someone is encouraging them to look the other way.”
“Bent cops?” Rollo asked, his tone incredulous. “For pity’s sake. You can’t think every second cop in the UK is on the take! Smacks of paranoia to me.”
“After what happened in Scotland—”
Lara interrupted this time. “Okay, Ryan. You know what’s best. Just promise me one thing, please?”
“If I can.”
“Be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Me? Take unnecessary risks? As if.”
In the background, Rollo let out a false laugh.
“Ryan, please.”
The plaintive tone in her plea did it to him every time.
“Okay, Lara, I promise. All I plan to do is sit in my room until the traffic dies down and then sit in my car and watch the restaurant. If Justina leaves, I’ll follow her. Such a simple task shouldn’t be beyond me.”
“Thank you,” she said, flatly. “I’ll see what I can do with this file. I’ll message you if I find something. Keep your mobile powered up. Bye.”
She ended the call without allowing him to apologise again or to thank her. The unexpected silence left Kaine with an unfamiliar sense of loss.
Chapter 13
Friday 23rd October—Late Evening
Bowling Road, London
After a quick change into dark clothing, Kaine retrieved the Astra from the multi-storey car park around the corner. He confirmed its London congestion charge was topped up, and found a parking spot with a decent view of the Bistro. He kept the engine off and all four windows cracked open a couple of centimetres in an effort to combat the build-up of condensation. He also scooted low in his seat. Most casual observers would see an empty car. Anyone passing close might see a guy asleep behind the wheel. Either way, Kaine needed fast access to transport. Judging by what Justina had told Orestes, she was unlikely to stay at the restaurant for long.
Late evening stretched into early night.
After powering up his tablet—with the brightness turned down—and committing an online street map of the area to memory, Kaine kept his mind occupied by dictating notes into his digital recorder. He had no idea what he’d use the record for—maybe posterity—but it helped pass the time. Perhaps he’d ask Lara to print them out using the voice recognition program. If she learned how boring stakeouts actually were, she’d maybe think twice about asking to join him on every mission.
He took a moment to consider what it would be like to have Lara at his side during such moments, but shook the thoughts from his head. Such distractions, he did not need.
Back to work, Ryan.
Kaine peeled open his eyes, rubbed the circulation back into his face, and yawned. His stomach grumbled yet another loud complaint, reminding him the attack on the Bistro had derailed his dinner plans. He could murder a coffee and something to eat, but leaving the car to head for the nearest burger bar was out of the question. The lack of amenities highlighted another challenge with solo stakeouts. If Lara was with him, she could not only keep him company, but pop out for …
Bloody hell, Kaine. Pack it in!
During his evening stakeout, three events made the recorder.
Within minutes of Kaine relocating the car and settling in for the long haul, Inspector Blackstone and the callow youth departed the scene, leaving the Bistro unsecured and Justina and her daughters alone and vulnerable.
Christ Almighty!
Their dereliction of duty had Kaine spitting nails. He wanted to race across the street and knock their lazy, useless heads together, and force them to do their bloody job.
Considering the injury sustained by Orestes and the damage caused to the business, Kaine would have expected more from the local cops. A proper investigation was in order. In the existing political climate of heightened racial tensions and anti-immigration rhetoric, an attack on a Greek family might even have been construed as a hate crime.
The police were supposed to protect the public, and if the Constantine family didn’t need protection, who the hell did?
Blackstone and his lackey had shown themselves, at best, as useless and, at worst, complicit. Either way, Kaine would find out. And either way, the Constantines had Kaine’s protection, even if they knew nothing about it.
At 20:47, with the rain as heavy at it had been all evening, a dark blue Ford Transit with a glass transport frame bolted to the side panel approached from the north. It pulled up in front of the Bistro and two men wearing smart boiler suits jumped out. They removed two weatherboard sheets from the side frame and revealed a decal on the side of the van that made Kaine chuckle.
T&J Patel, General Repairs.
“Fed Up with Cowboy Builders? Try the Indians!”
Kaine watched the men work, impressed by their speed and efficiency. They chatted and joked, while each
knew his task and carried it out with precision. He’d seen army units less well-disciplined and less well-organised.
It took the men a little under one hour to clear the glass pellets from the pavement and fit the weatherboard panels to secure the premises. The lashing rain bouncing high off the pavement didn’t seem to hamper their progress or dampen their enthusiasm. If anything, the weather acted to spur them along.
After they’d finished, Justina Constantine signed the older man’s worksheet, shook his hand, and they were on their way home after a job completed in impressive time. Quick and efficient emergency repairs, one of the benefits of living in the nation’s capital. Although if the Constantines lived in the sticks, Kaine doubted anyone would have smashed the window in the first place.
Soon after the builders left, a small Fiat hatchback arrived and stopped in the spot vacated by the builders. A dark-haired woman, likely the sister, Arana, slipped out and knocked on the restaurant door. Justina arrived within seconds and the two fell into each other’s arms. Kaine was too far away to hear their words, but their body language spoke of distress mixed with worry and relief. Justina led her sister inside and through to the back of the dining room. At least she finally had company. Being alone in the building with her traumatised daughters while waiting for news of her husband couldn’t have been a bundle of laughs.
Kaine’s phone vibrated. He snatched it up from the passenger seat, hit ‘accept’, and spoke without checking the caller ID.
“Lara?”
“No. Sorry to disappoint, Captain. It’s me, Danny.”
“Danny?”
“Didn’t mean to ruin your evening, sir. I mean, I know you’d rather speak with the Doc, but—”
“Less of the backchat, Corporal,” Kaine snapped, but couldn’t keep the smile from his voice. “Where are you?”
“In the entrance to Bowling Road tube station. It’s pissing down. How do I find you?”
Kaine gave him the directions. “Should only take you five minutes if you hurry.”
The ‘call waiting’ signal interrupted Danny’s response and Kaine cut him off to accept it.
“Ryan?”
“Lara. Hi. You have something already?”
“Yes,” she said, “I thought you might like to know I’ve cleaned up that image and found the owner of the motorbike.”
She spoke quickly, excitement clear in each syllable.
“That’s brilliant. Thanks.”
“Sabrina’s handover notes made it easy.”
“Sorry to be so brusque, Lara, but I was talking to Danny.”
“He’s in London already?” she asked.
“Yes. He made good time. Should be with me in a couple of minutes.”
“That’s wonderful. You having support, I mean.”
“Exactly. So, the biker?”
“I’ve emailed you the details.”
“No trouble with the DVLA then?”
“Clearly not,” she said. “Sabrina’s interruption app was simplicity itself. It allowed me right into their database. All I had to do was plug in the licence number and it popped back with the owner’s name and last known address.” She paused as though waiting for a response from him. “Although we can’t be sure he was the one riding the bike this afternoon.”
“True, but he’s a good place to start. I don’t suppose you managed to check whether the bike’s been reported stolen?”
“Funny you should ask that …”
“You’re kidding. You had time to check the local police logs, too?”
“Rollo did that while I accessed the DVLA database.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
“Ryan, what are you going to do with the information?”
“Not sure yet. Can you run a full background check on the biker?”
“Already done. I attached a brief dossier to the email. Rollo and I plan to spend more time on the research over the next few hours. I’ll send what we find when we have something useful.”
“That’s … really great work. Thanks again. Both of you.”
“Ryan, what are you planning?”
“I told you, Lara. I don’t know yet.”
“Why are you being so evasive?”
“Listen, things are pretty fluid here and I’m in operational mode. So much to think about. I need to keep things tight and professional. When I get back, we’ll talk about how this will work in future, okay?”
“Okay, if you insist.”
“Yes, I do. Is Rollo there?”
“I’ll put him on,” she said.
The scuffling of a phone changing hands preceded Rollo’s, “Yes, Captain?”
“Are we secure?”
“Yes, sir. Problem?”
He relaxed a little. Rollo had just confirmed Lara couldn’t hear their conversation and he’d keep it that way.
“No problem, but you need to explain to our civilian member about operational expedience. Can you tell her … well, you know what I’m saying?”
Rollo’s chuckle grated down the line.
“I understand, sir. You really like the Doc and don’t want her upset with you. No problem. Leave it with me. Guess I’ll have to change my name from Uncle Cuddles to Cupid.”
Frustration boiled up from Kaine’s gut. Uncontrolled emotional entanglements could ruin the best military units. He could envision his tight military discipline collapsing in a heap at his feet.
“This is serious, Sergeant. Lives are at stake. While I’m here, you are responsible for the Doc’s safety. Do you understand my meaning?”
Rollo coughed. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The frustration subsided, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. He hated losing control, much less shouting at people he considered his friends. Yet another way his emotions could lead everything and everyone he cared about into the mire.
A double-tap on the front passenger window nearly gave him a coronary. He twisted, braced for action, but Danny’s smiling face appeared behind the rain-spotted glass. Kaine cursed his inattention. He’d completely missed the former corporal’s approach.
Kaine popped the lock and Danny slid inside.
“Rollo,” Kaine said into the mobile, “a half-drowned rat has just arrived from Canada. Looks like he’s swum across the Atlantic. I’ll contact you in the morning for a sitrep. Meanwhile, carry on with the deep dive into the biker.”
He ended the call and handed Danny the swimmer’s micro-towel he’d pulled from his Bergen.
“Hello, Corporal. Still raining, I see,” he said, as though the heavy drumming on the car’s roof and the rain running down the windscreen hadn’t given it away.
“Great to be back in dear old Blighty,” he said, rubbing his face and hair with the towel. “Missed this place so much.”
He struggled out of his raincoat and threw it into the back, spraying Kaine with castoff water.
“Thanks,” Kaine said, wiping a hand over his face.
“You’re welcome, sir. Think nothing of it.”
The smile he flashed was unapologetic.
“And thanks for dropping everything. Couldn’t have been easy dragging yourself away from the delights of a Canadian autumn. The colours of all those falling maple leaves.”
“Not really. There’s only so much field training the Mounties will accept from a Brit. Besides, your email was interesting. What’s my role?”
“Long term, I need you as backup. Short term, depends on what happens in the next few minutes.”
Kaine gave Danny a full briefing on the day’s events, mirroring his angry reaction when describing how close the Constantine girls had been to the flying breezeblock. Danny had two young nieces. He doted on them both and rarely missed an opportunity to show their photos to anyone who displayed the slightest interest. Kaine anticipated his demand for the biker’s address and for permission to remove the bastard’s testicles with a rusty hatchet.
“Permission denied, Danny. I’ll be taking on that particu
lar task.”
“You sure, sir? If you don’t mind me saying, you can be a little on the gentle side when it comes to interrogating a prisoner.”
Kaine snorted. “Yes, Corporal Pinkerton, I do mind. And anyone who can do that”—he pointed to the weatherboard sheets—“with children in the firing line, doesn’t deserve any such gentle treatment. But I still need to tread carefully.”
“Fair enough. So, we wait to see what happens here?”
“That’s right. My guess is Mrs Constantine goes to the hospital and leaves the girls here with her sister. If that’s the case, you stay here and watch over the girls, and I’ll make sure Justina reaches the hospital in one piece. After that, I’ll go pay our biker friend a middle-of-the-night social call.”
“And if the sister takes the kiddies to her place should I follow them or stay here and watch the premises?”
Kaine gave Danny what his Dad would have called an ‘old-fashioned’ look. “Do I really need to answer that? The girls take priority. As far as I’m concerned, whoever’s putting the pressure on the Constantines, can do what they like to the restaurant. The building can fall into rubble so long at the family’s safe. We can always pay for a rebuild—or, better still, get the culprits to do it.”
“Okay, just making certain of the operational parameters, sir. I take it the rules of engagement are unchanged?”
“That’s correct,” Kaine said. “We’re here to discourage the bad guys and protect the good guys. Luckily, in this case, the good guys are easy to spot. Check out the area.”
He handed Danny the tablet—still open to Google maps—and they fell silent while Danny studied satellite images to generate a feel for an area that might one day become a field of operations. Kaine wanted Danny to know every alleyway, every takedown spot, every piece of high ground that might be used as a sniper’s nest. Urban warfare presented its own specific difficulties and required its own methods, and Danny Pinkerton happened to be one of the best exponents Kaine ever had the pleasure to work with—hence his work with the Mounties. Short-sighted defence cuts had made Danny superfluous to the nation’s military requirements. The same political bollocks had thrown Kaine on the scrapheap, too.
In the case of Danny Pinkerton, the nation’s loss was The 83’s gain.
Ryan Kaine Page 12
