by Ian Andrew
Kara was sitting diagonally opposite, at a German themed restaurant, some three hundred feet away at the far end of Irving Street with her back to Charing Cross Road and the Garrick Theatre. She wore no sunglasses and had no meal on the table. A glass of mineral water sat in front of her and a spare chair waited opposite. The almost invisible earpiece, nestled deep in her left ear, made a small ‘tic’ sound just before she received a transmission. ‘Tic.’
The faint, yet perfectly audible, sound of Tien’s voice filled Kara’s ear, “He’s stopped at the entrance to the Odeon.” Kara glanced up and saw Tien bending her head down, as if to blow her nose. Her soft voice sounded in Kara’s ear again, “I told you he’d bring company Kara. He’s got two with him. Both mid-twenties, maybe younger, black, six feet plus, short cropped hair, both wearing jeans. One has a dark blue T-shirt the other a light maroon colour. That’s what we’ll call them. They look exactly like the sort of muscle you’d expect Ty to bring with him. He’s sending them both this way. Wait.”
Kara reached up and covered her mouth as if to yawn. “Now, now Tien. Don’t be petulant that he brought some cover. We brought ours.”
Dan and Eugene O’Neill, or ‘the Boys’ as Tien normally referred to them, were sitting quite close to Kara. Eugene was directly opposite her at an alfresco table outside another Italian restaurant. His brother Dan sat on the same side as Kara but a few yards behind her on a small wall surrounding an oak tree set in a concrete triangle. Sheltering under the oak was a tour company kiosk and the whole space acted as a divider for traffic on the Charing Cross Road. ‘Tic’.
“Yeah but we don’t look like your sort of friends, now do we?” Dan said softly.
Kara smirked. She had to admit that not only didn’t they look like her sort of friends they also didn’t suit their names. Adopted by an Irish couple in Mill Hill, London in the 1980’s Dan and Eugene’s birth parents were both of Nigerian descent. Each boy was the same rich ruby-black colour of their adopted Catholic-Irish father’s preferred drink. Graduates of the exclusive Mill Hill School, both boys excelled at rugby and boxing with Eugene winning the under-16 British schoolboys heavyweight title and Dan the English ABA Middleweight Championship. Dan especially shocked his coaches by deciding to quit the gloves and follow his kid brother into the army.
After nine years in the Parachute Regiment, including two tours of Afghanistan for each and one of Iraq for Eugene they left and established a private security firm. Kara had first met Eugene in the backstreets of Basra and now, when she and Tien needed some support, they were her first call. Or in this case, Tien’s first call. ‘Tic.’
“Maroon in lead, on way to you. Seen?” Tien asked.
Kara saw the first of Ty’s entourage turn into Irving Street. She tapped her right index finger on the table by way of acknowledgement. Both Eugene and Dan clicked their mics once. ‘Tic.’
“Dark blue is holding at the entrance to Subway Restaurant. Ty’s getting them to bracket you. He’s moving now. Fifty yards from me.” There was a pause and then Tien spoke again, “Twenty-five.”
As Ty Hendry turned into Irving Street and walked past where Tien sat, she merely tapped her finger twice on the table and got three soft clicks in return. Tien held a major advantage over Ty. Although she had spoken to him on numerous occasions, they had never met face to face. She knew there were a few old photos of her out on the Internet but she could be fairly sure that to anyone who had never met her, she would look much like any other Asian girl in London. Tien was quite happy to rely on the stereotypical inability of other races to separate her from the masses. But she knew Ty. Every time Kara had met him, Tien had been there, in the background, providing security.
She and Kara knew this meeting was likely to be completely risk free. They had contacted Ty late in the afternoon and he had had no pre-warning. The risk to them was minimal. There was no reason for the O’Neill boys to be called in to provide additional security. There was no reason for Kara and Tien to have scouted around the meeting point an hour in advance. There was no reason to have set up Tien as surveillance on the western approaches and Dan on the eastern. No need to have Tien check for others accompanying Ty, no need for Eugene to be carrying a concealed 9mm Glock-17 pistol in a shoulder holster under his jacket. But Kara and Tien had routines. Routines they never forgot to implement regardless of the permissiveness of their environment. ‘Tic.’
“He’s all yours Kara.”
Kara didn’t acknowledge Tien’s message. She just relaxed knowing that her friends had her back. It allowed her to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Hi. You’re looking good as usual,” Ty Hendry said in his rich, almost sultry voice tinged with the hint of a Jamaican accent. He pulled out the spare chair and sat down.
“Thank you. You’re looking okay too. Life treating you well?” Kara asked.
“Well enough.” He glanced up as a young waitress appeared at his side, “Just a glass of house red please. Nice uniform. You look lovely,” Ty said, referring to the faux-Bierkeller costume the girl wore. She smiled broadly at him and unconsciously flicked her hair away from her face before returning to the restaurant door.
“That was quick. I normally have to sit here for half an hour before anyone comes near me,” Kara said.
“Perhaps you’re not the fräulein’s type?”
“I think it’s more that you are.”
Ty smiled a broad smile. His perfect teeth and the slight glint to his eye all added to the impression of the man. A completely false one, but an impression that he cultivated to assist him in his chosen career.
“How’s business?” Kara asked. “Lots more schmucks in London this year? Managed to con anyone to buy Westminster Palace?”
“Kara, I’m insulted. I don’t con. I’m the equivalent of the lottery.”
“Really?” she said it with a large inflection of cynicism.
“Yes. Really. People spend money on a ticket with the hope of winning big. They don’t and they lose their money. No harm, no foul. I just give them the same opportunity. They can spend their money with me on the chance of winning big.”
“Mmm, I think the difference is that they spend big with you and there is no actual prize.”
“Well, if you’re going to get technical,” and again he gave Kara his best smile. She easily understood how people could believe anything of the man if he put his mind to it.
The waitress had reappeared and set the wine in front of Ty, “Would you like something to eat?” she asked. Ty in turn looked at Kara and raised his eyebrows in query.
“No we’re fine for now thanks. My colleague and I might have something later,” Kara said cutting across the young girl’s focus on Ty. The waitress turned with a rather bemused look and Kara actually thought she was going to say, ‘I wasn’t asking you’ but instead she simply gave Kara a rather stern stare and moved away.
“A colleague, is that what I am now?” Ty gave a deep, resonant chuckle. ‘Tic.’
“Kara. His maroon T-shirt guy has gone just south of the corner of Irving Street. Holding station with eyes on you. Phone to his ear, probably talking to his partner. Tien confirm,” Dan’s voice was relaxed, unconcerned.
Tien responded in a similar tone, “Confirmed. Dark blue has a phone up.”
Kara gave no indication of hearing the voices in her ear. She merely continued her conversation, “Well Ty I can hardly say, me and my con-artist, thief and ne'er-do-well cohort here, now can I?”
“You know how to flatter me, don’t you Kara? So, what can I do for you?” he asked and took a drink of his wine. Kara saw him glance to his right over his glass and knew he was making eye-contact with his maroon T-shirted buddy.
“I’d like you to take a look at these.” She reached into her jacket, took two passports out and set them on the table.
Ty picked the top one up and opened it. “UK, European Union passport in the name of,” he paused and flicked to the last page, “Mrs Joanna Adamson. Who, even al
lowing for a passport photo, is quite an attractive older woman.” Ty looked up and Kara rolled her eyes.
“What else Ty?”
He glanced back down at the passport, “Issued on the 15th February 2006 by the UK Passport Agency. Has a set of entry and exit stamps for Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, a temporary visitor visa issued on entry to Indonesia. A couple of stamps for Malta and Algeria. Oh and a set for the US tucked in here at the back.” He closed the passport and held it up, “What am I meant to be looking at Kara?”
“It’s a fake,” she said and watched his eyebrows raise in appreciation. He looked back down at the document and flicked through it again but this time much more slowly. He finally arrived at the last page again with the holder’s details on it. Holding it close he tilted the laminated page back and forward to catch the fading light and reveal the holographic image overprinted on the photo of Joanna Adamson. Finally he set it back down and reached for his glass. Kara waited for him.
“I hope you paid top money for this Kara.” He looked up and she held his gaze.
“Go on,” she prompted.
“It’s quality work. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen as good. A dodgy copy to get you through cursory checks in Europe or Africa will cost you a grand. This sort of product will set you back ten or twenty times that. Maybe more. I don’t know if the travel stamps are real or not but there’s every chance they’re valid. This is good enough to get you through the UK, Aussie and US checks.” He moved the passport to one side to reveal the second one on the table. “I’d have said that it could be done by some people I know but only if it was a one-off masterpiece example of their work. But I’m guessing this is the same?” He indicated the second document, “May I?”
Kara nodded in reply.
This time Ty examined the outer cover carefully and as the lights covering the alfresco area came on with the sun slipping lower in the sky, he opened the passport and began a careful examination from the inside cover forward. After a good few minutes of appreciative nods and the occasional soft blowing of air from the lips of an admiring connoisseur of fakery, Ty opened onto the last page. As he rotated it to look at the holder’s details in the correct orientation, Kara saw his expression freeze.
She watched him very carefully. He had stopped nodding, stopped any form of appreciative gesture, his eyes hadn’t widened like a cartoon expression of surprise but rather had focussed intensely. His grip on the passport had tightened to the point that the pages had bent slightly. His breathing had deepened and a small bead of sweat had formed near his temple before running freely down the right hand side of his face. He stared at the page for a moment or two longer and then, instead of turning to examine the inside cover in the same manner as had been doing up until then, he simply closed the passport and placed it back on the table. His gaze remained down and his fingertips rested lightly on the bottom of the passport’s front cover. Kara watched as he breathed again, settled back in his chair and then looked up with his customary broad smile and gentle eyes.
“Definitely great work. Both of them. Do you want me to take them off your hands, is that it?” He managed to keep his voice neutral but Kara could see the tension in his neck, the spreading outbreak of sweat on his forehead and top lip.
“No. I just want to know who could do this level of work and how I get in touch with them.”
“I don’t know Kara. I’m sorry.”
“Really? You’ve no idea where these could have come from. With all of your contacts?”
“Yeah, really. I’m sorry.” As he said sorry again Ty moved his right hand down by his side, out of sight of Kara, masked by the table. ‘Tic.’
“He just waved off Maroon,” Dan’s voice sounded in her ear.
“Listen Kara, I can’t see that I can offer you much help. But, thanks for the drink. Pleasure seeing you, as always.” Ty drained his glass and began to stand.
In the years that she had known Ty he had presented many personas and most of them false, but in all that time she had never seen him scared. She didn’t have a clue what had rattled him but whatever it was she decided she needed to find out. Kara drummed the fingers of her left hand lightly on the table. “Sit down Ty.”
He continued to rise and laughed a little as he looked down, “Or what Kara?”
“Or the man who is coming across here will make you.”
Ty laughed but the nervousness of his uncertainty sounded through it, “Is this where you want me to look behind me?”
Kara said nothing but merely held Ty’s gaze as she stood up. She reached forward and placed her hand on his arm.
“Move your fucking hand off me Kara or I swear to Christ I’ll drop you in the middle of this fucking street,” he made the threat quietly enough not to attract the attention of other diners but there was a quiver to his voice.
She didn’t move and if anything tightened her grip a little. Ty’s bluff had been called and he knew it. He shrugged her hand off and made to leave but turned straight into a broad, tall, well-dressed man in a tailored business suit. The man towered over Ty and was almost twice the width of the slim Jamaican. He reached over and put his large left hand on Ty’s left shoulder. With what appeared to be an almost nonchalant gesture, Eugene pressed Ty back down into the chair. He leant forward and put his mouth next to the conman’s ear, “Sit the fuck down Tyrone or I will hit you so hard you won’t be able to get up for a month.”
Kara heard Eugene deliver the threat but watched Ty’s eyes darting to where he hoped his Maroon muscle was going to appear like the 7th Cavalry. The confusion of what he was looking at caused Kara to turn a little and gaze behind her.
Maroon had stepped away from the wall he had been leaning against as soon as he saw Ty make his under-table gesture but his path was immediately blocked by what appeared to be a homeless guy. As he put his left hand out to move the shuffling derelict from his path, the shorter, hunched homeless man delivered a withering set of three rapid punches into the left hand side of the maroon T-shirt. The damage was already done but for good measure as the maroon T-shirt bent forward Dan O’Neill delivered a left upper cut. It snapped the head of his opponent back and forward so fast that the tourists milling around Charing Cross never registered a massive assault had occurred next to them. Dan cradled the slumping body and moved back to the small wall surrounding the oak tree. When Ty looked over all he could see was one of his protection team resting in the arms of some homeless guy. ‘Tic.’
“Eugene. Dark blue moving, fifty yards,” Tien’s soft voice carried no panic.
Eugene turned on his heel and keeping his left hand on Ty’s shoulder watched the second of the muscle back-up make his way down towards him. Like his maroon companion, this member of Ty’s entourage was full-set and would have looked completely comfortable doing the door security at any of the big London clubs.
Kara, still standing, watched as the man wearing the dark blue T-shirt began to slow his pace. She watched him looking at the scene in front of him, she watched as he glanced beyond her to the scene on the concrete wall. She watched as his gaze returned to Eugene. She saw Eugene move the flap of his suit jacket momentarily to reveal the concealed weapon he carried. As the approaching man slowed more she saw Eugene shake his head to convey the simple message of, ‘No, you do not want a part of this, go away.’ The message was well understood. Kara saw the change in the man’s eyes. Between leaving the entrance to the Subway Restaurant until getting to within ten yards of where she stood, Ty’s muscle had realised that the people he was walking towards were in a different league of violent intent to him. He turned on his heel and walked back along the length of Irving Street. ‘Tic.’
“He’s kept on walking. You’re clear. No one else noticed a thing,” Tien reported.
As Ty’s last hope of relief walked out of Tien’s view, Kara retook her seat. Eugene stayed behind Ty and Dan laid his sleeping companion in the flower bed of the oak tree.
“Ty, we really should get bette
r acquainted,” Kara said and looked across the table to a very frightened and thoroughly confused petty thief.
“Wha’ d’ya mean?” he asked and even his refined accent had slipped. The heavy brogue of Jamaica had reasserted itself.
“You and me have had dealings in the past but I don’t think you ever appreciated me for who I am or what I’ve been. In the last,” she glanced at her watch, “two minutes, you should’ve figured out that I’m with people you do not want to fuck with. Clear?” Kara looked directly into his eyes. He held her gaze for less than a second before he looked down and nodded.
“What scared you about the second passport? Did you recognise the photo?”
Ty nodded again.
“Who is it?”
“No chance mon. You migh’ be scary but dey are fuckin’ animals.”
“Who are?”
Ty’s fear caused a fire to return to his eyes, “Listen girl, ‘cos you obviously not hearin’ me. Deese people will cut my fuckin’ heart out an’ eat it.”
“Only if they catch you. The difference is I already have you. You need to fucking focus Ty. You’re here, right now. These people you seem to be scared of are fucking nowhere and they will never know what you tell me. They will never know any of this happened. But if you decide to be the hero for some weird bunch of fuckers, I’m going to let my very big friend behind you twist your head until all the bones snap one by one. He won’t do it quick. He won’t kill you. He’ll leave you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. So you get to choose. Tell me what I want to know or don’t tell me and have your life fucked up. Permanently. Which do you fancy?”
