Face Value: A Wright & Tran Novel

by Ian Andrew

  Kara remembered the conversation she had had with Tien about taking surveillance photos in a nightclub. Back in the day it was so ridiculous it wouldn’t have been attempted. But even in a concealed surveillance like they were on now, the photos that were taken were useless until you had extracted out of the position and got them developed. It was only then you knew if you had enough for the operation, or enough for the courts if it was that type of surveillance. Now, Chaz had taken the photos and all the team would have access to them on their phones inside five minutes. In fact five minutes was slow but you couldn’t always rely on the telephone network. She laughed to herself at the thought that waiting five minutes was an inconvenience.

  “How are we all doing? Let’s go round,” she said.

  “We’re good. No observations other than Cinders and Mrs Beeton in the kitchen,” Eugene reported using the designator they had given to the cook that Tien had first seen shortly after 06:00.

  “I’m good. Nothing for me since Nicolai came out for another smoke at six,” said Dinger.

  “I’m good and have our targets in sight still eating their breakfast,” Kara reported to the rest of her team.

  “I’m all good with nothing to report,” said Dan.

  “We’re good. Sammi’s been farting but other than that we’re okay,” Chaz said. He waited a second then added a quiet but dramatic, “Owww!”

  Kara settled back down into her comfortable observation of Illy and Yanina.

  *

  “Front door just opened up,” Chaz reported. “Time now 07:56. Seems that last half hour was shift handover. I’ve got Nicolai heading down into the parking area. Jesus, he is a big boy isn’t he. Another male behind him. Both dressed in black suits, white shirts, maroon ties and black shoes. Looks like our target’s security have a corporate uniform. Second male is about five ten, stocky, solid. Short dark hair, not shaved but neat. Probable mid-twenties. If you ever wanted a picture of a thug this guy would do it for you. Big forehead, sunken eyes, nose that’s been well broken a few times, long face, cleft on chin. Tattoos on both hands, including all fingers. Rising sun on back of left hand. Designate Sunrise,” he paused and watched the men walk towards the car parking area.

  “Nicolai is getting into the light blue Ford Mondeo. Far out. You can visibly see that car’s suspension dip when he gets in. We have a third person exiting the house,” he paused again until the front door opened fully.

  “Okay third security is a woman. About five eight. Slim to medium build, yellow-blonde hair cut to shoulder length, no fringe. Same black suit but white blouse, no tie. Black shoes, no heel. Quite a square face, wide eyes, proportioned features. No visible tattoos. Reminds me a bit of that American actress.”

  “Wanna narrow that down a bit?” Dinger said.

  “I’m getting there Mr Impatient, Sissy Spacek,” Chaz said.

  “Designate her Carrie,” Dan cut in.

  “Nice,” said Chaz.

  “Sunrise is in the VW Scirocco,” Sammi added.

  There was a pause and the rest of the team could hear the cars starting up in the front driveway.

  “Carrie’s in the Nissan,” Sammi said. “She’s leaving first because like the sensible woman she is, she reversed in. Okay, it’s a Nissan 350Z. Nice car, very sporty. She’s at the gate and she’s gone right, right, right. Nicolai’s next. He’s going right as well. Confirm Nicolai is right, right, right. Sunrise is last out and he’s gone left, left, left. Time is 07:59 and no harm to any of you but I’m starting to get soggy. Who ordered the weather?”

  Chapter 27

  Friday Mid-Morning. Central London

  The problem with London parking wasn’t a problem if you had a space in the underground car park that sat beneath the most famous revolving Police sign in the world.

  Anna drove whilst Moya rang Tony Reynolds to give him an update and followed that by calling the Met’s Duty Sergeant she had spoken to earlier. Eventually, even with the heavy morning traffic and the drizzle that had begun to fall, they arrived into New Scotland Yard.

  “Ugh!”

  Moya looked over the roof of the car and laughed.

  “Oh thanks Sarge. Thanks a lot,” Anna said, shutting the door and wiping her face from the water that had dripped onto her.

  “I’d forgotten that the Met’s car park leaks like a sieve,” Moya said. “Even when it’s not raining. Maybe their new building will have a dry one. Have you been here before?”

  “Only on a visit during my original training. But we didn’t come through this way,” Anna said whilst towelling her hair with a tissue. “I think we got the VIP tour to impress us and try to tempt us to transfer.”

  “Yep, that’d figure. They’re quite happy to poach us once we’ve been trained at someone else’s expense,” Moya said as she led them into the lift and selected ‘Visitor Reception’.

  Even with their warrant cards and the fact they were expected it took them a good ten minutes to get through the security of the building. But by 08:30 they were ensconced in a ‘hotdesk’ working space equipped with a secure phone, a computer connection into all the Police databases and a separate computer with Internet access. Half of the third floor of the building was given over for the use of visiting Officers and almost all of the desks were occupied.

  “Where are all these people from?” Anna asked.

  “There are eight million stories in the naked city,” Moya said in a slightly frail American accent.

  Anna looked back at her blankly, “What Sarge?”

  Moya shook her head, “Never mind. The people in here are just like us. Trying to track someone or something down in the city. Anyway, let’s get to work. You try the official databases and I’ll go surfing.”

  *

  “Heads up folks,” Sammi said. “Yanina’s just left the house. Time now 08:43. She’s heading to the garage. You’d have thought with all their money they’d have an inter-connecting corridor. She’s going to be all wet and bedraggled by the time she gets in,” she said watching Yanina hunkering under an umbrella whilst waiting for the automatic garage door to roll up.

  “Maybe the garage used to be a stable block,” Tien commented from the other side of the building, blind to the garage and Yanina. “You wouldn’t have wanted that connected to your house.”

  “S’pose not and it does look a little stable’ish,” Sammi said before giving a low whistle as the garage door opened fully. “Oh that’s nice. I’d take a free one of those.”

  “What is it Sammi?” Kara asked, knowing that her friend liked cars and no doubt whatever the garage had revealed was on some wish list of hers.

  “Well the Lexus from last night is there and Yanina’s getting back into it but there’s a beauty of a Jag XFR beside it. Gorgeous, black metallic, looks like the full body kit and the twenty inch Draco alloy wheels. I’m drooling.”

  “You’re a lovely, but very strange, woman,” Dinger said and was about to continue with the banter but he was cut off by Kara and Tien talking over each other.

  “One at a time ladies,” Sammi admonished politely.

  “Can you see the registration plate of that Jaguar?” Tien asked before Kara could speak again.

  “Yep, hang on. Yanina’s at the exit to the lane, she’s gone right, right, right. I’d have to assume she’s heading back to work,” Sammi added as the car went out of sight.

  “I’d agree. But answer Tien’s question Sammi. What’s the plate on the Jag?”

  She managed to read it off just as the automatic garage door came back down to obscure it, “Yankee India Seven Zero Zero November.”

  “Or ‘Why-Aye-Toon’ if you’d like,” Kara said and smiled a broad smile that none of her team could see but that she knew Tien would be sharing. “We have some news folks,” she said and began to explain the significance of the number plate as the sheets of fine drizzle thickened into showers.

  *

  “Miss Costa, you’re free to go and we’d like to thank you for assisting
us with our enquiries.” Reynolds indicated for Pia Giovanni to translate. Once done he turned a piece of paper around on the desk and pushed it across. Pia explained to the young Italian that it was the transcript of the interview and that it had to be signed and dated.

  Reynolds turned to Mason. “Interview terminated at 09:25,” Gary said and clicked off the recorder.

  *

  “Gov?”

  “Yes Moya. How’s the research going?”

  “Okay. We have solid information on Wright and Tran Investigations.”

  “Great. I could do with some good news.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Costa’s walked.”

  “Oh,” Moya said realising that she had almost forgotten about the young Italian girl. “No luck with forensics then?”

  “No. We released her about two hours ago. There was no evidence on her shoes but it was trumped by her instructor from the local Qi Kwan Do Training Academy turning up. Seems him and her were with each other on Friday night.”

  “Training?”

  “In a way. Horizontally.”

  “Ah, I see. Why on earth didn’t she tell us?”

  “Because Mrs Instructor wouldn’t have been too happy, I’m guessing.”

  “Bloody hell Gov, can no one in Huntingdon keep it dry on a Friday? Between Costa and Harris all we seem to have is people tapping off with people they shouldn’t.”

  Reynolds laughed, “Yeah, it would seem they’re all at it like rabbits. Anyway, his story checked so he alibied her and that was that. We even think we know why she was terrified of us. Pia Giovanni found out that when Costa was a little girl she’d been in Genoa during a massive riot surrounding a G8 summit. Lots of carnage and most of it done by the local Police. According to Pia, if you weren’t scared of authority before then you were after. It explained Costa’s attitude. Anyway, she’s gone and you and Anna are our last hope now,” he paused a beat, “no pressure.”

  “Gee thanks Gov,” Moya laughed but didn’t say more.

  The line stayed quiet and Reynolds knew there was a problem. He almost dreaded asking, “So, Moya. You and Anna are off to pick up our PI?”

  “No Gov. Hence the call.”

  Reynolds turned to stare out the rain lashed window and almost sighed. The neat result he had hoped for was obviously going to be more complicated, “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Two things. Her profile shows she was ex-military. I talked to the Ministry of Defence and got access to their online records but Wright’s are heavily redacted.”

  “Yeah, and?” Reynolds wondered what his Detective Sergeant meant.

  “Well, I thought they might have covered something up. Military offences or Courts Martial. You know the military can be even more sensitive about PR than us. I thought it might give us an angle if it turns out all the blacked-out pieces of the files are hiding something relevant. Maybe her being chucked out for violent conduct or similar.”

  “Mmm, fair enough. So what do you need?”

  “I want to go over there Gov. Do you know anyone we can talk to?”

  “Yeah, I can call up a few folk. When do you want to go?”

  “As soon as possible. Then I want to take a drive-by the office of Wright and Tran and have a look at it on our way home. I figured a review with you and the team before we go any further would be smart?”

  “That sounds good. You said there were two things about Wright?”

  “Her brother’s a DS in SCD1,” Moya said referring to the fact that David Wright worked in the Met’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command.

  “Ah,” was all Reynolds said despite his desperate desire to fling expletives. “I assume we haven’t tipped him off?”

  “No Gov. Turns out he’s only four floors above us at the minute, but no, I didn’t think it would be advisable to go and have a chat.”

  Reynolds could hear the slightly sarcastic edge to Moya’s voice. He knew it was justified, his question had been demeaning. “Fair enough Moya. I didn’t mean to be an arse. I’m just frustrated.” He paused and turned away from the window and focussed back in the operations room. “There’s nothing we can do about her having one of us as a brother. We go where it takes us. Get over to the MOD and see what you can find out. I’ll call you with a name to talk to.”

  “No problem Gov. We’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “Yep, but take your time and drive carefully, this weather’s bloody awful.”

  *

  Despite the fact that she now knew Illy had been involved in the Sterling’s disappearance Kara was beginning to worry. Chaz and Sammi had seen the security guards swap over and Yanina go to work. Tien and Eugene had the occasional sighting of Cinders tidying up in various rooms and Mrs Beeton at the kitchen window. They’d also seen Smirnoff watching TV in what they had decided was the lounge room, whilst Dinger, Dan and Kara herself had seen the Twins come out to the rear garden to have a smoke. But none of them had seen Illy since he had left the breakfast table at 07:36. She didn’t know where he was, didn’t have a full handle on the layout of the house and had no idea how they were going to get at him.

  “Front door is opening,” Chaz said slightly louder than had been the norm, just to carry over the sound of the hammering rain. “We’ve got a new one. Time is 12:40. Male, about six feet, maybe a little shorter, athletic build, blond hair with a pony tail. Goatee beard and moustache, very light colouring. Same outfit as the others but he’s minus his jacket. No holster visible. He’s got quite sharp features. Looks like a cross between a Viking and a hippy. In fact, cut his ponytail off and give him a shave he’d look a bit like Dinger. He’s sorting himself out with an umbrella. Wait.”

  Kara felt a mixture of emotions. She was hopeful that Illy would be coming out behind the new guard but she was also fretful at the revelation that there was a new guard at all. How had they missed him previously?

  “He’s moving towards the Merc parked on the drive,” Chaz continued. “Just opened the rear door and retrieved a plastic folder. Heading back inside. What do we want to call him?”

  “No sign of our main man?” Kara asked.

  “None.”

  “Fine, call the new one Thor. Listen folks, we’re not getting far here. What do you think?”

  “Are you saying you want to hit the house now?” Dan asked with a trace of trepidation in his voice.

  “God no!” said Kara. “If we try to hit the place now it’d be like the Charge of the Light Brigade. We wouldn’t have a clue how many Russian guns we’d be heading into.”

  “So what are you thinking?” Tien asked over the increasing sound of the downpour.

  “I really don’t know. I’d hoped we’d have minimal security at the house. Hoped it’d be empty during the day, hoped we’d be able to penetrate it and work out a way of getting to Illy. Hoped he’d tell us if he was involved in the abduction or not. But now we know he’s definitely involved and we definitely need to talk to him I still can’t see a way of doing it. He has a three-strong team during the day and a different one at night. He’s got at least one other guy that we didn’t even know about. Maybe he’s a live-in so who the fuck knows how many more are in there. It’s not like we can storm the place and rip it to bits. This is Hertfordshire, not Helmand. So, truth be told Tien, I’m open to offers.”

  The rain seemed to increase when she finished talking. Kara looked out from the dense hedgerow and struggled to see the house, just a hundred yards away. The curtain of water was almost opaque and the area of the garden immediately ahead of her was already flooding. She was soaked from the wool hat on her head to the insides of her high-leg combat boots. Every layer through to her underwear was sodden. The only bit that had been dry, her front, was now squishing into a wet layer of mud that had finally succumbed to the torrent.

  She knew the rest of her friends were suffering in the same way and there was nothing to be done. They would be just as uncomfortable, tired, wet and miserable. But they had all been equally uncomfort
able in many other places on many other occasions so she knew they’d be fine.

  “Kara,” it was Sammi. “We might need another two days scoping this house and even then we might get nothing. How long do you think we have before the whole thing’s a busted flush?”

  “No idea. It could be too late even now. I’m hopeful that the few weeks Chris Sterling mentioned on his phone message means something but that’s pure speculation. I do know I’d rather not spend another few days here and get nothing.”

  “We have new movement,” Eugene said neutrally.

  The hopefulness Kara felt every time one of the team reported a new sighting reasserted itself.

  But Eugene’s voice reflected the dullness of the actual observation, “It’s just the Twins and Smirnoff entering the kitchen with Cinders and Beeton.”

  “Roger,” Kara acknowledged with a hint of dejection at the necessity of the report and the fact it did nothing to improve their prospects.

  “Hey Kara?”

  “Yes Eugene, what’s up?”

  “What about forgetting about our friend Illy and going after a weak spot?”

  “Meaning?”

  “You remember the cleric in Basra, Kazim Al-Zubayr?”

  The rain began to ease a little from the zenith of its efforts. Kara thought about a faraway place where the oppression of the weather had been in the form of dust and heat. Minutes ticked by and none of the team spoke. Kara contemplated the suggestion. Finally she asked, “Who would we take Eugene?”