Face Value: A Wright & Tran Novel

by Ian Andrew

  “Not saying it isn’t a gamble Kara, but do you think the Sterlings were lifted in the day or night?”

  “Probably night, no proof but it’s what we would do. Easier, cleaner.”

  “Well then, we take the risk and hope he used his night crew to do it and not some others he has kicking around that we don’t know about.”

  Kara thought through the implications of the move Eugene was suggesting. It was a risk like he said but perhaps time was running out. Perhaps it was the best plan. She thought about the assets she would have to bring to bear. “The timing would need to be exceptionally tight,” she said.

  “Agreed,” Eugene said. “But nothing we can’t cope with.”

  “And it’ll put us on a definite deadline.”

  “Agreed,” he said again. “But you said it; we might be too late anyway. A bit of pressure isn’t a bad thing.”

  The rain eased further. The noise from the downpour lessened and was replaced by the incessant trickling of small rivulets and streams trying to escape the confines of the garden. Kara found herself torn between her desire to go through Illy to find the answers she needed and the practicalities of her situation.

  Her best friend gave her the push she needed, “Kara, you taught us over and over that if something isn’t working out then we improvise, adapt and overcome.”

  “I know Tien, you’re right. What do the rest of you think?”

  “Gets our vote,” Sammi answered for herself and Chaz. Dinger agreed and Dan reminded them he hadn’t been in Iraq so he’d go along with whatever the rest thought.

  A few more minutes passed and a small break in the cloud allowed the first rays of sun to shine down onto the garden. Not one for signs Kara nevertheless smiled at the coincidental timing. “Okay, we stay here until dark. If nothing changes in the interim we’re outta here. Dinger, you’ll move up to OP5 and stay behind to be our ears and eyes. Agreed?”

  “Roger that.”

  *

  The afternoon sun was shining through the tail end of a light shower and casting odd-shaped shadows on the operations room floor. Reynold’s team had been joined by Detective Chief Superintendent Laura Mitchell and it was she who signalled for them to begin. Anna Walsh placed a slightly pixelated, A4 photo enlargement of an auburn-haired woman up on the magnetic whiteboard. Next to it she put an older, black and white image of the same woman.

  “Ma’am,” Moya began by indicating the colour image. “This is Kara Wright from her driving license photo taken about three years ago. She turns thirty-five at the end of this month and lives in Camden, London. She’s also the only person wearing heels in the near vicinity of south west Huntingdon during the time window of Manfield Hastings’ death. We have her on CCTV for a twenty-second segment walking across Walden Road at 03:02. We also have her car going through the A1 number plate recognition cameras near Caldecote at 04:17. Between those times we have nothing. No sight, no forensics, not one shred of evidence. However, Wright definitely has the skill set to pull this off.” Moya stopped and nodded at Anna.

  “Kara Wright, no middle name, born July 1981 in Somerset. We checked her out on all the databases but she’s got no record. The DVLA have a speeding fine from two years ago for doing seventy-two in a sixty zone but other than that, nothing. She has a brother David, who’s a Detective Sergeant in SCD1 with the Met and-”

  Laura Mitchell held her hand up to cut Anna off. She turned in her chair to Reynolds, “Tony have we informed SCD1 that we have an interest in this woman?”

  “No, not yet Ma’am. That’s one of the reasons we’re here. To figure that out and defer to what you think will be best.”

  Mitchell turned back to the front and waved for Anna to continue.

  “Wright has a note for Military Service so we contacted the Ministry of Defence and got access to their online records. That’s also where we got this photo from,” Anna said pointing rather awkwardly to the black and white image on the board before continuing. “It’s about fifteen years old and one of the few things we were able to get unedited. Almost all of Wright’s records had been amended to obscure the details. Thinking the missing information might be relevant to our enquiries we went to the MOD and spoke to a Lieutenant Colonel Howard Denny. He couldn’t let us see the original documents but he did confirm that Kara Wright had an exemplary Service record. In fact, she’s been mentioned in dispatches on three occasions fo-”

  “That still exists?” Mitchell interrupted.

  “Ma’am?” Anna looked a little blank.

  “Mentioned in dispatches. I thought that was something from the Boar War days?”

  Anna, having practised her brief on the way up in the car, was a little thrown by the DCS’ question. She looked over, somewhat plaintively, at Moya.

  “Yes Ma’am. It still exists. Wright’s had three of them. One for Afghanistan and two for actions that are still classified,” Moya said.

  “So what do we know that isn’t classified?” Reynolds asked.

  Moya looked back at Anna who stepped forward again. “She joined the Air Force as an Intelligence Linguist in August 1999 and after basic training was posted to RAF Digby until May 2004. From May to November of that year she was in Iraq and when she came back from there her record becomes rather sparse. According to Colonel Denny she was identified as a potential talent. He wouldn’t elaborate on what that actually meant but said she was approached to join a very small sub-unit of the Special Reconnaissance Regiment that was due to be established in 2005. What we do know is she was definitely back in Iraq during late ‘05 through early ‘06. Then she was posted to Hereford.”

  “As in SAS Hereford?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes Ma’am. According to Colonel Denny that’s where the specialist unit is based.”

  “Do we have a name for this unit?”

  Anna glanced down at her notes, “The Field Intelligence Tactical Team. They’re known as the FITT,” Anna paused and looked at Mitchell.

  “Carry on.”

  “Yes Ma’am. It appears that over the next four years she was either at Hereford or on operations. Probably in Iraq and Afghanistan but most of that period is blacked-out on her file and Colonel Denny wasn’t forthcoming. What we do know is she was an instructor at the Human Intelligence School at Chicksands in 2008 through to 2009 and after that went back into Afghanistan. In April 2010 she was injured at a place called,” Anna paused again and checked her notebook. “Marjah. It’s in Helmand Province. That was where she got the Mention in Dispatches that we do know about.”

  “For what?” Mitchell asked.

  The junior Detective Constable had sweat patches appearing on her blouse under the arms. Moya knew Anna hadn’t briefed a Detective Chief Superintendent before and thought the young woman had made a good impression so far, but she could probably do with a break.

  Moya stepped forward and took over. “We couldn’t find an actual citation for Wright and initially the Colonel was very reticent but eventually he told us that Sergeant Wright, as she was then, was wounded in the head by a sniper bullet as she attempted to drag an injured soldier back into cover.”

  “Shot in the head and she’s still alive?” Mitchell asked.

  “Apparently it was only a minor graze to the top of her skull, but the sheer velocity of the bullet knocked her unconscious in the middle of a major ambush. The good news is that despite the Colonel’s reluctance to tell us anything more, it seems Wright’s actions happened at the same time that her business partner, Tien Tran, was also decorated. We’ve pieced together most of it from the publicity that surrounded that.”

  “Publicity?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes Ma’am,” Moya confirmed. “Tran is first-generation British Vietnamese. She was only twenty-three at the time and was only the fifth woman ever to have received a Military Cross. Extremely photogenic she would have made a great recruiting poster for the Army. But it was rather unfortunate that she was up to her eyes in a secret unit doing unacknowledged operations.
Colonel Denny did admit that Tran would probably have received a VC but for the nature of the team they were part of. Although the Army couldn’t avoid a certain amount of publicity, the difference in scale had it been a VC would have brought all the surrounding circumstances into the full glare of the media.”

  “I see. Do you have the details?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Okay, carry on. I’d like to know what sort of adverse backlash we’re likely to run into from the tabloids if Wright is our murderer. I can see the headlines now, Veteran Hero Slays Drug Monster. Just how much of a hero was she?” Mitchell asked.

  Moya looked at her notes, “Both Wright and Tran were part of a reconnaissance team supposedly supporting a major offensive push into a village known to be a stronghold for the Taliban. I think they were probably doing something much more clandestine but it’s neither here nor there now. As they were moving forward the lead vehicle of a three-vehicle convoy initiated a roadside improvised explosive device. Two of the occupants of that vehicle were killed and two injured. The second and third vehicles then came under small arms fire. Tran and Wright were in the second vehicle.”

  Moya lifted a copy of Tran’s citation that had been printed in the Army News. “Ma’am I asked Lieutenant Colonel Denny about the report and official citation and he explained that where no unit name was given or where the names of the other personnel were left out it usually meant an operation whose details would never be fully explained.”

  Mitchell nodded her understanding.

  Moya read the article verbatim, “Lance Corporal Tran having recovered from the initial concussion of the blast and having witnessed her Sergeant suffer what she thought was a fatal wound whilst trying to extract two injured soldiers, left her position of cover. Unaided and exposed to constant enemy fire she ran into the open and dragged one of the wounded infantry men some fifty yards into safety. Ignoring the continued efforts of the enemy she immediately exposed herself again to hostile fire to extract the second injured soldier. At this time, Tran sustained a severe wound to her left hand all but rendering her arm useless. It was following this extraction that she also realised her Sergeant was not fatally wounded as previously thought,” Moya paused and looked up.

  “We’re assuming that this Sergeant is Wright,” she said and saw the audience of detectives all nod slowly. Laura Mitchell was leaning forward in her chair.

  Moya continued, “Tran rallied the rest of her unit to provide suppressing fire into the enemy positions. Ignoring her own wound and refusing to be treated for it, she made a third journey into open ground and dragged her Sergeant out of the firing line and into cover. With absolute disregard for her own safety, she repeatedly risked her life in order to rescue wounded comrades and extract them from danger. For her outstanding gallantry, selflessness and personal example in the face of a particularly ferocious attack from a determined enemy, Lance Corporal Tran is awarded the Military Cross.” Moya set the citation down. The operations room was silent.

  It was Mitchell that spoke first, “That’s quite humbling.”

  Moya merely nodded her agreement.

  After a few moments Mitchell spoke again, “Bring me up to date with them then.”

  Anna opened her notebook, “Tran lost her left hand and was medically discharged in early 2011. Wright left in August 2011 at her twelve year option point. They set up Wright and Tran Investigations based out of business premises on the Kentish Town Road that are still registered to Tran’s parents. Tran lives above the office and Wright lives just around the corner. They mostly do security surveillance, divorce cases, missing persons, all the normal Private Investigator bread and butter. Good reputation in the industry even though they’re relatively new. Popular with female clients and they’re known to collaborate with a firm called O’Neill Brothers’ Security, the proprietors of which are former paratroopers.”

  “Why did you say she has the skill set for the Hastings’ killing?” Reynolds asked.

  “Because of what the ‘FITT’ are,” said Moya. “They’re not acknowledged on any Army website or official records. It was only you calling ahead to Lieutenant Colonel Denny that even gave us the briefest of insights Gov.”

  “He owes me a favour or two. We were neighbours about ten years ago and when his eldest applied to be a constable with Thames Valley I did a reference for him. So what did he say?”

  “The ‘FITT’ are a reconnaissance outfit designed to get into enemy territory and attempt to recruit enemy personnel for intelligence gathering missions. They’re trained in stuff that sounds like it comes straight out of a boys-own book of adventure. He told me the actual syllabus was-,”

  “Classified?” Reynolds said with a sarcastic tone.

  The whole team smiled, even the Chief Superintendent.

  “Yes Gov. But he gave me a list of the basic topics. Physical fitness, covert photography, infiltration, camouflage, advanced driving, small arms, explosives, sabotage, communications, close-quarter battle skills, close observation reconnaissance, mobile reconnaissance, agent recruitment and agent handling,” Moya paused and took a breath.

  “It also includes a plethora of psychological and influencing techniques and strategies. Finally, or as much as Denny would share, they’re all trained in advanced self-defence. According to Wright’s record she was an exceptional exponent of unarmed combat. When I pressed Denny as to what that meant he read an extract from a performance review that was written in 2008.” Moya stopped and once more looked to Anna.

  The Detective Constable read from her notebook, “Wright sets a terrific example to her team with her knowledge of unarmed combat. Always willing to train and mentor others she is restrained, controlled and yet empowered with an explosive ferocity of aggression when required. Her skills are honed and if necessary would be lethal. She-”

  Laura Mitchell held her hand up again and once more Anna stopped.

  Tony Reynolds turned to his boss. “Ma’am?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll need more,” she answered. “Having the skills and being in roughly the right place at roughly the right time are not enough.”

  “Ma’am?” Moya spoke as she walked over to a small desk offset to the side of the main briefing board.

  “Yes DS Little, what is it?”

  Moya lifted the Wright and Tran Investigations report that she had been given by Catherine Boon. “This report that was produced on the surveillance of Diane Worrell is as comprehensive a piece of work as we would compile.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “It contains times, locations, photography and a written narrative that uses GPS time stamps taken from a mobile device. We know the forensic technicians can retrieve almost anything even if someone has tried to erase it. I thought maybe if we could place Wright at the exact location at a fixed time, then given the rest of what we have it might be enough.”

  Mitchell held her hand out for the file. She slowly flicked through it and the rest of the room waited. Eventually she handed the file back to Moya and stood. The rest of the team stood too.

  “Okay Tony, let’s get search warrants drawn up. If she’s that tech savvy I don’t want her having the chance to ditch or destroy anything. I’ll sort out the liaison with the Met but it’ll take time. Plan to do the knock early tomorrow morning. As for her brother, there’s not a lot we can do. If she did this and it brings negative publicity to the Force then we’ll just have to cope. First things first, let’s see if there’s any evidence. We’ll go from there.”

  Mitchell left and the rest of the team began to get busy. Reynolds turned to Moya who had crossed back over to the whiteboard.

  “It’s funny,” she said, looking at the picture of Kara next to the crime scene pictures of Hastings. “But at first sight on face value, you’d think that Manfield Hastings, drug dealer, drug user, thuggish looking, would be the one to avoid bumping into on a darkened street. How wrong you’d be.”

  *

  DCS Laura Mitchell was
back in her office, with the door shut. She used her mobile and dialled a number from memory.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hello,” the man’s deep voice sounded soothing.

  “I think I might have found a potential.”

  “Continue.”

  Chapter 28

  Friday Evening. Epping Forest

  The rain had finally fizzled out and the evening was turning into quite a pleasant one. Some of Kara’s clothing had dried out due to body heat but her feet were still sodden and the mud directly under her was still soft and oozing.

  “Look alive folks and say thank you to whoever you’ve been praying to,” Chaz said in her ear. “Nicolai’s back. Looks like this must be the shift handover. Time now 19:20. If this goes like we think, then the whole handover should be complete in half an hour.”

  In the time since she had made her decision about what to do Kara had waited to see if events would confirm the likely plan. It all hinged on whether the security guards worked a twelve hour shift or a twenty-four hour shift. If the latter then Kara would have no choice but to wait at least another couple of days. But if it was a simple day and night shift arrangement then she and her team would be able to move into action the next morning. Whilst waiting, Yanina had come home at five and for the first time since the morning they had seen Illy, when he joined her in the dining room. Now it seemed a twelve hour shift handover was being confirmed.

  “Carrie and her sexy sports car are here as is Sunrise in his VW Scirocco. Time is 19:22,” Sammi said.

  Kara rolled a little to her right and retrieved a muesli bar from her jacket pocket. She ate it in small, delicate bites and waited patiently. Half an hour ticked by.

  “Looks like we’re on,” Chaz said. “The Twins are out. Followed by Smirnoff. They’re all getting back into their cars. Wait.”

  Sammi took over, “Reggie has gone right, right, right. As has Ronnie. And Smirnoff. That’s right for all of them.”