by Ian Andrew
She also hadn’t objected too much at spending money on her new lower arm and hand. Prior to the Bebionic model, there was no way she could have manipulated the phones, the screwdriver, the casings and the trackers without a mounting frustration and ultimately having to ask for help. Now, with a simple flick of a sensor within the socket of her arm, she could select the grip she needed, and with a twist, she could move her wrist to any angle. She had become so adept that she could swing her hand against her thigh to quickly switch thumb positions. It was true that Tien had been reticent when she found out the cost, but Kara had insisted that she buy it and it had been worth every penny. Recently some people hadn’t realised she had a prosthesis at all. The skin tone match on the ‘glove’ that covered the futuristic hand was an indistinguishable match for her real skin. Although, one of her young nephews had been disappointed she hadn’t kept a more terminator-type look.
Tien had quickly come to love her new arm. Every time she looked at it, every time she used it, she felt the loss of her original limb a little less. She hadn’t had to ask for help with any task in months and the value of that happiness and independence was immeasurable. The strength and capability of the prosthesis had even allowed her to get back into attending the gym and she especially loved how she could do push-ups with it.
Flicking her fingers to a tripod-grip, she reassembled the last of the phones, finishing just as Kara and Jacob returned from a quick shopping expedition. While Kara showered, Jacob put the supplies to good use and made tea, toast and scrambled eggs.
As they were finishing their meal, Tien’s phone rang. “Hi, yep,” she said and rose to look out the kitchen window at two cars pulling into the apartment’s designated parking spots. “Black door just behind you,” she said and disconnected before looking over to Kara and Jacob. “They’re here.”
ɸ
Samantha Davis, known as Sammi, and Charles Randal, known as Chaz, looked like the perfect couple. Sammi stood five foot ten inches, her broad shoulders and slim waist a fitting testament to her love of swimming. Her height, physique, blue eyes and shoulder-length mousey-blonde hair complimented the short, light brown hair and blue eyes of Chaz’s six foot, lithe body. Sammi moved with a casual sway and Chaz, two years her senior, moved with what seemed the grace of a dancer, but was actually the result of decades of training in martial arts. The couple’s obvious compatibility had been a great cover for their many covert surveillance operations. In reality, their relationship was strictly confined to work. Although once, a long, long time ago, they had tried to sleep together in a drunken haze. That night, a singularly shared secret, never revealed to anyone, had ended with them laughing at each other in their naked awkwardness. They’d resolved then and there to be like brother and sister as opposed to lovers. It was that underpinning stability which allowed them to be so effective.
Kara had first worked with Sammi and Chaz back in 2006, a few months after the tour in Iraq when she had met Tien. Three years later, they had all worked together, along with James ‘Dinger’ Bell and Aidy ‘Taff’ Jones, in Afghanistan.
Shortly after that tour, Sammi and the three guys, who were always referred to as Sammi’s crew, left the military and joined the world of freelance consultants. As the O’Neill brothers were always Kara and Tien’s first choice for security, so Sammi and Chaz were their first call if they needed reliable, specialist intelligence back-up. Taff and Dinger had operated as Sammi’s embedded security team, until December 2014 when Taff was killed in a mortar attack in Kabul. Since then, Sammi and her crew had tried to confine themselves to less hazardous locations and take life easier.
“Dinger says hi, but I doubt he’ll be joining us,” Sammi said, flopping down on the couch next to Chaz and Tien. “It would be a difficult ask to convince his new fiancée that leaving her in Lanzarote while he comes to Amsterdam is a great idea.”
“A fiancée? Wow, how much did he have to pay her?” Kara asked from the kitchen.
“I know. The great loutish jock seems to think she’s with him for his good looks, personal charm and subtle Gaelic ways,” Chaz laughed.
“Aww, don’t be mean. Dinger’s lovely,” Tien said.
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t go out with him, would you?” Chaz asked.
“Well, no, but that’s ‘cos he’s Dinger, isn’t it?” Tien said, “I mean I wouldn’t go out with you either. You’re equally weird.” She laughed and poked Chaz in the ribs, causing him to recoil in mock pain.
Kara, standing back and observing them, noticed Jacob wasn’t joining in. She knew he had only worked with Dinger once before, so probably didn’t feel as comfortable slagging off a recent acquaintance. That was quite decent of him, but needless in the present company. “Hey Jacob, what do you reckon?” she called.
“Well, that’s hard for me to say. I don’t reall-”
Chaz cut him off, “Ah don’t be shy. The great lug looks like an albino Viking and talks like a drunken Glaswegian on steroids. Just agree. He’s not here anyway.”
Jacob shyly glanced towards Tien before saying, “He seemed like a nice guy to me. I mean, he’s not my type but I’m sure someone out there likes him.”
“Ha, love it,” Chaz said. “Yep, he’s not my type either. Geez, that poor girl.”
“Have you met her?” Kara asked.
“Yes, we have,” Sammi answered, with a faked glower at Chaz. “Eloise is lovely. Bright, intelligent and charming. She’s a lawyer in Dundee.”
“Oh,” Tien said. “She’s Scottish too?”
“No, she’s German, but she’s been over here,” Sammi paused and corrected herself, “over there I mean, for ages. Beautiful diction.”
“Much better than Dinger,” Chaz teased again.
“You’re not exactly textbook BBC yourself,” Tien said, “I mean I’d much rather have Jacob’s Essex than your Manc’ accent. At least I can understand him. With you, I get about one word in three of that Northern twang,” she said laughing and putting her hand out to Jacob’s knee.
Kara saw Jacob blush a deep red. She was intrigued by the intensity of the reaction and aware, from a raised eyebrow, that Sammi had seen the same. She thought about teasing Jacob, but something in the back of her mind warned her off. Besides, it was time to move things along. “Right, let’s leave Dinger’s dalliances in Lanzarote. Toby might be joining us in a day or two, but for now we’re just five and looking for a boat that could be in any one of a dozen harbours, if it’s still here at all. Once we have a plan then Jacob, Tien and I need some kip. We haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours.”
ɸ
The two hire cars that Sammi and Chaz had brought from the airport exited the IJTunnel into a wintery sunrise and followed the S116 through Amsterdam Noord. Within ten minutes, the high-rise blocks and closely packed buildings on each side of the road fell away and were replaced by close lines of trees. A few more minutes and the road changed designation to the N247. They were in a heavy, but free-flowing stream of traffic, unlike the nose-to-tail commuter congestion on the other side of the carriageway.
Tien didn’t notice the state of the roads. Instead, from the front passenger seat of the second car, she gasped as the trees ended and the road entered into wide-open, flat plains that stretched away to unfeasibly far horizons.
After another twenty minutes, most of which Tien spent as a completely entranced tourist, both cars took the first turn into Volendam. As the road pressed further into the small town the broad horizons began to disappear, crowded out by ever-increasing rows of stereotypical Dutch houses. Tien looked at the distinctly triangular facades and thought they were so much more beautiful than the traditional English terrace houses. Certainly much more attractive than Francis Amberley’s had been. She was especially taken by the older buildings and the pronounced steps to their gable ends. She wondered what the proper term was. Pulling out her mobile she googled it, only to smile to herself when she discovered that it was simply called a stepped gable.
“Wh
at are you smiling at?” Kara said, glancing over from the driver’s seat.
“Oh not a lot. Just looking up Dutch architectural terms. As you do,” she replied.
“Well, as you do,” Kara said, her smile broadening. “We good to do this?”
“Yep,” Tien said and called the lead car.
Jacob answered, “Hi, what’s up?”
“Tell Chaz and Sammi it’s the next turn on the right. Follow down there for about two hundred yards and you’ll hit the Marina Park. See you later and be careful.”
“You too,” he said and disconnected the call.
Kara and Tien watched Chaz slow and make the turn. They continued straight past, heading for the historic fishing harbour of the old town. All they had to go on was a potential boat name and the two registration letters, ‘VD’ which according to the international maritime register led them here. There was no guarantee the boat still sailed from this port, no guarantee that it might not be berthed at some other port and no guarantee they would be able to track its owners even if they did find it, but it was all they had.
No one had responded to Amberley’s text message as yet, and as far as they could be sure, no one had tried to contact him by any other means. Tien had put a call-forward on his landline and directed it to her own mobile, so if anyone tried to phone him, she would know. What had slightly disturbed her was that there was no PC in Amberley’s house. No iPad or other smart tablets, no alternate mobile or smartphone. The man was as off the grid as she could have imagined. She knew it was possible that he had an email account through his workplace, but he had insisted he didn’t and she had been inclined to believe him.
The police that Franklyn had called in had left a babysitter at the old terrace house, in case contact was instigated by a physical visit to Amberley. Again, Kara and Tien couldn’t do much if the visitor called for him at work, but they had done as much as they could in the time available.
That left the single lead of the boat’s identity. With such scant information, they knew they would have to go and physically look for it. Volendam was the logical place to start. It was certainly a more manageable search task than Amsterdam Harbour proper.
They pulled into a completely empty parking area, end-on to the long rectangle of the old harbour. There was a forest of masts and furled sails in view, but Tien knew the numbers here were less than a tenth of the over four hundred berths that Sammi, Chaz and Jacob were searching in the much more modern marina to the south of the town.
Stepping into the early morning cold, the harbour was almost deserted of people. A couple of schoolbag-laden kids looked like they were trudging through treacle on their slow progress towards school. A single jogger was braving the chilly morning and his accompanying Labrador was the happiest thing in sight. It was certainly having more fun than the young guy fishing off the main quay. He was rugged up in appropriately warm clothing but his face didn’t reflect the joy of his chosen hobby. His line stretched out into the harbour and the orange and white dayglow float bobbed on the relative stillness of the water.
The jogger and dog passed behind the fisherman and mounted steps that linked the cobblestoned walkway along the water’s edge to another that was fronted by a long row of tourist-orientated business. All, bar one, were shut and boarded. The souvenir shops, gelato cafes, coffee cafes and art galleries gave no sign of having been open since the halcyon days of summer. The alfresco areas were devoid of seats and the only vestige of activity in the whole row came from the Old Holland Hotel. Its broad swathe of full-height glass windows revealed a few guests enjoying breakfast in a warm and comfortable restaurant.
Kara and Tien began to walk along the quayside. It was a good third of a mile long, or as Tien corrected herself, probably half a kilometre. The narrow ends of the harbour were less than a fifth of that. All in all, it would take about ten minutes to walk the full circumference. Or at least to walk out to the gap in the harbour wall that permitted access to the waters of Lake Markermeer. A light breeze was picking up, chilled and constant. Tien pulled her jacket tight and kept her right hand deep in her pocket. As it was, they hadn’t gone half the length of the quay before they passed a vintage sailing schooner that had been shielding other boats behind it. Kara pretended to look at the sailboat, but focussed on four fishing boats moored side on to each other. Each hull was painted a different vibrant shade, the furthest from the quay, a bright red.
“They’re a lot smaller than I expected,” Kara said.
“About right though,” Tien replied. “They’re definitely trollers. Between forty and fifty feet long. Superstructure set just forward of amidships, trolling beams just aft of that, net bins to the stern, spool gur-” Tien was stopped by the look Kara was giving her, “What’s wrong?”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“I googled it,” Tien said and gave her friend a nudge with her elbow. “The specific details are like a signature and these fit precisely. But they don’t look rough like the professional fishing ones I researched. They look more kitsch. Sort of touristy. Although they do still have nets on them.”
“I thought you said a day or so ago that boats were all wavy navy stuff?” Kara teased.
“Yeah, but that was before I needed to know about it.”
“I do adore you,” Kara said, before adding, just loud enough for Tien to hear, “Even if you are nutty.”
There were no signs of activity on or near the vessels, but each sported ‘VD’ registration letters and each had a four-digit number. The names, mounted on plinths set above the bridge windows, were quite hard to read on the outermost boats.
Kara looked around casually, her hand up to shield her eyes against the weak sun that was trying to force its way through washed-out clouds. “I guess ‘Eerlijke Winden’ is as close to what Amberley said as we’re likely to get?” she said, continuing to walk alongside Tien. “What’s it mean dear googler?”
“Hang on.” Tien rotated her prosthesis wrist so that she could hold her phone at an easier angle. It didn’t take her long to get the answer. “I guess it makes sense, Fair Winds is a fair enough name for a boat.”
They reached the end of the main quay and walked along the harbour wall, looking out at the vast expanse of Lake Markemeer. The wind strengthened the further out they ventured. Tien had to raise her voice to be heard, “Are we assuming that’s the boat we’re looking for?”
Kara nodded.
“Then that was easier than we’d anticipated. Bit of a shame we rented the apartment in Amsterdam.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t know it was going to be here. It could just as easily have been somewhere else,” Kara said, pulling the hood of her jacket up to shield her ears from the biting wind.
“So what now?”
“Rally the troops and go somewhere to get a coffee. I’m freezing. Then we’ll try to figure out who owns our fair wind friend there. After that we’ll get him to tell us where Swift is, then we’ll go find him and be home in time for tea and medals,” Kara shouted into what was fast becoming a stiffening gale.
“And you called me nutty,” Tien said, heading for the shelter of the only open establishment within sight.
ɸ
The waterfront restaurant of the Old Holland Hotel, situated midpoint along the harbour, was welcoming, warm and practically empty. Kara and Tien took two stools at the highly varnished bar-counter and asked the smiling waitress for two coffees. She responded to them in flawless English.
“Puts us to shame, doesn’t it?” Tien said as the waitress left.
“How’d you mean?” Kara asked, checking out the rest of the room in the long mirror hanging behind the counter. There was a middle-aged couple at one of the window tables eating breakfast. A suited man, reading a Dutch paper and drinking coffee, sat alone at a table for four in the middle of the room, and the only other customers were a couple of younger men at a corner table. Kara noted they had finished eating and the one with his back to her was on a mobile phone. As she pa
ssed her gaze over them the man facing her looked up and made eye-contact via the reflection. She resisted the urge to look away immediately, like a guilty person caught snooping. It was one of the ‘giveaway’ reflexes that had been trained out of her over the years. Instead, she briefly returned his look and smiled in as friendly a manner as could be managed. She wasn’t surprised when he looked away quickly. Like a guilty person caught snooping.
“I mean, no slight intended against her profession, but even a waitress on the early shift in a waterfront hotel can speak at least two languages fluently. Don’t imagine her reciprocal in England could do that.” Tien said.
“Yeah, although it’s probably even more. I reckon she speaks Dutch, German, French and English,” Kara said returning her focus to Tien. “We don’t do language well in the UK.”
“Says the multiple linguist with five or six under her belt. Is it six?” Tien asked, taking her phone out.
“Mmm, eight fluently, or near enough I suppose. Plus English and a tiny, tiny bit of what you taught me in Vietnamese. But not Dutch. Never needed it. Anyway, you’re not so bad yourself. You’ve got three, haven’t you?”
“I guess,” agreed Tien. “But that’s only because Mum insisted we spoke them. She was kind of strict about it.”
Kara faced her, “Strict? Your Mum? I can’t imagine it.”
“Ha,” Tien laughed. “All you see is the sweet little lady act she puts on for visitors. Don’t let that fool you. She was a right disciplinarian when we were little. We had to speak English when we were outside. She said if Britain was good enough to give us a home then we should be good enough to speak the language in public. At home in the evenings we swapped to French and at weekends we would only speak Vietnamese. Thing is, I never realised other families didn’t do that sort of thing until I was in high school and found out that language classes were a choice. I couldn’t understand why you needed to learn French at school. I just expected everyone would know it.”
