Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel
Page 17
Jacob made a show of wiping his eyes, though there were no tears. He sniffed and with a slightly less whining pitch said, “Oh. I didn’t realise. That’s really good of you.”
The small man laughed with an unusually deep baritone sound that didn’t fit his body size at all. “Not me Jacob. Not me at all.” He raised a finger and waggled it strangely in the direction of the roof.
“Upstairs?” Jacob asked, properly confused.
The man gave another deep laugh. “No. Not upstairs. The higher-ups. The men who first established the Flight Path. That’s who to thank.”
“Oh, of course,” Jacob said.
“Aw dear, you’re such an open book,” the small man said and Jacob stiffened, wondering where this was going. “You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
Jacob shook his head.
“The Flight Path. It’s what you’re a part of now. It was first setup in the Seventies. Like the underground railway during the war when the resistance used to smuggle all those allied pilots out of occupied France. We’re just the same, only better, because we have way more police chasing us than they ever did.” He gave another incongruous laugh.
It was all Jacob could do not to reach out and snap the small man’s neck. The previous surge of anger was nothing compared to what he felt now. How anyone could compare the heroics of the Dutch, Belgian and French resistance to a bunch of criminal scum that helped other scum escape justice was beyond him. He bit his lip and clenched his fists, fighting to calm himself. The small man didn’t miss the physical reactions, but totally misinterpreted them.
“Now, now, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. The whole point of us, is that no one knows about us. There are rumours sometimes in the chat rooms, but mostly we go under the radar. On a couple of occasions, when we were helping celebrities get away, they almost revealed the extent of it, but we managed to cover it back up.” He stepped forward and patted Jacob on the shoulder, “Now come on. I need to get some photos taken so we can get you nice new passports and identities.”
Jacob swallowed hard and struggled to suppress his intense anger. He swallowed again and concentrated on making his voice sound sad and broken, “Yeah, but I’m not being sent home like those pilots were. I can’t ever go home, can I?”
“No. No you probably can’t. Like I said, I don’t know what you did and I don’t want to know. But, if you’ve had to pay to get to a country with no extradition, then no lad, you won’t be going home.” The small man gave Jacob another friendly pat on the shoulder. Jacob imagined standing up and putting his fist through the bespectacled face. Instead he breathed deeply and brought his temper back under control. He straightened in the chair and looked towards the camera, “Okay then. Let’s do it.”
The small man took a series of photos, checking the digital display after each one.
“How come so many photos?” Jacob asked.
“Just me being overly pedantic with the composition. It’s the OCD coming out in me,” he grinned. “One would do, even for the four passports.”
“Four?”
“Oh yes. You’ll have one for the first flight. Then someone will meet you when you get off it and look after you until the next one. They’ll give you your ticket and a second passport. Same for the next one. Given what I said about this damn state of emergency, it’s the best we can do to confuse your trail.”
“What’s the fourth one for?”
The small man was looking down at the camera display, raising his glasses from his nose and concentrating on the images, “Oh that’s for your new identity when you get to where you’re going.”
Jacob decided now was the right time to push things, “And where will that be?”
The small man straightened up and looked back at Jacob, “You’ll find out when you get your final ticket. You understand, it’s just safer that way.”
“Oh. Of course, sorry.”
“Nope. No need to apologise, it’s fine. Perfectly natural to be curious. Right. They’re okay, I can use them. Very photogenic.”
Jacob gave him a pathetic smile.
“That’s better, chin up.” He moved across to the bed and began to pack the camera away in the briefcase. When finished he lifted the envelopes with the money in them. “Now, a few things you need to do tomorrow. Okay?”
Jacob tried to convey a sense of attentiveness and a keenness to please.
“Travelling light is great but people with absolutely no luggage get noticed. I need you to buy a small suitcase and a carryon back pack. Outfit yourself for what you would expect to take on holiday to somewhere warm. Make sure you don’t pack anything that’s going to cause any problems. Just normal holiday clothes, shorts, tops, underwear, sandals, toiletries. That sort of thing, but get one light jumper and a light jacket. Especially for the flights. For your carryon think about what will make you fit in and not raise any suspicions. Maybe some sweets or a pack of cards, a book, or some of those puzzle magazines. There’s places round here will sell them in English. It just needs to look normal. Only nothing that’s electronic. We don’t want something, no matter how remote, that might be traceable. I know you wouldn’t, but on a stopover, you might be tempted to check Facebook, or look at emails or something that would give you away. Okay? So no electronics. Very important. For security. It’s just saf-”
“Safer that way,” Jacob finished for him.
“Yes. Exactly. Got it?”
“Yes,” Jacob said.
“Well then. Keep your chin up. Good luck Jacob.”
The small man made to leave but turned back, “Oh, almost forgot. What year were you born?”
“Umm, sorry?”
“The year of your birth, what is it?”
“Nineteen eighty-nine. Why?”
“It’s for the passports, that’s all. Now I don’t want to know the day or month but I do need to know if it was in July?”
“No.”
“Great. Right. Get some rest. Big few days ahead.”
When the small man had left, Jacob went back to lying on the bed. He shut his eyes but couldn’t sleep.
His anger at both the man’s pride in helping people escape and the resistance remark was bleeding off, but his underlying anger, present since he had looked through the farmhouse window, hadn’t so much dissipated as refined itself into a purpose and been channelled for effect. Purposeful anger provided him a focus but wasn’t the reason for his restlessness. It was the gnawing guilt that weighed heavy in his chest and was much more difficult to ease. It caused his thoughts to replay the events of the past few days. He saw so clearly the mistakes he’d made in allowing Tien and Kara to approach the waterfront alone. He should have been aware of the risks and he knew it was because of his oversight he’d almost lost Tien. Almost lost both of them.
It rankled so deeply within him because that was his job; now and before in the military. He was a Force Protection specialist. His whole reason for being anywhere was to protect the main assets of an operation and he’d always done it. From Basra to the Battle of Bastion, when he had fought alongside his older brother, that had been his mission. The Bastion raid had caused its own guilt and regret, but it hadn’t been as personal as this. Tien was his main concern. She was what had to be protected at all costs and he’d let her down. And Kara, he reminded himself.
That’s why, when they had discovered there was a chance to infiltrate the network, to perhaps discover how Swift had disappeared, maybe even find him, he had instantly volunteered to take on the role of the scared fugitive. He saw it as an opportunity to make it up to her; them. Even when Sammi & Chaz both suggested that Chaz should do it because of his experience and capabilities, Jacob had held firm. They all knew Chaz was way beyond all of them when it came to skills in unarmed combat. The guy was a force of nature at fighting and given that the mission would be solo, with no communications and no chance to call for help, it had almost swayed the argument in Chaz’s favour.
But it had eventually
come down to Kara and Tien. They’d both agreed that Jacob, being from Essex and knowing Swift from television, might have the advantage over Chaz if he ever found himself close enough to the target. Kara told him later, in private, that Tien really appreciated him volunteering. A calming sense of contentment washed over him as he remembered the conversation.
“Dark hearts,” he said softly and concentrated on slowing his breathing and quietening his thoughts.
“Dark hearts,” he repeated, closed his eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep.
ɸ
It was Paris on a cold, overcast November night so Tien had no difficulty securing three rooms. Dinger and Eloise had accommodation already and it was important that they stayed separate from the rest. Sammi, Tien and Kara checked-in together and while the receptionist completed the paperwork the three women laughed and talked about their day. By the time they were being handed the room cards, the receptionist, had she been interested, would have known that the three English couples had had a change of heart and instead of rushing back to catch the London train, had decided to stay in Paris for another night. Their husbands would be along later, they’d just gone to extend the rental on the minibus they’d hired for the day. Once upstairs they quickly met in Kara’s room and were joined by Dinger via phone.
“Any difficulties getting the bug back out?” Kara asked Dinger.
“Nope,” he said. “It went under the counter when we ordered and came off when we paid the bill. Easy as.”
“And Eloise, she was okay with all this?” Sammi asked.
“Happy? No,” Dinger said and waited until he heard at least one concerned ‘Oh’ in response. “She was delighted. Thrilled in fact. When I explained what you wanted us to do she was completely up for it. Thought it was ‘incredibly exciting’, and the fact she got to come to Paris was a bonus. Lanzarote’s lovely, but I think booking for three weeks was a mistake, so yeah, cutting early was good. To be fair, I’m not sure she’s in the right job. She took to tonight really well.”
“I just thought, with you and her speaking German, it gave us good cover and a chance to have some on-site presence when Jacob made the first contact,” Kara said. “Just in case.”
“And it worked. She was cool. Given she’s never met Jacob also helped. She didn’t react at all to him when he came in, just stayed completely relaxed. Like I said, maybe the law isn’t her calling,” Dinger laughed, more than a little proud of his fiancée’s performance in the restaurant.
“Yeah, but a lawyer’s going to be good for you to have Dinger,” Sammi said. “You never know when you’re going to need bailing out.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” Dinger laughed in agreement.
“Right, what next?” Kara asked, bringing them back on topic.
“Well, Eloise heads home tomorrow morning and then I can be wherever you need me to be,” Dinger said.
“Afraid not on this one Dinger,” Kara said. “We’re going to assume these guys are top-notch on their counter-surveillance. When I say good, I mean equal to us. That’s why I wanted you in there tonight as a couple, but given you’ve been visible to them, then that’s the last you can play close-quarter-reconnaissance on this. It’ll also be better if you travel to the airport and depart together. That’s what they would expect to see and we’re going to assume they’ll have put assets on you. It’s what we would do if an unknown couple turned up at a site we had set for a high-value meet.”
“Yep, understood. No problem,” Dinger said and Kara again thanked her good fortune at being able to work with the best professionals she knew. There was no dissent or ego getting in the way of the job.
“What we would like you to do is head to the Camden office and be our coordination if we need it?” Tien asked.
“Too easy. How do I get in?”
“I’ll text you my brother’s number. He has spare keys,” Kara said.
“You mean David? The cop?”
“Yeah,” Kara hesitated, “Is that a problem?”
“Nah,” Dinger laughed. “Just thought the last time the cops came to your office they didn’t need spare keys, did they?”
“Funny bugger aren’t you?” Kara said. “Just you be careful going in. That paint job in the foyer was expensive,” she added with a chuckle, thinking about the new doorframes, doors and paint that the Cambridgeshire Constabulary had had to foot the bill for after a raid in July.
“Okay, no worries. Do you need me anymore then?”
“Nope. Thanks again and thank Eloise,” Kara said.
“No problem. I’ll talk to you when I’m in Camden. Bye.” The call cut-off. Sammi, Tien and Kara gathered round the room’s coffee table and poured over a map of Paris for the next hour.
ɸ
At two in the morning, Kara went on a one kilometre walk to end up less than fifty metres from her hotel. She entered a darkened alley that, halfway along, was lined with a deep hedgerow. Penetrating through it, she crossed a clearing of grass to a pitch black tree line that separated two blocks of buildings, the western most of which housed the restaurant Jacob had entered five hours before. She knelt on the ground and waited until she attuned to her immediate surroundings. Taking a set of binocular night sights from her small hip pouch, she turned the black to a deep green haze. Despite the clarity of vision they provided, the tree line still revealed nothing of note.
“Toby,” she whispered into the night.
Her voice-activated mic transmitted and less than ten steps from where she knelt, a hand appeared from the darkness.
“Here Kara.”
“Jesus, that’s impressive camouflage,” she said.
“You know how it is. Once a sniper…” Toby said as he manoeuvred out from his observation post.
“Anything?” she asked as she moved to take his place.
“Nope. Chaz reports all quiet too. If nothing bad has happened then he’s still in there.”
Kara could hear the slightest of tonal changes in Toby’s voice as he spoke about his younger brother’s safety.
“It’s okay Toby. He can look after himself and we’ll be in there in minutes if anything looks wrong. Now, go get something to eat and drink. Room 428,” she said and handed over the hotel room card.
“Thanks. Have we figured out what we’ll do at dawn?”
Kara knew the tree line afforded a great observation post during the night, but in the daylight the trees in the small inter-building park were much too thin to provide any cover.
“Yep, all sorted. Even if they come out the rear door they only have two streets that they can exit onto. We have plans in place. Talk to Tien back at the hotel. Dawn’s at eight so I’ll withdraw from here by seven and catch up with you then.”
“Chaz’ll be knackered by then,” Toby said, stifling a yawn of his own.
“Yeah, but he’ll cope. It’s not like we can change homeless bums in the middle of the night. He’s in his doorway and he’s happy.”
Chaz, forty metres on the opposite side of the trees, in a direct line through the building and across the road, turned over under his cardboard blanket, feigning restless sleep. “Happy is one word for it, I suppose.”
Tien, back in the hotel and listening in to all the communications through a base station that also amplified the signals to prevent interference from the tightly packed Parisian buildings, said, “Come on back Toby. I have hot chocolate and marshmallows waiting for you.”
“You’re a cruel woman,” Kara said, settling down to watch the back of the restaurant as Toby disappeared into the night.
Chapter 20
Wednesday 25th November.
The door to Apartment Two was opened by the barman. “You are going out now?”
Jacob nodded.
“Back by five. No later. Better if you can stay out most of the day. Keep a low profile. Don’t draw attention to yourself and don’t act suspiciously. Whoever you are running from does not know you are here. You can relax. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
The barman shut the door and Jacob turned for the stairs. Once outside he walked back around the building to the street in front of the restaurant. The sun had only been up for half an hour and the damp of the night still clung to a morning that was overcast, grey and cold. He swept his gaze up and down like he was completely unaware of his surroundings. In reality he had committed most of the 18th Arrondissement, and the neighbouring 9th, 10th and 17th to memory while travelling across in the van from London. That van, a non-descript white transit, had been parked in a town an hour’s distance from Paris and swapped for an equally non-descript hire van that boasted French plates and right-hand drive configuration. Without dwelling on them, Jacob’s sweep of the street registered at least four similar vans parked within one-hundred metres of where he stood. Given the strange and extremely close nature of Parisian parking he couldn’t see any of the registration plates, but he was fairly sure one of them would be theirs. Likewise, although he couldn’t see the other car and motorbikes that Kara and the rest of the team had hired, he knew they’d be close by.
He also noted that the homeless man who had been sleeping in the doorway opposite the restaurant had moved on, or been moved on, as daylight had dawned. He turned left, heading south for the centre of the city. The nearest Métro station was about a kilometre away, but he wanted to stay above ground and on foot for longer than that. He figured his appearance on the street would have surprised Tien and Kara but they would be mobilising to follow him and he had to give them a chance to make contact.
It took him seven minutes of browsing store fronts and walking casually, yet not too slowly, to reach the end of Rue Damrémont. Doglegging right he joined Rue Caulaincourt and walked along the narrow footpath of a wrought iron bridge. He paused to look down through the high-sided blue metal lattice that was a favourite canvas for the local graffiti artists. From studying the maps of the area he knew what to expect but was still surprised at the view in reality. Broad tree-lined avenues ran between clumps of majestic tombs and grand mausoleums. The great and the good of 19th Century Montmartre had been buried in a secluded town of the dead, then forced to endure the domination of a strange metal viaduct that town planners of later years thought a necessary improvement for progress.