Trick Turn

by Tom Barber

  She shook her head, not really listening.

  ‘What’s the matter? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he joked.

  She frowned, then looked at him. ‘Had a teenage girl check in for the New Orleans flight,’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Something wasn’t right.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She was alone. Her passport checked out. Said she was fifteen. I’ve got a fifteen year old niece, and this girl looked way younger to me.’

  ‘People age differently. I’m thirty four and still can’t grow a beard.’

  ‘Jace, I’m serious. I think I might’ve checked in a kid who wasn’t who she said she was.’

  ‘How, if her passport was legit? Did you see an adult anywhere close by who looked like they could be with her?’

  ‘No, I checked for that.’

  ‘What was her story? Did you ask?’

  ‘Said she was in Oxford for summer camp, but was leaving to meet her dad in New Orleans for a few days for his birthday. She didn’t have any hold luggage to check-in. Just a carry on, which looked light. Her ticket was one way. And she had a nasty cut on her cheek.’

  ‘Was she American?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She say which camp she was at in Oxford?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Just said it was a school camp.’

  Jason looked at the board. ‘Flight takes off in just over an hour. If it’s really burning you up, you could always try to find out which camps are taking place in Oxford at the moment, then give them a call to check out her story. You remember her name?’

  ‘Olivia Garraty,’ Mary said, without hesitation.

  ‘We offer students the chance to see what it’s like to study at a top university in the UK,’ a man from the camp told Mary over the phone, ten minutes later. It was the only one in the city that matched what the girl had described. ‘They study a subject of their choice and we put on workshops prepping them for their UCAS applications.’

  ‘We just had a girl called Olivia Garraty passing through the airport saying she’s attending your programme. American girl.’

  ‘Let me see,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an Olivia Underwood, but she’s from Canada. No Olivia Garraty.’

  ‘How old are your typical attendees?’

  ‘Sixteen to nineteen.’

  ‘No fifteen year old kids?’

  ‘No, they’d be too young.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Jason after ending the call. ‘Girl was lying. I knew it.’

  ‘Is that grounds to take her off for questioning?’

  ‘Why not? There’s something going on here.’

  ‘You better be sure. We stop her boarding and her dad kicks up a fuss, you know how much the airline loves bad publicity.’

  ‘I want to talk to her again,’ she said. ‘What she told me was bullshit.’

  ‘Don’t matter where that brat runs now we’ve got you,’ Bianca Stefani said to Vargas, inside a black SUV as they navigated the streets leading out of D.C. Vargas saw they were following signs heading in the direction of Baltimore. ‘You’re gonna get that kid on the phone and get her to go where we tell her.’

  As they’d walked her out through the basement of the hotel, Vargas noticed that the tires on her car had been slashed as they marched her to their ride. Even if she’d tried to escape, she couldn’t have gone far. And right now she was boxed in. A man was either side of her, both of them holding automatic weapons, and she’d already seen they were packed for war in this thing, spare magazines fully loaded and several grenades with the rings taped down hidden low in a box under the front passenger seat, easy for someone in the back to grab in an emergency. Vargas’ gun was now in the younger man’s possession, the one who’d been asking his friend about that evening in Harlem when Issy had first come under threat and she and Archer had almost died to keep her alive.

  She saw two passing Metro squad cars as they drove through the nation’s capital, but the occupants didn’t even glance at them. However, early morning traffic was backed up, making progress slow. As they came to a standstill, Vargas saw a Metro officer on a bike stop beside them; the man was wearing sunglasses and his head turned as he checked out the traffic around him, including the SUV.

  ‘Make one sound,’ Stefani warned Vargas, turning to look at her as the man to the NYPD detective’s left pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and pushed the blade against Vargas side, settling between two ribs but not piercing the skin. Trying to ignore the pressure, Vargas saw how bad the scarring on Stefani’s face was, the result of Isabel’s mother carving her up with the corkscrew all those years ago. She’d done one hell of a job; Natalie Cortese had been telling the truth.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Vargas asked, as traffic moved forward again, the cop moving out of sight.

  ‘Who?

  ‘Vincent.’

  ‘You care?’

  Vargas shrugged.

  ‘He’s still breathing, but not for much longer. And he was one of my boys who found Count Dracula to waste Carla’s kid. Don’t be too quick to give him a halo.’

  I’m being taken for bargaining, Vargas thought. To flush Issy out.

  You let them get you out of the city, you’re good as dead.

  Through security in Heathrow Terminal 5, Isabel had followed the signs for the transit which delivered her to her departure gate and was now lingering in a carefully selected vantage point in a Duty Free store, doing her best to look as if she was with the various passing adults as they browsed through the merchandise on sale. She knew a kid her age travelling on her own could attract attention, even though she’d gone through the checks.

  A double-backed plasma TV screen by the gate was set to the BBC News channel, visible to people on seats on both sides. As she looked at it, she saw a Breaking item was covering the shooting in Oxford, and she felt her heart skip several beats. Archer had told her people weren’t allowed to carry guns here like back home, so she guessed incidents involving them would attract a lot of media coverage.

  To her dismay, the banner told her an officer had been killed. Chalky? she wondered, trying to hide the anxiety on her face, her mouth suddenly going dry. Some people were watching the screen as they reclined in seats, but most seemed disinterested or focused on other things, eating snacks before their planes took off, using cell phones or working on laptops. None of them even glanced at her.

  Of course they’re not gonna link that with you.

  Everyone thinks you’re dead.

  Except Chalky, and his team here. And McGuinness. She knew they’d all be looking for her, especially Chalky. If he’s still alive, she thought, remembering the last time she’d seen him, with that knife in his shoulder. If he wasn’t dead, he was still hurt bad. It’s my fault, again, she thought, swallowing back tears, doing her best to maintain a neutral expression. Although she had less than forty minutes until her flight, she knew she was going to be stuck on that plane for another ten hours with nowhere to run.

  What if they realised where I am and police are waiting for me on the other side? she thought.

  Would that be so bad? Archer and Alice can come get you.

  Before McGuinness? A shiver of fear prickled over her skin. Near her, a woman brushed past, looking at the Duty Free selection with a Louis Vuitton bag hooked over her right arm. Isabel noticed another woman patrolling the aisles of a nearby shop glance at her and she pretended to be examining a display containing bars of fancy chocolate, just as she heard them announce that boarding on the flight was about to start for people travelling with children followed by priority passengers.

  ‘I don’t see her,’ Mary said fifteen minutes later, Jason beside her, the pair having just arrived at the specific departure gate and standing twenty feet or so from the waiting area, checking the seats. They both recognised plenty of people they’d checked in, but not the girl.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘Brownish hair, brown eyes. In a grey t-shirt
and white skirt with-’

  Jason was looking around the Terminal and didn’t notice Mary’s voice trail off. As she’d been speaking, her attention had been caught by the news bulletin on one of the televisions mounted in the gate area, on BBC World.

  Hunt continues for July 4th child murderer in New York City. The bulletin had been showing footage from the shooting that had hit the news a few days ago, where some young girl had been shot on the boardwalk at Coney Island in Brooklyn. The footage cut to a correspondent at the scene, where flowers and photos were laid out in tribute on the wooden boardwalk where the girl had been killed.

  But what had caught Mary’s attention was the photo of the child which had just come up on the screen; a girl wearing a baseball cap and smiling. She was sitting beside two people who’d been cropped out, just the edges of their arms visible.

  Her face was very, very familiar.

  ‘It can’t be…’

  ‘Mary, Duty Free,’ Jason interrupted. ‘Near the chocolates.’

  She turned and looked over at the confectionary section, instantly recognising the clothing the child was wearing.

  The girl was looking directly back at the pair and she locked eyes with Mary. As the two gate agents started to walk towards her, Mary saw the girl shake her head quickly, a pleading expression on her face.

  She put a finger to her lips, then put her hands together in a praying gesture before pointing at a TV screen near her.

  Then she pointed to herself and made a throat-slit gesture.

  I’m dead.

  Or I could well be if you make a fuss.

  ‘How’s it feel to set up the death of an eleven year old?’ Vargas asked the men around her, sitting in the SUV headed for Baltimore. ‘All your guns and bicep curls, yet you’re gonna let a child get murdered by this hag up front?’

  None of them replied.

  ‘You boys got any kids yourselves?’ she continued.

  ‘Shut your mouth or we’ll roll this car over you,’ the driver said.

  ‘So brave, huh?’ Her eyes settled on the mobster to her left, who had tattoos on both arms. He was the one who had the knife, now back in its sheath on his belt. ‘Look at you. Such a badass with all your ink.’

  ‘Don’t push it, whore,’ Bianca snapped at her. ‘You keep running your mouth, we’ll close it for good.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, a whore does whatever a john wants, long as he pays her. Turning tricks.’ Vargas turned to the men beside her. ‘Kinda makes you boys the pussy for hire, doesn’t it?’

  It worked. ‘One more word,’ the driver snarled, turning his head to glare at her.

  ‘Watch the road!’ Vargas screamed.

  Outside the gate, Mary stopped and caught Jason’s arm.

  ‘Let’s go have a chat with her,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What are you doing?’

  Mary turned, seeing the New Orleans flight was now boarding the economy passengers. ‘Leave her be,’ she said quietly, after a moment.

  ‘You just see what she did? The throat sli-’

  He went to keep going but she kept hold of him, pulling him back. ‘Jace, I changed my mind. Leave her.’

  Inside the SUV, as Vargas screamed her warning, the driver snapped his head back towards the road and instinctively slammed his foot on the brake, throwing everyone in the car forward and giving her the one chance she was going to get.

  Because she was the only passenger prepared, she’d jammed her legs up on the centre console, so wasn’t sent forward like everyone else, the men in the backseat not wearing seatbelts. As the tattooed large man beside her lurched forward, Vargas’ hands snapped to his belt and whipped out the knife. She brought it down with both hands on his thigh, burying it into the meat of the muscle. He screamed in pain and she elbowed him hard in the face, but as the younger man on her right went to grab her, she was already moving and pulled a grenade from the box under the seat.

  The young man hit her in the face, dazing her, before jamming his gun under her chin.

  It was then he saw the pin of the grenade land on the centre console, a strip of tape still stuck to it.

  Stefani, the man holding her and the driver stared at it as the tattooed mobster writhed and yelled in pain, the knife in his leg.

  With the metal ring thrown onto the console, the live grenade was now held firmly in her hand.

  Isabel saw the British Airways pair looking at her, the gate behind them having thinned out with last calls for boarding, and knew this had to be it.

  She emerged from the Duty Free store and started walking towards the gate. The two check-in agents were staring at her as she approached. She knew the woman had recognised her as she’d looked at the news report.

  She and the man remained where they were, the woman lightly touching the guy’s arm, their eyes not leaving Isabel as she passed.

  Holding her breath, Issy walked to the gate and handed over her boarding pass and passport.

  ‘Don’t touch her!’ Stefani screamed at her men, looking at the grenade, Vargas sitting in the middle of the back seat with a gun muzzle jabbed under her chin.

  ‘My leg!’ the other one yelled. ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Let me out!’ Vargas ordered, her nose bleeding from where she’d been hit.

  ‘You drop that thing, we’ll make it out the ride before you do,’ Stefani said, looking at her smugly. But before Stefani could react, Vargas suddenly grabbed her by the collar and jammed her grenade hand inside the back of the woman’s shirt.

  ‘Try running now.’

  The mob widow with the scarred face didn’t move, or give the order. Vargas looked at the other armed men, sitting beside and in front of her.

  ‘You grab me, I let go of this thing and we all go up. I’m gonna die anyway, so it’ll be a joy to take you with me. You can catch up with Carla in person,’ she hissed at Stefani.

  No-one moved.

  ‘Eject the magazines from your weapons.’

  ‘Screw yourself,’ the driver said.

  ‘Do it,’ Stefani ordered. Reluctantly, after a few moments, the men did as they were told. Behind them, a queue was building, several drivers sounding their horns, wondering why the SUV ahead was holding them up.

  ‘Toss them out the windows,’ Vargas told the mobsters inside.

  They did.

  ‘Now strip the guns and do the same.’ They hesitated, then did as ordered. The men stripped their guns into basic parts, then threw them out of the window too.

  ‘You two, get out.’

  The uninjured younger man in the back got out quickly, the one with the knife in his leg taking a little longer, muttering four letter words as he did so.

  ‘You too, driver.’

  Once the three men were out of the car, Vargas climbed forward over the centre console, sliding in behind the wheel.

  ‘Close the doors,’ she called, which they did. Keeping one hand on the grenade, Vargas put the transmission back into Drive and started moving forward, using her left hand on the wheel, her right in the back of Stefani’s shirt holding the frag grenade.

  At Heathrow, Isabel’s heart was almost in her mouth. The gate agent looked at her as she checked her passport, then beyond her at Mary and Jason, who were standing twenty metres back, the last few people waiting to board not noticing the moment of silent communication. The gate agent had noticed the check-in agents turning up, which was unusual.

  Mary gave her a thumbs up and nodded.

  ‘Have a safe flight,’ the agent told Isabel, giving her back her boarding pass.

  Flashing a brief smile of gratitude to the woman who’d checked her in, Issy moved down the jet bridge towards the plane. Watching her go, Jason glanced at Mary.

  ‘What the hell was that all about?’

  ‘I’ve survived worse than you,’ Vargas told Stefani as she drove; she’d taken a right and was now heading back towards the centre of the city. She’d caught a green light, but checked her rear view mirror, worried about the men she was sure would be trying t
o follow. ‘So has my girl.’

  ‘No you haven’t. You faced a group of meatheads,’ Stefani hissed, dismissively. ‘They tried to blast you out with firepower. No subtlety. No direction.’

  She turned her head to look at Vargas, careful to avoid any big movements, and up close, the NYPD detective saw how deep the gashes on her face went. Carla must have half-ripped parts of her face to shreds.

  ‘Look at what you’ve had to do, just so your kid could survive six days against my boy,’ Stefani told her. ‘He’s gonna bag her in the end. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Call him off.’

  ‘Couldn’t if I tried. Carla’s kid has got him hooked.’ She laughed. ‘Shame that whore isn’t still around to see what I’m gonna do to her.’

  ‘You’ll be in pris-’ Vargas said, forced to slow as she approached a red light. It was then, Stefani slammed her hand back against the seat, trapping Vargas’ hand and twisted to loosen her grip.

  The grenade slipped and leaning forward, Stefani lifted up the back of her shirt so it dropped out.

  And tumbled onto the seat behind her.

  Inside Heathrow’s Terminal 3, but on the pre-security check side, McGuinness looked around, then checked the flight board. Dallas Ft Worth, New York, Baltimore, Chicago, New Orleans were the US destinations displayed, all leaving over the next few hours. He was convinced the girl was going to try to leave the UK, and the credit card statement he’d seen on the cop’s bank account, showed they’d flown to England on American Airlines, which he’d found out operated out of Terminal 3.

  He knew if any more bookings were made today, they wouldn’t show up on the account until tomorrow. As he contemplated his next course of action, while scanning the board, he decided New York was her most likely destination.

  Unknown to him, on the airfield but at a different terminal, Isabel’s plane was taxiing ready for take-off.

  Five minutes later, the Boeing jet roared down the runway, then lifted into the sky, heading for Louisiana ten hours flight time away.