Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (15 page)

“Nice,” Kara said. “Where did you find that?”

“Out in one of the stable blocks. The burner and wick housing was rusted to hell and back but we got it working well enough.”

Chaz held up the small can he carried and shook it, “Only problem was kerosene but we finally found some in a small storage shed.”

“How are you going to light it? None of us smoke anymore.” Kara asked.

“No, but the fat man did. He had this in his pocket,” Chaz said, holding out a cheap plastic lighter.

“Oh, that’s a point. Have we put back all their belongings?”

“Yep, all good,” Sammi said. “We’ve cloned their phones with the software Tien gave us, so we can take a look at it all later and we’ve photographed everything else.”

Kara took one last look around, “Okay then, let’s get it done.”

Kara, Tien and Sammi made their way to the doorway and arranged the fragments of the shattered door on the ground. As the last piece was placed in like a crazy jigsaw, Tien straightened up, “You know a really close examination will reveal it was off its hinges before the fire, but I doubt they’ll look that close.”

Kara stepped into the open doorway, “I hope not. Right Chaz, you’re on.”

Chaz filled up the lower bowl of the lamp with the clear liquid, replaced the burner, extended the wick and tried to ignite it with the lighter. The first two attempts failed to catch. He picked up the can again and drizzled some of the fuel directly onto the old cotton wick. The threadbare, dry material soaked it up. He flicked the lighter again and this time the wick flared. When he was sure it was fully caught, he reached over and slipped the lighter back into Tubbs’s trouser pocket. Then he replaced the delicate glass chimney carefully onto the lamp and moved the whole assembly on to the shelves, between the towels and the box that had housed the pistols. He walked to the door, handed the kerosene can to Sammi, switched the room light off and went back to the shelves. Giving the unit a sharp nudge with his hip he jumped back. The pistol box shifted sideways, a couple of the towels dislodged and fell to the floor and the lamp wobbled, made a click-clacking sound against the wooden shelf and then settled back into place.

Kara heard Chaz swear under his breath.

He moved back and gave the unit a harder nudge. This time the lamp wobbled, teetered and just when it looked like it would regain its equilibrium, it finally toppled. Chaz had made it to the doorway by the time the lamp plunged to the floor. The lower bowl shattered and liquid cascaded over the towels and the linoleum. There was a momentary pause before a small but satisfying ‘whump’ accompanied a small but spectacular yellow fireball that mushroomed up. The peeling ceiling paint blistered and caught almost immediately. On the ground, the towels were well alight and fingers of fire spread across the old linoleum.

The four friends stood in the doorway and watched as the fire took hold. When the turn-up bottom of Tubbs’s beige chinos caught alight Kara, Sammi and Chaz made to turn away. Tien stayed still.

Kara put her arm around Tien’s shoulders. “C’mon Tien, let’s go.”

“Not yet. Wait.”

Kara looked back to what Tien was watching. A small lick of fire was snaking across the room, reaching out for Rik. The smoky yellow flame began to lick at the sleeve of the red polo shirt. As the flame strengthened and the material succumbed, Tien finally turned away.

“Having seen what he did to those kids Kara, I’ve got no more qualms about feeling happy he’s dead.”

Central London. Monday, 23
rd
November.

Franklyn walked int
o
the meeting space with two minutes to spare. His shoes tapped a formal rhythm as he walked across the white Portland stone floor, patterned with hundreds of Welsh slate inlays. The deep black oak of the church pews, pillars, wood panelling and altar that filled the bottom half of the space, stood in stark contrast to the glistening white of the vaulted ceiling adorned with ornate gold work. The whole interior was bathed in the early afternoon sun that flooded through clear, Reamy antique glass high windows. He slid into the third pew from the rear.

“Good afternoon. Let us pray?”

She turned towards him and gave a half-smile.

Franklyn looked startled, “Good grief Kara, I hesitate to say this, but are you alright? You look shattered.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. We’ve had a rough few days and I haven’t caught up on my sleep.”

It was strictly true but the reason she hadn’t been able to sleep was kept to herself. After leaving the farmhouse, the team had stayed in the Amsterdam apartment overnight. They’d sat up late watching the local Dutch news but there had been no mention of the fire. There was still no mention by the time they had left for the early morning flight back to London, their presence lost in the mix of hundreds of others making the early morning hop.

But the late night news and early start were not to blame for Kara’s tiredness. There had been the opportunity to get at least a few hours of sleep during the night, but each time she had closed her eyes, the faces of the children from the videos swam in front of her. At about two in the morning, she had heard someone moving about in the apartment’s kitchen. Rising quietly so as not to wake any of the others, she made her way down to find Tien, sitting at the kitchen bench, tissues in hand, sobbing. They made cups of tea, talked for the next couple of hours, and both felt better for it. They also knew there would be similar nights coming up if they were to get through the damage the videos had done to them.

Eventually, their conversation had turned to Derek Swift. Tien, as was her want, opened a laptop and was distractedly going through the call logs of the cloned phones they had taken from the men at the farm. She wasn’t surprised to find that Rik’s phone was as sanitised as Francis Amberley’s had been. No recent calls, no recent messages, but when Tien applied her recovery software to it she scored a lot more history than she had back in Woodbridge; almost a year’s worth. The rest of the hours before they left for the airport had been spent examining one deleted message exchange in particular. Once back in their Camden office they had initiated a meeting with Franklyn. The date meant the location would be St Clement Danes, a Seventeenth Century church designed by Wren, which dominated a small island of calm in the middle of the bustling Strand and Aldwych at the heart of London. Kara thought it was fitting for what she was going to ask for.

Franklyn was still looking at her. Kara knew the bags under her eyes and the pale complexion would not be painting her in a favourable light. She gave another weak smile.

“Well if you’re sure,” he said. “Shall I assume your request for a meeting means that you have news of Swift?”

“Yes, but not the whole story yet. We do know that he didn’t die at sea by drowning. He was transferred from Francis Amberley’s boat to another vessel and made it to Amsterdam.”

“I knew it. I knew it, that son of a bitch,” Franklyn said it quietly, in keeping with the surroundings, but Kara could see his fists clenching.

“Now, now Franklyn,” she teased in an affected accent, “Even I don’t swear in church, tisk, tisk.”

He laughed, “I apologise, but that’s good work Kara and so quickly done. I knew there was something not right with it all.”

Kara took a deep breath, “Seriously, you have no idea how not right it is. For now, though, I need you to take something for me and do something for me?”

“Okay,” he said without hesitation.

Kara reached under the pew and took out the Hard Disc Drive Recorder that Tien had removed from the equipment rack of the farmhouse. The box, fifteen inches wide by ten deep and two in height, was surprisingly light given its 1Tb recording capacity. “This needs to go to someone on the right side of the line,” Kara said referring to the fact Franklyn’s organisation had contacts inside established law enforcement.

“May I ask what’s in it?”

“On it,” she corrected him gently. “It’s a digital video recorder and it has movies containing child pornography on it. The imagery is vile Franklyn. Totally vile and sickening. The movies show a total of twenty-seven separate child victims and I’m guessing they’ll all be listed as missing in police databases, somewhere.” Kara stopped as she watched the colour drain from the older man. It was her turn to ask him if he was alright.

He nodded slowly and raised his hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t quite expecting it to be that bad. Sorry, go on.”

“It’s our assumption that all of them have been killed and their bodies disposed of in a manner as to make them unrecoverable.”

“My good God. Are you sure?”

Kara set the recorder down on her knees, “We’re fairly certain because there’s one particular file on this that gives the method they used. But the parents could still have some closure if the police can track the victims’ families down.”

“Okay,” Franklyn said, “Will you be able to come and talk to them. The police I mean?”

“No.”

He turned to face her directly. His complexion was returning to more normal shades as he half-cocked his head in query.

“The recorder is from an isolated farmhouse in Holland. Near Volendam. There was a fire. The Dutch Police will probably have found five bodies by now and I guess it will make the news soon, if not already,” she said glancing at her watch and registering that it was just coming up to two in London, three in Holland.

“Do I assume the men didn’t die of smoke inhalation?”

“Not quite. The identification of the bodies will take some time as the police will only have recourse to matching dental records, but I can assist them with that. I can give them full IDs and I can provide a full operating model for what and how the men did what they did.”

Franklyn pursed his lips, processing what he had heard. “First things, Kara. Are all of your team okay?”

“Yes… Well, physically. Mentally it might take us a while to work through it, but we’ll cope.”

The old man reached out and placed his hand on her forearm, “If you need to talk to people we have some contacts. Discreet, trustworthy.”

“Thanks, but you know what it’s like. We’ll try our own ways first. Whining and wine always had the edge on trick cyclists.”

The old man tried to muster a smile but it faltered. “Secondly then. Was Swift one of the five that died?”

Kara shook her head, “No. He’s long gone and that’s what we’re hoping to find out about, but we need the Dutch Police to do us a favour. If it hasn’t hit the news yet, I want them to suppress any mention of the bodies.”

“How long for?” Franklyn asked and Kara was struck that he hadn’t pondered the difficulty of getting a request like that fulfilled. He had just accepted it could be done and moved on to specifics. She wondered again just how powerful his organisation was. Whatever the answer, she knew that she and Tien were but minor parts in it. She also considered that he hadn’t questioned her with regard to how she had found the farmhouse or why she and her team had killed the men. He had just accepted it as an obvious necessity. She felt the strange frisson of excitement and anticipation, knowing that she was going to be given the means to get an operation into motion and no one would interfere with her team’s planning. It was a weird sense of freedom that she knew would allow her to rush into danger.

“I’m not too sure. At least a week, maybe two. In return they get all the evidence on that drive, a full set of IDs and all the credit for taking down a truly terrible group of people.”

“Is there any chance you can be linked to the deaths?”

“No, we’re clean. The fire would have removed any of our traces. The weapons were owned by the men and it was staged to look semi-convincingly like an in-group fight.”

“This,” Franklyn said, patting the recorder box, “being handed over and the offer of help for a maintenance of silence will destroy all of that illusion. Is that what you want?”

Kara handed the box over to him. “We need the silence to give us a chance of infiltration. That will give us a chance to perhaps track down Swift. The shattering of the illusion is no big deal, but I’d prefer the police still didn’t know who we were. What I’m really asking for is to be absolved in absentia and that they don’t look too hard for us. I don’t fancy my team spending years in prison for what was effectively disposing of five pieces of human excrement.”

“Quite,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure it’s handed over in a way that will ensure anonymity. I’ll also make sure the request is processed quickly. Now, is there anything else you need?”

“No. That’s it really. We’ll be a bit tight for personnel, as some of my guys are unavailable, but we should be fine. We just need to set the wheels in motion once we receive confirmation the police will play along.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I know. Umm,” Franklyn paused, “I have some security chaps, young keen types, working with me. I could lend a couple to you if you are in need.”

Kara worked hard not to laugh out loud at Tien’s voice sounding in her ear with an assessment of the skills of Franklyn’s security detail. Instead she managed to say, “No, that’s kind, but we’ll be fine. Thanks Franklyn. I’ll wait to hear from you. Good luck.”

ɸ

Kara was more than a little impressed at not just the obvious reach of Franklyn, but his efficiency, when the call came in at only 21:20. She hung up and looked around her office, “We’re on.”

Tien walked over and picked up the cloned phone that was for all intents and purposes Rik’s original. She typed a message in French and hovered her thumb over the send button, “We all agreed?”

Jacob, Toby, freed from his child-minding duties, Chaz and Sammi gave her a mix of hopeful grins and thumbs-up.

“Jacob, you sure?” Kara asked.

“Yes. Positive.” There was no missing the conviction in his tone.

Tien pressed send.