Regret No More

by Seb Kirby

  Did I look enough like the photo in Miles’ passport? It was too late to think about it now. The line was moving with just one more query ahead of me to complete. That didn’t take long. I was at the head of the line and stepping up to the desk.

  She was a middle-aged cabin steward, capable and coping well with the many demands being placed on her but knowing that time was short before boarding was called. She managed a smile as I stepped forward. “Yes.”

  I smiled back, said nothing and handed over the passport with the ticket inside.

  She picked it up and searched first for the 1-94 with a nonchalant skill that showed she’d done this many times before. The form was removed and placed without any ceremony onto the pile I-94s on the desk before her. She then found the B1 visa stamp and looked back at me. “Successful business?”

  I tried to sound unconcerned. “You win some, you lose some.”

  She liked that. “Story of my life.”

  She came to the final page in the passport and looked at the photograph, then back at me. I could detect the beginnings of doubt in her expression and feared she would refuse me but that passed as she waved the page over the reader that logged the passport number.

  Miles had selected the seat number at the machine that sold him the ticket. The attendant took the ticket and fed it into another reader. In few seconds the boarding pass popped out.

  She handed it over. “We should be boarding in a few minutes. Have a good flight.”

  * * *

  Boarding was straightforward. The same cabin stewardess who’d just issued my boarding card waved me through the final check before I headed down the stairway to the bus taking us out to the ’plane. I boarded and found my seat without a problem. The cabin doors were locked and the safety demonstration was completed. We were prepared for take off.

  There was such a lack of space between the seats in Economy that I couldn’t sit without my knees contacting the back of the seat in front. This was how the airline made its money. Setting the pitch between the seats this low crammed in an extra forty or so fare-payers. The days of the pleasures of flying were a thing of the past for all except those who could afford the abundance of space in Business Class.

  I didn’t fret about the discomfort. I was more concerned about what might be unfolding back in the terminal building.

  There was a delay.

  I was plagued by shifting scenarios, all of them fatal to my chances of making it back to London.

  Craven had contacted the airport authorities and put out a call for me to be apprehended.

  The computer system reading Miles’ passport had responded by sending out an alert because he was now wanted for questioning and, as far as the system was concerned, it was Miles who now sat on this ’plane.

  The cabin steward who’d issued my boarding pass had all along not been fooled and had activated a procedure that would lead to my arrest by playing me along all this time, as her computer had warned her not to challenge a dangerous individual.

  In my mind’s eye, I could see SWAT teams readying to surround the ’plane and pull me off before it was allowed to leave.

  I tried to stay calm. I knew the cabin staff was trained to look for passengers whose fear of flying could lead them to irrational acts that could disrupt the flight. It wasn’t fear of flying but fear of what might be on the ground that was causing me to want to break out of such a confined space.

  There was a crackle of the intercom. The captain came on to make an announcement.

  I thought this was the end of my chance to escape, that the message from the captain would be for everyone to remain seated while an inspection was made of the ’plane. Meaning they were on to me and I was about to be hauled away.

  When it came the captain’s announcement was an apology for the delay. There was a tailback of flights waiting on the runway. We would be pulling back in a few minutes.

  I breathed again.

  The cabin steward from the departure desk walked past making a last check that everyone had seat belts in place before taking a seat herself for take off.

  There was forward motion. We were taxiing towards the take-off strip. Another short delay and we were gaining speed and we were away.

  In ten hours I’d be in London. That would not be soon enough.

  My thoughts were with Julia and how she must be feeling, not knowing where I was or what had happened to me.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to her, why I couldn’t get a reply from the hotel, where she was now.

  And I was thinking about Miles. Had he made it out of the airport? Had he been caught up in the security lock down?

  As much as it was a relief to have made it onto the ’plane and to be on my way, it was a fact not to be denied that I could do little to help either Julia or Miles from fifteen thousand feet.

  Chapter 69

  It had been bad. But it could have been worse.

  Agent Nate Craven was taking stock and seeking out the positives in what had been the most difficult of times.

  He’d lost everyone in his team except Debbie Miller and one other, Marvin Bryce, the only one of them he’d trust with his life. Drawn to the Town Lake compound by the reports of the first bomb, the rest had been cut down by the second IED, which had detonated within minutes of their arrival. Miller had been spared because she’d been charged with approaching the compound from the Lakeshore and had been at the rear of the compound at the critical time. Bryce had been lucky.

  On the downside Craven had also lost the high priority asset he was meant to protect. Elmore and Leah Ravitz had both died in the first blast. The only survivor in the family was their daughter, Jenny.

  Yet it wasn’t all bad. While he would never have admitted to seeking to prosper from such loss of life to anyone out there, it remained a fact that the number of people who knew about the drugs operations in Tijuana was now much reduced. Agent Miller had not been involved in that side of the business. All of Craven’s own team who’d been involved were no longer alive as far as he could tell. He was just this side of being home free.

  He still didn’t know the identity of the traitor within his own organization, the one feeding information to his enemies. But nothing was perfect in this world. There was a more than fair chance the informer had died in the blast. If not, he would take his time to find them.

  Two men had been reported killed in the abandoned railway station in East Austin, one stabbed, the other shot. A knife and a stiletto had been found at the scene and a gun had been recovered. This wasn’t his problem. He could leave this to the local police who were sure to conclude that the two men had killed each other in a gangland dispute. Luiz Reyas, a Mexican, could have been a problem for Craven but like so many who could have made life difficult, he was now out of the way. The other man’s body had been burned beyond recognition in the fire that had consumed half of the place. Identification would depend on DNA testing.

  Which brought him to the killing of Agent Franks. It had been regrettable but Craven had been left with no choice. Once Franks had started to make the connection between the drugs business and the art scam the Ravitz family had fallen for, Franks was going to bring down the whole house of cards. That couldn’t be allowed. There would be an investigation of the death by others in the agency but Craven considered he had a good chance of handling that. Franks had been a loner, wedded to the agency with no wife, no kids, no family. No one to mourn long for him. No one to ask awkward questions when the killing was put down to an accident or the work of organized crime trying to make it look like an accident.

  The Lando family remained in play but, like Craven, they had a vested interest in keeping the drugs trade going despite the potential for further conflict between him and them. Some arrangement could be made, he was sure of it. If not, he had time to gather round him new resources to take them on.

  The remaining problem was Miles Blake and his brother James. Craven didn’t know how much they’d discovered bu
t it was a fair chance they knew more than he would have liked, given they’d made contact with Luiz Reyas. The fact that Reyas had been found dead took away some of the risk but the potential threat from the Blakes was something Craven knew he would have to give priority.

  The real surprise was that after the destruction at Town Lake his reputation had a good chance of surviving. As far as the outside world was concerned, the one who planted the bombs was unknown. No video evidence had survived the Town Lake blast. An unknown terrorist organization was suspected of being behind the outrage and the intelligence services were searching every suspicious communication from Africa to the Middle and Far East. He made sure this line of investigation was given highest priority. Few who had survived knew that the Landos had sent men to Austin and Craven was doing his best to keep it that way. He and Miller had seen them at the Warren Richardson and this would be vital information in any future dealings with the Italians.

  He’d been careful in keeping Debbie Miller from knowing about the connection with the Landos. She knew nothing more than there was an expected attack on the Ravitz family and the Englishman could be used as bait to draw the attacker out. If he managed her well he could prevent her from making the connection. If not, he would have to find more direct means of controlling her.

  Yes, Craven had every chance of being in the clear.

  Debbie Miller had reported to their superiors his bravery in searching for survivors after the second detonation and Agent Craven, along with Miller herself, were in line to be awarded a commendation.

  In the clear, except for those few loose ends.

  Time to regroup and come back out fighting.

  Day 6

  Wednesday August 24th

  Chapter 70

  It didn’t feel good arriving at Heathrow after the transatlantic flight. My mind and my body clock were both telling me it should be just gone midnight with Texas heat while outside it was seven-thirty on a cold English morning. A thief in the night had stolen the best part of nine hours of my life.

  I got through immigration without problems about Miles’ passport by walking through the bay reserved for EU Nationals. A cheery member of staff waved me through with the briefest glance at the photograph page.

  I made straight for a payphone and called the hotel.

  A tired, male voice came on the line. His reply shocked me. “Your wife’s no longer here. She’s left the hotel.”

  “She didn’t leave word where she was going?”

  “There’s no record of it on the computer system, sir. She didn’t check out. She just left.”

  “For no reason?”

  “I’m not allowed to say anything further.”

  I tried to discover more but soon realized I wasn’t going to get anything useful out of him and ended the call.

  In the arrivals area I changed into sterling the dollars Miles and I had shared. I used twenty pounds to buy a ticket on the Heathrow Express to take me into London. Fifteen minutes after I boarded, the train pulled into Paddington Station.

  Jet lag, fueled by the absence of sleep in economy and the nine hours that had been stolen on the journey, was intense. Yet I was buoyant at the thought that I had made it back and was no longer five thousand miles from Julia. I could put all my effort now into finding her.

  The taxi to the Allegro Hotel was held up in traffic around Hyde Park. I wasn’t in the mood to say much to the driver. I fended off his attempts at conversation with just audible comments about jet lag.

  As we made it to the hotel, I was apprehensive. The only thing I knew for sure was Julia had been here when I’d left and yet when I’d got through to reception from Heathrow they’d told me she was no longer there. I needed to fill in the gaps.

  I walked up the steps and into the hotel lobby. My mind went back to all that had happened in the days since I’d left here and was picked up off the street by Craven. It had been a tough introduction to a world I didn’t know existed.

  The young Londoner who’d been on duty all night still manned the reception desk. After the way he’d replied to me when I’d phoned, he wasn’t the one I needed for information.

  I approached the desk. “When does the day shift come on?”

  He turned to look at the digital clock behind him. “Five minutes.”

  I told him I would wait and took a seat on one of the couches in the reception area.

  I picked up one of the newspapers. There was only one story covering the whole of the front page. Outrage in Austin, Texas. A terrorist attack on a compound on Lady Bird Lake, known by locals as Town Lake. The death toll rising. Up-and-coming US politician and his wife killed. Police searching for a terrorist cell believed to have Middle East connections.

  It was a world away and yet right here with me, with the people I most loved.

  There was a change behind me. The Polish receptionist had come on duty.

  I put down the newspaper and approached the desk. “I need to ask you about my wife, Elizabeth Meredith.”

  The receptionist remembered me but did not acknowledge me. “She left without paying the bill. We assumed you had left the hotel, too, sir.”

  “Well, I’m here now.”

  “You’re here to settle the bill?”

  She turned away and typed at the computer console before printing out a typescript letter itemizing the costs.

  I settled the account in cash.

  She smiled. “I’ll make a receipt.”

  “If you must.” I took a deep breath. “I need to know where she went.”

  She glowered at me. “Your wife didn’t leave an address. She left in a hurry. Distressed at the death of her brother. That’s all I can tell you.”

  I wasn’t sure she’d said this. It must have been the jet lag playing with my hearing. Julia had no brother.

  “You said brother?”

  A downcast look came on her face. “You haven’t heard, sir? Her brother was killed here in the hotel. The police have been here all day. They may wish to speak to you. I think I should let them know you are here.”

  I needed her to concentrate. “My wife wasn’t in danger?”

  “I think not. It was she who reported the killing to us here at reception but when the police arrived and asked to interview her, she’d left.”

  I knew I had to keep focus on what mattered, not the issue of Julia having a brother nor the fact that there was a high chance the man who’d died here was Craig. The overriding need was to find where she was.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing more you can tell me about her?”

  She turned to pick out an envelope from the message rack behind her. “One of our guests gave this to me and said it was for you.”

  I took the unsealed envelope and opened it. Inside was a small slip of hotel memo paper with a message in Julia’s handwriting.

  QR4.

  I smiled. I knew what it meant.

  I thanked the receptionist, turned and walked back towards the hotel entrance. As I approached the exit the last person I wanted to meet was coming in through the revolving door.

  He stopped and gave me a long look. He came up close and whispered, “Mr. Blake. What a surprise to see you!”

  It was Inspector Hendricks. He looked older but unchanged in his determination to think the worst of me, despite all that had happened since the last time we’d been in each other’s company.

  I tried to stay calm. “Inspector Hendricks. It’s been a long time.”

  “You’re still in witness protection?”

  I lied and hoped the Franks case had not yet been connected with what was happening here. “It’s working well.”

  “A coincidence, then, that you’re here?”

  “Coincidence?”

  “Do you not know that a man was killed here yesterday?”

  I nodded. “The receptionist mentioned it. It’s your case?”

  He smiled. “Another addition to the work load.” He paused. “And the reason why you’re here?”


  I needed to get this right. “I called in to ask if they had a room for tonight. We’re in London for a few days and don’t like the hotel we’re in. But they don’t have anything here.”

  The receptionist was busy with a line of guests waiting to check out. If she looked up and saw me with Hendricks she would no doubt alert him to the fact that I was the husband of the woman who had first reported the killing. Enough for Hendricks to make life difficult all over again.

  I shook his hand and moved towards the door. “Thanks for everything, Inspector. I wish you well in your investigation.”

  He gave me a look that suggested he was having second thoughts about what I’d just told him but he let it pass. “Give my regards to Mrs. Blake.”

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure I do.”

  I made my way out of the hotel and hailed a black cab.

  The last thing I wanted at this moment was to have to explain to Hendricks what had happened in the last six days.

  Chapter 71

  Alessa Lando was angry when she received the call.

  She was alarmed that El Romero had come straight to her when the agreement was he would communicate with Matteo. The Mexican had been told this line should be used only in the most serious emergency.

  El Romero complained. “Senora Lando. You have my word I would not have troubled you if this was not the only way.”

  She prepared herself for the worst. “Tell me why you’ve called.”

  “This is not a good day, Senora. I have lost one of my best men, Luiz Reyas. You have lost one of yours, Giuseppe Mordini.”

  She interrupted him. “Giuseppe dead?”

  “Si, Senora.”

  She fought back a tear. Mordini had been with her for over twenty years. “How?”