by Ian Andrew
Crisis over, the small man went back to looking in the suitcase. Jacob noticed that he was taking each item out, removing the price tags and other labels that identified it as ‘just bought’. He then folded the clothing and packed it neatly back in the case. Except for one set of underwear, socks, a T-shirt, the light jumper and the light jacket. These he set carefully to one side of the bed. Jacob turned his attention back to the envelope.
He emptied its contents out and picked up the passport. Turning to the back, he found a picture of himself with the name of Jacob London, born in Auckland on the Fourth of July, 1989. The cards showed the same name and the driving license had the addition of a home address in Grays, Essex, England. All the items bore the same signature.
“This is all nice gear you bought,” the small man said, zipping up the suitcase and the backpack. “You did well lad. It looks exactly like what it should.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t a bad day. Nice to not have to be looking over my shoulder to see if the cops were there,” Jacob said before holding up the passport. “So, I’m a New Zealander from Essex?”
“That’s right. You lived in England for a few years. Hence your accent.”
“And the signature?”
“You’ll have to practise but I wouldn’t get too stressed. Even those people who try to compare a signature haven’t got a clue. If it’s close enough, then it’s close enough.”
“What does Jacob London do for a living?” Jacob asked.
“Whatever you do. No point making up stuff we don’t need to.”
“And this address in Essex, it’s real?”
“Well Maple Road exists, but there’s no actual number sixty-nine. If you google it though, it’ll show up. It’ll even put a flag on the map. That’s just a quirk of the system.”
“And I was born on the Fourth of July. Really?”
The small man smiled. “It’s easy to remember. Like the number sixty-nine. We just need it to be enough to get you through a few simple questions if you get asked them.”
“That’s why you wanted to know if I’d been born in July?”
“Yes. It would be a coincidence but a complication we could do without. Dates of birth and real names are the keys to most police databases worldwide. If we avoid showing up on them, then we have the advantage.”
“And these?” Jacob held up two debit cards, two credit cards and the Nectar card.
“They’re purely for appearances. People carry cards and a wallet without a collection of bank cards and other cards looks strange. You’ve got enough to look right, but sadly there’s no money and no points on them.”
Jacob took out his wallet and slipped all the cards, the license and the photo of the woman inside. “You’re right. This feels a lot more like my wallet did before I had to ditch everything.”
“You see,” the small man said, cheered by the recognition finally being shown for his work. “This is what we do Jacob and we’re good at it. Everything will be fine.” He checked his watch, “Now, you have just enough time to get a shower and change clothes. Wear the shoes and jeans you have on but put this lot on,” he said pointing to the clothes he had laid out on the bed, Just leave what you take off and we’ll get rid of it.”
Jacob looked at his leather jacket, draped over the back of the chair, “I need to leave my jacket?”
“Yes, especially the jacket. It makes you look like you. Anyway, where you’re going you’re not going to need it.” The small man grinned at Jacob’s look of disappointment. “It’s okay Jacob, there will be compensations. I promise. Especially if you…” he trailed off.
“If what?”
“Well… I shouldn’t say, but that photo in the wallet?”
Jacob nodded slowly.
“Let’s just say if you like that look, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now go! Get ready!”
Before Jacob could ask anymore the small man left the room.
ɸ
Showered and changed he was putting his shoes on when there was a knock at the bedroom door. Again, without waiting, the small man came in. Behind him were two other men. One was in his early twenties, average height, average build, his long brown hair secured in a ponytail, he wore black boots, black jeans and a heavy black duffle coat. His only distinguishing feature was a set of three silver loop earrings through his right eyebrow. The other man, older, was Jacob’s height and heavily built. Sturdy was the word Jacob thought of. His hair was similar in length to the barman’s. In fact, as Jacob looked more closely at him, he decided there was a definite family resemblance. He wore brown boots, blue jeans, and no coat, just a heavy dark brown jumper, the sleeves of which were pushed up. Unlike his potential brother he had no tattoos, faded or otherwise, but he did wear a small gold hoop earring in his left ear.
The two new arrivals flanked the small man. “This is Jean-Paul,” he said, indicating the younger of the two, “and this is Thierry.” As if on cue Thierry folded his arms and gave what he must have thought was his best, most intimidating stare. Jacob saw he wore two gold rings on his right hand; a medium sized square cut, black onyx set in gold on his ring finger and the other, also gold, also square but larger and with a diamond solitaire set centrally, on his index finger.
Jacob gave a weak wave to the men.
“You’re leaving now,” the small man continued. “There’s a car outside. When you get to the airport Thierry will accompany you. You’ll travel together. When you get to the next place, Thierry will hand you over to the next courier team.”
Jacob struggled to keep his alarm and frustration hidden. His plan for communicating back to Tien and Kara was dependent on not having a minder in the air. He had to try to dissuade the small man. “Oh really, that’s so much trouble to go to. Surely that’s not necessary. I can co-”
“Now, now Jacob. You have paid and this is what we do. Besides, it’s safer this way.”
Jacob wondered how much more a real fugitive would protest. He decided to switch tack, “It’s just, almost like, you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you Jacob. But those…” He pointed up with his finger as he had done the night before.
Jacob filled in, “The higher-ups?”
“Exactly, the higher-ups. They don’t trust anyone. Nothing personal. Just safer.”
Jacob knew it was a lost cause. He managed a shrug, “I see. Well, I suppose it makes sense. Thank you, it’s kind of you Thierry.”
Thierry moved his head the tiniest fraction which Jacob figured was his way of saying, ‘Don’t mention it’.
The small man reached forward and shook Jacob’s hand, “Great, well, here, Jean-Paul, take Jacob’s bags and let’s get going.”
ɸ
“We’re rolling. Black Peugeot, I’m on point, heading north on Rue Damremont,” Sammi called as she scrambled into the driver’s seat and pulled the van out into the traffic flow.
“They’re on it Sammi,” Tien called as the others made for the vehicles. “Swapping to telephones, and I’ll coordinate them into the chase. How is it out there?”
“Sun’s dipping rapidly which is good, Should be dark before much longer. What I need are eyes on me to clear my back.”
“They’ll be minutes out Sammi, hang tight.”
As it was it took six minutes for Chaz, on the Z800e Kawasaki, to weave his way through heavy traffic and pick up Sammi, less than three kilometres from the restaurant. A series of turns, combined with narrow streets and rush hour congestion had slowed the progress of both her and the Peugeot. Toby, on the other bike, arrived a few seconds later. With the sky blackening and the Peugeot slowing to turn off the Boulevards des Maréchaux,
Sammi pulled out of the pursuit. “He’s heading for the on-ramp of the highway, Tien. Looks like he’s going to Charles de Gaulle Airport. Chaz and Toby, I’m gone, all yours.”
Tien routed Kara, in the BMW Four-series, to the Place Auguste Baron. She paced her driving by Chaz’s non-stop commentary on the road signs and distance markers he was
passing and intercepted the pursuit seamlessly twelve kilometres later. “Chaz, how’s it looking?”
The Bluetooth mic and earpiece, Jerry-rigged to fit inside the bike helmet, worked well enough but the roar of the powerful Kawasaki engine meant Chaz had to shout his answer, “Good Kara. He’s clear. He has no other cars providing cover. They’re running solo.”
“Okay, I’ll take it from here. I’d say it’s almost certain he’s going to Charles de Gaulle, so you and Toby get ready.”
“Roger that,” Chaz yelled and first he, closely followed by Toby, powered past her.
Kara was left to maintain the pursuit alone. It called for considerable effort and concentration as twilight had given way to darkness and all three lanes of the motorway, although congested, were fairly free-flowing. She had to balance the need to identify and keep in contact with the target, against the risk of getting too close.
After a further five kilometres the Peugeot made the turn for the airport and although the traffic was still significant, it thinned considerably. Kara allowed some more distance and a few more cars to get between her and Jacob.
“Chaz, Toby, we’ve just pulled off to the airport. According to my satnav I’ve still got seven clicks to run before I get there. Have just passed a large sign for the Hyatt Regency. Where are you?”
Chaz’s voice was clearer and the background noise much less, “Just keep coming, we’re in the Total service station, about two minutes ahead.”
The traffic was slowing and bunching and the two minutes took nearer four, but as she passed the service station she saw Chaz’s Kawasaki with Toby riding pillion, come up the on-ramp and join the main road.
“Kara, we’re two cars behind you,” Toby called.
“Roger that, seen.”
The road followed a long right-hand turn and then straightened out, becoming much more brightly lit. Kara allowed another few cars to get between her and the Peugeot and the bike also slowed considerably and fell back. Multiple off-ramps, on-ramps and side lanes of traffic appeared and disappeared and Kara, with one eye on her dashboard satnav display, wondered how anyone had ever managed to build such a complex series of roads and interchanges. Her leftmost lane gently peeled away and the now narrowed carriageway, down to just two lanes, went under a series of bridges. Kara remembered a photograph she had once seen of aircraft taxying across bridges with cars passing underneath. She wondered if it had been here. She got her answer when the distinctive nose of a 747 peeked into view above her. Markings to her immediate left indicated a widening of the road into three lanes again.
“Decision time coming up,” she said as they passed under a sign that pointed Terminal One and Three traffic to the left and Terminal Two to the right. The Peugeot held its position in what was now the middle lane. Kara slowed more to give herself the most room and the least need for a violent manoeuvre whatever way the Peugeot went, but there was no need. As the newly appeared left hand lane veered away to the other terminals, the middle and right lanes turned in a wide sweep towards Terminal 2 and the Peugeot went with them. The road ducked under another taxiway bridge with multiple concrete supports testament to a lot of built-in redundancy, or the overly cautious mind of an overly paranoid engineer.
A sweeping left hand turn brought her up onto an elevated section of road. It gave the most incredible views of even more complex road interchanges, backed by an ocean of concrete lit by hundreds of gantry lights. Aircraft stretched as far as she could see, taxiing or parked nose-on to gates. The Peugeot moved into the left lane and Kara followed suit.
She passed terminal buildings to the right and left before following the Peugeot past an unusual, wedge-shaped hotel, lit up like a cruise liner set in the middle of the carriageways. Distracted by its strangeness, she almost missed the Peugeot moving across to the exit lane for Terminal 2E’s drop-off point.
“Chaz, Toby, you ready?”
“Yep, we have you.”
The Peugeot slowed and went through one of three automatic security gates to the set-down area. Kara still had five cars between her and the target, so by the time she got through, three men had already stepped out of the Peugeot and were standing at its open boot. Pulling in five bays back from them, Kara watched Jacob lift out a suitcase and swing a backpack onto his shoulder. The older of the other two men did likewise.
She switched off the BMW, stepped out and went to the rear of the car. Opening the boot she lifted out her own small backpack and waited, watching Jacob up ahead. Before he and his new companions had made the entrance to the terminal she heard the bike pull up behind her. She passed off the car keys to Toby and set off to follow Jacob.
The first thing she noticed once inside the building was the number of heavily armed security personnel visible in every direction. There was a majority of blue-clad police, but here and there were small patrols of camouflage-wearing army personnel. She recognised the red berets of the 11th Parachute Brigade and considered that the French were certainly taking a robust response to the terrible attacks that had occurred.
As one of the patrols passed by she saw Jacob, flanked by the other men, heading towards the check-in area for Air France. She followed along, casual, yet direct, mirroring the demeanour of almost every other traveller in the terminal, barring those few who rushed about, evidently late. The majority of people were all heading in the same direction, but occasionally she had to sidestep those who elected to go against the consensus, or those who determined it was a good idea to stop right in the middle of the thoroughfare and check their luggage for something or other.
Ahead she saw a long row of check-in desks, perhaps forty or more, each with a high-mounted display screen, a single seat and a small gap where luggage would be placed for weighing and tagging. Kara could see most of the desks were not staffed, the seats empty, the screens either blank or displaying a static Air France logo. Only half a dozen or so desks at the far end were open and she reckoned it would be easy to identify Jacob’s flight from where he queued up. If she followed that with a quick trip to the Air France ticket sales counter, she might just be in luck.
Her luck took an immediate blow when Jacob, halfway to the desks, had his elbow tugged by the man to his right and was steered towards an angled row of baggage drop-off counters. Kara looked at their suitcases and could see white labels with barcodes printed on them hanging from the handles. She took out her phone, the line still live, “Tien. Look up Air France check-in procedures. Find out if you can home print your boarding pass and baggage tags.”
“On it.”
Kara angled her path to swing outwards and approach Jacob from his rear-left quarter. As he was carrying his suitcase in his left hand, she figured, if it was a baggage label, then that would give her the best chance to see it up close.
“Kara, yes. You can print it all out and check-in online. Why, what’s going on?”
“I think they’ve done all of that. Have you got a picture of one?”
“Yes, I’m looking at it now.”
“Is the three-letter airport code printed on it?”
“Yes, but small. Really small. It’s set to the top of a big barcode.”
“Great, I’ll just have to get closer.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
Kara kept the phone up to her ear, helping to mask her face and was within ten strides of the three men when the one to Jacob’s right again tugged his arm and turned them both to the first bag-drop point. At the same time the man to Jacob’s left, the younger of the two men, wearing a duffle coat and with his hair tied back in a ponytail, turned around and stopped in the perfect position to act as a block and prevent anyone getting close.
Kara adjusted her feet and barely managed to avoid bumping into him. She felt like a stone that had been skipped off a pond.
Stopping a short distance further along she spoke into the phone and meandered about, looking as if lost in conversation. She saw Jacob place his bag on the conveyor. He tapped the touch
screen panel set to the side of the bag-drop point, but Kara couldn’t see it from where she stood and the ponytail block would have prevented her from seeing it even if she had been on the correct side. The bag lurched as the conveyor sped it away and then the older man followed the same procedure.
All three set off again and Kara tailed them at a distance. Entering back into the central space of the terminal, Ponytail headed for the exit, while Jacob and what she now understood to be his travelling companion, headed into the central concourse and joined the queue under the sign for ‘Immigration et sécurité’.
She had no options left and she couldn’t risk joining the queue without a boarding pass of some sort. Not given the heightened alert levels. She considered lining up just to be close to him, maybe starting a conversation, casually asking where he was going, leaving before the first check, but again, in a heightened state of security that would draw attention and spoil Jacob’s good work to date. In the end she stopped walking and looked up at the huge departures board. At least twenty Air France flights were leaving over the coming three hours. She looked back and saw Jacob reaching inside his jacket pocket. The act of withdrawing a passport made him twist slightly. As he looked up their eyes met, fleetingly, but Kara hoped it had been long enough. She willed him to realise, they’d be there for him as soon as they could.
Chapter 24
Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris.
He was comforted by the fact she’d been there, but knew she probably hadn’t discovered his destination.
He felt Thierry nudging him, “Here. You will need this,” he said, passing Jacob a boarding pass.
Jacob knew from the luggage tags that his bags were heading to Singapore on an Air France flight, but at least this confirmed he was going too. “Twenty-L? Is this business class?” He asked.
Thierry didn’t respond.
“Where are you sitting?”