by L J Morris
McGill logged off and checked his watch, he had a little longer than five hours before the time Sinclair wanted to meet. He had to make plans. If things went wrong, if this was a set up, he needed to be able to drop everything and run.
He and Porter were staying in a one-bedroom basement flat they had rented, away from the city centre. The police weren’t actively looking for Porter, but McGill was sure that Vadim’s organisation had connections that would keep them informed if Porter was found. McGill hadn’t allowed Porter to go outside since they’d got there. The young man was going stir crazy. It was good that Sinclair had arrived; they needed to get Porter away from Geneva, something McGill couldn’t do on his own.
McGill entered the flat; Porter was lying on the couch in the dimly lit room. The curtains were constantly closed and the naked bulb in the ceiling had begun to give Porter headaches. The only light came from a small lamp they had moved from the bedroom and placed on the floor near the kitchen.
Porter sat up when McGill entered. ‘Any news, Frank?’
‘My backup is here.’
‘It’s about time. Where have they been?’
‘It’s a long story, son. Maybe I’ll tell you it one day, but now, we need a plan for tonight.’
* * *
Sinclair arrived at the Plainpalais a little after one o’clock – three hours before her meeting with McGill. The Plainpalais was a huge, open area in the heart of the city. It hosted flea markets, circuses and rollercoasters, depending what day and time of year it was. It was also in the centre of the city’s nightlife. The university was close by and many students met up there before a night out. Today it was full of people shopping at the mid-week flea market. The skate park, where she would meet McGill, was always busy, and it attracted a lot of skaters and teenagers to the area. There were enough people to keep her anonymous, but not too many to obscure her view and allow someone to sneak up on her.
Sinclair chose a bench from where she could see the skate park and as much of the surrounding area as possible. She waited until the seat was vacant and sat down, placing her bag next to her to discourage anyone else from sitting there.
She checked the photographs in her phone to remind herself of the cars she had seen the previous night, and checked the area. There was no sign of them and no sign of anyone paying her too much interest. She got comfortable on the bench and waited for McGill.
* * *
McGill and Porter packed up all their kit and put it into the back of an old VW Camper that McGill had paid cash for. McGill told Porter to stay in the flat. He didn’t want the extra hassle of trying to watch out for him, as well as looking for Sinclair. ‘I’ll go to the meeting and make sure everything’s okay. If it is, we’ll come back here and get you, okay?’
Porter nodded. ‘I’m ready to go home now, Frank.’
McGill could tell that Porter was a nervous wreck. He’d never experienced anything like this before and had had no training on how to cope with it. The reason McGill hadn’t left Geneva was that he couldn’t look after Porter and watch his own back without putting them both at risk. Now Sinclair was there, they had a chance of getting through it. ‘I promise I’ll do everything I can to get you to a safe place, Callum. If I’m not back here by midnight, get in the van and head for France, try and get to a US embassy. It’s your best bet.’
‘Whatever happens tonight, thank you, Frank. I know you’ve done everything you can. I really appreciate it.’
‘Don’t worry, Callum. We’ll be okay. You’ll be on your way home before you know it.’
McGill left the flat and closed the door behind him. He’d made sure that anything to link him with the flat had been left in the campervan. If he was taken out, at least they couldn’t use him to find out where Callum was. If anything happened to McGill, the chances of Porter surviving on his own were slim. McGill couldn’t afford not to go to the meeting, though; he was exhausted. Checking the email and buying food during the day and keeping watch through the night had sapped his energy. He only snatched a couple of hours sleep at a time and felt like he was walking around in a daze. He couldn’t keep it up much longer.
McGill climbed the stone steps outside the flat until his eyes were at the same level as the pavement and he could just see along the road. He stood there for several minutes, checking for anyone watching, loitering, or walking past more than once. There was nothing suspicious, just the normal, everyday traffic of people going about their business. He climbed the last few steps, checked left and right once more, and set off for Plainpalais.
* * *
Sinclair had been on the bench for nearly two hours. She had already been approached by two men who thought she was looking for business, and given money by an old woman who thought she was homeless. She’d kept a good watch in all directions and, until now, hadn’t spotted anything untoward. In the last ten minutes, however, she’d spotted the same car that had rung an alarm bell outside her hotel. She pulled out her mobile and checked the photograph she had taken the previous night. It was definitely the same car and driver.
The car had three people inside: driver and passenger in the front, and another passenger in the back. It was an old, dark blue saloon. There was nothing remarkable about it, it was a perfect surveillance vehicle. Nothing about it made it stand out, other than the fact that Sinclair had now seen it three times, that was too much of a coincidence. Most people wouldn’t have noticed whether they’d seen the same car, briefly, more than once. Even if they had, most people wouldn’t perceive it as a threat, but Ali Sinclair wasn’t most people.
Sinclair knew, once he had heard she had escaped from prison again, Vadim would probably start to look for her there. He wouldn’t do it officially, that would mean explaining the reasons why and how an escaped convict was in Geneva, four days after being broken out of a prison van in the Chihuahuan desert. Whoever was following her must have been watching the railway stations, it was the obvious way for her to arrive. She knew they wouldn’t make a move on her yet. Although Vadim wanted her dead, his bosses wanted Porter and the book first. Sinclair checked her watch, it was still one hour before Frank was due to arrive.
* * *
McGill had spotted Sinclair sitting on the bench. He had taken an hour to work his way around Plainpalais and close in on her position. He mingled with people shopping in the flea market and checked for anyone out of the ordinary, anyone who might be watching Sinclair. The only thing that stood out was a blue saloon car. Three men sitting in a car in the afternoon didn’t look right. He watched as one of the passengers got out, walked around the market and returned to the car. He didn’t buy anything. He didn’t even look at anything. The whole time his attention was focussed in Sinclair’s direction. Whoever they were, they weren’t trained in surveillance.
McGill walked through the market crowd and stood less than fifty feet from Sinclair. Even if she spotted him, it was unlikely she would recognise him. With his hood up and his head down, he could be anyone. He had to contact Sinclair and get her to follow him without the watchers realising who he was.
Sinclair checked her watch again, it was four o’clock. Frank should be there anytime, if he’d got the message, if he wasn’t dead already. Then she heard a voice she instantly recognised, a voice she was relieved to hear again.
McGill was standing directly behind the bench, pretending to take a picture with his phone. ‘Dark blue saloon, two o’clock, three up. Follow me.’
Sinclair watched as McGill walked away and mingled with the flea-market shoppers. She stood, picked up her bag, and followed him.
When Sinclair moved off, two of the three watchers got out of the car and walked towards the market. As they closed in, they separated. One covering the southern edge and the other heading north. Sinclair sped up and was just behind McGill as they came out of the market, on to Avenue du Mail. They ran across the road and into the grid of streets opposite, turning regularly to put distance and angles between them and their pursuers: left,
right, left right; they came out on a street with a low wall on the other side. They both ran between the parked cars and cleared the wall into a cemetery.
When they reached the other side, McGill moved to the left and tucked in the shadows at the base of the wall. Sinclair went right and hid behind a large tree. The first chaser to clear the wall followed the same route as Sinclair had, turning to the right. When the second chaser landed inside the cemetery McGill shot him.
Although McGill had screwed the suppressor on his nine-millimetre, the scream, as the shot man fell, alerted his partner to the threat. The first chaser stopped dead and spun around, but before he could run back towards the wall and help his buddy, Sinclair stepped out from behind the tree and dropped him with two solid kidney punches. She grabbed the man’s collar and drove him face first into the tree trunk. He lay at her feet, unconscious, blood pouring from a large wound on his forehead.
McGill unscrewed his suppressor and put the weapon back in his pocket. He ran to Sinclair, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. ‘It’s great to see you, Ali.’
‘Thank god you’re alive, Frank. I thought I’d lost you.’
McGill put Sinclair down, still holding on to her arms. ‘What took you so long?’
Sinclair punched his arm. ‘I was in prison, in Mexico, you tosser.’
McGill smiled. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
They jogged through the cemetery and exited through the gate on the opposite side.
Chapter 9
Sinclair and McGill arrived back at the basement flat at six o’clock, after taking a roundabout route and doubling back a few times to throw off any followers. They approached the steps to the flat but waited until the road was deserted before stepping down. When McGill opened the door, Porter wasn’t in his usual place on the couch. The small lamp and the bedroom light were both switched off, the flat was in darkness. They closed the door and McGill switched on the main light. ‘It’s okay, Callum. It’s us. You can come out now.’
The kitchen door creaked open and Porter peered into the room. He was carrying a large carving knife, from the kitchen drawer, out in front of him.
McGill pointed at the knife. ‘What were you planning to do with that?’
Porter felt a little foolish. He knew he would probably have hurt himself rather than any intruder. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just thought … well … never mind.’ He turned and dropped the knife back into the drawer.
Porter looked at Sinclair. ‘Is this your backup?’
‘Yeah, this is Ali. Don’t let her looks fool you, she’s saved my arse more times than I can remember. Ali, this is Callum Porter.’
Sinclair smiled. ‘Hello, Callum. It’s good to meet you. I owe your dad a big favour.’
‘You know my dad?’
‘We’ve never met, but a few days ago I was in a Mexican prison and now I’m here. That, in part, is down to your dad.’
Porter didn’t understand this at all. ‘A Mexican prison? What …?’
‘Don’t worry, Callum. It’s a long story for another time. All you need to know is you can trust me, and I’ll keep you safe.’
McGill butted in. ‘Right. Before we all get misty-eyed, let’s get on with this shit, shall we? We leave in an hour. We can’t hang around and wait for anyone else to come after us.’
Porter looked quizzical. ‘Anyone else? Has something happened?’
‘We were followed when we were at the skate park. Two guys came after us.’
‘What? What if they followed you here?’
McGill shook his head. ‘Not happening, Callum. I shot one of them and Ali smashed the other one’s face in with a tree.’
Porters mouth hung open, searching for words but none would come out. They were talking about this stuff as if it were an everyday occurrence. He was glad they were on his side.
It was Sinclair who broke the silence. ‘Okay, enough of the small talk. Callum, grab anything you need to take with you. Frank, I could murder something to eat.’
Porter pointed towards the street. ‘All of our kit is in the van, we’re ready to go.’
McGill headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll knock us up some train smash before we go. It’s my speciality.’
* * *
They sat at the tiny table and tucked into bowls of McGill’s speciality: corned beef, baked beans and tinned tomatoes, all thrown in the same pan and heated up – train smash.
Porter was surprised how much he had come to like McGill’s cooking in the last two weeks. ‘You’ll have to give me the recipe for this, Frank.’
‘You don’t need a recipe, mate. Just throw everything in a pan, turn up the heat, and Bob’s your uncle.’
Porter looked confused. ‘Who’s Bob?’
McGill laughed. ‘It’s just a saying where we come from. Just means, “and there you go”.’
Sinclair finished her bowl. ‘That was lovely, Frank. I haven’t had it since we were in Helmand.’
McGill sat back in his chair. ‘Chef McGill, that’s me.’
Porter dropped his spoon into his empty bowl. ‘You served in Afghanistan, too, Ali?’
Sinclair pointed towards McGill with her thumb. ‘That’s where I met the green machine here.’
‘Yeah, I was always digging her out of the shit.’
‘In your dreams.’
Porter felt safe and relaxed for the first time in weeks. The way Sinclair and McGill joked with each other as they ate, made him feel like they were about to go on a camping trip, not running for their lives.
McGill collected the bowls and threw them into the sink. ‘I won’t bother washing them. Okay, boys and girls, toilet time before we go. We’re not stopping till we get there.’
Porter went into the bathroom and closed the door. McGill stood close to Sinclair, suddenly serious. ‘He’s close to cracking, Ali. I couldn’t run with him on my own. If we’d had a contact he wouldn’t have been able to back me up. He’d be more likely to give us away and get us killed. If it hits the fan, one of us needs to grab him and keep him down.’
Sinclair nodded. ‘Are you planning to offload him? Leave him somewhere safe, like the US Embassy?’
‘No. Too risky. Until we know who’s involved, we can’t trust anyone. Besides, some of the notebook is in code. We need him and the book to get all of the info.’
‘Couldn’t we get him to write the code down?’
McGill shook his head. ‘Not that kind of code. There are references to memories between the two of them. Words that have no significance to us, mean something different to Callum. He’s the key to deciphering it. It could take months to go through it all.’
‘You think Vadim is in there?’
‘Whoever is involved, this is wide-ranging. Powerful people are involved. People who now want the three of us dead and the book in their hands.’
Sinclair let out a short laugh. ‘Lucky us.’
Porter came out of the bathroom drying his hands. ‘Okay, I’m ready to go, if you guys are?’
Sinclair picked up her bag. ‘You lead the way, Frank. Callum, you follow Frank, and I’ll pick up the rear. If anything happens, keep your head down until one of us tells you otherwise. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
McGill switched off the light and opened the door, checking up and down the street. He crept up the steps with Porter close behind him. Sinclair closed the door and followed them up.
The van was a hundred metres down the street. McGill didn’t want the position of the van to give away which flat they were in. The three of them moved quickly and quietly. They reached the van and jumped in: McGill in the driver’s seat and Porter and Sinclair in the back with their heads down. Anyone looking for them would be watching for two or three people in a vehicle, not a lone driver. McGill fired up the engine, switched on the lights and pulled away.
* * *
The border between Switzerland and France is open, there are no passport checks and customs posts are not always manned. M
cGill headed for a crossing that was unlikely to have any customs officers and they sailed through without even having to stop. ‘Welcome to France, boys and girls. The first stop on our scheduled service will be to take on coffee and have a piss. All those in favour, say aye.’
Porter and Sinclair both raised their hands. ‘Aye!’ The school camping trip atmosphere persisted as they all cracked up.
Two hours later they were parked at the side of the road while McGill made them all a coffee. McGill placed the mugs on the table in the cramped interior of the van then squeezed on the bench seat next to Sinclair. ‘I don’t think these vans were designed for three adults.’
Sinclair picked up her mug. ‘I’ve slept in worse places.’
McGill smiled. ‘Did you manage to send the photos of the book to Kinsella, back in London?’
‘Yeah. It took a while, but I managed to get a decent phone signal just as we were crossing the border. I sent him the few pages you and Callum had worked on and a few of the other pages we haven’t looked at yet, so he can go through them. I’ll have to send him the rest, bit by bit, whenever I can.’
‘That’ll make the actual book less important, but they would’ve expected us to do that anyway. They’ll still be coming after us. They’ll want to know what’s in the book, and, don’t forget, Callum’s the key to it all.’
Porter took a sip of his coffee. ‘Thanks for that. I was just starting to feel like we’d escaped.’
‘It’s okay, Callum. Me and Frank won’t let anything happen to you.’ She looked at McGill. ‘Will we?’
McGill reached over the table and clamped a hand on Porter’s forearm. ‘Stick with us, kid. We’ll get you home safely.’