Hot Seat

by Simon Wood

  We arrived at Ragged at six a.m. as instructed and found Rags stooped over the engine bay of the car I was to deliver. He had the engine plugged into his laptop.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I asked.

  Rags unplugged the laptop and dropped the bonnet. ‘Just making sure everything is perfect.’

  I hoped that was all he was doing. After Barrington’s revelations of drug smuggling, I wasn’t sure what I thought of Rags now.

  He looked me over. ‘I like that you remembered to dress up.’

  I’d put on a Ragged Racing polo shirt. If I was meeting a sponsor, then I had to make a good impression.

  Rags jerked a thumb at Dylan. ‘He dropping you off?’

  I wasn’t sure if I should read anything into that reaction. Did Rags want me to do this delivery alone for a reason? God, I was getting paranoid. It wasn’t surprising with all the puppet masters pulling my strings.

  ‘Germany is a long way. I thought it would be good to have a co-pilot,’ I said.

  This wasn’t strictly true. Yes, the drive would take all day, but I was a little tired of getting ambushed by everyone and their brother so I wanted someone as a witness and backup. Dylan had seen the situation a little differently when I mentioned my logic. He’d said, ‘Great, I get to be your red shirt.’ It was a joke that cut to the quick. I had put Dylan in harm’s way before, and his unquestioning loyalty had saved my life.

  ‘Good thinking,’ Rags said, although he didn’t sound convinced. ‘But those five hundred euros will have to cover expenses for the both of you. Just be back by Monday. Your mate’s got a new job to start.’

  ‘No worries,’ I said, knowing the money was unlikely to stretch to two airline tickets. We’d more than likely be returning by rail.

  ‘All right, then. Get on with it and for God’s sake, don’t pick up any speeding tickets.’

  ‘Hey, I’m a professional,’ I said with a good amount of bravado.

  That got me an eye roll and the flicker of a smile from Rags. Maybe I was winning him over.

  He walked in the direction of his office and tossed a parting comment over his shoulder. ‘Let me know when you get there.’

  I elected to drive the first leg and got behind the wheel. Dylan fed the sponsor’s address in the sat nav. At this time of morning, traffic was light and I kept my foot down. I wanted this car delivered and out of my life as soon as possible.

  As soon as we were on the road, I called Barrington. My call didn’t seem to have awakened him. Maybe he didn’t sleep.

  I’d clued Barrington in on this run to Germany the second after Rags had assigned it to me at the workshop earlier in the week. I’d felt Barrington’s excitement over the line. He had a plan in place, but Barrington being Barrington, he hadn’t bothered to share any of the details other than I’d be meeting his undercover officer en route.

  ‘We’re on the move,’ I said. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Drive to Dover and take the nine o’clock ferry.’

  ‘We were going to take to the Channel Tunnel.’

  ‘Not anymore you’re not. Take the ferry and my undercover agent will brief you.’

  ‘That’ll slow us down.’

  ‘Aidy, please do as you’re told. Be on that boat and wait in the restaurant. Your handler will contact you.’

  I really was bought and paid for. ‘Is there a password?’

  ‘Cute,’ he said and hung up.

  We arrived in Dover just in time to catch the nine o’clock ferry. I got in line for passport control.

  ‘I’m actually enjoying this. Foreign travel. Fresh opportunities,’ Dylan said.

  I felt the opposite way. As we inched closer to the head of the line, my stomach churned. I’d put both of us at the mercy of others. I was operating on the assumption that everyone was playing straight with me. I was going on Rags’ word that this delivery run was on the up and up and I wasn’t playing mule in some drug trafficking scheme. I was going on Barrington’s word that he wanted me to deliver the car to Germany. This ferry ride could all be part of some elaborate portside arrest. I’d be a fool to believe Barrington was my friend in all this. The tosser had already tried to fit me up once. There was nothing to say he wouldn’t do it again, especially if this car was packed with drugs. I was at the wheel of a ticking time bomb and I couldn’t see the clock.

  ‘Just remember why we’re doing this,’ I said.

  Dylan had been smiling, but that killed it. ‘Do you hear that? That’s the sound of you pissing on my fireworks.’

  ‘I’m just saying we don’t know what we’re involved in.’

  ‘No, you don’t know what you’re involved in, but you’ve dragged Steve and me into it.’

  It was an unfair remark. Mainly because it was totally fair.

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ I said sincerely.

  ‘Sod it. I wasn’t busy today.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I realize how bad this might get, so let’s just get through it, whatever it turns out to be.’

  I held my breath when we pulled up to passport control. Armed police didn’t explode from unseen quarters and we weren’t ripped from the car. The immigration officer just asked the purpose of our visit and waved us through.

  We boarded and grabbed a table in the restaurant. I sat with my back to a bulkhead. I didn’t want anyone sneaking up on me, especially my Customs handler. Any colleague of Barrington’s wasn’t a friend of mine.

  As the ferry eased out of port, people migrated to the restaurant. Dylan and I watched for our undercover contact. No one stood out, but they shouldn’t. It was the first rule of undercover work.

  ‘Crap,’ Dylan said. ‘We’ve got a problem.’

  I followed Dylan’s gaze across the restaurant to Claudia. She looked sharp in jeans, knee-length boots and a leather biker’s jacket over a form-fitting turtleneck jumper. How did she manage to look so good all the time regardless of the time of day? She smiled at me and cut through the human traffic to our table.

  Crap was right. All I needed was Claudia hanging around with Barrington’s man trying to make contact. Some days it wasn’t good being me.

  ‘Bonjour, Aidy. It’s lovely to run into you like this. Who’s this?’

  ‘Hi, Claudia. This is my friend, Dylan.’

  ‘Do you ’ave a minute? I need to talk to you about your problem.’

  ‘I’m a little tied up at the moment.’

  ‘Aidy, you’re on a ferryboat. You’re not going anywhere. You ’ave some time to chat.’

  I opened my mouth to lob another brush-off, but then I got it. Claudia was Barrington’s undercover contact. She read my expression and nodded.

  ‘You’re right. I’ve got a few minutes.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said.

  Dylan picked up on his third wheel status and got up. ‘I’ll go get us some breakfast.’

  ‘Take your time,’ Claudia said and slid into Dylan’s seat.

  ‘You must be good, because I would have never guessed. Did Barrington press gang you into service or are you a willing volunteer?’

  ‘I’m a British Customs officer.’

  ‘But you’re French.’

  Claudia grinned. ‘You British will take anyone.’

  I felt I deserved that. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I will give you tasks. You will carry them out.’

  She looked over at Dylan who was in line getting two plates piled with food. He was shooting furtive glances our way. ‘You shouldn’t ’ave involved anyone else.’

  ‘You have your people and I have mine. After what your boss has done to me, I need someone with my interests at heart. So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Deliver the car as arranged. ’Ave you looked it over?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know I was supposed to. I have to get the car to Munich by seven tonight. That doesn’t leave much time to play detective.’

  ‘Merde. I was ’oping to ’and the car over to our people i
n France.’ She held out her hand. ‘Give me your keys.’

  I handed them over and she slipped from her seat, which Dylan filled a minute later after planting two breakfasts on the table.

  ‘Oh, she leaves a warm seat.’

  ‘You need a girlfriend.’

  ‘We both do. It might keep us out of trouble.’

  When it came to lady love, Steve was the big winner amongst us. In the years since Gran had died, he’d put himself out there and was rarely without a lady on his arm.

  Dylan shrugged and started in on his breakfast. He’d bought us both the full English – scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, tomatoes, baked beans and toast. I had no problems whipping a car around a track at triple-digit speeds, but the slow roll of a ferry cutting across the English Channel left me feeling queasy. I forced the food down since I’d need the energy for the long drive ahead.

  Claudia returned as we were finishing our meals. There was no smile on display. She put my keys down on the table. ‘We need to talk. Alone.’

  Dylan shrugged.

  ‘Don’t wait up,’ I said.

  Dylan smiled.

  We walked out on to the deck. We were certainly alone out here. The wind coming off the sea was biting. Claudia leaned against the safety rail with her back to the water.

  ‘We ’ave a problem. I found a GPS tracking device on the car. If you deviate from your route, someone will know.’

  ‘It could be an anti-theft device.’

  She frowned at me.

  ‘OK. What happens now?’

  ‘Keep to the schedule. We ’ave the advantage of knowing your destination.’

  ‘As does whoever placed the tracker,’ I added.

  ‘This will be an information-gathering exercise. Get names, places, whatever you can.’

  ‘If I’m going to do this, then I want something from you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Barrington says you have powers the cops don’t have. I want to take advantage of that. Get me the name of the woman who’s made the accusation that I wrecked her car.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  I expected to haggle. Maybe Customs did have some special skills. ‘Good.’

  Claudia looked towards France, now large on the horizon. ‘We’ll be arriving soon. Do you ’ave questions?’

  ‘So how did you end up working for Her Majesty’s government?’

  ‘There was a joint taskforce between French and British authorities. After the case, Barrington put in a request to borrow me for this operation. I accepted. This investigation will be good for my career.’

  ‘You want to be France’s number one cop?’

  ‘Or ’igher.’

  I grinned. It was so damn hard to dislike Claudia.

  A horn blared and an announcement followed telling all passengers to return to their vehicles. We followed the crush of people back down to the car decks. Claudia held the door open to my deck and followed me out. On the car deck, the roar of the ferry’s diesel engines was deafening. She escorted me back to my car, where Dylan stood waiting.

  ‘Where are you parked?’

  She pointed to her Peugeot four cars back. I shook my head. I hadn’t even noticed her when we’d parked. God, I wasn’t the man for Barrington’s job, or even Andrew Gates’.

  ‘Don’t let it get to you. You were tired and your mind was on your problems.’

  She kissed me on the cheek and walked back to her car. Watching her go, something occurred to me.

  I called after her: ‘Is Claudia your real name?’

  She turned and shook her head.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  She said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the roar of the boat’s engines.

  Daylight flooded the car deck when the bow doors opened and the roar of dozens of car engines bursting into life filled the air. I guided the car off the ferry, fully aware that a satellite was beaming our position to some nameless, faceless person.

  Dylan and I passed through French Customs and passport control without incident and picked up the road heading to Reims. I wound up the speed and found a nice groove that ate away at our arrival time display on the sat nav.

  ‘You looking to pick up a ticket?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘The faster we get there, the faster we’re rid of this car and whatever we’re carrying.’

  ‘Good point. Keep your foot down.’

  The French countryside whipped past our windows as we ate up the miles. The weather was cool and overcast, but it didn’t ruin the view.

  ‘So Claudia is an undercover British Customs agent,’ Dylan said. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘I feel like we’re the last ones to laugh at a poorly told joke. Do you think we can trust her?’

  ‘About as much as anyone at this point.’

  ‘In other words, we can’t. Shit, we’re really in a hole.’

  But I thought if anyone would throw us a lifeline, it would be Claudia. Barrington cared about the win at any cost and Claudia was ambitious, but I felt she was principled. She wouldn’t burn us for the success of the case. I hoped for once that I was reading her correctly.

  We raced by places I’d only ever seen on a map, eventually stopping in Reims to refuel. I didn’t realize how stiff I’d gotten at the wheel until I got out and I was glad of the decision to bring Dylan with me. I tossed him the keys so he could take over driving duties. He didn’t get into the car.

  ‘You know where we are, don’t you?’ Dylan said.

  ‘Reims.’

  ‘And that means we’re a short distance from the old grand prix track. We have to see it.’

  ‘We’re on the clock, if you haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Mate, I know we’re under a lot of thumbs, but when are we going to be out this way again?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There you go then. We’re ahead of schedule and we can afford to play tourist. We have to go.’

  ‘You’re forgetting that we’re being tracked.’

  ‘And we’re not supposed to know that. We’re supposed to be on a jolly. If we don’t act like it, then someone is going to suspect us.’

  Dylan made a good case. Then again, I got the feeling Dylan was going to make any case he needed to get his way.

  ‘OK, let’s go.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Dylan parked the Honda on the start-finish line and we got out. Not much remained of the historic circuit – just the pits and the grandstand. It wasn’t surprising, really. Reims wasn’t a traditional racetrack. Triangular in shape, it ran on public roads connecting three villages. It had been home to the French Grand Prix in the fifties and sixties. The circuit had been closed for forty years and the rot had set in. Now it was nothing more than a motor-racing ruin. Stonehenge for racers.

  Traffic whipped past us as we wandered through the pits. Not all was lost at Reims. Restoration was in progress. The pits had been cleaned up. Names of old sponsors had been repainted on the control tower and all along the pit garages.

  ‘I want a picture of this,’ Dylan said.

  We jogged across the road and climbed the grandstand. I sat while Dylan snapped photos with his mobile.

  I watched a lorry disappear into the distance and imagined what it would be like to go barrelling down these narrow French roads. Driving on commercial roads must have been dangerous in its day, but it would be lethal in today’s cars that need a mirror-flat surface.

  Dylan pocketed his phone and sat next to me.

  ‘This was a good idea,’ I said.

  ‘I have them from time to time.’ He smiled at me, then the smile disappeared. ‘You shouldn’t have shut me out. I get why you did it, but you still shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘That’s all I needed to hear.’

  And it was. I wouldn’t have to apologize to him again and he would never raise the subject again. Somethin
g bigger than my stupidity had to come between us for it to become a friendship-breaking issue.

  ‘Do you think drugs is what got Jason killed?’

  ‘Probably. I do wonder if he was aware of it, though. He could have been following up on this cheating angle and walked into something much worse.’

  ‘Shit. I’m so glad we’ve got Customs looking out for us.’

  I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘I know I’ve only been working at Ragged for a week, but I’m having a hard time believing that they’re drug traffickers,’ Dylan said. ‘Nobody is acting like they’re hiding something and no one’s excluding me.’

  I was having a hard time with it too. Barrington liked to tar everybody with the same brush, which was the easy way out. I pulled out the set of keys that Jason had had on him when he died. ‘Anyone asked for their keys yet?’

  ‘Not yet, they haven’t. I’m keeping my eyes open.’

  ‘Good.’ I checked my watch. ‘C’mon, play time is over.’

  We hit the road. We kept talking about our situation without coming up with a solid theory, but the conversation carried us all the way into Strasbourg where we stopped for a fuel and food stop. We’d been on the road six hours since driving off the ferry and the car wasn’t the only one in need of fuel. We gassed it up and drove around until we found a restaurant that looked interesting. The menu seemed to have more in common with German cuisine than French. Then again, with the German border in spitting distance, we were in that twilight zone where nationalities blended.

  We half-arsed ordering a meal in English and bad French, laughing as we went, but we got what we were after – something filling in the form of Alsatian Choucroute. It was a heavy meat and potatoes thing consisting of sausages, sauerkraut and lots of root vegetables which made Dylan very happy. Seeing as I was resuming the driving after our meal, Dylan ordered a beer.

  Our clumsy attempt at ordering dinner drew a few odd looks from our fellow diners, but I didn’t care. It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed myself. Life had gotten so serious since Alex Fanning’s murder at the end of last season. I’d gone from that investigation to testifying in multiple trials, then into the driver shootout, which led to my professional driving contract and the fallout from Jason Gates’ murder. The simple act of hanging out with my friend as we drove a car across three countries was something I hadn’t gotten to do. In the process of all this seriousness, I’d forgotten how to have fun.