Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (22 page)

“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.

Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris.

He was comforte
d
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?”

Again he got no response and decided to give up on trying to establish some rapport with the surly Frenchman. Instead he focussed on being as natural and relaxed as he could for the moment he would hand over a completely fake passport in the middle of a declared state-of-emergency, when border controls in France were as tight as anytime in recent memory.

A yellow line marked where each passenger had to stand until called forward. Jacob looked ahead but tried not to stare. He swept his gaze over the four immigration officials behind their glass partitions. He thought it unusual. He couldn’t remember passport desks in the UK having glass, but he couldn’t be sure as most recently he’d used the E-Passport gates. Then he realised that most times he had been abroad in the past few years, he had travelled courtesy of military transports. He hoped that seat Twenty-L would be an improvement on them.

The green light on the counter to his far left blinked. He took a breath and walked over. The official’s position was raised so that the already tall and lithe black man loomed large over Jacob’s head. With his best smile, Jacob slid his passport and boarding card through the small gap at the bottom of the glass. The check was swift, the passport was scanned, the photo was held up to compare and without a word of acknowledgement, a question or a smile of recognition, the documents were handed back to him and he was waved through.

The security checks, metal detectors and X-ray stations, although slow, and with a cordon supplied by French paratroopers, were equally non-events.

Thierry was waiting for him on the other side. Jacob hoped that the ninety minutes they had before boarding might give him a chance to get a message out to Tien and Kara, but Thierry once more gripped his elbow and led him off. This time to the Air France Business Lounge. Thierry, it turned out, could speak more than monosyllables, and he did so to the Air France representative on the front desk. They were ushered inside to what Jacob thought was an extremely plush area and one that he realised afforded his minder the best prospect of monitoring his every move. This was no sprawling departure gate concourse with cafes and fast food outlets surrounded with duty free and gift shops. This was a controlled, quiet, refined space with limited numbers and a small, albeit not cramped, footprint.

“You have before been in place like this?” Thierry asked in passable English, while directing him to sit down at a table.

Jacob shook his head. “No. Never.” It was the truth. He reckoned the departure lounge at RAF Brize Norton, although definitely an exclusive lounge, didn’t quite come up to the same standards.

“You drink and eat?”

“Sorry?” Jacob asked.

“You drink and eat. You want to?”

“Umm, yeah. I could eat something.”

Thierry waved a hand in the direction of a long counter running almost the length of the room. “It is all, umm, how you say? Eh,
gratis
, free. You go, help yourself. But, do not get drunk.”

Jacob went to rise but Thierry’s hand gripped his arm, “Also, do not leave where I can see. And do not go near them,” he said pointing to a long row of computer terminals, half of which were in use.

“Why would I go near them?” Jacob asked, trying to sound offended.

“I am sure you do not, but I just tell you. That is all.”

“What if I need to go to the toilet?”

“You come tell me. Like in school, with the teacher. Yes?”

“Right. Okay, got it.”

Jacob grazed up and down the length of the buffet table and the open bar, taking his cues from the other diners. He knew he was on a potentially dangerous mission, he knew it was likely he would mix with more people that would sicken him, but just here and now, he was impressed with his surroundings. He liked the exclusivity of it. He liked the ability to have free wine and spirits, served by smart waiters and waitresses. He could see why those with power and money found it intoxicating, but as he looked around him, at the slightly bored looking customers with their matter-of-fact’ness expressions, he also realised how quickly anyone could become inured to anything. He had a tiny inkling of why, once used to their surroundings, they would continue to push for more. Quickly becoming dissatisfied by this lounge and jealous of First Class exclusivity. The vaguest thought teased him. He wondered if it was the same for those men in Amsterdam. Did their need for new experiences, evermore reckless pleasures, mean they constantly had to push and stretch the boundaries of what they were prepared to do? Until they stepped over the line. The line that, once crossed, surrendered their right to be called men.

ɸ

The ninety minutes passed quickly and when their flight was called Thierry led them to the departure gate and stepped back to allow Jacob to go first. Handing his boarding pass over, he was directed by the ever-smiling flight attendant to the far aisle of the aircraft. With a quick glance into the luxury of First Class, he turned right and made his way through Business Class before entering a separate section of seats. Not quite as luxurious as the business ones, but certainly more upmarket than normal economy class. He looked up at the seat numbers on the bulkhead and was surprised to find himself staring at Twenty-L. It was the window side of a pair of, what he thought, looked more like upright shells than seats. Thierry nudged him to move in from the aisle and then sat down next to him.

As the rest of the passengers embarked, Jacob took the time to examine his surroundings. The little area was a midway point between business and economy. He took out his boarding pass stub and for the first time noticed the words
Premium Voyageur.
‘Premium economy?’ he thought. Turning around like he was examining the seat he was in, and stretching up to turn the airflow on, he noticed the discreet little cabin had tied back curtains that he guessed would be drawn as soon as the flight departed. It had its own toilets and only twenty-two seats in total. He figured only First Class would have been smaller. It was like the business lounge they had been in. Comfortable, plush, giving Thierry the most control of his charge. Jacob would have no excuse to wander thirty or forty rows to get to a toilet when there was one in reaching distance. He sighed inwardly and knew that if this continued for the rest of the flights, he was never going to get a message out.

ɸ

The Air France flight left the ground twenty minutes after its scheduled departure time of seven-forty at night. It touched down in Singapore a little early, some twelve hours and twenty minutes later, but at a local time of three-twenty in the afternoon of the following day.

The only conversation Jacob and Thierry had throughout the flight was in regard to the disembarkation cards handed to them by the cabin staff. Jacob was told that he was visiting Shu Ying Tan, his girlfriend of one year. She lived at 22 Lor Batawi, Hougang, Singapore and he would be staying with her for two weeks. Shu Ying was a twenty-six year old school teacher he had met when she had been on a six-month exchange program in his home town of Grays, Essex. This was his first time visiting her, or Singapore. Jacob filled in the disembarkation card with the corresponding details.

Once happy he had memorised the backstory sufficiently, Thierry ignored him and began to watch a movie. Jacob did likewise and patiently waited for Thierry to go to the toilet. He thought that would provide his best chance to slip a message to one of the flight attendants. It would be a long shot but worth trying. They might just pass it on for him on landing.

But when Thierry finally stood and ambled up to the toilet, Jacob was immediately aware that he would have no such opportunity. The big Frenchman had timed his absence right to the start of the first in-flight food service.

The flight attendants were all busy, their attention focussed on the quick and efficient delivery of food to the masses. When Jacob ducked his head through the curtains to look down the aisles of Economy, he saw multiple trolleys blocking any hope of making it to the rear galley, where there might have been some spare staff. He turned back and sat down. His last hope was to pass it to the Premium Economy flight attendant who was making her way slowly down the aisle towards him, but by the time she arrived, Thierry was back. Jacob’s only consolation was being served the best airline food he had ever tasted.

After the meal he was sure Thierry wasn’t likely to doze off, so he decided to take the chance to rest. Reclining the shell-like seat he managed to grab about five hours’ worth of fitful sleep. The rest of the long flight he watched more movies and listened to music. As they landed, Thierry leaned over to him, “You stay with me all the way through. We go through immigration together, get our bags together, we go through customs together. I will take you out to meet the people who will look after you tonight.”

“Tonight? Am I not just flying straight on?”

“No. You have to leave the airport, then come back later. You use a different passport. It’s safe-”

“Yeah, I get it. Safer that way,” Jacob said.

Waiting for the aircraft doors to finally open seemed to take longer than the passage through the vast arrivals terminal of Changi Airport. Jacob knew the reason for the swift and simplified path he followed was because the Frenchman had no need to refer to signs or directions. He wondered just how many people this man had escorted on the Flight Path. Relieved of the responsibility to navigate, Jacob noticed the numerous Christmas decorations on display. They surprised him as he hadn’t expected massive trees and frosted, crystal reindeers pulling wooden sledges inside an Asian airport. As he took in the stars and holly wreaths, huge baubles and garlands he admitted to himself that he had no idea if Singapore was Islamic, Buddhist or whatever. He figured that by the decorations on show, there must have been some Christians. Or maybe just some commercialism.

At the top of an escalator Thierry stopped and pointed down to the ground floor. A series of eleven lanes, marked out by standard security barriers, but with tinsel twisted around them, led up to eleven passport control desks. Numbers ten and eleven were marked for aircrew and diplomats only.

“We go into lane four. Both of us. You behind me. Clear?”

“Yes. Clear.” Jacob stopped, then thought he had nothing to lose, “Umm, why exactly?”

“Because she has some of your money,” Thierry said and tilted his head in the direction of the female immigration officer sitting behind desk four.

“But I thought the passport was good enough.”

“It is, but we like to have, eh,” he struggled to find the right word.

“A guarantee?” Jacob offered.

“Yes,
une garantie
. That is it. Come along.”