Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (26 page)

“Jacob, when the next official signals, stand still. Don’t move until I point out the open desk. I’m going to plant a phone in your left trouser pocket. Keep it turned on. All tones and vibrations are off, lock code’s disabled. We’ll use it to track you but don’t put it in your bag before you leave the airport. Security scans for luggage up ahead but not the person.”

More seconds stretched by. Dan saw the blonde was paying attention to the immigration official.

“My number is first in the list of favourites if you need the cavalry. Only issue might be battery life but we should be okay for a good few hours. We’re the advance guard, Kara and the rest are on their way too.”

The immigration official two desks to Jacob’s right raised his hand. Jacob stood still. Dan stepped forward almost bumping into him. He tapped Jacob on the right shoulder and pointed to the waving official. At the same time he slipped the iPhone into Jacob’s left trouser pocket. As he withdrew his hand he delved into his own left hand pocket and grabbed his own phone.

Jacob did a double-take, saw the raised hand of the official and said, “Oh thanks.”

When he walked away Dan was standing, phone to his ear, looking to anyone, other than a very close observer, like he was continuing the same call he had been on.

He ‘hung-up’ as the official on the far left of the line waved him over.

Bali.

Kelsey was waitin
g
for Jacob at the entrance to the baggage reclaim hall. The delay at passport control meant both their bags had been lifted off the carousel and set in the middle of a jumble of others. Jacob clambered his way through and retrieved them, before walking across to another line of security stations. He dumped them and his backpack on the conveyor and waited as they trundled their way through the X-ray machine without incident.

“Why do they scan the bags on the way out of the airport?” He asked.

“Not sure, drugs maybe. They don’t like them much here,” Kelsey answered, scooping her handbag and suitcase up.

“Why not search the person as well?”

“No idea handsome, but not my concern. Come on,” she said and set off down another long corridor. At the end it turned a sharp right and opened into a wide concourse that in turn led through to a thronged hall packed with hundreds of people, police, army and media crews. An impressively tall, gaudily painted statue of a fearsome half-man, half-dragon creature with huge eyes and larger fangs, held aloft a banner welcoming the delegates to the Youth Interfaith Convention.

“Surely is different to how the Baptists would welcome you in Texas,” Kelsey said over her shoulder as they made their way towards the end of the area that divided the waiting crowds from the arriving passengers. “Although the number of police and army probably make the gun count about comparable,” she said, slowing up and drawing him to one side. “It’s going to be crazy busy out here, but you stick with me and don’t go getting lost. We need to get to the front of the airport, there’ll be a car waiting. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jacob said.

He followed her through the press of people who semi-blocked the thoroughfare, before they emerged into the afternoon heat and humidity of Bali. Jacob was grateful for only wearing cotton trousers and a light T-shirt, but was still drenched in sweat after a few steps. He wanted to reach for the handkerchief in his pocket but he knew it was the only thing hiding the outline of the phone. He wiped his brow with his hand.

Kelsey glanced over at him, “What’s the matter white boy, you no lik-ee the heat-ee?” she said and laughed.

“I don’t mind heat, but this is like a sauna.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be getting used to it, I have no doubt. Now come on, hurry it up. We’re late as it is and the people you’re meeting are particular about their time.”

After a few more steps he realised the walkway they were traversing had the flow of direction for pedestrians marked out in coloured butterflies. It was subtle, but somehow calming. He thought Heathrow could have benefitted from a similar idea. What was less calming was that every two steps a blue-shirted man would ask him if he wanted
‘Taxee? You need taxee?’
Within twenty steps he had stopped answering politely and merely raised his hand and shook his head before they had asked the question.

The further he followed the butterflies, the thinner the crowd got until there was just a handful of people, including some of the
‘Taxee’
drivers, heading to a parking area on the opposite side of a single-lane road. Down on the left, in a small layby, was a black Mazda people carrier. A man about Jacob’s age, slightly taller, though not as stockily built, stood at the side door of the vehicle. He wore sandals, blue shorts and a white T-shirt. His head was bald and he held his arms down in front of his body, his hands gripped together at groin height. Both arms showed tattoos that Jacob thought looked like the crude prison attempts he’d seen in TV movies. As the man turned to slide the side door open, two professional tattoos, one of a harp and the other a pair of crossed rifles, showed on his calves.

Kelsey stopped before crossing the road and Jacob almost walked into her.

“This is as far as me and you go handsome.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

She tilted her head towards the Mazda. “That’s your ride. I don’t need to see who else is in it. I’ve done my bit. You take good care of yourself now. Ya hear?”

“Umm, yeah. I mean, thanks.”

She flicked a casual salute at the bald man, who returned the gesture, then she walked off towards a sign pointing to departures. Jacob walked towards the car.

By the time he reached it the bald man had gone around the front of the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Jacob looked inside the rear passenger compartment. On the right of the vehicle, taking up two of the plush leather seats with his immense bulk was a man that Jacob thought must have been at least thirty stone in weight. He was reminded of the fat man in Amsterdam, but this guy was almost twice the size, and older, maybe sixty or more.

He wore a huge black, short-sleeve shirt, black shorts and sandals. His legs were massive mounds of flesh, and deep blue thrombotic veins laced towards knees, that were almost lost within rolls of fat. Flabby hands dangled from arms that looked fit to burst and a long, chunky gold bracelet, hung from the left wrist. A huge neck that reminded Jacob of Jabba the Hutt transitioned, with seemingly no distinction, into a double chin and a relatively small head, with grey hair shaved almost as short as the bald-headed driver. The man’s nose was bulbous and threaded with red veins, his cheeks hung in jowls like an old basset hound and his eyes were underslung with bags of grey. The smell coming from the car, and from the man himself, was a strange mix of body odour and a strong, almost overpowering, smell of peppermint.

“Well, don’t jus’ fuckin’ stand there mate. Get the fuck in. Fuckin’ ‘eats killin’ me,” the man said in broad Cockney.

“Right, sorry,” Jacob mumbled, about to step up into the cabin.

“Put your fuckin’ bags in the back before you go fuckin’ climbin’ in and makin’ me ‘ave to move. Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

“Right, sorry,” Jacob repeated, stepping down and going to the rear of the vehicle. He opened the back door and hefted his luggage into the gap behind the last row of seats. Out of sight of both the fat man and the driver, he took the phone from his trouser pocket and slipped it into the side pouch of the backpack, making sure the zip was secured.

“Well c’mon, I ‘aven’t got all fuckin’ day.”

Jacob slammed the door, went back round to the side and climbed in. He’d just managed to close the sliding door and sit on one of the single seats to the left of the cabin, when the vehicle pulled away from the kerb.

“Welcome to fuckin’ Bali, Jakey boy. I’m Tommo. You ever been ‘ere before?”

“Umm, no, never.”

“Well you’re gonna luv it mate. How was the trip?”

“Yeah, not too-”

“I don’ really give a shit Jakey. Jus’ bein’ sociable. All I wanna know; you on the run for killin’, fuckin’, or both?”

Jacob said nothing and looked down at his hands.

“Oi!”

Jacob looked up.

“That one wasn’t fuckin’ rhetorical. So?”

“Both,” Jacob said through gritted teeth.

“Good, glad to fuckin’ ‘ear it. Right, well you’re ‘ome now, so sit yerself back and relax.” He took out a small tin of mints from his shirt pocket, flipped the hinged lid and emptied some into his mouth. “Fancy some?” He asked while crunching noisily.

“Umm, no, thanks.”

Tommo dragged his bulk forward and raised his right buttock. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and took out a pack of cigarettes and a brass Zippo lighter.

“Do ya smoke Jakey?”

“No. Gave up.”

“Ah well, you might refhink that out ‘ere. Cheap as fuckin’ chips mate. An’ you can smoke anywhere you fuckin’ like.”

Tommo took a cigarette out of the pack, flicked the lighter, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out. The enclosed cabin filled with the smell. Jacob thought it strange how much he disliked the smell of cigarettes now, considering he’d been a dedicated smoker since his days with ‘Poisoned’ Tanya right up until his early twenties.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said without conviction.

“Relax Jakey boy. Don’t be so fuckin’ tight. We’re on our way to a nice pad that you get to live in for free for a good few months. I’ll look out for ya until we get you set up. No bovver. Even got a fuckin’ pool. You ever had anyfink like that where you’re from? Eh?”

“No, definitely not.”

“Nah, wouldn’t ‘ave ‘fhought so. Not an Essex boy like you. It is Essex, ain’t it?”

Jacob nodded.

A set of exit barriers slowed their progress until the driver leaned out and handed some coins to an attendant. The red and white pole went up and the car turned onto the main road. Jacob looked through the windscreen and was shocked at the congestion. There were literally hundreds of motorbikes, or more correctly, mopeds and scooters. The majority of them with just a rider, but some were managing to support a couple of adults and a couple of kids, all balanced precariously on one small seat. The surprise on Jacob’s face made Tommo laugh and cough at the same time.

“Yes mate. ‘Elf an’ safety not made it this far yet. Wait till you see your first mad bastard wif’ a chicken coop on the back of his bike. Mind you, they’re all fuckin’ mad, the little brown bastards.”

Jacob knew he had to stay in character, but he wondered just how long he could put up with Tommo before the desire to kill him overcame his need to play along. He nodded and forced himself to laugh.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?”

“Sorry, I’m just knackered. It’s been a long few days.”

“Yeah, s’pose,” Tommo said, flicking his ash straight onto the floor.

The car weaved its way through a crush of traffic, accompanied by high-pitched horn beeps, swerving scooters and other cars that somehow didn’t touch despite edging through gaps that looked impossibly small. Jacob was equally appalled and impressed. No one seemed to be dying, nor were there hundreds of car wrecks pulled over to the side of the road, but he was sure it must happen. It couldn’t not.

The sun was getting low in the sky and he reckoned twilight’s diminishing visibility wouldn’t improve the situation. He checked his watch and saw it was almost six-thirty. It had taken nearly an hour to get out of the airport and the truth of what he had said about being tired was becoming apparent. He also felt calmed and relaxed, more so than he had at any stage since leaving Paris. The surprise of seeing Dan O’Neill in the airport had been accompanied with a sense of wellbeing. It came from knowing the two men he trusted the most after his own brother, were somewhere in the vicinity.

“Tommo?”

“Fuck! It speaks. Yes mate, what can I do for ya?”

“How far have we got to go?”

“About an hour once we get clear of the worst of this fuckin’ traffic. Why’s that?”

“Just thinking I might shut my eyes. Is that okay?”

“Fuck yes mate. Nuffink you’re gonna see anyway.”

Jacob looked out the window again and watched the twilight fade rapidly to dark.

ɸ

Eugene was at the wheel of a light-golden Toyota Kijang, that wouldn’t have been his first choice of rental, but as it turned out, had been his only option. The Toyota could at least seat six adults comfortably, whereas the only other car offered by the rental desk had been a bright pink Suzuki Splash that would have struggled accommodating Eugene on his own.

Dan, the iPad on his lap, tried his best not to look at the myriad of scooters and motorbikes that drifted in and out of the car’s headlights. It was like driving in the middle of a swarm of fireflies and had not become much better even after leaving the centre of Kuta, heading north out of town.

“How many a year do you reckon get killed on the roads here?” Eugene said, breaking sharply to avoid a man on a tiny scooter that had two side panniers draped over the rear wheel, under what appeared to be a small oven for roasting nuts. It even had its own neon sign.

“God alone knows. You need to take the right hand turn off this next roundabout.”

Eugene started laughing as he slowed at a set of traffic lights. “Yeah, good map reading bro. I think this is your roundabout.”

Dan looked up to see a split, offset junction with five lanes converging. “Umm, I guess that one,” he said pointing to the road on the far right. “I can’t see any sign posts so we just keep heading where this thing points us and hope he doesn’t drive for the next twelve hours.”

“How far ahead is he?”

“It’s daft, but only about twenty clicks considering he must have left the airport half an hour before we got moving.”

“No real surprise, when you consider the state of the traffic,” Eugene said, moving off on the green light, then leaning on the horn to stop the oncoming cars, which, oblivious to the red light on their side, had continued forward just as he was about to swing right.

Dan looked up to see two cars and four motorbikes flow around them as they made the turn, like water would flow around a boulder in a stream. “Fuck’s sake. This is fun.”

Eugene didn’t answer, his concentration fully on the road.

Another kilometre further and a badly moulded and dilapidated whitewashed wall showed up in their headlights and in the overspill from a small tower perched on the wall’s corner. About fifty metres further along was a bigger, centrally mounted circular construction, also with light spilling from it. The outline of a man was visible in its small windows. The wall, only about two metres tall, was heightened by sharp metal stakes lined with razor mesh and topped off with tight rolls of barbed wire.