Stephen Leather - The Double Tap

‘Here we are, Mr Vander Mayer.’ Allan’s voice jarred Cramer out of his reverie.

‘Huh?’ Cramer grunted, rubbing his eyes.

‘I said we’ve arrived, Mr Vander Mayer.’

Cramer realised that Allan was using Vander Mayer’s name deliberately, so that Cramer would get used to answering to it. ‘Great,’ Cramer replied. He smiled at Su-ming. She hadn’t expressed surprise at hearing her boss’s name, so Cramer guessed that she’d already been briefed by the Colonel.

Martin showed his paperwork to a bored security guard and they were waved through to the apron. Cramer whistled when he saw the plane. It was a gleaming Lear jet, the stairway down and two uniformed pilots standing to attention at the bottom. ‘They’ve been briefed,’ said Allan before Cramer could speak. ‘And don’t worry — they’ve been checked out.’

‘They have been with Mr Vander Mayer for more than five years,’ said Su-ming.

The Mercedes came to a halt by the side of the jet. Cramer stayed in his seat until Martin climbed out and opened the door for him. Allan went up the stairs first, disappeared into the plane and after a few seconds reappeared and waved to Martin. Cramer went up, followed by Su-ming and with Martin bringing up the rear, carrying the pack of sandwiches and the Thermos flask. The pilots nodded a greeting to Cramer, but he could see that they were weighing him up, trying to work out what sort of man was taking the place of their boss.

Cramer ducked inside the fuselage and stared at the interior. It was more luxurious than any first-class cabin he’d ever been in. The windows were as large as those in a train, there were half a dozen seats each as big as an armchair, and at the rear was a matching leather sofa facing a walnut cabinet which held a large television and video recorder. Thick grey carpet covered the floor and Cramer’s shoes sank into it as he walked into the centre of the plane. ‘There is a bathroom and shower beyond the galley,’ said Su-ming. ‘The sofa converts into a double bed if needed.’

‘How the other half lives,’ said Martin.

‘Sure beats a Hercules,’ agreed Allan.

One of the pilots closed the hatch as the other disappeared into the cockpit. ‘At this point I’m supposed to give you a full briefing, but I reckon we’ve all been through this before so I’ll just tell you to keep your belts on during takeoff and landing and wish you a pleasant flight.’ He followed his colleague into the cockpit.

Cramer sat down in one of the huge leather chairs and buckled his seatbelt. Su-ming dropped into the seat next to him.

‘Hey, Su-ming, what time does the in-flight movie start?’ asked Martin.

‘No movies,’ said Su-ming, taking him seriously.

The two jet engines whined and then roared into life, and a minute or so later the plane began to roll across the tarmac. Cramer took several deep breaths. He could feel the adrenalin surging through his body, so much so that he felt almost lightheaded. It was all starting to come together.

‘Now what?’ asked Marie as Lynch watched the Lear jet power down the runway. The jet soared into the air, climbed steeply, and then banked to the right. Within seconds it had disappeared into the clouds.

‘Give me the pen, quick,’ said Lynch. He repeated the jet’s registration number to himself, then quickly scribbled it down on the corner of the map when Marie handed him the pen. ‘I can find out where they’re going,’ he explained.

‘The same guy who told you they were in Wales?’ Lynch nodded. ‘Then what?’

Lynch smiled at her eagerness. ‘That depends where he’s gone, love.’

‘I’d put my money on London,’ said Marie.

‘Yeah? Why?’

‘It’s a British-registered jet, and it was heading east. Could be Europe, though, I suppose.’

‘How do you know it’s British?’

‘The first letter of the registration was G, right? All British registered planes start with a G.’

‘How do you know that?’

She patted him on the thigh. ‘I went out with a pilot for a while,’ she said. ‘Let’s go use the phone. I want to call the office and say that I’ll be off for another couple of days.’

‘You’re staying, then?’ asked Lynch, tearing off the piece of map on which he’d written the number.

‘Oh yes, Dermott. I’m sticking to you like shit to a cow’s tail.’

‘Nice analogy,’ said Lynch. He put the car in gear and drove to the short-stay car park. After they’d parked, Lynch tucked his gun under the front seat.

They found a bank of call booths in the departures terminal. Lynch went through his pockets and pulled out a handful of change. He dialled McDonough’s work number. A woman answered and at first she was reluctant to get McDonough, but Lynch told her that his car had been involved in an accident. He pushed two pound coins into the slot as he waited. When McDonough came to the phone, he was clearly worried. ‘Who is this?’ he asked.

‘Easy, Luke,’ said Lynch. ‘It’s me. Dermott.’

McDonough’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What the fuck are you doing calling me here?’ he said.

‘I need a favour,’ said Lynch.

‘You said it was a one-off,’ said McDonough.

‘It was,’ said Lynch. ‘And I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t important. Jets file flight plans, right?’

‘Look, maybe I’m not making myself clear. You said. .’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Lynch hissed. ‘I need one favour, that’s all. Now get a pen and write this down.’

McDonough went quiet and Lynch could practically hear the man thinking. McDonough knew who Lynch was, and what he was capable of. ‘Okay,’ McDonough said eventually. ‘Okay, but just this once.’

‘Thanks,’ said Lynch. ‘I appreciate it, I really do.’ There was no point in rubbing the man’s nose in it. Lynch read out the number from the torn map corner.

‘It’s a jet, you say?’

‘Yeah. Some sort of executive jet. I need to know who it belongs to as well. Can you do that?’

McDonough went silent for a few seconds. ‘Yeah. I can do that.’ His voice was cold and flat, almost robotic.

‘Luke, I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ said Lynch as kindly as possible. Lynch needed the air traffic controller to do what he wanted, and if that meant smoothing his feathers then Lynch was prepared to do it. If he’d been in the same room as McDonough and he’d had a gun in his hand, then his approach might well have been different. ‘Do this for me and I won’t ask anything else of you, I promise. I swear on my mother’s life.’ Lynch’s mother had died of a massive stroke five years earlier and was buried next to his father in a cemetery outside Castlewellan, but he felt no shame at invoking her name.

‘I’ll do it,’ said McDonough, less bitterly this time.

‘How long do you think it’ll take?’

‘A couple of telephone calls,’ said McDonough. ‘Give me your number and I’ll call you back.’

‘I’ll call you,’ said Lynch. ‘Half an hour, okay’

‘Okay.’ The line went dead and Lynch replaced the receiver. Marie was still talking on her phone. She waved animatedly at Lynch and he went to stand behind her.

Marie replaced the receiver. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she said.

‘What’s curiouser and curiouser?’

‘I rang the estate agents, the one whose name was on the school sign. Told them that my boss was interested in the property. The girl there said it had been bought by a Bristol company who are planning to turn it into a conference centre. They’re taking over in two months.’

‘So who’s in now?’

‘She wouldn’t tell me. I even played the overworked secretary, told her my boss was giving me a hard time, but she still said she couldn’t say. Said it was confidential. To be honest, I don’t think she knows.’