Ryan Kaine Read online

  “Oh, Dear Lord,” Lara muttered, shooting him an exasperated look that suggested he’d clomped all over Sabrina’s toes while wearing a pair of his size nine boots.

  “What do you think I have been doing for the past month?” the French woman snapped, confirming Lara’s interpretation.

  “Sorry. My mistake. Can you give me the management summary? No big words, though. Imagine you’re teaching the hard of understanding.”

  “Ryan Kaine, you talk so much nonsense.”

  “You’re quite correct,” he said, relieved to be back on first name terms.

  “Always.” Sabrina nodded and her earrings flashed in the light streaming through the windows behind her. Clearly, Paris basked in the same glorious sunshine as Aquitaine.

  “Okay,” she said. “I shall walk you through the system. On the main monitor you will see the primary folder.”

  A yellow folder icon appeared in the centre of the largest screen.

  On a separate monitor, the one providing a panoramic view of the Bay, Monsieur and Madame Dubois, their nearest neighbours to the south, strolled arm in arm along the beach.

  Kaine pointed them out to Lara who nodded that she’d noticed them, too. Hale and hearty, the septuagenarians were taking their daytime constitutional. They posed no threat and often stopped for a chat if their stroll happened to coincide with a break in Kaine and Lara’s beachside training sessions. According to Lara, whose grasp of conversational French far outshone Kaine’s, the couple had been married fifty-two years and rarely failed to drop the fact into the conversation whenever opportunity arose.

  Sabrina tapped a pen on her desk to regain their attention and continued. “As agreed, access to the system has been restricted to the three of us, and to Sergeant Rollason and Corporal Pinkerton.”

  Lara raised a hand and Sabrina gave her the floor.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Lara turned and asked Kaine, “Did you consider adding DCI Jones to the list?”

  “Jones?” Kaine said, opening his eyes wide in horror. “The esteemed Detective Chief Inspector? Not a chance. I trust him with the evidence that proves I was set up, but he can’t have anything to do with this system or the tainted money. Can’t say I blame him really. Even though he knows we’re morally right and tacitly approves of our plans, we are stepping well over the bounds of legality.”

  “Oui, that, I can understand,” Sabrina admitted. “May I continue?”

  “Sorry,” Lara said, apologising for them both, “please do.”

  “To open the main directory, you need to complete at least two of the four authentication options: retinal, facial, and thumbprint scans, and voice recognition. Ryan, if you don’t mind …”

  Using the mousepad on the networked laptop in front of him, Kaine rolled the cursor over the icon and clicked. He recited the opening few lines of the soliloquy from Hamlet, and showed his thumb to the camera lens. After a short delay, the folder opened to reveal eighty-three sub-folders, each with the surname of a victim.

  The names brought flashes of light to his vision, and his chest fought the imaginary sea for a breath. His eyes snapped shut against the unwanted stimulus, but the horrific moment when he’d shot Flight BE1555 from the skies, killing the eighty-three innocent souls, played on a closed loop behind his eyelids. The explosion—a massive fireball lighting the darkening sky over the North Sea—kept returning to haunt him in quiet moments. His former boss, Major Graham ‘Gravel’ Valence, told him he was testing a new rocket launcher and his target was an unmanned drone. Kaine had been set up to take the blame and die in a booby trap, but Gravel had paid for his greed and his treachery with his life, as had the man who’d paid him.

  The plot’s real mastermind, Sir Malcolm Sampson, Chairman of Sampson Armaments and Munitions Services Plc, currently resided at Her Majesty’s pleasure. However, as with the banks during the financial meltdown in 2007, the UK Government decided that SAMS, with its tentacles in so many defence contracts, was too big to fail. They had covered-up Sir Malcolm’s part in the tragedy and buried the proof of Kaine’s innocence—proof Kaine nearly died to obtain.

  At the time, a significant positive to having Sabrina on his side, was the money she helped him ‘liberate’ from Sir Malcolm—all three hundred and fifty-two million Euros of it.

  One day soon, the real reason for Flight BE1555’s destruction would reach the public domain, and it couldn’t come soon enough to clear Kaine’s tarnished name. In the meantime, he had vowed to dedicate his life to helping the victims’ families—The 83.

  Three hundred and fifty-two million Euros sounded like a lot of money, and it was, but split evenly eighty-three ways—as per Kaine’s original plan—it would have led to imbalances and unfairness. Some families were smaller than others and the four and a quarter million Euros would stretch further. Others were wealthy and more able to cope financially. In addition, some of the victims left no obvious beneficiaries.

  No doubt, in some cases money might help, but Kaine was under no delusions. Throwing money at a problem wasn’t always the answer. In certain situations, Kaine’s other skills might come in handy. Either way, he’d help, even if the families didn’t know, or like where the help came from.

  It would be Kaine’s way to seek redemption—as if that were ever possible.

  Sabrina’s words cut into his thoughts and he opened his eyes to focus on her. “…notice that a number of the folders are linked by two-way arrows. This indicates that the victims were directly related, either by marriage, or as siblings. It reduces the number of individual families we are required to monitor by nineteen and makes our task of dispersing the money that much less complicated.

  “So, I have produced dossiers on sixty-four individual families. Click on any of the folders to access the data.”

  “You’ve identified the address and contact details of the heads of all the families?”

  “Most of them, yes,” she said, frowning. “Unfortunately, a number of the parents who lost children on the flight have a smaller digital footprint. For these people, it will take longer to build a more complete profile.”

  “How many letters have you posted so far?” Kaine asked.

  While Sabrina was developing the program, Kaine and Lara took days to formulate a comprehensive letter of introduction to The 83 Trust Fund. The letter included the link to a secure website, ‘www.the-83.com’, where the family could apply for additional hardship funds as and when necessary.

  The website sought to even out the income in terms of immediate need and was the only fair way Kaine could think to operate. Furthermore, the website provided a second vital function. Slap bang in the middle of the home page, Sabrina had stuck a big call to action button:

  If you are in imminent financial or physical danger complete this form now!

  The button activated a drop down questionnaire with multiple choice answers and a box for comments. Kaine was hoping most of the responses would be finance related. If, however, the challenges required his military skills, they would investigate and, should it prove necessary, he’d drop everything to rush to their defence.

  “To this moment,” Sabrina answered, “I have sent the letters to forty-seven individuals, together with banker’s drafts for nine thousand, nine hundred pounds.”

  “To make sure it doesn’t trip any money-laundering alarms?” Lara asked.

  “Yep, that’s right,” Kaine answered. “We wanted to make the initial payment frictionless and to show everyone we mean business.”

  Lara leaned closer, allowing him a hint of sandalwood body lotion, and nodding her understanding. “Makes sense, but that leaves seventeen families unsupported?”

  “So far, oui,” Sabrina agreed. “I shall continue my research, but in the meantime …”

  “We have more than enough to keep ourselves busy,” Kaine said. “Is the website live?”

  “Ryan,” Lara said, resting a hand on the arm of his chair, “what do you think Sabrina and I have been doing for the past
hour, comparing cooking recipes?”

  He stared into her soft hazel eyes and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “As the website’s live now, have there been any clicks or responses yet?” he asked Sabrina, forcing his mind back on the subject.

  Sabrina shook her head, and once again, sunlight twinkled on cut glass jewellery. “Not yet, but I am expecting some activity by the weekend. Snail mail takes time, no?”

  “Shouldn’t that be escargot post since we’re en France?” Kaine asked, but continued quickly when Lara shot him another warning glance. “So … you’ve had time to scan some of the dossiers. Anything I should be aware of?”

  “Nothing that would require your specialist skills,” Sabrina said, looking down at something on her screen. “At least nothing that stands out in my eye, but”—she raised her left arm and pointed at her watch—“I am sorry, time has flown. Feel free to access the system at your leisure. Familiarise yourselves with its configuration. There is no need to worry, you will not break it. Just make certain to shut it down properly between uses and it will automatically save the data to the cloud, and purge the search history.”

  “That’s it?” Kaine asked.

  “Oui, that is it. I have shown Lara some of the more … interesting elements, the ones that will help with any ongoing research.”

  “Really? You’ve added some toys?”

  Sabrina pursed her lips before answering. “Nothing exciting. A few special applications to allow you direct access to some of the more useful national databases in the UK. You know the sort of thing, police, military, DVLA, traffic cameras and the like. If you ever need to interrogate databases in the EU or elsewhere, give me fair warning and I will see what I can create.”

  “You are a genius,” Kaine said.

  “Correct,” she agreed, her grin supremely confident.

  “And you’re certain it’s fully secure and can’t be traced back to us here?”

  “But of course,” she said, her French accent deepening and confirming the perceived insult. “As is the location and origin of the money. The head of the Bank of England would sell his Canadian soul for the security I have built in to this system. Nothing will filter back to you, or me, and no one can access the funds without your authority.”

  “And in the event of my … lack of availability?”

  Lara flashed him a glance to tell him she knew he intended to say, “…in the event of my death?”

  Sabrina clearly understood his meaning too, but hid it better. Given the often clandestine nature of her work, she’d had more experience in hiding her emotions than Lara, but Lara would learn.

  “I have built a number of redundancies into the system. You have no need to worry. In the case of your … enforced absence, a trio of myself, Lara, Sergeant Rollason, or Corporal Pinkerton will be able to form a quorum to disperse the assets as we see fit and according to your expressed wishes. In the event of a disagreement, Lara will have the deciding vote, as per your instructions.”

  Kaine interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. He wasn’t the quickest typist in the world and needed more time than most on the keyboard.

  “Good,” he said. “Anything else before I start my homework?”

  Sabrina reached up to play with an earring. Kaine would never understand how women could wear the things. It was bad enough to have comms buds stuck in your ears during operations, but they were taped in position and didn’t move around.

  “There is one thing before I go,” she said, clearly not as eager to be on her way as Kaine imagined. “Earlier, we were talking about Mr Jones. When did you last speak to him? Is there any news of your status? How many people in authority know you were not to blame for shooting down Flight BE1555?”

  Kaine and Lara shared a glance, her expression a curious mix of frustration and anger. He waved a hand for her to explain the situation to Sabrina.

  “The delay is political and has nothing to do with justice,” she said, anger bubbling close to the surface. “It’s so unfair. Ryan’s being used again.”

  Lara made fists and pressed them into her lap.

  Kaine took over. “When the PM sacked the last Home Secretary, her replacement wasn’t inclined to stand by his predecessor’s promises. DCI Jones was forced to hand over all our evidence to the Humberside Police investigation team and HOATU, the Home Office Anti-Terrorist Unit. Both are dragging their heels on the matter.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, the police are no longer listing me as a ‘person of interest’ in the investigation, and, since my recent trip to Scotland, the media clamour has died down. The news outlets have lost interest in me and have returned to their fascination with celebrity marriages and divorces. Don’t you just love tabloid journalism?”

  Kaine forced a smile.

  A frown creased Lara’s forehead. “Ryan Liam Kaine, don’t be so flippant. The police and the government have had proof of your innocence for nearly two months yet they’ve done nothing about it. They didn’t even charge Sir Malcolm with mass murder. All they did was lock him away for embezzlement and tax fraud!”

  She took a short breather before adding, “And what happened to that pardon you were promised? Where did that disappear to?”

  Red spots darkened her cheeks and her voice rose in anger. God, she was beautiful when riled, and the fact she targeted her rage at the people she saw as doing the dirty on him did wonders to lift Kaine’s mood.

  “The wheels of justice—”

  “Are rusted solid!” she finished for him. “It’s just not fair, Ryan. Sir Malcolm set you up and the world still thinks you’re a terrorist.”

  He touched a hand to her shoulder and she calmed a little.

  On the screen, Sabrina rested an elbow on her desk and cupped her chin in her hand. She stared at them, amusement brightening her eyes. “If you two are quite finished?”

  Lara sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue that had appeared in her hand as if palmed by a nightclub magician. Over her swimsuit, she wore a loose halter top with a plunging neckline, cutaway jean-shorts, and sandals. Where she stored the tissue was anybody’s guess.

  “Sorry, Sabrina,” Lara said. “The unfairness makes me so mad. Ryan’s a good man and his reputation has been … shot to pieces.”

  “Oh dear,” Kaine said, “I’ll ignore that pun.”

  Had he allowed himself, Kaine might have blushed at her staunch support. Instead, he smiled and kept his embarrassment to himself.

  Sabrina broke the silence. “I fully understand, and on another positive note, none of my searches has indicated that Sir Malcolm’s reward for your head on a platter is still active. Have you heard anything from your military contacts?”

  Kaine scratched the beard he started growing on the day he became a fugitive. It still had the irritating power to drive him nuts. “It’s not likely to appear in Soldier of Fortune’s classified ads, but so far, everything’s quiet on that contract killer front. My military mates haven’t heard anything, but we can’t afford to relax just yet. There are plenty of people in my former industry who’d just love to take a tilt at my crown of notoriety, even if there’s no financial reward in the offing. Bragging rights alone would attract some of the sociopaths I’ve met in the past.”

  “Ryan, stop it,” Lara ordered, the frown deeper, her tone even more forceful. “This isn’t a joke.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Sorry, Lara.”

  “I should think so, too.” Not readily placated, she continued. “The police could raise a warrant for your arrest any time they choose and your photo would be on TV and in the papers all over again.”

  “I did apologise, Lara. And I do take it seriously. My gallows humour takes over sometimes. I’ll try to keep it under control, okay?”

  Still scowling, Lara returned her attention to the monitor and Sabrina.

  “Anything else to tell us?”

  “You sound like an old married couple. Do I have your undivided attention?”

  Lara blushed
, and her frown softened.

  “I object to that description,” Kaine said, “but please continue.”

  Sabrina looked directly into the camera. “I have to leave Paris for an indeterminate period. Unfortunately, I will be inaccessible until my return.”

  Kaine raised his chin. “Grand-père Mo-Mo’s in need of your talents?”

  “Both he and le Ministère de l’Intérieur.”

  Lara frowned and opened her hands under the desk, out of shot of the camera.

  Kaine whispered behind his hand, “Tell you later,” before speaking up. “Well, thanks again for all your help, Sabrina. You have been completely and utterly superb. The 83 would thank you too, but they’ll never have the chance.”

  Sabrina arched one dark eyebrow. “Ryan Kaine, you are a charmer. It is no wonder Lara stays so close to you. I will leave you two alone. Au revoir, mes amies.”

  Her screen snapped to black before either could comment or complain.

  “Kids today, eh,” Kaine muttered, “no respect.”

  Lara pushed her chair away from the desk. “Okay, so who’s this, Grand-père Mo-Mo?”

  He took a little time to think before answering. “What I’m about to tell you must not leave this office, promise?”

  Lara returned his steady gaze, “Of course. You can trust me.”

  “I know, but the more information you have, the greater the risk to you. The abridged answer is, Faroukh isn’t Sabrina’s real surname.”

  Lara drew up her hands and placed them over her heart.

  “Gosh the shock,” she gasped in mock surprise. “You really imagined I didn’t know that? Honestly, Ryan, you must think I’m so naïve.”

  “Yes, okay. I know. I’m a complete bozo when it comes to women,” he said, adding another shrug.

  “So, are you going to answer me or not?”

  “As you insist, my lady,” he said, inclining his head in a slight bow, to which she sighed. “As I told you the day we met, Western Europe has two major armaments companies. You already know about SAMS, formerly run by the top-of-the-pile arsehole, Sir Malcolm Sampson. The other one is European Small Arms and Personal Protection, A/S.