Missing Dad 7: Wings

J Ryan

Description

After drug smugglers and illegal arms dealers, this final book in the Missing Dad series sees the young protagonists tackling the odious trade of human trafficking. In Book 7: WINGS, the victims are unknowing passengers aboard the Golden Venus cruise liner - heading for slavery instead of sunshine. The youngsters are paying the price of their previous successes against international crime, with Tommaso having to go into permanent hiding in India, where he continues to hack into criminal networks. And they are also making career decisions, with Becks heading for Cambridge to study law. At Monsieur's suggestion, Joe takes flying lessons and discovers a passion for being in the air. Arnaud and Talia return home to plan their wedding and their new career - running a children's home in the new Chateau de Montaubon that is rising from the ruins of the old one, helped by Monsieur and Joe's father and mother. Towards the denouement, Joe makes a discovery about his father's past that transforms his previously ambiguous feelings. But only after being incarcerated utterly without hope - the price of waging war on international crime.

Sujets

• Children's

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 septembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781800469891
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2021 Jane Ryan

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: [phone]
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks


ISBN 9781 800469 891

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd



With grateful thanks to Charlie Gasmire, who taught Joe how to fly. www.airplaneacademy.com


Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9


Chapter 1
Into The Blue
For a long time after the wrought-iron gates had swung slowly shut and the last blue flashing light disappeared, I stood there. I’d got so used to working side by side with Tommaso. The rhythm of the shifts on the submarine, cocooned in the deep, had become my pulse. The shared terrors, like when the bubble shell didn’t work. Running for our lives to get out from under the ice. The gnawing worry about his failing heart. And now this terrible fear for his life, with a contract out for him and a price on his head.
Becks has been standing with me, quietly holding my hand. Now her hand gives mine a little squeeze. ‘C’mon. Let’s make sure Tommaso’s wiki is good and secure.’
‘I hope we hear from them soon.’
‘As soon as Daha has some positive news, he’ll be in touch.’
We reach the porch of the château with its sixteen-point star carved into the wooden front door. ‘Daha never did say where in India his country house is, did he?’
Becks turns to me, her green eyes serious. ‘No – and we don’t want to know, do we?’
‘Have you got your lawyer hat on?’
‘No, just my common sense hat. If we don’t know where Tommaso is, we can’t accidentally give him away, can we?’
‘As if …’ But I’ll hear her words in my head in a different place. And realise how fatefully true they are.
*
We decide to go for a run around the grounds, as I really need the exercise after all that time in the narco-sub. And Becks says she has some news. She grins at my look of concern: ‘Relax – it’s really good news!’
I’m dying to ask her what. But she streaks off and I realise how horribly unfit I’ve become. One thing’s for sure: I am not going to be a submariner, any more than I’m going scuba diving in a container port again.
We’re on the fourth time around and my legs have turned to jelly, when she takes pity on me. I find her waiting by the open French windows of the dining room with bottles of water. Taking huge swigs, I walk with her down the alley of trees, looking as a matter of habit for Corbo. But either the raven has found new hunting grounds, or he’s keeping himself to himself.
We sprawl on the grass. Nearby is a fountain that tumbles down a wall of grey pebbles into a pond full of lily pads: the first one we saw when we all came to live here with Monsieur on that sunny summer evening.
Becks’ bottle hisses as she opens her water. ‘Remember when I was looking at UK universities that are rated tops for a law degree?’
‘And Cambridge was top of the tops …’
‘So I applied …’
‘You’ve got an interview! Whoohoo!’ I drag her to her feet and twirl her around. ‘When?’
Breathless and giggling, she shouts, ‘Joe, stop … stop!’
‘Sorry – not very dignified is it? When?’
‘Three weeks’ time.’
‘D’you have to do a lot of preparation?’
‘There’s a written entrance exam; but that’s really to test how well I can put a convincing argument together.’
‘You’ll walk it.’
‘I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to Cambridge – that would make it real fun.’
‘Awesome! It’s been ages since we’ve been anywhere together …’
‘That didn’t turn out to be the opposite of fun!’
As we walk slowly back up the alley of trees, I reflect on how right Becks is. The first trip to Aix that turned into the night of the silver knife. The journey to Paris that nearly finished me off in the Catacombs. The grape-picking jaunt to the Château de Montaubon that sent a psychopath out for our blood. ‘Y’know what Becks? Cambridge sounds really cool.’
*
Over dinner that evening, Monsieur has some news from Tommaso’s wiki. ‘They have just touched down. Tommaso obviously does not say at which airport. He is using his father’s codename again for security.’
‘Michelangelo. It’s so good to hear from him, Monsieur! Now, are you going to tell everyone your news, Becks?’
‘It’s only an interview, Joe – not as if I’ve got a place!’
Monsieur observes, ‘If it is Cambridge University then you have done extremely well to get an interview, Becks. But it is only what I would expect of you.’
Becks flashes Monsieur a brilliant smile. ‘Thank you Monsieur.’
‘You were at Oxford with Uncle Seb, weren’t you Dad?’
Dad’s voice is quiet as he thinks back. ‘Seb went up first as he was two years older than me. But, yes, it was a heady time.’
Mum looks at me. ‘You haven’t had much time to think about what you want to do, have you love? Too many bad men to sort out …’
I could hug her for being so kind. ‘Something like that …’
Out of the blue, Monsieur asks, ‘How about learning to fly, Joe?’
‘You mean, your copter, Monsieur?’
‘Not just the copter. Light aircraft. Get your private pilot’s licence; it always looks good on your CV.’
*
The very next day, Monsieur and I drive to a flying school near Marseille Marignane airport, and I get enrolled for a private pilot’s license course that you can start aged 14, fly solo at 16 (before you are allowed to drive a car solo) and get your PPL at 17. If you have the money. Yet again, Monsieur has my back.
*
That evening, Daha sends a message through Tommaso’s wiki. ‘Tommaso saw the specialist today. His condition is urgent, the specialist says. When he reaches eighteen years of age – just two months from now – it will become life-threatening. Tommaso has remained in the hospital. It is an outstanding one, and they are operating tomorrow. Please be reassured, he is in the best of hands.’
The following evening, Daha sends a further message. ‘The operation has been an unqualified success. The cardiac surgeon, who is the world-class specialist I told you of, used the most advanced keyhole surgery. Tommaso will need to remain in intensive care until he is stabilised. Should take around a week. Then, around six weeks to fully recover back here. Thereafter, he will need periodic check-ups.’
Monsieur says, ‘I will let Talia know. She has been very anxious, after all the time it took her to recover.’
‘She and Arnaud coming home soon, Monsieur?’
‘In a few months’ time, when they have completed some training to prepare them for their next career moves. I have been talking to them about their plans for the future.’
‘Sounds exciting.’
‘It is very exciting, Joe.’
*
A week after Tommaso went into hospital, we get another message from Daha. ‘Tommaso is back and eating us out of house and home.’
*
Just two weeks later, after a lot of theory training, I’m lifting off in a Cessna 152 with Charlie, my American instructor. And entering a kingdom that I never dreamed existed. It was fun being a passenger in Daha’s Gulfstream: being a pilot is something else entirely. I have never felt so alive. And, at times on solo flights, I have also never felt so scared.
The minimum number of flying hours it takes to get your PPL is usually around 60. I got mine in that time. But that was just the beginning of the real lessons I learned, over several hundred flying hours that spring and summer. One of the toughest was landing. Right from the start, I had to have really good control of airspeed, because the flying school did not have a very long runway. This meant that, instead of just allowing the aircraft to stall a few feet above the ground and magically float down and land itself, I had to nail my airspeed on approach before deploying the flaps, and then intentionally feel for the ground with the landing gear. There were times when I didn’t get the airspeed low enough and had to go around again. And, more and more, there were times when I got it bang on.
This ability is especially useful in crosswinds, where you have far better control if you land with the upwind wheel first. It also taught me always to find out in advance what my Plan B options were before landing on an unfamiliar airstrip.
During those months, it felt like I spent most of the time in the air. And I really didn’t want to be anywhere else. Becks went off to her Cambridge interview with a friend who was also applying to study law; and that must have helped her to concentrate far better than I would ever have done. I think she was really happy that I’d become obsessed with something other than driving. Actually, it was a long time since I’d ceased to be a petrol head. Now, my head was in the clouds.
*
One day I arrive at the airstrip for my daily flying fix and there’s a different plane waiting for me. Charlie smiles. ‘You’ve graduated from your little Cessna, Joe.’
Now, I’d been up with him under instruction in a Piper Super Cub. And I knew that, on ta