Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel by Ian Andrew

before.
    The miniaturisation of cameras, microphones and trackers was a boon to Tien’s profession, but the explosion of companies, especially within London, offering gadgets like they were some Q-division out of James Bond, made her wince. She wasn’t wholly convinced that secret-camera devices, made to look like alarm clocks and pens, weren’t being used by seedy, voyeuristic guesthouse owners, or worse. The problem was, that as a registered Private Investigation firm, ‘Wright and Tran’ were contacted on at least a weekly basis to evaluate what was on offer. Mostly they said no. Politely, but no nonetheless.
    The request to see the tracker had come from a new shop called ‘Thy Chela’ in Knightsbridge. Tien had been intrigued, not least by its name, but by its location. At one hundred yards from Harrods, the new enterprise was likely to be backed by some significant players. Her tech-head also figured that such a device, self-powered and capable of operating even if the main battery was taken from the phone, was worth the trek to the west of the city. When she found out that it could also be monitored through commercial satellite systems, she and Kara had decided to buy a dozen of them. Tien didn’t mind spending some of their newly acquired wealth on that type of purchase.
    She also hadn’t objected too much at spending money on her new lower arm and hand. Prior to the Bebionic model, there was no way she could have manipulated the phones, the screwdriver, the casings and the trackers without a mounting frustration and ultimately having to ask for help. Now, with a simple flick of a sensor within the socket of her arm, she could select the grip she needed, and with a twist, she could move her wrist to any angle. She had become so adept that she could swing her hand against her thigh to quickly switch thumb positions. It was true that Tien had been reticent when she found out the cost, but Kara had insisted that she buy it and it had been worth every penny. Recently some people hadn’t realised she had a prosthesis at all. The skin tone match on the ‘glove’ that covered the futuristic hand was an indistinguishable match for her real skin. Although, one of her young nephews had been disappointed she hadn’t kept a more terminator-type look.
    Tien had quickly come to love her new arm. Every time she looked at it, every time she used it, she felt the loss of her original limb a little less. She hadn’t had to ask for help with any task in months and the value of that happiness and independence was immeasurable. The strength and capability of the prosthesis had even allowed her to get back into attending the gym and she especially loved how she could do push-ups with it.
    Flicking her fingers to a tripod-grip, she reassembled the last of the phones, finishing just as Kara and Jacob returned from a quick shopping expedition. While Kara showered, Jacob put the supplies to good use and made tea, toast and scrambled eggs.
    As they were finishing their meal, Tien’s phone rang. “Hi, yep,” she said and rose to look out the kitchen window at two cars pulling into the apartment’s designated parking spots. “Black door just behind you,” she said and disconnected before looking over to Kara and Jacob. “They’re here.”
     
    ɸ
     
    Samantha Davis, known as Sammi, and Charles Randal, known as Chaz, looked like the perfect couple. Sammi stood five foot ten inches, her broad shoulders and slim waist a fitting testament to her love of swimming. Her height, physique, blue eyes and shoulder-length mousey-blonde hair complimented the short, light brown hair and blue eyes of Chaz’s six foot, lithe body. Sammi moved with a casual sway and Chaz, two years her senior, moved with what seemed the grace of a dancer, but was actually the result of decades of training in martial arts. The couple’s obvious compatibility had been a great cover for their many covert surveillance operations. In reality, their relationship