Though her back was stiff, and her arms and legs ached and yearned for freedom, Lucie kept completely still. She remembered voices in the house saying something about a van, and it seemed pretty obvious that it was said vehicle now transporting her. She had no way of knowing who else if anyone might have been in there with her. Nor indeed would she risk any further harm to Ismail, who for all she knew was inside the van with her. As she half sat, half lay there, waiting to arrive at wherever her destination may be, she took comfort in her calmness. She might have been foolish to rush in to Ismail’s rescue, but she was in control of her emotions now, and consequently had not completely lost control of her situation. She was a captive of her attackers, granted, at least until some suitable opportunity presented itself, but how she responded to that was her choice, and it was one undoubtedly better made with a clear brain.
The squeak of worn break pads and the slamming of cab doors told Lucie they had arrived at wherever they were meant to be, and she breathed in deeply to keep her nerves calm and stable. The engine was still running as the rear doors opened with a creak, followed by a stream of profanities from a voice she recognised as belonging to one of her attackers.
Still she offered no movement until she felt the grip of a rough hand on her collar, wrenching her head up. She allowed her body to follow with little resistance, until she reached the open doors and felt herself being pushed to the ground below. Though she had expected such an act and poised herself in readiness, the smack of her body against the hard gravel took the breath from her lungs.
It was the sound of a second ‘thud’ which confirmed Lucie’s suspicion that she had not been alone in the van, and she tried to position herself closer to the second person as they were picked from the floor and pushed forwards, her feet crunching on the gravel as she went. There were three voices with them now, all men, two of whom she recognised from the house, while the third, a scouse lilt to his words, seemed to be in charge.
“Your late,” the new voice berated them.
“Yeah, well, there were problems, weren’t there,” protested the less eloquent to the two. “She weren’t there, none of them were. When we got to the house, the only one there was the Paki.”
“So you don’t even have the girl?”
“This other one’s just as good, in’t she? She’s a fuckin’ Euro too, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem, dickhead, is that the boss handpicked the women he wanted, this silly bitch and her Muslim mate were supposed to be extras, and on top of that you put bullets through Jake and Nige!”
“That was him!”
“Ah, quit bitching.”
Lucie allowed herself a smirk; their failure meant that Ismail himself had been successful in arranging safe haven for Monika and her housemates and keeping them from harm, not caring that it had cost him dearly to do so. Her affection for him had grown steadily since their first meeting, and now alongside it, Lucie felt the warm glow of pride.
The conversation, such as it was, ended, and Lucie found herself halted and the bag pulled roughly from her head. It was night, and there was little light from the grey, concrete wall in front of her to hurt her eyes, but her vision was still blurred and strained and she blinked hard to clear her sight. The night air rushed to her freshly unguarded cheeks, but with an added scent that Lucie would have recognised as the sea even without her days in the Merchant Navy.
Her vision clearing, Lucie took in her surroundings as quickly as she could. The grey wall was one part of what looked a huge building, but in the black of night and devoid of light, it was hard to properly gauge the size. A metal door was built into the wall which one of the figures, bulky and still clad in black, was straining to open. Lucie could feel a second figure standing behind her, breathing a sickly breath of stale booze and spent cigarettes onto her, while the third was stood closer to the door, a now likewise unhooded Ismail in his grip.
Ismail! It was all Lucie could do not to lunge forward and embrace her wounded friend, even with her hands tied, but she speedily repressed the urge, offering the battered policeman a surreptitious half-smile, obliquely reciprocated, before returning her stare to the man at the metal door.
He and his cohorts had removed their ski masks, the safety of home turf presumably affording them a confidence and invulnerability not felt back at the house. The man with the scouse accent, who now wrestled with the door, was skeletally thin, with shoulder length hair and a fading bruise on his cheek bone. Of his two comrades, one was squat and somewhat bulky looking, but wore an expression of cruelty on his face which assured her he was still capable of serious harm. His colleague, the one who had finished off his partners in crime at the house, was taller, with a shaved head. His eyes shone with an intelligence she didn’t see in the other two, coupled with a resentment that he was taking instructions from a man he clearly considered beneath him.
“Mind the step,” the first man sneered at the pair as they were led down a short flight of stairs into a brightly lit breeze-block corridor which stretched into the distance and was lined on either side with further metal doors.
Stopping outside one, the man at the front jangled with keys and heaved it open to reveal a barren storage room, lit by a single bulb. He gestured for Ismail and Lucie to enter, while she felt the flick of a knife release her from her bonds. Ismail’s ‘handler’ helped him into the cold room, cut his hands free and deposited him unceremoniously onto the floor. Lucie dropped to one knee to check him before turning back to the three strangers who stood ready to close the door.
“You can have a rest in here for a bit,” came the scouse tones. “Till we let the boss know we have you. Oh, and don’t try to escape, eh?”
“Or what?” Lucie quizzed, coldly. “I end up like the French girl you raped and murdered?”
What sounded like a snort of contempt came from the shorter man, his cruel face twisting into a malicious sneer and his eyes fixing on Lucie with an all-too-readable intent.
“Well, you might have a bit of a problem there,” the ‘leader’ of the trio laughed. “As long as you stay in here, you’ll be alright, but if you try to get out, well…”
“Your guard dog tries his luck?”
“Something like that. You see, Gary here doesn’t have many hobbies, he’s not well-read or articulate like you and me. There is something he enjoys though.”
“No prizes for guessing what that is.”
‘Gary’ laughed out loud, a sinister, mocking sound which pierced the air between them.
“Never had much time for birds has Gary; thinks they’re only good for one thing. We used to have a guy here who kept him in check as it happens, a bloke called Jon. Couldn’t stand rapists, Jon couldn’t.”
“Honour amongst thieves, eh?”
“If you like. Jon was fine with knocking ten shades of shit out of MPs and activists; he was a bugger for that, but rape? Not his kettle of fish. But Jon and Gary got on, so well in fact that whenever Gary got his urges, Jon would have a quiet word and Bob’s your uncle.”
“I take it Jon was on a day off when this piece of shit killed Ines Aubel?”
“Ah, well,” the man began, “those were special orders, you see, right from the top. But ordinarily Jon was on hand to make sure nothing like that went on. Trouble is, Jon’s not here no more, someone put a bullet in his head a few nights back when he was out for a drive.”
“Really? Shame Gary wasn’t driving.”
Lucie struggled to prevent the disgust she felt at the thin man and his crew from showing on her face, though it seemed only to encourage him to continue his mockery.
“Funny how life turns out, eh?” he laughed. “You killed just about the only guy who could have looked after you.”
“What makes you think I need a guy to look after me?”
“I’ll remind you of that later, sweet cheeks, you might find yourself changing your mind.”
“Yeah? Well, they say that life’s a bitch,” Lucie answered with murder
ous cynicism, “and then you piss off the wrong one and she kills you.”
The thin man’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he stared back at her, before taking hold of the heavy door and beginning to close it.
“Maybe,” he laughed in contempt, “but I haven’t met her yet.”
She offered no further retort, but instead fixed him with a look of dangerous intent as the heavy door began to swing into place and she was left with nothing but the sound of ‘Gary’s’ receding laughter, and the heavy breathing of her stricken friend.
TWENTY-ONE
Sat on the floor with his head back against the breeze block wall, Ismail was wheezing in low, regulated breaths; the tell-tale signs of an injured man trying to retain control of his battered body. Lucie had seen such sights before in the deserts of Afghanistan and remembered with dread how they so often preceded tearful requests for final prayers and absolution. Lucie had offered comfort to the dying so many times, but now it was her friend, her love, lying before her, the words dried up and refused to be spoken.
Was he dying, though? Lucie couldn’t tell but it worried her that she wasn’t moving close enough to find out, and she might well have stayed standing by the door for eternity had he not turned his face to her and grinned his infectious grin.
“Don’t worry,” he said through bruised lips. “It feels worse than it looks.”
Though her emotions fought against it, Lucie chuckled, and she knelt down beside him, her instincts taking over as she checked his pulse and mentally timed his breaths.
“I’ve been waiting ages for you to check my vitals,” the wounded man joked.
“Behave yourself or I’ll give you a real injury to worry about,” she replied in faux chastisement. “Your heart doesn’t seem to be too bad, but we need to get you out of here and bloody quickly.”
“Ah,” he answered, “I think I’ve spotted the flaw in the plan.”
“I’ll get us out of here,” Lucie said, as she stood and marched back to the door, pressing her hands against it in a futile search for a crack or gap she could exploit.
“Lucie…”
“There must be a way to prise this door…”
“Lucie!”
She stopped and turned to him; the injustice of her own impotence etched onto her face for him to see. She stared wordlessly for a moment before shaking her head in apology.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Everything. I’m sorry for turning up at your station, I’m sorry for telling you I was SIS, I’m sorry for dragging you into this whole, bloody mess.”
For a second he was silent, and Lucie wondered if his mind was composing some particular condemnation for her, but then he fixed her with his kind eyes and opened his bloodied jaw.
“The only thing you should be sorry for,” he began, “is being in here with me. You should have left me where I was.”
“They’d have killed you.”
“I saved Monika. I’d have died a hero.”
“I’d rather you didn’t die at all.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he answered. “When we get out of here, I intend to put in for a medal.”
“I’ll pin it to your chest myself.”
Ismail’s warmth even as he lay injured helped soothe Lucie’s own tumultuous emotions, and she leaned against the wall opposite him, sliding down until she sat on the floor, her feet touching his.
“Monika,” she began, “how is she?”
“She was a bit confused, but she’s safe and so are her housemates. Lake has them in a safe house on the other side of London. I thought I could take them when they came for her, but they got the drop on me.”
“And here we are,” Lucie finished.
“Wherever here is…”
“Wherever we are it’s by the coast; didn’t you smell the sea air when we arrived?”
“My nose is having an off day,” he said, gesturing to his freshly crooked proboscis, Lucie smiling at his warped humour.
“Point taken. But I’d bet all the money I have we’re at the WaterWhyte plant in Portsmouth. That’s what? About a two-hour drive from London?”
“An hour and a half in good traffic.”
“And it makes sense that whatever is happening to us happened to the missing women: kidnapped from London, driven down to Portsmouth and stuffed into the sprawling labyrinth of a defence giant, to end up God knows where.”
“It looks like we’ll find out pretty soon,” Ismail opined. “I think I’m going to ask Lake for a couple of days off after this.”
“He’s not a big one for paid leave,” Lucie laughed. “When I tried to take a few days in France, I ended up with a dodgy assignment, a hit list and a bullet wound.”
“You know what?” Ismail began, his eyes wide in pretend shock at Lucie’s words. “All in all, I’m beginning to wish I’d never been invited onto this team.”
Lucie raised her head from her knees and stared at him for a moment before her shoulders began to rock with laughter.
“I have those days myself,” Lucie smiled in fatalistic amusement. “Wish I could promise tomorrow will be any different.”
“It’d better be,” Ismail responded through heavy breaths, “or else woe betide them when the staff survey comes around.”
Ismail’s voice was growing quieter and Lucie watched as his eyes began to flicker and close.
“Hey!” she snapped, shuffling across to sit beside him. “None of that, stay with me Asif, eyes open if you please.”
“I don’t think I can,” he shrugged softly, all trace of the joviality from moments earlier vanished.
“Then try harder!”
The volume of her voice jolted the fading policeman, and he pulled himself upright and heaved as fresh a breath as his lungs could muster into his chest, wincing and clutching his ribs as he moved.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he gasped as he settled his aching and battered frame into its new position. “If you ever fancy a change of career, you’d make a hell of a drill Sergeant at the Police training college.”
“No thanks,” she smiled. “My days in uniform are behind me, and believe me mate, this stuff is as bad. Worse than that, it’s addictive.”
“Ha! Not to me it isn’t.”
“That’s what you say now,” Lucie smiled. “I said the same. You think you’ll just be in it for one job, then you find yourself doing another, then another, and even though you go to sleep hating it with every fibre in your body, you wake up the next day rushing to do it all over again, like a drunk running to the pub. Take my advice, if Lake promised to let you go after this job then take him up on it and get your arse back to your police station double time.”
Ismail was wheezing, the pain on his face obvious though he tried to mask it with his smile.
“And what about you?”
“I still have unfinished business,” Lucie said solemnly, quickly fighting back the lump in her throat that always arrived when memories of her murdered mother replayed across her mind, followed closely by Lake’s promise to help her track down the man responsible, Trystan Dagonet. “But if it was up to me, I’d find myself a little restaurant that needs a chef and play harp in the pubs on my night off.”
“You play harp?”
“Blues harp,” Lucie laughed, “the harmonica.”
“Oh, a blues woman, eh?”
“A female Charlie Musselwhite.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” replied the stricken Ismail, as he pondered the unfamiliar name, his eyes flickering once more, widening only when Lucie’s hand tapped hard against his cheeks.
“I said wake up, lover boy.”
She reached out as his strength began to fail him, his broken body inching sideways down the wall. Cradling his head and shoulders against her breast she looked down at his face, surprised by quite how painful it was to see him in this state, but also strangely welcoming the sensation as proof that the growing affections she had felt towards him were genuine.
“Lover boy?” he parroted softly through smiling lips. “I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah, well don’t get too excited,” she teased, “there’s not much we can do about it in here.”
“Actually, I think I’m feeling better…”
“I bet you are.”
“In fact, I’ve a couple of ideas about how to aid my recovery.”
“Get fucked,” Lucie playfully warned.
“How did you guess?”
Laughter once again filled the freezing room, their grins wide but their eyes displaying only pain.
“Don’t die on me, you bastard.”
“Or what? Dying feels like a pretty good option right now.”
“Because it’s your turn to buy the coffee next.”
Ismail clasped Lucie’s hand and held it to his chest, bending forward to leave the softest kiss he could muster on her knuckle.
“You’re something else, you know that? Okay then, I’ll try not to die.”
“You promise?”
“Only if you make me a promise in return,” Ismail breathed. “We get out of here, I go back to the cops, you tell Lake to go shit in his hat and you find yourself that restaurant to cook in. And every spare night we have, we head out to the pub and you play that harp of yours.”
“Yeah? And while I’m playing, what will you be getting up to?”
“Supporting you of course,” he exhaled. “And, you know, drinking.”
The laughs soon subsided and gave way to the sound of shivering bodies and wheezing lungs. It was just a dream and they both knew it; Ismail was losing the fight to retain consciousness with every minute that passed, and there was no way Lucie could get help to him. All she could do was feed the dream that kept them lucid, though the fear that she would soon be choking on the fantasy haunted her mind.
“Well,” she said softly, “I suppose as long as you had a couple of beers waiting for when I finished my set, I could live with that.”
“You could live with me too, if you like?”
“Live with you?”
“What’s the point of us both struggling to pay the bills?”
Sealed With A Death Page 15