‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll follow that hedgerow. It’ll take me almost all the way there. I can see a blind spot on this side.’ He handed the binoculars to Celeste.
‘No windows.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you think they’ll be patrolling?’
‘Celeste, this isn’t Stalag Luft Three!’
‘Well there’s no need to get snippy.’
‘Sorry. I usually work alone.’
‘I can see why.’
‘Do you want me to go and rescue your sodding macaw or not?’
‘Language,’ she retorted primly. ‘Whatever we do, we do together. Besides, what makes you think you’ll be able to communicate with Bertie if you come across him over there. You’ll need me to persuade him to leave Milly.’
‘No, Celeste. What I said to Colin still rings true for you. This could be dangerous. We have no idea who’s over there or how many of them there are. I’ll go and have a look. There’s no reason to suppose Milly’s not in her cage, and there she can stay, but if I find Bertie I’ll bring him back one way or another. If he won’t listen to me then I’ll wave you over.’
‘Sure,’ she said in a manner Wilf had come to regard with deep suspicion. Her apparent acquiescence was most perturbing. This was too easy.
‘Are you armed?’ she asked.
‘For God’s sake, woman, I’m a police officer, not bloody Robocop! This is England. If you get caught carrying a gun here it’s a minimum five years.’
‘Just asking.’
‘Why? Are you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Celeste airily.
Wilf’s shoulders sagged. ‘What have you brought?’ he asked with weary resignation. This was much more like the Celeste he knew so well.
‘Only my whip, of course. It’s all I need.’ She produced a wicked-looking bullwhip from the boot of the car.
‘Put that back,’ he ordered.
‘Not a chance,’ she smirked. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what trouble we can get into.’
Before Wilf could protest any more, Celeste climbed over a stile in the hedge and set off for the buildings. ‘Are you coming or what?’ she called back to him over her shoulder. Wilf couldn’t fail to be impressed. She showed no sign of fear. Caution, yes, but no fear. He shook his head and followed. This was a woman who’d defended her home against two of the best trained Black Ops agents on the planet with passion and a generous dollop of savagery. Fear did not appear to be in her lexicon. He caught up and together they headed towards the distant buildings.
This could get very interesting indeed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wilf and Celeste stood close to the corner of the farm buildings. Partially concealed by the hedge, it had taken them less than five minutes to traverse the field, watched with bored indifference by the herd of ruminating cows. Wilf was relieved to discover Gloucestershire cows appeared to be the laziest in England by a country mile. The odd irritated flick of a tail was the only indication of their excitement at having two people drop by for a visit.
He scanned the buildings carefully. Dirty walls of lichen-stained concrete blocks and battered corrugated tin gave the place a dismal, neglected air. Some aromatic by-product of dairy production was piled up nearby, steaming gently, and as if that wasn’t enough to deter souls of a sensitive disposition, the walls were peppered with warnings of asbestos. The signs looked tatty and weathered, but when Wilf peeled one back, the adhesive was fresh.
‘Made to look old,’ he breathed. ‘No asbestos here, but someone wants to keep nosy parkers away.’ He edged along one wall and looked around the next corner, beckoning Celeste to follow. They stopped at a grimy window and peered inside. Agricultural detritus cluttered the place, rusty, dusty and laced with impressively large cobwebs. Light dribbled in through several ragged holes in the roof, broken tiles littering the floor. ‘No one here. The entrance to the yard must be around the next corner. I’ll go and have a look. Stay here. No, here. Don’t move, I’ll be right back. Wait, where are you going?’
As usual, Celeste completely ignored his instructions and crept off. He shook his head sadly. So much for the authority of a police officer. Now advancing with greater caution, they carefully stole up to the gateway and peeped into the courtyard. A white van was parked in front of the largest building in the complex, the only one that appeared to be weatherproof and in reasonable condition. If the density of the signs were anything to go by, this building appeared to be constructed entirely from asbestos. Including the windows. To approach courted immediate death by mesothelioma. They spent a few seconds registering what they’d seen and, unwilling to cross the open entrance for fear of being spotted, retired back to the hedge.
‘That’s where she is, in that building by the van,’ said Wilf
‘Really? You think?’
He shot her an irritated look. Celeste shrugged. ‘Now you know what it’s like working with you. What next?’
‘I want to have a look in that barn.’
‘So do I. What about the van?’
‘Someone’s definitely at home. A plan so carefully thought out would not allow for such an exotic and valuable asset to remain unguarded. Milly will have a minder in there. The van will also be needed in case they have to move her quickly.’
‘Did you get the registration number?’
‘Of course. Sending it to Sergeant Drewing right now, but I can tell you for certain it’ll be a rental hired by a Mr John Smith. Or stolen. Guaranteed.’ Wilf tapped away, sent the text and pocketed his phone. ‘Right, let’s go. I’m afraid we have to navigate our way around the poo pile this time.’
They set off in the opposite direction, hugging the outer walls, giving the manure mountain a wide berth and searching for windows, but there were none on that side of the complex. Then Wilf touched Celeste’s arm and pointed upwards. A block had been removed, a vent of some kind high up in the wall of the barn, through which they could just hear faint music, scratchy, as if from an emphysemic radio.
‘I don’t think you could reach that even on my shoulders,’ he breathed.
Celeste produced her smartphone. ‘Then I’ll take a video,’ she said softly.
‘Good idea.’ Wilf stood with his back to the wall, cupped his hands and boosted Celeste upwards. She was surprised how strong he was. There was much undignified scrambling and wrapping of legs around his neck, accompanied by frantic middle-aged person’s waving of arms before she found a point of balance and slowly stood up on his shoulders. Her heels dug in, making him wince. She reached up as high as she could with the phone and, pointing it into the vent, panned in every direction before lowering herself, again with legs scissored around his neck. Wilf got a noseful of knee and nearly choked when she yanked hard on the collar of his mac, his eyes bulging. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured in a tone of voice that indicated she was not sorry at all.
They huddled. Celeste called up the video and they both peered at the phone. Unsurprisingly, the image was anything but steady, but it was clear enough for them to see what they needed to see. The interior of the barn was surprisingly spacious. Light poured in through poster-dotted windows overlooking the courtyard, illuminating a few much more modern farming implements scattered around in careless abandon. Then they spotted Milly in her cage – it was just too big to miss – and nearby, bivouacked beside a small olive green tent, a man sat in a folding director’s chair, sharpening a knife on a whetstone, his back to the camera and a radio at his elbow, the source of the music. Supplies and a camping stove indicated there were no immediate plans to move on.
‘That must be the man who knocked you out,’ she whispered. Wilf nodded.
As they watched, he turned the radio off and made a call on his mobile, his voice echoing faintly in the empty barn. ‘I have the package and it’s stored at the agreed location. No, the operation was simple enough. I was not seen. The message has been left as you ordered. No, the target is not under observati
on at this moment. I’m waiting for my team to arrive to guard the package, then I’ll return to the prime location and resume surveillance. In the garden, of course. They’ll be here within the hour. Certainly, sir, I’ll not let her out of my sight again. I’ll make the first call this evening. Just a preparatory conversation to stoke her fear. Thank you, I know I’m good. There won’t be any mistakes. Then we can move on to the actual demonstration of our intent. Yes, I think a ritual plucking should suffice. I’m looking forward to that, too. Not a bloody chance, the countryside is a dreadful place. It stinks. I understand my fee amply compensates, but you want to try coming down here sometime. It’s beyond medieval.’
The man snickered nastily at some comment, ended the call and turned on the radio again. He settled back and resumed sharpening his knife. Wilf looked at Celeste as the video continued. She gnawed at her lower lip anxiously. Wilf knew she was searching for any sign of Bertie, but the video drew a blank.
Except right at the last moment.
Half a second before the end, the image of the barn was suddenly obscured by something so close the camera was unable to focus properly. Celeste jumped. Wilf frowned. ‘What the hell was that?’ She paused the video. He stared for a few moments, then turned the phone upside down and pointed. A big brown eye glared at them, blurred almost out of recognition, but both instantly identified that unique expression: curious, questioning, alert. The head was cocked so far to one side that it was almost inverted, confusing them for a moment, but a faint haze of unfocused violet confirmed it was Bertie.
Celeste trembled with relief, squeezing Wilf’s hand. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. They heard a faint scratching above them and, looking up, saw Bertie’s head poking out of the vent. Obviously curious about the phone, he’d decided to investigate, but it was a very tight fit for the burly macaw. He pushed and heaved before finally squeezing his way out through the vent, his immaculate plumage dusty and draped in cobwebs. Normally, Bertie would be chuckling away happily on seeing his mum again, but she held a finger to her lips and he knew she wanted him to keep quiet. Celeste pointed back towards the car hidden behind the hedge and flicked a hand signal. Bertie responded, launching himself silently and gliding low across the field like a scrap of blue paper blown in the wind. They followed, using the hedge as cover again until they reached the lay-by. Bertie sat on the door mirror preening himself. Wilf could have sworn there was a look of irritation on his face as he flicked away the dirt and dust.
‘Hello, Mummy, hello, Wilf,’ he said, looking up, his head bobbing in pleasure. So Wilf was alive after all. Probably best not to tell him about the hair-plucking.
‘You brave boy.’ Celeste fussed over him, pulling a cobweb from the top of his head and kissing him affectionately. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Bertie swelled with the praise, puffing out his chest.
‘I’m hungry. Have you any nuts?’ he asked optimistically.
‘Time to go home,’ replied Celeste. ‘Then you can have nuts.’
Bertie looked back towards the distant buildings. ‘Milly?’
‘Milly is safe for now. We will get her back soon.’
Bertie thought about this. Now that Mummy and Wilf were here to help, he felt more inclined to action, to swoop into the barn and eviscerate the man before rescuing Milly. Even Bertie knew he’d get guaranteed sex in return! However, Mummy was always right – and he was very hungry. So hungry, in fact, he’d actually been considering rejoining the thrushes for a snack of snails and earthworms. Milly was a lovely mate, but her conversation still remained limited to describing conditions normally only to be experienced during November in the North Sea. She seemed safe enough with the bald man for the moment. Perhaps he should wait. ‘Promise?’
Celeste had never lied to Bertie. ‘Promise,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, let’s get you into the car.’
The drive back to Prior’s Norton took no time. Bertie scampered in, claws scratching on the floorboards, and immediately fluttered to his perch, settling himself down to demolish a handful of fat walnuts heaped in his bowl, his attention solely on his food.
‘Any news from Ian?’
Wilf examined his phone. ‘As I suspected, the van’s on false plates. That’ll be a dead end. Still, we’ve learnt a lot.’
‘At least we know Milly’s safe.’
‘I’ll text Colin. Hopefully, he won’t have another heart attack.’
‘Cup of tea?’
‘So long as I actually get to drink it this time rather than have it scald my privates.’ Taking tea with Celeste and Bertie had its own unique hazards.
‘No lasting damage?’
‘Don’t know. I haven’t yet had the chance to test my bits since that little incident.’
‘That was two years ago! Wilf, you’re just not trying hard enough.’
‘I’m doing my best,’ he protested. ‘Honest!’
‘Well I hope you have more effective plans for rescuing Milly.’
‘We could take her back at any time, but that grunt over in the barn is not our main target. I think we can use him to draw out the big boys.’
‘The man at the other end of the phone. How?’
‘Let’s have another look at the video and see if we can come up with a plan.’
‘They’re in the garden,’ she hissed in outrage when the recording had finished. ‘They’re in the bloody garden!’
‘We know that now, but they don’t know we know. We can use that.’ Wilf pondered. ‘We’ve been lucky. There’s been a gap in their surveillance. At any other time they would have known we were on to them straight away, but without someone maintaining their watch here we’ve been able to get Bertie back unseen. It’s critical to keep Bertie out of sight at all times so we can continue the ruse. If they discover they’ve got the wrong macaw, then I wouldn’t bet much on Milly’s life.’
Wilf peered at Celeste. ‘That camp is certainly not permanent. They’re probably planning to use the barn as the venue for Milly’s abuse. It’s nicely remote. You realise that immediately after this ritual plucking, they’ll almost certainly kill Milly. All her feathers will be removed and stored in a handy plastic bag. These will be sent to you on a regular basis to fool you into thinking she’s still alive. To keep you on the straight and narrow. No use-by date on a feather, is there. That way they won’t have the inconvenience of actually caring for their captive. If these men are commercially astute enough to build their own empires, then they’ll certainly recognise a bargain when they see one. Comes to something when a bag of feathers can effectively give you political control of a country.’
‘Then we have to act fast. I agree we need to keep them thinking they have Bertie, but it’ll be difficult keeping him hidden for long. He’s got wings, you know. And access to a cat flap.’
‘So I’ve noticed. We need to get him into hiding, and fast. We know this window of opportunity will close very soon. Enemy reinforcements will be arriving shortly, allowing Barn Boy to return to his lodgings in your shrubbery. I don’t think we’ll be able to keep Bertie’s presence here a secret for very long once the spies are watching.’
‘We need somewhere private, somewhere really quiet.’
Bertie, having wolfed down his entrée of nuts, paused before commencing on the main course of more nuts. He hadn’t contributed much to the conversation – he never did when he was really hungry – but he knew the meaning of quiet. He liked quiet. Quiet was a good word, easy to learn, easy to remember. Monosyllabic. Bertie pondered on this. Funny how the word used to describe simple words is so complex. He could tackle any monosyllabic word with an excellent chance of success, but not the word employed to describe those words. Still, humans had no inkling of the complexity of his own language. His trills and squawks appeared to be just a discordant noise, but in fact contained subtle multi-harmonics that conveyed huge amounts of information.
However, his mum was now looking for somewhere quiet. Their home was quiet, but apparently not quiet enough. He had a good think �
� and only one place came to mind. ‘Temple, go to Temple!’ he chipped in brightly. He thought of the vast underground space, just the best place ever for flying indoors – and very quiet, too.
‘Temple?’ asked Wilf cautiously. ‘What’s that?’
‘Of course,’ Celeste exclaimed softly. In a flash of intuition, she realised Bertie’s part in this complex affair was, in fact, ludicrously simple. All he had to do was tell her what to do in these critical moments. His choices were not made through reasoning or any other logical process, but merely came from a mind uncluttered by doubt or indecision. Celeste knew he was right. ‘Good old Bertie!’ Better the suggestion come from him. Less suspicious. ‘He’s done it again. Somehow, and I have no idea how, he always manages to say the right thing at the right time. He’s such a clever boy.’
‘Do you mind explaining,’ asked Wilf.
‘Yes. I’ll call my old friend Doreen. She’s got this place up on the Cotswolds called Temple Hall. It’s the perfect location and she’ll help, no questions asked.’
‘Why is it the perfect location?’
‘The place is huge. There’s plenty of places to hide Bertie.’
‘And how will we get him there without Barn Boy noticing?’
‘Instead of trying to conceal Bertie here – something we both accept will be an almost impossible task since I will not have him caged in any way – you take him over to Gav’s cowshed in the next field. That eliminates all chance Barn Boy might have of catching a glimpse of him through any of the windows. Then we just wait for him to resume his surveillance, at which point I’ll very publicly decamp to the Hall and stay there, forcing our enemies to follow. I am their primary target after all. How else will they be able to keep tabs on me except by following? With him chasing me, you and Bertie can then tail the tailer, so to speak. That way you can keep him under surveillance while he watches me. You can also see who else arrives, and at the last resort, can call in the police if things get ugly.’
Bertie and the Hairdresser Who Ruled the World Page 20