by Angela Dyson
Immediately I dropped to the ground and from the shelter of my dark overgrown spot, looked about me. As I’d hoped I was at the rear of the premises but off to one side. I was on my hands and knees upon cracked concrete where about fifteen or sixteen cars were parked fifty metres or so away. I watched and waited for a while but nobody was about. Why were there so many cars here at this time of night? I wondered.
Following the line of the fence I inched my way along until I was directly opposite the building, but screened by the parked cars and then I sprinted across to the closest of the vehicles and ducked down behind it. I was breathing hard now, adrenalin ricocheting about my body as I darted to and fro until at last I was crouching behind the nearest one to the building. It was dark and sleek and vaguely familiar. I couldn’t be certain but I thought I recognised it from the pub car park in Tooting, The Falcon. But was it? I wasn’t interested in cars and so they all looked pretty much the same to me.
I felt uncertain what to do. Should I go back, phone Inspector Lawson again and if I couldn’t get hold of her then dial 999? But what had I proved? A car that may or may not be Chris’s was parked outside a building in Luton. I was still trying to decide, when I heard a scraping sound and peeping out along the flank of the car, I saw that a door to the building was opening. I flinched back. I heard the sound of muffled voices from within and then the door shut again and footsteps rang out on the concrete. One pair of footsteps. Please don’t be Chris reclaiming his car I prayed. Please don’t let him find me here… but then whoever it was stopped and I heard the flare of a match.
Tentatively I peered around once more and could see the outline of a man with his back to me. I watched as he lifted his left arm up in a long stretch and pulled on a cigarette with his right. He’s too tall to be Chris I thought and then instantly retreated as he turned around. A few moments later I heard the scrunching of his shoe as he ground out his cigarette butt, the scraping of the door opening again and then there was silence.
I let out my breath which I hadn’t realised I’d been holding and came to a decision. I would risk a quick scan of the building and then I’d get back to the car as quickly as I could.
Swiftly I ran forward and bore a left, moving away from the door until I reached the corner of the property. Now I was close up I could see that the structure was a low oblong and that within this nearside wall there were three large windows, windows that had been blackened out and reinforced with security grilles. Nevertheless, I kept my head low and scuttled along until I came to the front of the property. Here I hesitated, anxious in case the security lights, sensing movement, would activate and flood the area in a blue-white glare. It felt like jumping off a cliff as I darted across the wide forecourt, but thankfully there were no searchlights and no one standing guard at the front door.
It was a heavy metal door with a small square viewing panel at the top. Something pale on the panel caught my eye. I scanned the area. No one was about and so keeping my head down I peered up at the panel. A small white card had been tucked under the metal beading and on the card, was a picture of a dice, upon which, instead of the usual spots to indicate numbers, was the image of a horseshoe.
I snatched it up and then hugging the wall and keeping to the shadows, I raced around to the other side of the building. Here was a direct link to the advertisement. Now all I had to do was work my way around to the rear of the premises and get safely back across the car park to the hole I’d made in the fence. But suddenly that felt like a near impossible feat. I was physically and mentally drained and feeling queasy with anxiety. Right come on, I told myself. You can do this. You must do this. There is no other choice.
I expected that this side of the property would be a mirror image of the opposite side and would therefore have its corresponding three windows, but it was unrelieved brickwork until I had nearly reached the end. Close to the corner was a much smaller window, again blackened out but probably not considered large enough to require a grille. And it was open a crack at the bottom. Stooping directly beneath it I listened. At first I could hear nothing, but then pressing in closer I detected a faint whispering. A conversation was being carried out in a foreign language and the voices were female.
Just keep going I said to myself, head as quickly as you can straight back to the car, but I rarely take my own advice. The window was just above shoulder level and so cautiously I rose to a near standing position and craned my neck to peer in.
It appeared to be a small room, not much larger than a cloakroom. All I could see of the furniture was the legs of one chair, but there were two pairs of feet visible. Two pairs of bare, dusty feet that were quite clearly female. The women were still whispering in quiet undertones, which halted instantly when I hissed.
“Hello… hello… we may only have a minute, but I’m going to try and help you.”
Silence.
I tried again. “Are you alright? I’m going to do my best to get you out of here.”
Then a small, frightened voice said, “Who are you?” Her accent was strong and difficult to understand.
“My name is Clarry,” I said. “But there’s no time for that now. I…”
A face appeared and then another. I was looking at two girls somewhere in their late teens, both with long thick black hair, pale caramel skin, and terrified dark eyes.
I felt like crying. I could feel the tears forming as I whispered, “It’s alright. It’s going to be all right,” I smiled as reassuringly as I could. “Are there any more of you? Or is it just you two?”
One of the girls spoke. She had a faded bruise upon her forehead and I took her to be the slightly older of the two. “Rima was with us, but she has been taken by the men into another room. We don’t know what is happening to her. We fear for her… and for ourselves.”
I looked again at the window. Was it big enough to allow them to squeeze through?
“Does this open up any further?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” the girl said.
“The window,” I hissed. “Can you open it a bit more? Enough to crawl through?”
They both looked blankly at me for a second and then together pushed up hard on the frame but it didn’t budge. They tried again and I heaved on it as well, but still it didn’t move.
“It must have some sort of locking mechanism,” I said. “But don’t worry, you’ll soon be safe.”
The sound of a door being opened brought them both swinging back around to face the room and instantly I dropped to a crouch.
“What are you doing over there?” demanded an angry voice. It was male and had a London accent. “Get over here. It’s nearly your turn.”
I didn’t wait to hear anymore, but melted into the shadows pressing back against the wall. Their turn. I didn’t want to think about what that meant, but I couldn’t stop terrifying and grotesque images from forming in my mind. I didn’t have time to reach the car to telephone the police and maybe did not even enough time to reach the gap in the fence. I had to do it now.
Creeping away from the window I stopped at the corner where I had a good view of the rear of the building and took my phone out from my pocket. I pressed redial and got straight through to Wimbledon Police. With my hand cupped around my mouth and in the softest of voices, I asked for Inspector Lawson. Again, I was told that she wasn’t available.
“Tell her it’s urgent,” I whispered. “Tell her it’s Clarry Pennhaligan and that I’m at this address.” I rattled off the location. “Tell her to please send help immediately. There are women in desperate need of…”
“Slow down madam,” came the reply. “I’m having trouble following you. Can you repeat that address please?”
I gave it to her again my hands shaking.
“Luton, you said? That’s not our jurisdiction I’m afraid. You need to contact…”
Why the fuck hadn’t I just dialled 999? I was wasti
ng desperately needed minutes here. “Just send someone!” I repeated urgently and cut the connection.
I had only just pressed the number 9 button twice when suddenly I became aware of a slight noise from behind me. Whirling around, I saw the silhouette of a male figure making his way steadily in my direction. I froze. I was in shadow but had he spotted me? Had he heard me on the phone? I thought he was too far away to pick up the sound but if he had heard then he’d know that the police would be coming. And that would give him and whoever was with him possibly enough time to clear out and get away taking the girls with them. And I couldn’t even be sure that the police would attend. The operator had said that Luton was out of their area.
I pressed the number 9 button for a third and final time, heard it pick up and then I dropped my mobile into some bushes beside me. At least this gave the girls a chance. The police could pick up its signal and respond to the correct location. Or I desperately hoped so. And then I ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I didn’t get very far. The man behind me must have seen my movement and instantly gave chase, but he was slow and lumbering and I might just have been able to outrun him and clear the gap in the fence if it hadn’t been for a second man who appeared from out of the rear door.
“Get him,” yelled my pursuer and the second man came charging after me.
And he was fast. He grabbed my shoulder spinning me around and took me by both arms. I struggled against him but it was no good for although wiry, he was strong and the grip he held me in was fierce. He was in his thirties and wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt with a hood and had narrow eyes set in a thin white face. The first man, fat and sweating in a dark suit, came panting up and then laughed when he caught sight of me.
“It’s a girl. Well we can always do with another one of those around here.”
I kicked out at that, aiming a blow to his crotch but I missed. Casually he slapped me hard across the face. I fell back against the wiry man and then, dizzy with shock and with pain, felt myself being dragged towards the rear door.
I was pulled through into a corridor which I just had time to note was lined with boxes of wine and spirits, before the fat man unlocked and pushed open a door and I was flung through it.
“I reckon the boss will have plans for you sweetheart,” he leered. “Try not to miss me too much when I’m gone.” With that, he slammed the door behind him.
I was in the small room that I’d peered into from beyond the other side of the locked window. The two girls were still there, their eyes now wide with surprise. They came towards me and the girl with the bruise took my hand.
“How did you?… What happened?” she whispered. “You said you were going to help us.”
I closed my eyes as my mind swirled in panic. The other girl said something in her own language and shook me by the arm.
“I’m alright,” I said opening my eyes. “And I’m sorry. I tried to… but they caught me and I…”
I gave it up. There was no point in explaining. I was here in this room with them and we were prisoners together. And together we had to try and break out but to do that I had to get them to trust me.
“I’m Clarry,” I told them again. “What are your names?”
The girl with the bruise answered, “I’m Uri and this is my sister Aischa, but she speaks hardly any English.”
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“We are Syrian. We came on a boat. Many died. Many were lost.”
“Your parents?”
“They were killed in the bombing. Our brother too.”
“I’m so sorry.” Inadequate words I knew but what else was there to be said?
They were both thin and were wearing ill-assorted garments. Uri had on a dark pink sleeveless dress with a boat neckline and a full skirt cut just above the knee and which looked to be two sizes too big for her. Aischa was in a short denim skirt with a raggedy hem and a nylon green top with shoestring straps.
“These are not our clothes,” said Uri. “They made us wear these.”
“How many are there?” I asked. “Men I mean.”
“Those two that brought you in and I have seen two others. An old man with a beard and a younger one but… I think there are more… out there.”
“Out there? What do you mean?”
“I heard voices and some men laughing when they took Rima, our friend. And we smelt cigarette smoke.”
She translated for her sister who stood very close beside her and nodded. Their vulnerability was desperately apparent, not just in the immediate horror of their situation but in their history. I felt such a flash of rage and a desire to lash out at those unknown men behind the door that my jaw locked and my fists clenched.
I took a long breath out and then examined the window. I’d been right. There were locking bolts on either side of the frame that allowed it to open only a couple of inches. I tried the door but it was shut fast. I considered it. An internal door like the type you might find in an office, it didn’t look particularly sturdy. With our concerted efforts, we might be able to kick our way through but not without making one hell of a noise. Suddenly it opened and the fat man entered. He’d taken off his jacket and loops of sweat ringed his shirt beneath the arms.
Uri and Aischa shrank back but it was me he focused upon.
“Come take a look,” he called behind him and a man in his late sixties with pepper and salt hair and a close-cropped beard then stepped into the room.
“Search her.” His accent was Mediterranean. Was this Maria’s father, Stavros Zakiat? I wondered, as the fat man grabbed me. He stripped off my jacket and went through the pockets finding only my car keys. Then he patted me down thoroughly, lingering over my breasts and between my legs. Revulsion surged through me at his touch but I tried not to flinch. From my jeans pocket, he pulled out the small card with the horseshoe dice upon it. He handed it to the older man who looked at it and then regarded me.
“What is your name?”
I didn’t answer. He flicked a glance at the fat man who then took hold of my hair pulling it back painfully.
“What is your name?” the older man repeated.
“Clarry. And tell this clown to let me go. He’s hurting me.”
He looked surprised and then gave a short mirthless laugh “Yes Perry can be a little rough. But then he is a barbarian and so he knows no better.”
Perry the fat man didn’t like that. I could hear it by the short intake of breath he took and the way his grip tightened on my hair.
“Me? I am a citizen of the world. I know and do much that a man like Perry could only dream of. Now… what am I to do with you?”
“Show me how civilised you are, how much more evolved you are than Perry here and let me go?” I suggested although of course I knew it was useless. “And the girls too.”
Uri and Aischa were cowering together, their arms wrapped about each other.
“Nice try but that’s not very likely, is it?” he answered, his glance dismissing me. Perry grunted at that but I didn’t respond.
“Well Clarry,” the older man continued. “You appear to have involved yourself in things that you would have been much wiser to stay away from. We did not invite you here, but now that you are here then…Well it is time that you joined the party. Take her through.”
It was a command and Perry instantly responded. “Yes Mr. Z.”
Mr. Z. This had to be Stavros Zakiat.
CHAPTER THIRTY
As I was pushed into a wide square room the first thing I noticed was the rich aroma of cigar smoke, and the next, the sound of male laughter. A smartly dressed man with fading blonde hair, a smooth complexion, and a slight paunch visible despite his well-cut suit was standing at a lectern directly under a bright beam of light. He was addressing a room full of men and had obviously just cracked a joke.
His audi
ence, sitting around dimly lit tables in groups of twos and threes with glasses and bottles in front of them, were looking from him to the slight, almond-skinned girl on his left who, in a white blouse and short red skirt, was standing upon a low stool. The man was holding a small wooden hammer and he now banged this down on the lectern.
“I think you will all agree gentleman that we have just witnessed a very good deal here this evening. Fifteen thousand for this lovely piece. She may be small, she may be a touch skinny but feed her up and treat her right and…”
Laughter broke out at this.
“And our friend over here...” he winked at a florid man with a double chin and a glistening bald head sitting at a table near the front, “…will have got a very good bargain indeed. Congratulations sir. Come up and claim your property.”
The bald man rose and took the girl by the arm so forcibly that she almost fell from the stool. He led her to his table and pulled her down hard on to his lap.
“Now,” continued the man at the lectern. “Let’s take a look at our next bid.” He looked at me. “Come on my dear, don’t be shy, and stand up here by me so they can all get a good look at you.”
“NO!” My voice thick with fury thundered through the room. “NO, I WILL NOT.”
The effect of shock and then disbelief had left me slow to understand what was going on. But now I got it. It wasn’t a hammer that the man at the lectern was holding, it was a gavel. This was an auction. The girl in the red shorts, Rima, had just been sold to the man with the bald head and I was to be the next item on the agenda.