by A. A. Dhand
‘Clock’s ticking,’ said Ronnie. ‘You want to finish this or not?’
‘Torch,’ said Sarah.
Enzo handed her one. ‘Now move.’
The three of them hurried forward, Sarah in the lead, trying to look as though she was uncertain of the terrain. She crested the smaller rock formation breathing heavily. At the base of the larger rock, Sarah stopped and shone the light up the steep sandstone incline.
‘I’ll wait till you’re up,’ said Enzo, shining the light on it. ‘Makes it easier.’
Sarah slipped her torch into her pocket.
She started the climb.
‘She’s quick,’ said Ronnie.
‘Almost like she’s done it before,’ replied Enzo.
‘You don’t trust her?’ asked Ronnie.
‘Do you?’
‘She’s tricky. No doubt.’
Enzo nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Sarah.
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ Ronnie said finally. ‘Go,’ he said, nodding at the rock as Sarah disappeared over the top.
As soon as Sarah reached the summit, she veered to her left and hurriedly uncovered the small rocks which, two hours earlier, Victor had used to conceal the black bag. Sarah had calculated that, in the darkness and with an uncertain ascent, it would take someone at least four minutes to reach the top.
Plenty of time.
She removed the bulletproof vest, then her burka, and used one of the rocks to carefully weight them to the ground before unzipping the bag. This was it; no margin for error.
By the time Enzo reached her, she needed to look exactly like before.
Once Sarah disappeared over the top, Enzo began his ascent. Ronnie waited till there was a gap of a dozen metres before he started.
At the top, they were brutally exposed to the elements, a gale ripping into them. Moving cautiously to the edge of the rock, they glanced at the ground below, but it was the distant view of Bradford that held their attention. Fireworks broke up dark skies with colourful bursts of light.
‘Where?’ Ronnie broke the spell, handing Sarah a pair of night-vision binoculars. She slipped them over her head, Enzo followed suit, both of them analysing the terrain ahead.
‘There,’ said Sarah, pointing just off to the left. ‘You see it?’
‘Got it,’ said Enzo. ‘Quarter mile. Farmhouse. Lights are on. One car outside, Mercedes.’
‘You’re sure that’s the place?’ Ronnie asked tentatively.
‘That’s it,’ said Sarah.
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘Has to be. Billy said so.’
‘If you’d kept him alive,’ Ronnie couldn’t help saying, ‘this is the moment he’d have proved useful.’
‘That’s the place,’ said Sarah, handing Ronnie the goggles.
‘Down!’ Enzo hissed, suddenly crouching low, stretching his legs out to lie flat on the rock, urging them to follow. ‘Company,’ he said, pointing to the east.
They dropped to the hard stone as an SUV drove close, past the rocks and on down the country lane.
Ronnie and Enzo watched intently as it slowed near the farmhouse, before turning up the gravel driveway. The barbed-wire fencing was clear through their lenses.
The SUV manoeuvred around the Mercedes, and parked facing the entrance. A powerful floodlight came on automatically, a spotlight on the car.
‘Audi Q8, blacked-out windows,’ Enzo recited. ‘This is good, we’ll get a visual on the driver.’
‘Can I?’ asked Sarah reaching for the binoculars.
‘Not ye—’ Enzo started. ‘Boss?’ his voice rose sharply.
‘What?’ said Ronnie, removing his goggles to look at Enzo’s face. His neck was strained as he crept towards the edge of the rock.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Enzo whispered.
‘What is it?’ asked Ronnie, puzzled by the unmistakable edge of panic in Enzo’s voice.
Ronnie put his goggles back on but couldn’t see anything new.
Sarah held her breath, ready.
‘The licence plate,’ said Enzo. ‘Look at the fucking licence plate!’
Ronnie focused on it and when he realized what he was looking at, felt his heartbeat thud with a burning rage.
He lowered the binoculars and looked across at Sarah.
Her eyes were narrowed, her jaw set.
‘You knew,’ he said. ‘You fucking well knew.’
FIFTY-TWO
‘SHIT!’ SCREAMED ALI, slapping his hands on the steering wheel. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
Everything was going to hell.
A whole year of planning and now, at the very last minute, Ali needed to come up with an alternative.
He drove recklessly towards the farmhouse.
Riz and the boss would be there by now.
Fucking Riz, nothing but a glorified accountant. Laundering dirty money through the boss’s cab firm, safe behind his desk. He had no fucking idea how the real world worked.
Ali screamed; long, loud, pained.
Ruined.
He tried to calm himself. He’d got away with murder before. He didn’t need to panic.
Why did you curse my house?
‘Not now!’ he shouted into the night.
Think, Ali, think.
The cellar was locked, both of them bound and gagged.
Ali braked suddenly.
Virdee.
What if Virdee found Olivia and wanted her for himself?
He shook his head, thoughts merging chaotically, considered a U-turn but decided against it. The farmhouse was only a mile away. He drove on.
The revolver on the passenger seat was a calming presence as Ali drove that final mile.
Soon, he would be leaving this town behind him. No longer would he live on the fringes of society.
He’d be rich after taking the boss’s money, but most importantly Olivia would be his.
FIFTY-THREE
PERCY PULLED UP outside Ronnie Virdee’s cash-and-carry.
This was the heart of it.
The warehouse was closed, deserted. Virdee’s employees would have left an hour before, and a calming darkness surrounded the depot. The silence was broken only by the intermittent fireworks in the clear sky.
Percy took the old packet of Capstan Full Strength cigarettes from his bag. He took a moment to admire the packaging: dull orange with a regal gold strip, with bold writing on the front that read ‘Navy Cut Cigarettes’. The real deal. He held the last cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a deep drag. He felt the familiar burning in his lungs.
He stared at the warehouse; it looked innocuous, just another place of business. But that was a lie. This was a breeding ground for misery.
He’d lost so much to this.
It was time for his own revenge. Percy was going to end Ronnie’s toxic grip on the city.
His family had been ruined by the narcotics that Ronnie Virdee flooded the city with. If it hadn’t been for the drugs, that gang who’d taken his granddaughter and others like her would never have stood a chance. Those young girls who had lost so much might still be safe in their homes.
Tonight Percy was going to cut them off at the source.
The truck screamed forward, its colossal weight crashing through locked metal entrance gates.
He backed up to the main shutter, positioning the truck centrally, leaving it in reverse.
There was a crescendo of metal buckling as forty-four tonnes of machinery smashed through the shuttered entrance of the cash-and-carry. Metal and glass rained down around him, the deafening noise of destruction as he forced the truck into the warehouse.
Something fell towards the windscreen. Percy threw himself to the side as a steel rod smashed through the glass, sending fragments showering around his body. He felt a sudden sharp shock in his right leg. The rear of the truck slammed against a steel girder and it came to an abrupt halt, juddering violently.
Alarms were sounding; a deafening wailing that made it har
d to think straight.
Percy took a moment before he sat up again. His leg was bleeding badly.
So much blood.
He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he wasn’t ready to die just yet.
Percy opened the door of the truck, the security alarms shrill and threatening in the warehouse. He stumbled down the ladder, hitting the floor harder than he’d expected.
An animal noise escaped from his mouth.
A steel column had collapsed, splitting the truck in two, and petrol was pouring from the tank like water released from a dam. Percy was relieved. He’d intended to manually release the fuel but now all he had to do was light a match. He stared back into the cabin through the open driver’s door where his cigarette had fallen to the floor, smoke rising from where it lay.
A final tribute to the greatest packet of cigarettes ever made.
The fumes were toxic, stinging his eyes, making it difficult to breathe. Percy staggered towards the cabin, using every last ounce of energy he had to climb back into the truck.
Inside, he lay across the front seat, reached for the cigarette with a shaky hand.
Time for one last drag.
He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, whispered a prayer asking for Sarah to finish what they had started, then threw the cigarette out into the warehouse. Just before the darkness took him, Percy saw the flames that would send everything Ronnie Virdee had ever worked for straight to hell.
FIFTY-FOUR
HARRY OPENED HIS eyes.
His mouth was coated with the metallic taste of blood and he felt a spasm of pain in his shoulder.
He struggled to breathe.
Saima.
Aaron.
Tara.
He glanced around the room. Everything was pink: the walls, the wardrobe and even the dressing table.
In the corner, bound and gagged on a child’s bed, he saw the unconscious body of a little blonde girl.
Where the fuck am I?
He recalled the hooded figure, the fight. He must have found Ali.
Harry tried to move but his legs were taped together with thick brown parcel tape. So were his hands.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and forced himself to sit upright, trying to ignore the agonizing pain in his shoulder.
Sweat pouring down his face, his mind went into overdrive.
Ali’s basement.
The bastard had created a prison cell for a very specific type of captive.
A dungeon for a princess.
Harry looked down. The tape around his hands had a little give, but he wasn’t about to heroically break free. Just above the tape, he could see his watch: 19:40.
Get moving.
Somehow he had to let Ronnie know he had found Tara’s murderer.
Defying the pain, he shuffled towards the sink in the corner. The blood from his slashed ankles must have saturated the tape wrapped around them; he could feel it loosening with each move.
He turned on the tap, hoping the hot water actually worked. When it started to flow, Harry put his bound hands underneath it. Even as the water scalded his skin, he kept his arms in place, rubbing his wrists together. The heat rendered the glue useless.
Less than a minute later, Harry’s hands were free and he pulled the tape from his ankles, relieved the wounds looked superficial.
Harry could see the shard of glass embedded in his shoulder. It had closed the wound and limited his blood loss. It might just have to stay there for now.
He undid the little girl’s restraints and tried to rouse her but she didn’t respond.
After checking her vital signs, he returned to the sink, cupping cold water in his hands and splashing it on her cheeks, physically relieved when she started to stir.
He lifted a plastic cup from beside the sink, filled it with water and unceremoniously poured it over the little girl’s face. She opened her eyes dramatically, looking at Harry with anger and then terror.
‘It’s OK,’ said Harry, raising his hands passively, ‘I’m the police.’
She saw the wound in his shoulder and screamed. The noise sent shock waves through Harry as he clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened with panic and she shuffled back against the wall, trying to break free.
‘I’m a policeman,’ he told her. ‘I promise I am not going to hurt you.’
He relaxed his hand over her mouth but didn’t let go.
‘Is your name Olivia?’ he asked.
She nodded, staring at him, terrified.
‘I’m here to take you home, Olivia, to your mum, Lexi? That right?’
She nodded again and very slowly, Harry removed his hand and leaned back, putting his hands up passively.
‘We need to get out of here, Olivia. So that I can get you home safely. Can you stay calm and trust me?’
She shook her head, staring in bewilderment around the room. Her breathing was laboured and Harry was afraid she would start hyperventilating if he didn’t find a way to calm her soon.
He reached into his pocket for his ID, but it was missing. Son of a bitch upstairs must have taken it. It probably wouldn’t have worked on a child anyway.
‘I’m a detective.’ He pointed to the glass in his shoulder. ‘This happened when I was trying to save you.’
‘I want my mummy,’ she said in a soft whimper. ‘There’s a bad man in here! He said he was going to keep me! Please, I want my mummy.’
‘I’m going to take you to her,’ said Harry, smiling at her. ‘Can you stand up?’
She shook her head.
Harry took a step away from her and lowered himself painfully to his knees, making himself as small and as unthreatening as possible. ‘Bad people did this to you, Olivia. I’m going to arrest them, but first I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?’
Slowly, she nodded her head then cautiously inched her way towards the edge of the bed and put her feet on the ground.
‘Your … your … shoulder,’ she said quietly.
Harry shook his head. ‘It’s OK.’
She stood up.
‘Brilliant,’ said Harry. ‘Shall we get out of here?’
She nodded. A little more spark in her eyes now.
‘Who did that to you?’ she asked, taking a couple of steps towards him.
‘A bad man. But don’t worry, Olivia, I’m going to keep you safe. I think the door upstairs is locked, so I’m going to have to break it.’
She immediately shrank away from him, looking frantically around the room.
‘I want to go home,’ she said. ‘I want to see my mum and Big Bee.’
He tugged the duvet off the bed with his good arm. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘Wrap this around yourself.’
Harry watched as she did as she was told.
‘Big Bee?’ he asked.
‘Uncle Billy. We were supposed to be moving to London.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What’s the last thing you remember, Olivia? It’s really important.’
As Olivia told Harry what little she could recall about the farmhouse and what had happened to her, Harry grabbed a small towel that he’d seen by the sink. He was going to have to get this glass out of his shoulder. If Ali was still in the house, he’d need to be able to fight back.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Olivia couldn’t see what he was doing, then wrapped the towel around his right hand and grabbed the glass in his shoulder.
‘What else, Olivia?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice relaxed. ‘Tell me everything you can remember.’
While she told him about the iPhone Big Bee had bought her and the toys and DVDs, Harry gritted his teeth and slowly, agonizingly, pulled the glass free, forcing the air from his lungs in a long and controlled breath.
‘I … I … don’t remember anything else,’ said Olivia.
Harry reached for the pillow and removed the pillowcase, using it to make a clumsy tourniquet around his sho
ulder. He tied it off with one hand and his teeth. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
‘Good girl, you’re being very brave. Now I need you to wait here a moment.’
He crept up the wooden staircase. In two brutal kicks, the locks smashed and Harry braced himself for confrontation.
No sign of movement. He let the silence linger while he stared into the dark corridor, listening.
Then he turned and waved for Olivia to join him. Reluctantly, taking agonizingly slow steps, she started to climb.
As she reached the top, Harry put his finger across his lips. She was crying quietly and, in spite of the duvet wrapped around her body, shivering.
Harry crouched and whispered, ‘Olivia, do you want me to carry you?’
In the car, Harry tried to reassure her, but it was clear the only thing that would calm Olivia now was being reunited with her mother. He reached for his phone, but that too was missing.
He started the car.
‘Olivia,’ he asked, ‘can you tell me anything else about where you were?’
Wrapped in the duvet on the passenger seat next to him, the little girl huddled against the door, sobbing for her mother.
‘Olivia,’ he said, more sternly than he’d intended, ‘your mummy’s in danger. I am going to rescue her, but I need your help. Please, tell me anything you remember about the house you were in. Had you been there before? Did you know the place? When you looked out of the window, what could you see?’
‘It’s a big place,’ she said through broken sobs. ‘Like really big. There’s no other houses for miles and miles.’
‘Good, keep going.’
‘There … there … were big rocks,’ said Olivia. ‘I could see them from my bedroom.’
‘Rocks?’
She nodded. ‘When Big Bee drove us there, he told me what they were called, but I can’t remember.’
‘How big were they?’
‘Really big – even bigger than the house. Big Bee said they were famous, that people climb them.’
Harry sighed. It didn’t exactly narrow the options down in Yorkshire.
As he entered the city centre, heading for the hospital, Harry pulled the car over. In the boot, he found his iPad and hurried back to the driver’s seat. He opened Google Images and typed in ‘Yorkshire famous rocks’.