The Spark (White Gates Adventures Book 4)

by Trevor Stubbs

  “S… Sorry,” uttered Dave, pretending to wonder what all this was about. “What—”

  “Donne-le-moi… Le portable!”

  “Excuse me—” began Dave but the man raised his shotgun and extended his hand. “Portable!”

  “Give it to him, Dad,” urged Abby.

  Dave handed him the phone.

  “Et le reste.” He gestured to his henchmen to collect all the phones from the party. Wayne’s friend Darren pretended he didn’t have one. But that was futile. No-one hears of a teenager without a mobile phone, no matter how ancient. The man manhandled him, feeling his pockets and extracted it. He looked at it, spat, dropped it on the ground, and crunched it under his boot. As he did so, he said something in French that Abby couldn’t understand – but the sense of the words was clear.

  “Qu’as tu vu?” the man with the gun demanded of Sharon. “Dis moi tout, pimbêche. Avoue.”

  “What? I ain’t done nothing. What’s he on about?” panicked Sharon, looking at Abby for support.

  “I think he reckons you’ve seen something. He wants to know what you’ve seen.”

  “Me? I ain’t seen nothing.”

  The man looked at Abby.

  “Elle dit qu’elle n’a rien vu,” said Abby.

  “Des bobards! Ils ont trop vu,” said the man who had destroyed Wayne’s phone.

  The leader nodded. “Je pense qu’il est temps qu’ils disparaissent tous…”

  “Où?” asked the phone destroyer.

  “La cave. Enferme-les. Verrouille la porte…”

  “What are they talking about?” whispered Bandi.

  “I think they are saying they want to shut us in a cellar,” answered Abby.

  “Tais-toi!” commanded the leader. “Allons-y. Suivez mon ami.” He addressed the young people with a snarl, brandishing his weapon. “Vite.”

  Abby and Bandi took the lead behind the brigand. They were flanked by the rough-looking men, Dave drawing up the rear, followed by the man with the gun.

  “Les clés!” he ordered, gesturing to the vehicle. “Le minibus.” Dave handed over the keys, and the leader tossed them to one of his colleagues. “Amène-les à la ferme.”

  “What do we do?” Bandi asked Abby as they walked.

  “It’s better to do what we’re told. We can’t fight them. That thing’s aimed at my dad.” She nodded towards the man with the shotgun.

  “Agreed. We’ll wait for an opportunity… Never seen Sharon and Dawn acting so quiet…”

  “Boucle-la!” barked one of the men, prodding Bandi with his metal bar.

  They followed a footpath that led to the farmyard in which their minibus was parked. Dave hoped they could pass it without showing signs that they knew it but that wasn’t possible with Sharon and Dawn in the party. Sharon couldn’t help looking through a window to see if her bag with her passport was still under her seat. A man pulled her violently away.

  “Là bas, petite chipie.” Sharon was clearly not popular. At that moment she wasn’t popular with Dave either. He didn’t know what a chipie was but it was clearly not meant to be polite.

  They were ushered into a barn and down some steps, at the bottom of which was a heavy wooden door that opened into a cellar. The air smelt of some kind of fruity liquor – cider, perhaps old wine.

  As soon as Dave was inside, the door was slammed shut. It was pitch black, except for a dim light coming from under the door. There didn’t appear to be windows of any kind. Dawn began to cry.

  “I hate the dark,” she snivelled.

  “Please be quiet,” hissed Dave. “I want to listen.”

  Dawn’s snivelling quietened. They listened as the last of the men reached the top of the stairs, then left the barn. They heard nothing more.

  “Have they gone?” whispered Abby.

  “I think so,” said Dave. “Sorry, Dawn. I didn’t mean to be cruel but we just had to make sure of our situation.”

  As their eyes became more accustomed to the dark, they could see a bit by the light that came under the door. There was a generous clearance. Sharon was cuddling Dawn. Dave checked around his group.

  “All OK?”

  “What about Wayne?” asked Darren, nonchalantly.

  “What about Wayne?” replied Dave quizzically.

  “Well, he’s still out there, ain’t he?”

  In the drama of the situation, Dave hadn’t missed him.

  “Goodness… Where’d he go?”

  “Into the bushes behind them trees. He went to—you know what… and he must have hidden behind the bushes.”

  “I think he sounds very wise to remain out of sight,” said Bandi.

  “Or shit scared,” remarked Darren.

  “Let’s not use bad language, Darren – even if we’re in a bad fix.”

  “Sorry… but I bet he is. On his own out there with them men with guns everywhere.”

  ***

  Wayne had indeed been both petrified and wise. He had gone a long way into the undergrowth from the group. He was keen to avoid the stares of the girls who were as keen to tease him about being seen, so he had kept going until he couldn’t see anyone. When the men appeared and started to bark their orders, he had crept nearer so he could see what was happening without being seen himself. Spotting the gun, he was so scared he kept possibly the stillest he had been at any time in his life. He watched terrified as the group were marched off along the footpath. He winced when he saw Bandi jabbed by the man’s bar; he thought he was about to hit him. Then one of the men got into the hired minibus and started it up. He reversed it, turned into the lane and drove away. Then all was still. After a few seconds, nature stirred again and the birds recommenced their singing. A single crow cawed and, apart from a robin protesting his proximity to her nest, he was alone. The air smelled sweet and clean.

  Wayne felt a mixture of relief that he had avoided capture and panic at being on his own somewhere he didn’t know – he had no idea where he was, other than in France. His first thought was to ring his parents. He pulled out his phone but his battery was flat. There had been only one plug for everyone in his room the previous evening and they hadn’t all got round to charging their batteries.

  Wayne crept to the edge of the undergrowth to watch the group as they entered the farmyard. He saw them pass their own minibus and then enter the barn. A minute or two later the captors reappeared. Some hung around the yard, most of them lit up cigarettes or, by the way they were smoking them, they could be spliffs. Wayne watched as they began arguing among themselves – some gesturing so wildly that Wayne thought they might start fighting. It was too far away to hear anything.

  What Wayne needed more than anything was another person to whom he could explain what was happening. He returned to the road, which was quiet. He hadn’t heard anything come along it since the minibus had been driven away. He tried to remember whether they had passed any houses as they’d approached the turning. The French countryside seemed to be sparsely populated – this bit at least. But he remembered the town through which they had passed several kilometres back. He would go that way.

  It took him forty minutes before he came to a house. He approached it diffidently. There was a wide gate beside a letterbox. On the gate were the words: Chien méchant. He thought this must be the name of the house… but there was a picture of a dog too, and somewhere Darren had come across the word chien and he remembered it meant dog. He could see another group of cottages further on, so decided to head for those instead. He didn’t like the idea of a dog.

  These next cottages had very short front gardens and looked more friendly. He found a knocker and rapped on the door of the first. It was opened by a short stocky woman.

  “Oui?”

  Wayne stood transfixed. He had tried to put together in his mind something in French but spoken French had never been his forte. It was difficult enough understanding the French teacher – but actually saying stuff in French he found just impossible. He couldn’t imagine how people lik
e Abby did it. All he could think of at first was: “Je voudrais une glace, s’il vous plaît,” and “Chez nous, il y a deux portes et huit fenêtres.” Desiring an ice cream and giving a vague description of his home in England would hardly get him anywhere. He could tell them his name and nationality. That might be useful.

  “Excusez moi…” he began hesitantly.

  “Oui?… J’suis pressée,” the woman hurried him.

  Wayne began. “Je m’appelle Wayne. J’habite en Angleterre.”

  The woman’s expression softened.

  “Yes. What is it that you do here, in France?”

  Wayne breathed a sigh of relief. English!

  “My group,” he spluttered gesturing up the road. “A man with a gun has taken them away.”

  “A man with a ‘gun’?”

  “Yeah.” Wayne mimed holding a gun.

  “Entre. Jean-Paul, il y a un garçon qui parle d’un homme avec une arme à feu…” Turning back to Wayne she asked. “Tu es seule? You are alone?”

  “No. I mean yes. Only me here. The rest…” Wayne gestured up the road.

  “Your group… how many?”

  “Fifteen… We’re in… We were in a minibus… The men didn’t see me.”

  Jean-Paul arrived. He was perhaps sixty – the same age as the woman and of the same deportment. All Wayne could think was that he looked French, with an open-necked shirt and loose trousers held up with braces. His English was not as good as his wife’s.

  They showed Wayne into a dark front room with heavy wooden furniture and brass ornaments. Wayne told his story as best he could, describing the place. The woman nodded.

  “I know it. Deux kilomètres à gauche – La ferme, Contraille… The buildings were bought last year by a man inconnu. Ils ne sont pas sociables.”

  It didn’t take them long to contact the local gendarmerie. While they waited they plied Wayne with cake, an apple and Coke (“Nous l’avons ici pour les petits-enfants – we have for the grandchildren,” she explained).

  Meanwhile, in the cellar, Wayne’s friends were not faring so well.

  9

  “We have to have a plan,” said Bandi quietly, after things went silent beyond the door. They could hear the men talking outside the building but their voices were indistinct. “We need to find a way of getting out of here.”

  “You’re right,” said Dave. They had come to terms with the initial shock. Even Dawn was more cheerful – cheerful enough to complain in turns that she was hungry and needed the loo.

  “Wayne’ll get us out,” said Darren. “He’ll go to the police.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Dave. He couldn’t imagine what Wayne was thinking right now. Pretty scared, he guessed.

  At first they could hear the men arguing in the yard. Abby tried to listen to what they were saying but couldn’t follow it. It wasn’t easy to catch the words and the French was fast and colloquial. After about half an hour they heard the hired minibus start up. Then it went completely quiet. At least some of the men had gone somewhere in their new bus.

  Bandi felt around the edges of the door, while Abby pushed her way around the walls of the cellar. There was no opening anywhere. She was just contemplating asking her dad to lift her high enough to explore the ceiling, when Bandi called her over to the door.

  “I think we might get this open…”

  The door had been bolted from the outside but was very loose. As he forced it, it moved a little. He backed up and kicked it beside where he could see the bolt through a gap between the door and the door jamb. Soon he and Dave were co-ordinating their kicks and on the fifth strike the hasp broke and the door flung open. Sharon went to cheer but Abby put her hand over her mouth and stifled it. Sharon fought her for a second but Abby held on.

  “We all have to be like mice now,” whispered Dave. “We’ve made enough noise as it is.”

  They tiptoed up the stairs into the barn and Dave made them hide behind the open door. The group ducked down – they were catching on.

  “I’ll do a recce,” said Abby. She peeked out of the door. No-one. The new minibus had gone but their own was still there. She rounded the corner and looked across at the rest of the buildings. There was a house that appeared semi-boarded up and another low farm building. She sidled her way towards it. A hum emanated from the inside but otherwise all was quiet. She returned to the barn.

  They decided the best thing would be to leave the barn and hide somewhere else. The big shed was a better bet than the house – there might be someone in there.

  “There could be people in the shed too,” said Bandi.

  “Yes. We must go in carefully,” said Abby. “But I didn’t see any sign of anyone. It seems to be full of plants. If we duck down we can hide among them. It’ll be safer than staying here.”

  It was bright and warm inside the shed. Dave checked for people. There were none. The plants, which seemed to be all the same, gave off a distinctive pungent smell. Apart from the hum that came from an electricity box just inside the door, all was quiet inside. Dave ushered them in and warned them to duck down and stay quiet. Sharon was learning fast.

  “I think I know what this stuff is,” whispered Abby. “It smells like this round the back of the sports hall at Renny after the weedy gang has been there – cannabis.”

  “I believe you’re right,” answered her father. “I never knew there was a problem at Renny – I mean Renson Park High…”

  “Dad, I keep telling you. You live on another planet. Loads of kids at Renny smoke it. The real problem is that it gets traded there. Silent Sam hasn’t a clue – or refuses to believe what he’s told.”

  “Maybe he’s in denial. Doesn’t want the notoriety of the fuss it would cause. What about Longmead?”

  “Of course. Weed is everywhere. The police are only really interested if there are class A drugs going around… But the biggest problem is spice – it’s legal, same as tobacco…”

  “Hey,” broke in Bandi, “can we talk about this another time! I mean, this stuff is worth a huge amount of money. If we’re caught here, who knows what they might do to keep us quiet!”

  “You’re right, Bandi. I don’t think this is a safe place to hide anyway. There are no dark corners. Look, I’ve been thinking. We need to raise the alarm. I want you, Abby, and Bandi, to go and find someone. You can speak French. Meanwhile we’ll get the rest out of here into the fields.”

  “There’s not much to hide in. It’s all grass… I mean the sort cows eat,” corrected Sharon, who was quite aware that the stuff growing in the shed was pot.

  “I know. We’ll make for the copse. Let’s hope we can make it before they return. We cannot be found here.”

  “Agreed. Come on, Abby,” said Bandi. “Let’s go. We’ve got to get to the road and find someone.”

  They left the shed cautiously. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the house. They ran across to where the minibus was parked and found the footpath along which they had come. Dave watched them go.

  He was about to call the group together and explain the plan when, through the slightly open door, he caught sight of a movement beside the house. There was someone there. Had they seen Bandi and Abby? They didn’t appear to have done. Two men sauntered across to the barn.

  Uh-o, thought Dave, they’re going to find us gone. He wanted to escape from the shed but only one of the men went into the barn. Dave carefully pulled the shed door closed.

  “Hide,” urged Dave, in a low voice, “keep your heads down and, if you can, stop breathing!”

  There was a cry and an expletive from inside the barn. Their absence was discovered.

  “L’hangar,” Dave heard one of them announce. They were coming towards the shed.

  The men entered. “Où êtes-vous, fripouilles? Je sais que vous êtes ici. Sortez… Montrez-vous! ”

  No-one breathed.

  “Non. Pas ici,” said the second man.

  Then Dave heard the minibus return and heated shouting in the yard.
The gang was back. The two men left the shed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Dave watched them through the slit of the open door and, to his dismay, saw that they had caught Abby and Bandi. They hadn’t got far. On the road they had been too exposed. The teenagers began to stir.

  “No,” Dave whispered urgently. “Remain exactly where you are!”

  There was more arguing and the gunman was screaming at the two who had been left in charge. They made pitiful noises. They were clearly frightened of him.

  “Où sont les autres? Where are the others?” he demanded of Abby.

  “Escaped – in all directions.”

  “Menteuse! You lie!” and he went to strike her with the butt of his shotgun.

  “She’s telling the truth!” Bandi intervened. “We split up.”

  The man spat his disgust but he still stood tall and scanned the fields in every direction. The land was flat. They couldn’t have got all the way to the trees.

  “Non. Ils sont dans l’hangar,” he barked pointing to the plant shed.

  Dave saw Abby and Bandi being held roughly with their arms behind their backs and the bossman ordering them to be tied up and taken back to the cellar. Gun raised, he then led the rest of the men to the shed.

  All was stillness as the gang entered. Dave was proud of his group but also terrified for them. It might be better to give themselves up.

  “Vide,” declared one of the men who had just checked. “Ils ne sont pas là.”

  “Non. Ils se cachent,” said the leader. He was not going to be so easily convinced. He ordered his men to search down the rows.

  The situation was desperate. Dave resolved on making a diversion. He ran to the open door.

  “Là!” shouted the gunman. He lifted his weapon and fired. Dave threw himself to the floor feeling shot catch the back of his shirt and graze his skin. Above him the power box on the wall exploded and the shed was thrown into complete darkness. Pieces of the box, plaster, brick and lead shot fell onto Dave.

  “Merde,” swore the gunman.

  Dave pulled himself beneath the nearest bench. The man heard him and blasted a second barrel into the dark but again mercifully too high. Pots shattered. Plant debris was flung into the air. One of the gang cried out. He had been hit. He began to simper.