by Dan Fletcher
Alan was not about to gamble the lives of his family, he would never have involved them wittingly. ‘There’s fifteen grand upstairs and some more in my wallet,’ he replied, without looking at John, or Caitlyn.
Rachel was mesmerised by events and listened, wide eyed, strapped to the chair. Did Daddy know these scary people after all? And what was this about money? Lucy even stopped crying, having begun to hyper-ventilate with the tape covering her mouth.
Vanessa was wondering if she might have chosen the wrong boyfriend. He didn’t seem to mix in the best circles. They wanted Alan not John, so he mustn’t be involved. She was as afraid as the rest of them. This was the sort of thing you saw on TV, or read about. It just didn’t happen to you.
A vision of her mother, sitting on the terrace outside their farmhouse, jumped into her mind from nowhere. She could almost smell the almond blossom, floating on the wind.
‘Where’s the rest then?’ said Tunge, fully aware of the street value of cocaine.
‘I’ve got it,’ replied John. It was his turn to avoid Vanessa’s stare. Who was now positive that she misjudged him. He was lucky that she was unable to speak, or he would have received a tirade of abuse in her mother tongue so foul, it would have made even Alan wince, could he translate it.
‘Where?’ said Tunge, remaining controlled.
‘At my place! It’s not far from here. I can go and get it,’ John replied, willing to do anything but sounding ridiculous.
Tunge was trying to work out how to go about things. ‘Where is it upstairs?’ he said, looking at Alan.
‘It’s in the wardrobe in my bedroom, in a bloody shoebox,’ Alan replied, without hesitation. He just wanted them to take the money and leave his family alone.
‘Go and get it,’ Tunge said. Patience headed upstairs as ordered, and after a fair bit of thumping around and banging came back down, holding the money. Happy was still keeping an eye on the street, only looking over his shoulder occasionally for a second to check proceedings.
Assessing the situation, Tunge decided to leave the women there, and take Alan and John to pick up the rest of the money. He wanted to get Happy as far away as possible. ‘Right, let’s take these two and get out of here. They’re not going anywhere,’ he said, moving towards the door.
Happy wasn’t so sure, he didn’t have Tunge’s compunctions against killing women and children, having done it many times in the past. In the setting up of the marijuana plantations they had wiped out whole villages for the right real estate. Besides, the instructions from the Chief were clear, ‘no loose ends’. Turning to the table he pressed his gun against Caitlyn’s head, and was about to pull the trigger.
‘Stop!’ cried Alan, alerting Tunge who span round.
‘Put the gun down! What do you think you are doing?’ shouted Tunge.
Unsure of himself for once Happy paused, releasing the trigger. Much as he hated Tunge, he knew the Chief would have him killed if he disobeyed a direct order. No matter which of the two he preferred most, the Chief would have to back his son. ‘We should kill them now,’ he stated, as if it was the only sensible course of action.
‘If you pull that trigger I will personally make sure that you see the bottom of the lagoon when we get back. Do I make myself clear?’ said Tunge, trying to take charge of the boiling situation. He wasn’t completely sure that he would have the Chief’s support when it came to offing Happy, but he remained poker faced.
‘Now go and bring the car closer to the house,’ he said, throwing the keys to Happy and forcing him to take the gun away from Caitlyn to catch them. The moment over, Happy reluctantly went outside and moved the car right up against the gate leading to the house. They heard the engine die and he was back inside seconds later.
‘You take that one,’ Tunge indicated that Patience should take Alan, being the larger of the two. ‘You get the other one. I’ll go outside first and make sure the coast is clear. As soon as it is, bring them to the car, at the same time, and as quickly as possible.’
‘If anyone calls the police these two will die first then we will come for you! Is that clear?’ said Tunge, looking at Caitlyn. She showed no reaction. ‘I said is that clear?’ he repeated. Caitlyn nodded vigorously. Tunge made a move for the door and the others took their cue.
Alan and John were cut from the chairs, their legs released, and escorted to the door. Tunge went outside, and with no one around signalled the others. Patience and Happy bundled the two friends roughly into the car. Hands still fixed behind their backs.
Leaving Caitlyn, Vanessa and the girls tied up at the table. When they got in the car, the three Nigerians removed their balaclavas. ‘Not a good sign,’ thought Alan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The journey to John’s room took less than ten minutes, but cramped with Alan and Patience in the back of Tunge’s car, it felt more like an hour. Patience untied John and they ran inside to get his share of the cash, while the others waited in the car. It was still behind the book on the shelf where he hastily left it on Friday night. He’d spent less than five hundred from the extra five thousand they found in Tunge’s apartment since then.
Thinking about the money, he remembered about Steve and his cut. Oh well, he would just have to sort that out with Steve later, if they survived. Back in the Tattoo Parlour Steve’s unrecognisable corpse was a scorched pile of ashes. It would take the fire brigade some time to distinguish the human remains from the rest of the building.
John stumbled as Patience shoved him back into the car. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, scraping his shin on the door-well.
‘That’s the least of your problems now get back in,’ shouted Tunge, from the front. John got in rubbing his leg. Patience soon put a stop to that by re-binding his wrists, in front of him this time.
It took them longer than expected to reach the facility, due to the anti-war demonstration going on that day. Crowds were marching through the city on their way to Trafalgar Square, and Tunge was forced to take a different route to avoid them.
David Cameron had just announced a “firm deadline”, on British troops being withdrawn from Afghanistan by 2015. The protestors, almost ten thousand strong, thought the war was a sham and wanted it stopped immediately. Vast numbers of the crowds were families that had lost loved ones. Although they didn’t want to think that their relatives’ deaths were in vain they wanted the senseless killing stopped. John agreed with them. Although he hardly noticed them today, he was too busy considering his predicament in the back of the car.
It was 2.27pm when they finally pulled up outside the gates, on Hume Road in Tilbury. Tunge phoned ahead, once again, and Nwake was waiting for them. He ran out from the gatehouse, shielding himself against the rain with his arm, which was falling quite hard now. Tunge parked in the same spot as before, next to the loading bay door. The dogs barked savagely at the intrusion, as trained, pressing against the gate of the kennels trying desperately to attack.
Femi and Ogun were waiting just inside, AKs at the ready. Kayin was nowhere to be seen, presumably sleeping in between shifts.
John couldn’t believe what he was seeing, as he was propelled into the warehouse by Happy. Why hadn’t Alan listened to him? The whole bloody ‘golden rule’ thing.
They were taken past the room on the right, with the weapons in, and through an aisle between the stacks of oil drums. The odour of the foul smelling liquid was everywhere, penetrating everything it touched. They went through an opening, covered with a plastic sheet, separating the warehouse from the living quarters at the rear. They found themselves in a short corridor, with a shower room straight ahead and two rooms leading off either side.
Patience led them, holding Alan in front of him, into the last room on the left. It had a small barred window and a dusty concrete floor. There were two iron framed beds, with flimsy mattresses. On each was a dirty grey blanket. In the corner was a stand up canvas wardrobe, the type you get from IKEA, but otherwise the room was bare. The smell reminded John
of the underground, fetid and stale.
They were thrown on to the beds still bound with gaffa tape. ‘There’s no point trying to escape,’ Tunge said, who was stood in the doorway blocking the light from the corridor. ‘If we don’t get you the dogs will. Besides we know where you live so try to behave.’ Tunge was still trying to think of the best way to dispose of the two. No point killing them here, it would leave an unnecessary forensic trail.
‘Lock the door,’ he said to Patience, before going into the lounge come diner next door. If you could call a two ring gas bottled stove and a metal sink a kitchen. Tunge took a seat on the makeshift bench, consisting of a plank of wood and a couple of breezeblocks, and wondered what to do next.
His mobile rang, it was the Chief. ‘Have you sorted out your problem yet?’ he said, before Tunge could speak. ‘Almost,’ Tunge replied, ‘I have got one more thing to do and then we are finished. I couldn’t get the cocaine but...’
The Chief interrupted, ‘Couldn’t get the cocaine! What do you mean ‘one more thing to do’? Put Happy on the line!’
Tunge gulped, ‘If you let me finish father, I haven’t got the cocaine but I have got the money instead. The gangsters who bought it are dead, and I am just about to kill the two who sold it to them. So there is no more problem.’
The Chief was not surprised, Happy always got results. If he knew that Tunge let Alan’s family and Vanessa live, his response would have been different. ‘Eh-he! That is more like it! So who are these two idiots?’
‘Just two chancers who were painting the apartment, they must have found it by accident,’ Tunge replied, glad that his father was pleased with him. ‘I think I will take them down to the river for a swim when it gets dark,’ knowing that this would definitely satisfy the Chief.
‘These two, are they white boys?’ said the Chief, suddenly seeing an opportunity.
‘Yes,’ Tunge replied, ‘why does that matter?’
The Chief was smiling widely on the other end of the line. ‘Bring them to me,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Tunge, thinking this was a bizarre request even for the Chief.
‘I said bring them to me! I have something we can use them for.’
‘How do you expect me to bring them to you? We have to go through the airport.’ Tunge knew that, with his father’s connections, the Nigerian end would be no problem. If they made a run for it at Heathrow, that was another matter. Still there were the women and children.
‘That’s your problem! If they try to escape just kill them,’ the Chief said, knowing that between Happy and Patience that should be difficult.
‘Can’t I just bring one of them?’ Tunge said, hoping to compromise and make his life easier.
‘No! I need both of them,’ the Chief replied, hanging up.
Tunge raised his arms to the heavens and looking up at the ceiling asked God why his life was like this.
‘Patience! Come in here,’ he called out into the corridor.
‘Yes Sir?’ replied Patience, rumbling into the room.
‘We’re going back out!’ Tunge just wanted to vent his anger on someone. He really didn’t want to have to go and pick up the girls. Then it dawned on him, he was going to need their passports.
‘Go and get that boy’s keys,’ he shouted, ‘you might as well see if the other one’s got his as well. Save you breaking down the damn door!’Tunge heard Patience unlock the door at the end of the corridor, a small commotion, and then it being locked again. Happy, whose nose was running, went into the toilet once it was shut.
Patience came back into the room, with one set of keys in his hand, ‘I only got the boy’s sir. The other one doesn’t have any.’ The toilet flushed, and Happy could be heard snivelling.
Happy came in, stuffing a big wad of tissue paper into his jacket pocket, sniffling again as he did. ‘Go and tell them to put those bloody dogs away. We’re going back to Tottenham,’ Tunge said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Chief was annoyed, and couldn’t understand why Tunge always made things so difficult. He put the phone on the dashboard of the open topped LandRover, and surveyed what was left of the burning plantation. They hadn’t been raided they were simply getting rid of the stumps that were left behind after harvest, before ploughing the ground. It also helped to reintroduce nutrients into the soil. At least that’s what his growers told him. The Chief didn’t care, as long as the shipments went out as scheduled and the profits kept rolling in.
‘Come on let’s go,’ he instructed Ghani, content that the fire was under control. Ghani drove them down the dirt track, half a mile to the farm. Apart from the cleared area where they grew their crops they were surrounded by intense jungle. The thick canopy was now some thirty feet above their heads, blocking almost all the light from the sun. Making it seem eerily like nightfall, Ghani was forced to use the headlights.
He knew the track well, having traversed it a hundred times before, and he took the corners at some speed. The jeep twisted as he did, struggling to keep on the road. Suddenly he screeched to a stop. It looked like the whole road was moving in front of them, sliding to one side. Ghani wasn’t shocked, he knew what they were. He just didn’t want to get them all over the wheels and underneath the car, and have to clean them off later.
They were dung beetles rolling their prised balls of manure home in front of them across the road. The combined effect of thousands doing the same thing, made it look like a landslide. Ghani had experienced the misfortune to run over them before.
Armed men were everywhere as they entered the farm, most of them carrying AKs. Some of the boys were as young as twelve or thirteen. In a few cases the weapon was taller than the bearer. A lot of them saluted the Chief as he drove by, being ex-soldiers themselves. He gave them a casual salute back, beaming widely to show his appreciation of the respect being shown.
Security remained high, until the trucks took the last load to the docks to be shipped out. Recent NDLEA activity in the area kept them all on full alert. The fields lay empty for almost two months now, but the plantation was so large it took them all that time to cure and prepare the marijuana in kilo blocks.
An army of women and children were employed to harvest, dry, and then prepare the produce for market. Just like any other type of crop. The only difference being that this one was much more profitable. The Chief dreaded the day that the world leaders saw sense and legalised drugs for tax purposes.
The women and children were gone now as there were only a few tonnes left, packed and waiting to be moved. They would be back in a few months time to plant next year’s bounty.
Pulling up outside the main building, a tin roofed barn, the Chief went in to speak to the man handling the transportation. He saw him talking to one of the farm hands near the other exit. There was a small group of what looked like hay bales, about a meter cubed, covered in black plastic stacked in the middle of the barn.
‘Abiola come over here,’ bellowed the Chief, his voice echoing around the almost empty barn. The men stopped talking, the farmhand was gratefully dismissed and Abiola scurried over to the Chief.
‘Yes Sir?’ he replied, with just the right amount of subservience.
‘How are we doing? When’s the last load going out?’ said the Chief.
‘The trucks should be back in about half an hour sir! We only have twelve tons left, so that’ll be the last run,’ Abiola replied, glad to be telling him what he wanted to hear.
‘Good! Good!’ the Chief said, beaming genuinely, ‘make sure everybody gets a bottle or two of Star beer tonight. Tell them it’s with my compliments.’
Abiola knew how rare this was, and was genuine when he replied, ‘Thank you sir! I’m sure they'll appreciate it sir.’
The Chief turned and walked back outside. That meant three more trucks. The roads leading to the farm were as treacherous as the track they traversed earlier, so they could only use small 4 ton Bedfords. Built in the 1950s they looked dilapidated, but were still going strong an
d ideal for the terrain, with their wide wheel base and high chassis.
The Chief made a quick inspection of the rest of the buildings, to make sure they were all empty. Having satisfied himself that everything was in order, he got back in the jeep where Ghani had been waiting.
‘Take me home Ghani,’ he demanded. Ghani revved the engine and drove off towards Lagos.
The Chief reclined back in his seat and smiled wickedly. Not because he was happy with what he had seen, that was to be expected. The Chief was thinking about the plans he was scheming for Alan and John.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Caitlyn struggled against her bonds, trying to break free for nearly two hours now, as was Vanessa. Rubbing the tape of her bound wrists against the edge of the chair, she had managed to wear it down to a thin layer. Caitlyn could feel it stretching and getting weaker, a gap forming between her wrists. Only a slight gap, but a gap nonetheless. Her efforts for all that time, with the tape limiting her breathing, were severely taking their toll.
She was drained and exhausted, but was in no way giving up. Right now she just wanted to get the girls as far away from the house as she could. Just in case they decided to come back.
Her second concern was for Alan. She was going to kill him when she got her hands on him, but for now she was only concerned for his safety. Where had they taken him? What would they do to him? She shuddered to think.
Vanessa was having similar thoughts about John. Although they hadn’t known each other for long, the ordeal made her realise how strongly she felt for him. It was too early for a woman like Vanessa to use the term ‘love’, but she hoped that they were heading that way.
Suddenly the tape gave way and Caitlyn’s lower arms were free. She was still stuck to the chair, by the loop of tape around her upper arms and breasts. Hunching her shoulders repeatedly, she was finally able to free her arms completely, and untied her ankles.