by Conrad Jones
“The DI told me to keep her in the loop,” he said looking at the map and scribbling some notes. “She can consider herself ‘looped’.” He picked up the telephone and dialled the switchboard asking to be put through to the Transport Police at Ellesmere Port. There might be one hundred and fifty miles of canal to look at but what Cain hadn’t waited for him to say was that they knew three boats had sailed south on the same day. That very important point narrowed down the search area to forty miles. The area helicopter could cover a detailed search of an area like that in no time at all. All he needed to know was if there were any places where you could hide a barge along the way, boatyards, mills and the like. If she hadn’t been such a bitch, preoccupied with where Braddick was, he might have told her.
43
Eddie Farrell watched as Tommy Tucker bundled Junior down the stairs. He had been dressed in grey tracksuit pants. Three stairs from the bottom, Tommy kicked him in the small of the back. With his hands tied behind him Junior lost his balance and tumbled head over heels landing heavily on his back. He struggled violently against his bindings, his face turning red with anger. Tommy grabbed his clothes and pulled him up by the scruff of the neck.
“I am warning you now that if your brother lays another hand on my son, the deal is off and you can whistle for your drugs,” Eddie pointed his index finger angrily. “I don’t think you would be so brave if he was untied.” Tommy glared at him. “Go ahead and untie him and see what you’re made of, Tommy.”
“Fuck you, Farrell,” Tommy grunted, slapping Junior across the face. “We’re in charge here!” Junior struggled harder. Tears of frustration ran from his eyes. “If I had my way you would both be dead.”
“Calm down, Junior,” he said to his son. “He’s as thick as pig shit but he knows that you would break him in half. Struggling will turn him on.”
“Shut up, both of you!” Tucker shouted. “Let’s get this done then we can go our separate ways.”
“That suits me fine,” Eddie said locking eyes with Tommy.
“How do you propose we do this?” Tucker asked turning to Eddie.
“I need to call Nikolai,” Eddie said staring hard into Tommy’s eyes. He decided right there that he was going to slit his throat. “I need to know where he is and arrange to meet him.”
“Do it.” Tucker snapped.
“What if he warns him?” Tommy said angrily. “I don’t know why you are trusting this tosser!”
“I’ve told you to shut up,” Tucker warned.
“Yes, like you did at the chop-shop when I said it might be a trap,” Tommy sniped. “Who is the brain surgeon now, eh?”
“Shut up!” Tucker said banging his fist on the kitchen table. “I’ve heard enough of your bitching.” He looked at Eddie and nodded. “Make the call and if I get a sniff that you’re tipping him off then Junior loses his bollocks before I blow his head off.” Eddie took his mobile from his pocket. “Put it on speaker.”
Eddie switched it onto speaker and speed dialled Nikolai. The call was answered but nobody spoke. “Bpar,” Eddie said quickly.
“Bpar,” Nikolai replied. “How are you, Eddie?” the Tuckers looked at him suspiciously. “I am so sorry to hear about your son. Victor sends his condolences.”
“Please thank Victor on my behalf,” Eddie said genuinely. “I need to talk to you in person,” he paused. “Today if possible.”
“No problem,” Nikolai sounded affable. “I’ll be at the mill about three o’clock this afternoon?”
“Perfect,” Eddie nodded at Tucker. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, Eddie. See you later.”
The call clicked off and Eddie put the phone back into his inside pocket. “I’ll take your phone,” Tucker said beckoning with his index finger. “Where is this mill he was talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Tucker,” Eddie tilted his head to one side and frowned. “Do you think that I’m stupid?” he shook his head. “If I give you the mill then you don’t need me anymore. We play this my way now or not at all.”
“Fuck that!” Tommy snarled.
“I’ll tell you how we’re going to do this, Farrell,” Tucker wagged his finger. “Firstly, slide that phone over here.” Eddie did as he was asked. Tucker picked it up and checked the last number dialled. It was listed as Bpar. The number didn’t show in the call history but there were only a few records stored. Eddie deleted his history every day. “Okay, Junior stays here with Grunt.” Tucker gestured to a mountain who looked like he ate six inch nails for breakfast. Eddie and Junior exchanged glances. Neither looked happy at the proposal. “How far away is this mill?”
“Forty minutes,” Eddie shrugged.
“We’ll leave here at two o’clock. The meeting is at three. If you do not hear from me by half three you shoot Junior in the bollocks, leave him for half an hour and then shoot him twice in the chest and twice in the head, understand?” Grunt nodded. Tommy pushed Junior across the kitchen to Grunt. Grunt pushed him down into the chair that he had been sat in earlier. Junior looked pale, exhausted from the fear and the adrenalin. “You think that sounds fair enough, Eddie?”
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head.
“What is the problem?”
“I leave here in my car and you follow me in your vehicles with Junior,” Eddie sounded confident although he didn’t feel it. “Some of my men will be at the mill. Nikolai likes to have a few of them around. When we get there I will go in and order my men to take Nikolai captive. When it is done, I will exchange him for Junior, you take Nikolai. Junior, my men and I drive away and leave you to find out where your shipment is.”
“Junior stays here,” Tommy snapped.
“No chance,” Eddie shook his head. He made eye contact with Tucker. “Either we swap Nikolai for Junior at the mill or this doesn’t work.”
“Do you think the drugs will be at this mill?”
“Your guess is as good as mine but one thing is for sure and that is that Nikolai knows where they are.”
“How many men do you have at the mill?”
“I’m not sure but Nikolai usually has two or three with him. He may have more there if the shipment is there, to protect it.”
“What about the rest of our men?” Tommy asked. He was sceptical at best. “We should tell them to meet us there.”
“We don’t know where there is yet, brain box!” Tucker thought about it for a moment. “Numbers won’t matter while we have Junior and when we haven’t got Junior then we’ll have a Karpov, which is even better. We’ll tell the men to stay at the factory.”
“It is simplicity itself and we all get what we want.” Eddie agreed.
“He’s right,” Tucker nodded reluctantly. “Okay. You have your plan. Deviate from it for one second and Junior...”
“I get the message,” Eddie interrupted. “There is no reason to repeat it.”
44
Mark Evans walked out of the back door of the cottage and waded through knee high grass across the back garden to an arched gateway in the wall. The stone wall had been rendered and painted white decades ago but the elements had taken their toll. The latch was rusty and the two bolts were stiff when he tried to slide them back but they gave way eventually. He opened the gate, hinges squealing and stepped through onto a rocky headland behind the cottage. The sound of the waves became louder, reassuring and soothing. There was an edge in the air different to the city. It was fresh and exhilarating. To the left he could see the Scooby-Doo house in the distance and to the right the headland gave way to a series of rocky coves and small beaches before it climbed upwards to The Range where the cliffs were high and steep. He chose to run to his right, away from civilisation as sparse as it was. The grass was spongy beneath his feet, the exposed rocks slippy with moss. He couldn’t run at full pace but that wasn’t the point anyway. He wasn’t trying to improve his fitness; he was searching for the peace and tranquillity that the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks could bring. Something that
could take the worries away, make them vanish for a while. He could taste the salt in the air as he ran, the sound of the gulls calling echoed above him. The path was narrow but well-worn by tourists and it followed the coastline just metres from the edge. As he made progress along the jagged coves, he could see the road that hugged the coastline to his right.
Less than five minutes on he spotted the shape of a Volvo parked; two wheels on the narrow kerb, two wheels on the road. Between him and the road a field of waist high grasses, red fescue and reeds moved with the wind. As he neared the crest of a hill he saw the figure of man standing in the grass. He seemed to be watching the cottage through binoculars. The man was less than one hundred yards away from the path yet he didn’t flinch as Mark approached. Mark stopped and looked at him unsure what to do. Was he watching the cottage or was he innocently looking in that direction? Mark looked back to see which direction he was looking. There was no doubt that he was looking at the cottage. He didn’t want to be paranoid but the events of the previous day had unsettled him. The coastline was a Mecca for birdwatchers and wave watchers alike; he could be watching them or he could be an innocent tourist enjoying the views. The watcher lowered his binoculars and spotted Mark. He raised them again and pointed them directly at him. Mark frowned and shook his head in disbelief, still unsure what he was up to. The watcher raised his right hand and waved at him.
“What the fucking hell is that all about?” Mark mumbled to himself. The watcher smiled and turned away, walking towards his car. Mark didn’t know what to do or what to think. Half of him thought the man was stalking them the other half thought that he was inventing ghosts in his mind. No one could know where they were could they? But what if they do?
Mark watched as the man waded through the grasses and reached the Volvo. He opened the door, took one last look in the direction of the cottage and then he looked at Mark and smiled. Mark didn’t react; his expression was confused and impassive. The watcher climbed into the Volvo and started the engine. As he drove away up the hill towards The Range he beeped the horn as the vehicle disappeared behind the low hawthorn hedges that lined the road. Mark took out his mobile and checked for messages from Simon. The screen was blank and he didn’t have a signal. He felt tense and anxious as he pulled up his hood and began to run. The sound of the waves soothed him as he jogged along the coast and he picked up a narrow pathway that took him along the tops of the rocky outcrops, zigzagging up and down just metres above the waves. After five minutes he reached a stile in a dry stone wall. He climbed over it, the grass much longer on the other side and he put his head down and followed the path which was no more than a foot wide. His breathing had become faster but steady and the muscles in his legs were beginning to burn. Long grass grew from both sides of the path, threatening to claim it back for Mother Nature. It made it difficult to see where to tread but he picked his footing carefully and pushed on. He put his head down against the wind and ran as fast as he dared. The headland became hillier and the path weaved up the incline leading up to the wide grassy fields that made up The Range. His lungs were feeling the burn and he felt the sweat running down his back as he took on the long sloping climb.
Something in the field caught his eye but his brain didn’t calculate the image at first. It was a subtle movement that drew his attention from the path in front of him. He thought he had seen a man with binoculars; thought he saw him smiling then wave. His brain wasn’t focused on his footing as his shin hit a length of rusty barbed wire that had been laid across the path, hidden by the long grass. The wire caught around his right leg, cutting and ripping the skin. The force of the impact catapulted the wire and it whipped around the left leg too. The barbs dug deep into his flesh as he stumbled from the path. He heard the wire whistle through the air as it whipped around his limbs. Mark couldn’t stop himself as he fell headlong onto the exposed mossy rock. He toppled headlong, carried onwards by his momentum, his bodyweight propelling him forward. He clawed at the slippery rocks but found no purchase as he began to slip towards the edge. Mark turned onto his front and clawed at the rocks but it didn’t halt the slide. He heard the waves below him as his legs went over the edge and then he had the sense of flying, falling and spinning in the air as he plummeted towards the rocks below.
45
Eddie checked that the people carrier was behind him as he indicated left into a narrow tree-lined lane that led to the canal and the mill. The mill had once been a dry dock for barge repairs but the boatyard that owned it had gone bust in the nineties. The main structure was hidden by the tree canopy and the brick wharf where barges were once loaded and unloaded was only visible from the canal itself. Built from sandstone it blended into the canal bank, the perfect bolthole with access from the roads and the waterways. Opening a series of heavy wooden-lock gates allowed barges to sail inside where they could shelter from the elements while repairs were made; or since the Karpovs acquired it, shipments of drugs could be unloaded and transferred to the roads.
Eddie slowed down as the lane weaved through the woods which were mostly coniferous. He spotted the reddish bricks of the mill and counted two vehicles parked outside. Tucker’s people carrier pulled over and stopped as arranged. Tucker had given Eddie ten minutes to get inside and secure Nikolai Karpov. Junior’s life depended on him hitting that deadline. Eddie trundled into the clearing which acted as a car park and parked next to a black Shogun. He knew that the Karpovs favoured the Mitsubishi. Turning off the engine, he climbed out and headed to the entrance. The door was unlocked and unguarded, which was odd. He lifted a large iron latch and pushed the door open. Dead leaves were piled behind it making it difficult to open fully. He slipped inside and walked down four stone steps into the main body of the building. The roof was a series of vaulted chambers supported by sandstone columns. Five arched doorways allowed access for barges from the canal; each was closed with huge oak doors. The interior was lit by powerful portable tripod lights which cast shadows at the corners of the building. He stopped and listened. Only the sound of water dripping from the roof reached him.
“Nikolai!” he called out. His voice echoed from the cavernous ceilings. No one replied. He walked further into the building, the air colder and damper the further he went. “Nikolai!” Again there was no reply. He had a bad feeling about what was going on. He was on a deadline, Junior at the end of a shotgun.
“Eddie,” Nikolai stepped from behind one of the columns. He looked towards the entrance behind him to see if anyone was following him. “What is going on?”
“Thank God you played along when I called you,” Eddie sighed. “I used the Bpar number like you said to if there was ever trouble but it was so long ago when we discussed it that I didn’t know if you would remember.”
“Planning for trouble is the first thing you should do, Eddie. Bpar means ‘enemy’ in Russian,” Nikolai nodded thoughtfully. “When you dialled that number I knew that you were in trouble immediately.”
“Thank you anyway. I had a shotgun pointed at my head,” Eddie said as he approached him.
“Okay, what is the situation?”
“The Tuckers have my son in a people carrier outside. If I don’t turn you over, they will kill him. I have ten minutes to go to the door and wave them in. Where are my men?”
“It is clear!” Nikolai called. Eddie’s men made themselves visible. He nodded at them individually. “Apologies for my caution but we didn’t know who was going to walk through the door first.”
“I understand,” Eddie said looking at his men.
“We were sorry to hear about Anthony,” one of them said.
“Thanks,” Eddie said shaking his hand. “But we don’t have time for this or I’ll be burying both my sons.”
“What do you need me to do?” Nikolai asked. He didn’t seem flustered by the situation.
“I need you to pretend that my men are holding you. I’ll call the Tuckers in and we will exchange you for Junior. Once we have Junior, we’ll shoot them.”
“How many of them are there?” Nikolai asked frowning.
“The Tuckers and three of their men,” Eddie shrugged. “One of their men is huge. They call him Grunt. When I shoot him, you dive onto the floor and we’ll kill them all.”
“Okay,” Nikolai nodded. “I trust you, Eddie. Let’s get your son back.” He paused to think. “Break my nose.”
“What?”
“Punch me in the nose,” Nikolai said. “The blood will make it look much more realistic.” Eddie nodded to his lieutenant and he jabbed the Russian with a straight punch snapping his head back. Blood began to flow from one nostril. “Okay, that is better.”
“Give me a weapon,” Eddie tuned to his men. They handed him a nine millimetre Glock 17. He checked that the magazine was full and chambered it. “Right. We all know what to do?” They nodded that they did. “Make sure that you’re between the Tuckers and the door. When Nikolai hits the floor don’t stop shooting until they have stopped breathing, got it?”
“Got it.”
Eddie stuffed the Glock into his belt behind his back and climbed the stairs. He slipped through the door and walked towards the people carrier. The overhanging trees cast shadows on the windscreen and he couldn’t see inside. The lane was lined with thick bushes and he couldn’t see if anyone was hiding behind them. Eddie edged closer to the vehicle and he cursed beneath his breath when he saw that it was empty. Tucker was smarter than he had given him credit for.
46
Mark hit a rocky protrusion on the cliff face and bounced off it. It sent him spinning in the air before he landed flat on his back on the rocks below. The wind was knocked from his lungs and his left leg felt broken. He tried to move but a bolt of pain ripped through his abdomen, even breathing was difficult. The sound of a wave crashing on the rock filled his senses and he was hit by a wall of sea water. It engulfed him, filling his ears and nose with stinging salt water, choking him as it ran down his throat. The cold snatched his breath away and numbed his limbs and its awesome power lifted him up and then dumped him like a twig as it ebbed. As the water receded, Mark sucked air deep into his lungs. He scrambled with his fingers trying to find a handhold to pull himself up away from the next wave. His nails were ripped and cracked against the rocks and sharp limpets. The next wave hit him and he held his breath as it tossed him against the rocks like a piece of driftwood. His muscles cramped with the cold as the wave tried to drag him back beneath the surface. It took all his strength to cling to a rock with both hands and as the water receded again, he began to scream for help.