by J. D. Weston
Melody pulled on socks, cargo pants and a clean, tight t-shirt, then pulled her Norwegian sweater over the top, and finished with her pumps. She didn't have spare boots, but they were better than the hideous over-sized socks Reg had found on the boat.
By the time she walked down the stairs, she felt brand new and found the kitchen where they all sat. Reg was in the middle of an anecdote about a childhood seaside visit. Melody hoped it wasn't the one where he had rigged the slot machine to empty its quarry and been escorted back to his parents by the local police.
"You think it's time to head off?" she asked the two men.
“Oh dear, that’s better, look at you now, such a pretty girl,” the old lady began. “Here, I’ve made you some toast-”
“Oh, I-”
"Come on, I won't hear another thing said about it, sit down. Do you drink tea or coffee? I always find tea makes me wee a lot."
Reg sat with his back to the lady and smirked.
"Coffee please, that'll be lovely. What do we call you ma'am?"
"Sorry, dear?"
"What do we call you? What's your name?"
"Oh, you can call me Dot, Dot Glass."
"Is there a Mr Glass?" asked Denver, being polite.
“No, he buggered off years ago, about the time I had the change, you know?” She looked at Melody with raised eyebrows. “Couldn’t take the heat.”
Reg had his lowered his head and was visibly shaking trying to control his laughter.
They eventually left the house with full stomachs and Melody was warmed through. They climbed into the van and Reg fired up LUCY. "Right now I don't know if we're catching evil villains or if we're off to bingo," he said.
"Catching evil villains, Reg. Can you get the boatyard on satellite?" replied Melody. "Let's get back into this." She turned in her seat as Reg zoomed in on the warehouse. "Is this live?"
"No, there's around ten to twenty seconds delay depending on the location of the satellite," said Reg.
The little boat was sat at the dock once more. But there was no sign of life. Any activity would be under the huge metal canopy.
“I need to get inside,” said Melody.
"Melody you've been dead once today already, can't you just relax," said Reg. As he said it, a silver Mercedes nosed out of the side street in front of them. It pulled off and headed away from the dockside.
"Did you guys see that?" said Denver, he was already starting the van.
"Reg, do you have anything on that Mercedes?"
"Only that it belongs to Michael Murray. I have no phone, nothing yet, tried to get it earlier, but couldn't get onto Cartwright's phone."
"The new Mercedes pretty much all have inbuilt GPS,” said Denver. "Can't we somehow find the-"
"Serial number of the radio unit using the vehicle’s plate number to find the chassis number," Reg cut in, "to find the model of radio, and then find the satellite identifier via the dealer's database? Yeah, we could do that, but I'll need to tap into my control centre back at HQ."
"You can do all that?" asked Melody.
"Already on it. All electronic devices with any form of network connectivity essentially use the same technology, and most of them come from the same few factories in Asia. The chassis number will be linked to the other electronics in the vehicle, probably in some kind of database in the dealership. So I if can tap into that database, I'll find the chassis number and linked devices."
"You ever done that before?" asked Denver.
"No, but it's much the same as any other database. Okay, here we go. I have the device’s GPS identifier, I'm just initialising a remote session into HQ to find the right satellite. The scanner on the van doesn't have the range or the power."
Melody turned in her seat to watch him dart around the screens, "You seriously taught yourself how to to do all this?" she asked him.
"Well, yes and no really," he said without stopping or looking up, "I taught myself how to do it all, but the Ministry of Defense kept catching me. I had to find new ways to achieve the same results, so essentially they taught me how not to do it."
He looked up at her and smiled his best childish grin.
"Right, okay, I'm in-"
"You found the serial number already?" asked Melody, shocked at the speed at which he worked.
"Not only have I found the serial number of the stereo, Melody, my friend, but I have targeted the stereo via the inbuilt GPS and found the Bluetooth identifier that is currently connected. I searched the devices with that range of identifiers, each manufacturer of Bluetooth devices would have a range of serials allocated to them for a batch of devices," he explained, "then I found the phone’s UID, and its own GPS signal and I am now looking at...." He turned the screen to Melody. "Mr Murray's mobile telephone." He sat back and put the keyboard on the bench and smiled. The screen showed a live view of the iPhone. The other screen showed LUCY's satellite image of both the car's and the phone’s GPS.
"We're joining the A12. If you have eyes in the sky, Reg, I'll hang back. Don't want to scare him off."
"Good call, Denver," agreed Melody.
"He's picking up speed anyway, we can’t tail him without drawing attention to ourselves."
"You think he's going back to the farm?" said Reg.
"Well, he just got shot at by a nutter on a boat, and his own boat's out of action. If you just delivered a lorry load of illegally imported girls to an underground prostitution ring, and then got your boat shot at, what would you do?" said Melody.
"I can honestly say I've never considered it, Melody," said Reg.
"He's going to be questioning the security of his phone. So he probably won't make a call that will incriminate him," said Denver.
"Right," agreed Melody. "But he's mad as hell because-"
"The girl Cartwright asked him to dump in the ocean-" said Denver.
"Was just rescued by the men in boats that shot at him," said Reg.
“And put his boat out of action, right?” finished Melody. The team all came to the same conclusion. “Murray is heading to the farm for sure, he knows we're onto them all, and wants his cash so he can run."
"Sever the ties," said Reg. "Except, we've got the footage of him at the farm from Sneaky."
"We have footage of him getting out of the truck and walking into the barn, we don't have anything that will put him away," said Melody, "Prosecution wouldn't stand up."
"What do we have?" asked Denver.
"We have Cartwright, Brayethwait, Creasey and Bruno Mason. Bang to rights," said Reg from the back.
"Yeah but Harvey isn't going to leave us much of Cartwright, if anything," said Melody.
"And he'll probably need to take Mason down too, to get at Cartwright," said Denver.
"So we have Brayethwait and Creasey," said Melody.
"We also have Mr Narakimo," began Reg "in the same video as the Bruno guy wrapping the dead girl in the plastic sheet. Same for Stokes."
"They'll get murder for sure, the bodies will be exhumed, and they'll find DNA."
"It's not enough," said Melody. "We've been gone more than two days, I'll need to call Frank today, and he'll want more than just two customers, plus Brayethwait and Creasey."
"He's going to need the source, the board won't be happy otherwise."
"Exactly," said Melody. "Let's also offer him a dozen girls’ lives."
She dialled Frank's number and straightened in her seat. Her eyes were fixed on the silver Mercedes a thousand yards in front of them.
"No answer, he always picks up," she said to herself and the team.
"It's eleven am. He'll be at HQ for sure. He's going to want a game plan, so how about this, we wait for Murray to get into the barn and incriminate himself, taking the money should do it. Reg can you get eyes inside the barn?"
"If they turned the internet back on, yes, but Cartwright's moving the operations right?"
There's no way anyone can make a deal on a commercial unit, sign the paperwork, hire a lorry, and mo
ve the girls to a new place in-" she checked her watch, "eight hours."
"What would you do?" asked Denver.
"Find somewhere close? Maybe he knows someone, he's from the area," said Melody. "How about you?"
"Well, personally, I'd rent a truck, keep the girls in the back until I found somewhere more permanent," he said, "park it up some place nobody goes." Denver shrugged his shoulders, "He knows someone's on to him, and he's a fool if he thinks that killing you is going to stop whoever we are."
"Of course," said Melody, "that's why I was driven all the way out to the sticks, they knew you'd follow, and he'd have time to get the lorry and move the girls. Damn." She slammed the dashboard. "Stupid. Why didn't we question why I was being moved?"
"We were worried about you, weren't until we saw you being put on the boat that we had any idea of what they were going doing to do to you."
"Okay we need a new plan," said Melody. "Even if Murray meets Cartwright at the barn or wherever, and takes cash off him, it won't stand up. It's just cash, right? There's no context."
Just then, Denver swerved into the outside lane, and the sound of a roaring engine filled the space inside the van.
“What the-” cried Reg, barely managing to hold onto his bench.
“It’s the truck,” called Denver, who then dropped a gear and pushed ahead. The truck swerved into the back off the van and caught the bumper, which was pulled off and crumpled under the truck’s wheels. Denver fought to keep straight and had to ease off the throttle to stop the tail end bouncing around. The truck slammed hard into the rear of the van. Reg flew off his chair, and the back window shattered glass over him; he curled into a ball and protected his face.
Melody snatched her seat belt off, turned and pulled her weapon. "Stay down, Tenant," she shouted over the racket of the road, engines and screeching tires. Denver was swerving all over the road to try and force the truck driver to make a mistake. Melody aimed over the back of the seat and fired three rounds. The first hit the windscreen and the last two found the truck's radiator. Steam billowed out, but the driver gave one last attempt before the engine blew, he slammed the heavy truck once more into the smaller van.
They felt the van tilt onto two wheels, Denver felt the weight shift on the steering wheel and accounted for it with a sharp, jerky steer. The van came crashing back down on four wheels. Once more Denver fought to keep control but saw traffic stopped dead ahead. He slammed on the brakes and pulled the van off the road, narrowly missing a tanker lorry stopped dead in the slow lane.
They was a huge crash of twisted metal and broken glass as the truck behind them slammed into the back of the lorry. The truck stopped dead, the driver smashed his face on the steering wheel, and the fibreglass sides of the truck's cargo space tore open with inertia, crashing down around the tanker.
Denver took the van down the steep embankment. The vehicle bounced on the rough ground, and the long grass scoured the underside. The van broke through a wooden fence that lined farmers’ fields and came to a stop in the dirt.
Melody was out of the van immediately. She tore up the embankment and along the shoulder past people who had climbed out their cars to see the commotion behind.
The passenger side of the truck was embedded in the rear end of the tanker. The driver was slumped over the wheel. Melody had her Sig aimed at the man and walked cautiously around to the driver's side. Cars were stopped in the traffic beside her, they'd been lucky not to have been hit by the wrecked truck. A man in a suit was climbing out his car and froze when he saw Melody's gun. A family in a saloon behind him sat perfectly still, just their heads and eyes followed her.
She approached the man slowly, then sniffed the putrid air. She saw the steady dripping of whatever fuel was in the tanker pooling on the tarmac. The tanker's driver was stepping down rubbing his neck. Denver emerged on the other side of the tanker, Melody saw him through a small gap between the vehicles. "Denver, clear the area, fuel."
Denver looked at the puddle of fuel on the floor, it was trickling backwards and had formed a stream underneath the truck.
Denver heard Melody yelling at the family to get out of the car, he ran forwards banging on car windows. "Get out of your car, sir." He had his weapon drawn and had pulled his vest over his t-shirt when he left the van. "Come on, everyone out, out of your cars."
People were reluctant at first, but when the first few men and women began to emerge from their cars and huddle together on the side of the road, a few more followed like sheep. "Not there, away from the tanker, get away from the tanker into the fields." The crowd of people began to move quickly down the embankment and through the broken fence. A young girl was crying and stood alone next to her family’s car with her thumb in her mouth.
Denver rushed to her, scooped her up and bolted down the embankment. A worried mother held her arms open to take the girl off him, the husband stood beside her holding a baby. Neither said thanks to Denver, but he knew that under pressure, most humans went into self-preservation mode before group preservation mode. The girl was mad at them for leaving her but hugged the woman who was stifling her tears.
There were close to one hundred people stood along the foot of the embankment looking up at the carnage. Denver ran up to the road and waved his hands, indicating that everyone should go back further. The crowd paid attention and slowly walked back into the field.
Melody had cleared the cars from the fast lane and edged back towards the ruined truck. The driver was groggily lifting his head, he was dazed and looked around him. He rubbed his face and winced when he found glass in his forehead.
"Get down from the truck, Roger."
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice was weak and tired.
"Get down from the truck, and I'll explain, but right now you're sitting on a time bomb, the tanker could go any minute."
He looked down at Melody's gun, at the tanker then at where he was.
"My legs," he began, "they're stuck. Crushed."
"You need help?"
He was fighting the pain, Melody could see it on his face.
"So you can arrest me and jail my crippled ass?"
"Let me help you down, we can-"
"No, shut up," he spat, "it's over."
"What are saying, Roger?" said Melody. "Nothing's over yet."
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket with his right hand, his left hand hung uselessly by his side. He took a cigarette and placed it between his dry and cracked lips.
"It's over for me." He lit the cigarette. Melody began to move away from the fuel at the sight of the flame.
He took a drag on the cigarette, inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled through his nose.
Then he looked down at Melody, blinked once, and flicked the cigarette through the open windscreen.
15
Inside Man
Harvey came to the top of Pudding Lane in the stolen BMW. It was an old model without an immobiliser, from the days when stealing a car was easier than finding somebody’s address. These days, cars were harder to steal but finding someone was simple with the internet. Finding people was one of Harvey’s specialities. Stealing cars wasn’t.
It was early afternoon when he turned into the lane which was typically empty. He approached the driveway of the farm, dropped into second gear, turned and lifted the clutch. As he tapped the gas, the rear end slid out taking him neatly into the driveway sideways but at speed. He skidded to halt and dipped the clutch when he saw the silver Mercedes parked at an angle beside the barn.
The BMW’s exhaust grumbled as the engine idled. Harvey planned.
He slipped the gearstick into first and popped the clutch with a healthy amount of throttle. The rear wheels span in the dirt, and Harvey fought to keep the car straight as it bounced across the bumpy track.
He was halfway up the driveway when he saw the first sign of smoke coming from the barn. Then he saw a figure dart from the barn to the Mercedes. Harvey stopped the BMW four hundred yards from th
e Mercedes. The two German cars sat facing each other across the desolate stony soil.
Smoke began to billow out from one side of the barn, thick and black, as the blaze took hold of the old wood.
Harvey let Murray make his move first. He was patient, he planned and when Murray put his foot down, Harvey executed.
The large Mercedes fishtailed onto the driveway spraying up dirt and stones across the front of the barn.
Harvey lifted the clutch and span his rear wheels.
Murray steered the Mercedes onto the rough track heading directly at Harvey.
The torque of Harvey's BMW and the power from the rear wheels on the loose surface sent the car crabbing along the drive, its tyres fighting for purchase. Harvey slammed the gearstick into second, and floored the throttle again.
Murray held fast, the gap was closing.
Harvey hit third gear and pulled his Sig.
Murray's view ahead was obscured by dust brought up from Harvey's wheels. He could see the front of the BMW as it approached.
For a split fraction of a second, he saw Harvey's face. Then he saw the gun hanging from the driver's window.
Harvey fired.
Murray snatched the wheel right, and the front of the car left the track. The nose of the BMW slammed into the rear quarter of the Mercedes, tearing off the bumper and shunting the rear wheel into the chassis, crippling the car.
The Mercedes span once before the front right wheel dug into a pothole and lifted the left side of the vehicle into the air. The Mercedes slammed down on its roof and rolled twice before coming to rest in a hiss of steam and smoke in the long grass beside the perimeter fence.
The front left corner of Harvey’s much older and stolen BMW tore clean off on impact with the larger, newer and better-built Mercedes. The car span immediately, slamming Harvey’s head hard against the door frame, the force of the spin pulled Harvey left then right again until he slammed once more into the door.