Stone Fury: A Stone Cold Thriller (Stone Cold Thriller Series Book 2)

by J. D. Weston

"Camera one, front exterior." Reg made a note on his pad.

  "Camera two," he clicked the next thumbnail, "an empty room.”

  "That's stable one, make a note," said Harvey.

  "Presumably, this is stable two then," said Reg, making a note.

  "Oh dear," he looked up, horrified at the image on the screen. Three girls sat huddled on the single bed, they were naked.

  "That's stable three," said Harvey, "stable four will look the same. Melody is in six."

  Reg hovered the mouse over the thumbnail for stable six and looked back at Harvey and Denver. They nodded.

  Melody was in her underwear, her wrists were bound, and she was working her way around the room looking for weaknesses in the walls.

  "Oh, crap," said Reg.

  Denver looked away.

  "Does she have comms?" asked Harvey.

  "Of course, but she went radio silent as soon as she was caught. We don't know if it fell out, or if it was knocked out, or she's just plain too embarrassed to respond."

  Harvey and Denver stepped away from the van. They both had a deep respect for Melody, and seeing her in her underwear on a camera somehow felt inappropriate. They stood in the quiet night and looked towards the direction of the farm. It was obscured by the trees that hid the van, but somewhere over there, less than a kilometre away, was their friend, and she was in a world of trouble.

  Harvey pushed the button on the ear-piece. "Melody, it's Harvey. Can you hear me?"

  They turned to the screen and watched for her reaction. She didn't respond, but stopped feeling the walls and let her head drop between her arms.

  "Do you think she heard?" asked Reg.

  "Melody?" said Harvey over the comms.

  Melody didn't respond.

  "Keep your eye on that room, Reg, anybody goes in there and messes with her, I want to know. We'll put plan B into action."

  Harvey reached for Melody's over-sized Peli case and pulled it across the wooden floor. He flicked the two metal catches and opened the lid. Inside was a Diemaco L119A1, along with a laser sight and three loaded magazines. All of the items had the foam insert neatly and precisely cut out around them. The Diemaco was one of Melody's favourite weapons.

  "And what exactly is plan B?" asked Denver.

  "I kick the door in and tear the place apart." Harvey inserted a magazine and slammed it home, "That will not please Frank," said Harvey.

  Harvey was in position behind the fence by the time the lorry turned into the long driveway. It bounced along the potholes, but the driver didn't slow.

  It was a four-ton truck with an electric tail lift fitted to the rear and a sliding shutter that rolled up to the lorry's roof. It turned among the cars and reversed up to the double doors of the barn. Clearly, the same driver had delivered the first batch of girls.

  Harvey called the plate number over the comms, and Reg ran a search for it.

  Sneaky-Peeeky sat in the long grass, further back than before as daylight was brightening the gloomy sky. Sneaky gave Reg and Denver a clear view of the front of the barn and was recording; they also had a picture of inside the barn from the cameras.

  The driver stepped down from the lorry and banged on the double doors. Harvey placed him in his mid-forties, slightly overweight, but not too much. In his heyday, he would have been a well-built guy. He could probably still handle himself. He had on clean workbooks and jeans, with a checkered shirt over a plain white t-shirt. His head was shaved, and a large tattoo reached up from under his collar on the back of his neck; a claw of some kind.

  The man's banging was answered by a tired looking Bruno who slid the doors open. The lorry was reversed in halfway by the driver, and the barn's sliding double doors were closed onto the sides of the truck. Harvey presumed this was an attempt to stop any girls from running and to prevent any prying eyes looking in.

  He heard the tail lift's motor whine into action, and slowly lower the large metal plate down to the floor. The sound of the shutters being thrown up then started the chorus of whimpering girls.

  Another car pulled into the driveway, it was another Mercedes, similar to Donny's but silver.

  "Reg you have got eyes on the driveway?" asked Harvey.

  "Not yet." Reg hit a button and turned Sneaky's turret. "Unknown, maybe the source? It can't be another client surely."

  “Yeah, it’s unlikely the main man would travel in a lorry with a load of illegals. Run the plates.”

  “The lorry is a rental. I could have guessed that, registered in Norfolk.”

  “The source’s Mercedes is registered to a Michael Murray, Ipswich.”

  "They're bringing them in on the East Coast somehow," said Denver.

  "Whoopsie, I just lost the live feed," said Reg.

  "They turned the cameras off?" Harvey whispered.

  "I can't even hit the router, they turned everything off."

  "How about the tank?"

  "Sneaky's still running."

  Harvey launched himself over the fence and ran to the side of the building. He took a glance around at the front of the truck that stuck out from the doors and edged closer. He slipped silently to the front of the lorry and fixed the chip’s magnetic side to the inside of the wheel arch.

  Inside the barn, the shutter was pulled down with a screech, and the tail lifts motor began to whine back into life. Harvey ran for the fence, jumped over it and sank down just as the doors were opened. He peered through the bush. The driver casually climbed in like he had just delivered a bunch of fruit and veg. He started the truck's diesel engine and pulled out of the barn. The driver took even less care as he bounced the truck across the bumpy driveway.

  "Reg, you tracking that truck?" he whispered.

  "I am, but wait, Melody's moving too with the truck. She's bloody inside it."

  “What?” asked Harvey. “Repeat.”

  “Mills is in the truck.”

  Harvey leapt over the fence once more, dropped to the ground and scrambled to the Mercedes. He checked inside to make sure it was clear, then popped the boot lid, climbed in and closed it on top of him.

  Reg watched on Sneaky's camera, "Harvey that's not the best idea you’ve ever had."

  "Got another one?"

  "Hmmm, no."

  "Reg, track that truck, she's going to need you close by in case the truck and car head to different locations."

  "You could have just come back here, and we could all drive together?"

  “You tracking me?”

  “Yeah, your new chip is pulsing on LUCY. It’s flashing red, for crazy fool.”

  "Okay, Denver, I'm going to need you right behind," whispered Harvey.

  Harvey heard footsteps approaching the car. He drew his Sig and aimed above him, ready in case the boot was opened. The Diemaco lay by his side, but the barrel was too long to bring up and use inside the tiny boot compartment, plus it would probably deafen him. Harvey heard the driver’s door open and felt the suspension take the weight of the man. The heavy door was closed, and the engine purred to life.

  Harvey held tight as the large saloon drove slowly along the driveway. He was leaving Donny behind but had little choice. Melody was in serious danger now. At the farm, they always had plan B. In the truck, the scenarios were too numerous to imagine.

  Harvey made himself as comfortable as he could and judged his location by the turns of the car. They had turned right out the driveway and had been going straight for some time. When the driver had relaxed into the journey, he turned music on. It was soft, stringed music; something John would have listened to. Harvey didn't know the names of musicians or composers. He didn't have a favourite band. He listened to music when he worked out, and either liked it or he didn't.

  The music gave him a chance to contact the boys. He tapped three times on the ear-piece.

  "Loud and clear, Harvey." It was Denver. "We are one mile behind you, out of sight, but not out of mind."

  "Melody?" he whispered.

  “Melody is ahead of you, les
s than a mile. You’re catching her.”

  “Location?”

  "We are on the A12 eastbound heading towards Ipswich."

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "Harvey, key the mic three times to confirm."

  Harvey tapped on the ear-piece three times and settled in for a long ride.

  An hour passed slowly.

  He felt the car slow but not stop, like it had pulled onto a smaller, slower road.

  He tapped three times on the mic.

  "You still with us, Harvey?" It was Reg.

  His throat was dry and cracked. "Copy," he whispered.

  "You want the good news or the bad news?"

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "Okay, I'll give you the bad news. We're in a place called Mistley, about twenty minutes from Ipswich."

  Harvey waited for the good news.

  "The good news," Reg continued, "is that the sun is shining, and we're by the seaside. Perhaps we can rescue Melody and then grab an ice cream on the sea-front afterwards?"

  "Melody?"

  "You're in the lead car, Melody is directly behind you, and we're hanging back one mile."

  "You have a plan, Harvey?"

  "I always have a plan."

  The car stopped, and the driver's door opened. Harvey heard the sound of a gate being opened, then felt the driver return and the car pull inside the gates. The engine was cut. Harvey closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene.

  He heard the loud hiss of the truck's air-brakes beside the car, then the muffled voices of the two drivers. He focused. The gates were dragged closed, steel on concrete. The sound of the driver's shoes told him it was a rough concrete floor. There was a faint echo, but also a breeze that blew against the car. He pictured an open-sided warehouse with a large metal roof. Perhaps with a small port-a-cabin for an office or storage. He heard water, softly, and the sound of birds, gulls. Maybe it had been designed to be a place to offload fish.

  The whine of the truck's tail lift broke his concentration once more. The screech of the rear shutter bounced around the warehouse. Harvey could place the truck, the water, and the men.

  "Get her straight in the boat, Roger," one of the men said, he had a thick country boy accent, "we don't want anybody seeing her. Fuel up, and give me a shout. I'll go get changed, we can do a spot of fishing while we're out there."

  "Denver, come back," Harvey whispered.

  "Copy, we’re outside the gates. You're under a large roof in a compound, I can see the car through the gap in the gates. The truck is next to it, but the shutter's open and we can't see Melody."

  "Does this place back onto the water?"

  "Yep, I'm looking at satellite imagery,” said Reg, "it has a private dock to the rear that leads out to a public beach. One small fishing boat docked."

  "Denver, we're going to need to borrow a boat."

  "Borrow?" said Reg.

  "Melody is being taken out to sea, I think they'll throw her overboard."

  "What are you going to do?" asked Denver.

  "Adapt my plan," said Harvey. "Let me know when you are floating. Oh, and Denver?"

  "Stone?"

  "Best make it a fast boat, eh?"

  Denver chuckled. "If I'm going to steal a boat, you can bet your ass it's going to be a fast one."

  13

  Denver’s Dream

  Harvey pulled the emergency release on the inside of the Mercedes, and the boot lid raised. He caught it before it had a chance to swing up, rolled out of the car and crouched behind. He reached in and grabbed the Diemaco then lowered the boot lid.

  The surroundings weren't far from what he had imagined. He was stood in the centre of a warehouse that was open on two sides. On one end were the gates, which had been locked from the inside. The other end had a small fishing boat rocking gently on the water by the private dock. The concrete floor had channels running front to back every twenty feet, presumably to hose the floor down after it had been filled with fish.

  One man emerged from the cabin in the hull of the boat, it was the lorry driver, Roger. He closed the hatch of the cabin and fiddled with something that Harvey presumed was the lock. Harvey ducked low behind the car and watched the man prepare the boat.

  "How you getting on, Roger?" a voice called from the far side of the warehouse. "Ready to head off yet?"

  "Aye, Mike, that we are," he replied.

  Harvey watched the man named Michael walk down from a small wooden hut at the end of the warehouse. He'd changed out of his suit and into yellow waterproof fishing trousers and long rubber boots. He had on a thick woollen jumper. His clean shaved face made him look like he was going to a costume party as a fisherman. His clothes were too clean, and his face too fresh to pull off the seaman look.

  Roger, however, did look like a sea-faring man. His red face and thick growth suited the overalls and beanie hat he wore. Plus, he moved around the boat with a casual ease, like he'd been around boats his entire life.

  The big diesel engines fired up and idled.

  Harvey took aim at the boat. It was within range. The vessel was only thirty feet long. It was white with a central helm under a solid canopy. The cockpit seated two people and the rear of the boat had a bench all the way around it. The door to the cabin in the hull was between the two cabin seats. Fishermen could also walk around on the stern of the boat, where the rail opened up to a small stainless steel platform designed for fishermen to stand on when playing large fish.

  Michael untied the bowline knot that secured the craft to the dockside and lifted the fenders up out of the water. Roger expertly turned the vessel in the small space, then surged forwards, maintaining the five miles per hour limit and no wake zone inside the River Stour's narrow estuary.

  Harvey didn't have a clear shot, and when the boat powered off, he ran to the water's edge only to see them disappear around a corner.

  He glanced up and down the long concrete dock, it had been split into private docks all along, but no other boats were tied up. Further along the dock, in the open stretch of water that led out to the estuary, small boats rocked gently in the calm and protected water. Harvey made his way along the edge of the dock towards the beach.

  He jumped down from the concrete harbour onto the stony beach. It was quiet, so he waded out to the first boat he saw with the rifle hidden behind his body as best he could. The cold water bit into his skin like sharp needles. He dropped the weapon over the edge and pulled himself into the boat and lay flat on the floor, then waited a standard minute, soaked and cold.

  Harvey forced himself up to his feet and sat in the captain's seat. An ignition switch much like that of a car’s was to the right of the helm. No key. Harvey had never stolen a boat before but figured it couldn't be too different to stealing a car.

  Harvey searched the boat and found something that would work. An old, heavy fishing gaff with a hollow pole handle similar to a scaffold tube was fixed to the top of the cabin, presumably so the fisherman could reach it from whichever side he was playing fish.

  He smashed the fibreglass panel surrounding the ignition with the heavy gaff, then slotted the tube end over the ignition barrel. With a small amount of leverage, Harvey was able to snap the ignition barrel off, which left him with a square hole roughly half an inch wide. A small flathead screwdriver he found on the centre console fit the square hole easily. He turned. The engine tried to turn over but didn't fire into life.

  Harvey found the primer, gave it a few pumps and then tried the ignition once more. The heavy engine slowly stuttered, and shuddered into life. Harvey had never driven a boat before so he familiarised himself with the controls. He hit the button on his ear-piece.

  "Reg, Denver, copy?"

  "Copy, Harvey." Denver's voice was faint and lost in the noise of a loud engine.

  “You get yourself a ride?”

  "Copy that, Harvey, we are ocean-bound now, and out of the estuary."

  Harvey looked out at the estuary but couldn't see them.


  "Comms are weak, Harvey-" static rushed across the channel and swallowed Reg's voice, "-away from the van."

  Although he missed most of what Reg said, Harvey guessed that the comms relied on the aerial attached to the roof of the van, which was connected to the repeater.

  Harvey looked around the cab. Above the captain's seat was a small VHF radio. He switched it on, and it gave several beeps, then the LED screen settled on channel four. He pulled the handheld mic down from its cradle, it hung from a long curled cable like an old telephone handset.

  "I'm on channel four,” he said over the ear-piece, "do you copy?"

  A series of broken signals came back at him loud and sharp in his ear. Then the radio burst into life.

  "Broken stone, broken stone, this is Denver's dream, come back."

  “Denver’s dream, this is broken stone, are you ready to go fishing? Heads up, there may be somebody already in our spot, but I’m sure if we ask nicely they’ll move along.”

  “Broken stone, this is Denver's’ dream, we’re looking forward to getting our hooks into something big today.”

  “Not if I hook it first, Denver’s dream, out.”

  Harvey liked Denver, he was switched on. On an unencrypted radio, anybody could be listening; Denver had communicated well.

  There were only three controls; two throttles and a wheel, no pedals. Harvey pushed the two throttles forward, and the front of the boat raised up and began to shift forward faster than he had expected. He hung onto the wheel and retained his balance. The boat clumsily turned and leaned over to one side when Harvey turned the wheel too hard to the left and water sprayed out from underneath. The loose items on the boat slid across the deck to one side.

  Harvey corrected the move with a turn to the right and, after a few more bumps and splashes, straightened out. He cranked the throttles forward until the engines sounded like they would blow then dropped them down a fraction. Harvey learned to use small corrections of the wheel, and soon he found himself between buoys that led to the centre of the river's estuary, and he sped out to sea.

  The choppy open water hit the boat's hull hard. He felt the little boat slam into the water, so he eased down the throttles a little and scanned the horizon for movement. There were plenty of fishing boats and they all looked like the thirty footer Melody was trapped in.