by Conrad Jones
“What about Brian?”
“I think he’s about to die. What do you think?” Hajj pointed the Mach 10 at the critically injured Para. Brian was fading into unconsciousness, and his life force was spreading across the stable yard towards the drain in its centre. There was so much blood that Alfie didn’t think that Brian would last much longer.
“Let me take him to a hospital, Hajj.” Alfie brushed straw and muck from his suit as he spoke.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Hajj pulled the trigger again and Brian’s skull exploded like a ripe melon. Grey brain matter mixed with viscous blood splattered across the concrete in a crimson plume. “Brian won’t be going anywhere. He’s dead, Alfie.”
Alfie buckled at the knees and he retched. He retched again but nothing came up. The sight of his sidekick still twitching in his death throes was too much to stomach. He felt like he might pass out. Rahid grabbed his elbow and pulled him to his feet roughly. He grabbed the scruff of his neck, turned his head towards his friend’s ruined body, and forced him to look at the sickening scene.
“Tell me, Alfie.” Hajj walked towards him. “How is your father?”
“What?”
“You heard me, Alfie.” Hajj was a foot away from his face now. Alfie could smell Armani aftershave, mixed with the pungent odour of cigars on his breath.
“What about my father?”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine, Hajj.” Alfie tried to break away from Rahid but he’d been badly weakened by the shock, and the Moroccan’s grip was tight.
“Do you still take him to the British Legion on Sundays?”
Alfie tried to pull free again but he was held tightly. Hajj rammed the barrel of the Mach 10 painfully under his chin. His face was just inches away now.
“He asked you a question, arsehole.” Rahid pulled tightly on his collar, choking him.
“Yes, I still take my father for a drink on a Sunday afternoon, Hajj.” Alfie stopped struggling. Talking about his elderly disabled father had frozen him to the core. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he knew that things were about to get considerably worse than they were already.
“He lives in Woolton Village with your mother, yes?”
“What?” Alfie dare not answer.
“You heard him.” Rahid twisted his collar tighter. “They live in Woolton Village, in a bungalow next to the park.”
“Yes.”
“He walks with a stick, yes?”
“How the bloody hell do you know all this?” Alfie was flabbergasted.
“Because we are professionals, Alfie, unlike your dead friend here,” Hajj snarled in his face.
“Okay, okay. He walks with a stick.” Alfie felt his eyes filling up with tears.
“Well, unless you want to be pushing him for his Sunday pint in a wheelchair, then you’d better get Jack to a doctor, quickly.” Hajj spat the words very slowly. “If Jack dies I’ll send Rahid to Woolton Village and he’ll cut your father’s legs off in front of your mother, understand Alfie?”
Alfie nodded his head in the affirmative and the tears in his eyes spilled over and ran down his face. He retched again and this time thick yellow bile sprayed down the front of his suit. Hajj was not a man to be messed with by any stretch of the imagination, and Alfie knew that he was serious about hurting his father. He had opened a Pandora’s Box, which was threatening everything that was precious to him and all for greed, for money that he didn’t really need. His head span with the events of the night so far.
Had he really taken two sleeping children in the boot of his car and delivered them to the most ruthless men that he’d ever met so that they could be sexually abused for an international audience of paedophiles? His thoughts whirled across his mind in turmoil. Rough hands pushed and dragged him towards the driver’s door of the Mercedes. He sensed the door being opened and his head banged painfully on the roof as he was forced into the vehicle.
“Alfie,” Hajj growled at him. He felt like he was in a giant washing machine set to spin.
“Alfie!” A hard slap across the face brought him back to the real world momentarily.
“Go and make sure that Jack is alive and well enough to deliver the next consignments.” Hajj looked straight into his eyes, and Alfie could see madness in them. He looked like he was enjoying every minute of his pain, and feeding off his panic. “Alfie, make sure that the police aren’t involved, and that they don’t know who he is.”
“I will, Hajj,” Alfie croaked. He nodded and tears dripped off his chin onto his dirty suit. Alfie took one last look at Brian before he closed the driver’s door and engaged first gear. One sightless eye stared at him accusingly. The other had rolled towards the grid when his head exploded. Hajj smiled brightly as Alfie pulled away down the farm track. It was going to be a long drive back to make sure that the ‘child taker’ didn’t die in his caravan. Alfie knew that his life and the lives of those precious to him depended on him getting there quickly.
Chapter Seventeen
The Child Taker
Jack Howarth drifted in and out of consciousness as waves of pain washed over him. He opened his eyes and tried to gather his composure. Congealed blood caked his face and mouth and there was a sickening ache in his abdomen. Memories of the evening’s events came flooding back to him. The twins had been taken and he’d been beaten badly, but he was alive and that was the main thing. He needed medical attention, of that he had no doubt. His ruptured testicle had swollen to the size of an orange and even the slightest movement sent unbearable stabbing pains through his body. His mobile phone was still in his pocket. He pulled it free, sending a new wave of sharp pain through his groin. He moaned and held his breath until the pain subsided. Jack looked at the telephone screen and realised that two and a half hours had elapsed and that he had six missed calls, all from the same number: Alfie Lesner.
Jack closed his eyes again as a bolt of nausea hit him. The caravan seemed to close in around him, threatening to suffocate him. The faces of children that he’d suffocated over the years floated in and out of his mind. They stared at him accusingly with empty eyes accusingly. He could not remember how many there had been as he’d developed his sexual perversions into a lucrative business. Jack was an intelligent man, always thinking of new and ingenious ways to attract children and to distract their guardians. Some had worked better than others had. Puppies and sweets attracted younger children, but older kids were so much more suspicious of strangers these days. Jack was a chameleon, and he adapted his methods to suit his current surroundings. His use of props, such as paddling pools, rope swings, even bicycles left anonymously had always paid dividends. Finding the Moroccans had changed everything. He had been a sexual predator for many years, but now he had turned his hunting into a science. The money was useful, but it was the thrill of the chase that drove him now. Sexual urges were satiated by his success in capturing children to order. His mobile phone vibrated, waking him from his disturbing thoughts. He pressed the green button.
“Jack?” Alfie’s Scouse accent sounded concerned.
“What do you want?” Jack’s voice was thick and slurred. He was confused by the fact that his attackers were making contact.
“Are you alright, Jack?”
“Never felt better,” Jack croaked sarcastically. “What do you want?”
“I’m coming back to take you to hospital.” Alfie was flapping. The events at the stable yard had rattled him badly.
“That’s nice of you.” Jack grinned in the darkness through blood-smeared teeth. “Hajj wasn’t happy with you then I assume?”
“I’m half an hour away, just hang on,” Alfie snarled. He was sickened to the core by the brutal murder of Brian, but more disturbed by the fact that he had been duped into helping an international paedophile ring trafficking children.
“You’ve been lying to me, Jack.” Alfie felt foolish saying it, but he couldn’t believe how gullible he’d been.
“Did you really th
ink all those children were going to be adopted, Alfie?”
“Yes, I did, you sick bastard. I knew you were a fucking pervert, but I didn’t think that you could sink that low.” Alfie wanted to kill him, not get him medical attention. The problem was that Hajj’s threat to hurt his parents was still echoing around his mind, alongside the mental image of Brian’s death mask.
“Alfie, did you really believe what I told you? Come on, are you telling me that doubts never crossed your mind?” Jack’s voice was breaking, and his breathing was laboured.
“You’re sick, Jack.” Alfie was shaking, as the reality of what he’d done began to sink in. He had a large extended family, and visions of his beloved nephews and nieces being kidnapped and abused taunted him.
“You’re as guilty as I am, Alfie, I bet you fancied some of them yourself, eh?”
“Fuck you, Jack.” He thought that he could hear Jack choking, but he realised that he was chuckling to himself. Alfie looked at the mobile phone in disgust, and hung up the call.
“Bye, Alfie,” Jack chuckled in the darkness. He coughed and a thick blob of congealed blood and phlegm filled his mouth. He spat the offending liquid onto the floor, and the effort gained him a bolt of pain through his abdomen that brought tears to his eyes. Hajj must have forced Alfie to come back and get him medical attention. At least the Moroccans valued his skills. There was a big problem, which he had to ponder. The Moroccans had ordered the beating. He couldn’t accept that from anyone, he’d suffered at the hands of others long enough as a boy, and he would not tolerate it now, for sure. They had also ordered the electronic tagging of his vehicle. Jack was not happy with that. He wouldn’t be anyone’s puppet ever again. The Moroccans had disrespected him, and treated him like a common drug dealer who peddled their drugs for them. He was better than that, cleverer than that, and he would demand their respect again. In the beginning, he had dealt directly with them, but now that the consignments were to become regular, they had insisted that he dealt with their minions. Jack was not prepared to do that any more. His days of being beaten and abused without recompense were long over. He decided to take control of the situation himself. Jack punched three numbers into his mobile phone and pressed call: nine, nine, nine. He chuckled throatily in the darkness.
“Hello, emergency, which service do you require?” An operator answered, sounding robotic and disinterested.
“I need an ambulance. I’ve been attacked, I’m badly injured,” Jack croaked.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“I’m in my caravan, parked in a lay-by near Walton Gardens, on the outskirts of Warrington.”
“Do you know the name of the road you’re on?”
“Chester Road.”
“There’s an ambulance being despatched now. I’ll connect you to the police, please hold.” The line became static for a second.
“Cheshire police emergency, can I take your name please.”
“Jack Howarth.”
“You’ve been attacked?”
“Yes, he’s kicked me, and I’m injured quite badly.”
“Do you know who your attacker was, Jack?”
“Yes, his name is Alfie Lesner, and he’s coming back to finish me off.”
“Okay, Jack, keep calm. How do you know he’s coming back?”
“He called me.”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes, Jack.”
“Be careful, because he’s armed.”
“What is he armed with, Jack?”
“He has a gun.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you shot?”
“No, I’m badly hurt to my stomach and groin.”
“How far away did he say he was?”
“He said he’d be half an hour.”
“Okay, Jack, relax. We’ll send an armed response unit to protect you. Do you know what vehicle he’s driving?”
“It was a dark Mercedes.”
“Okay Jack, that’s very useful.”
“There’s one other thing,” Jack croaked.
“What is it?”
“He took those children.”
There was a shocked silence on the line.
“What children, Jack?”
“He took the twins from the Lake District. The twins that have been on the news all week.” Jack coughed blood and phlegm again. “He took them.”
“How do you know that, Jack?”
“He was staying in my caravan, and he brought them here, I didn’t know anything about them until he turned up with them.”
“When did you see them, Jack?”
“Two hours ago, that’s why he attacked me, because I saw them.”
“Are the children still there, Jack?”
“No, he took them in the car I think, I was kicked unconscious, so I can’t be certain,” Jack spluttered and pain racked his body. The injured testicle throbbed white-hot pain, and sweat ran down his face into his eyes.
“Do you have any idea where he’s taken them, Jack?” the police operator was trying to grasp as much information as he could from the injured man. He had no idea how badly hurt he was, and there was no way of knowing if he’d still be alive when the ambulance arrived.
“I don’t know.” Jack grinned in the blackness, and he had to cover the receiver to stop the operator from hearing him chuckle. The movement triggered a bolt of pain, which sliced upward from his groin to his brain. He moaned in agony.
“Are you okay, Jack?”
“No, please hurry.” Jack pressed the red button and ended the call. He curled up into a foetal position and tried to block out the pain while he waited for the emergency services to arrive. The accusations that he had made on the phone would bring an army of armed police officers down on the small caravan. The transit van had been expertly cleaned of any evidence and DNA. All traces of the children had been bleached away from his van, which would leave only the evidence in the bedroom to prove that they’d ever been there at all. Alfie would walk right into their clutches, and he wouldn’t know what had hit him until it was too late. Jack knew from experience how the police treated paedophiles, and he chuckled again through the pain as he imagined the look on Alfie’s face.
Chapter Eighteen
Tank
Tank sat in the front passenger seat of the task force chopper. The streetlights below looked like yellow jewels stitched to a blanket of jet. He had issued a code red search order, which stipulated that every police division across the nearest six counties within three hours drive had to send up their helicopters. They were tasked with searching for a white transit van being used to tow a white four-berth Lunar caravan. Grace and the evidence team had searched through police records for hours and the same description of Jack Howarth’s living quarters kept coming up. They had to assume that he was still driving the same vehicle and still living in the same model caravan. They had predicted that he would be parked somewhere remote and so the remit across the police forces was to use heat-imaging scanners to search for the twins and their abductor by scanning any mobile homes that they found. Tank commandeered the task force chopper in the faint hope that they might stumble across something. The odds on finding them were slim and becoming slimmer with every hour that passed. So far, everyone had drawn a blank, until the radio began to buzz with emergency services communications from the Cheshire division.
“Cheshire police have had a call concerning the twins.” The pilot turned to Tank as the information came through.
“Tune into their band, I want to hear what’s going on,” Tank ordered.
“Roger that, an ambulance and an armed response unit have been despatched to a caravan parked up on Chester Road, on the outskirts of Warrington.” The pilot relayed the communications as they unfolded.
“How far away are we?” Tank checked his watch.
“We are twenty-five minutes away at least.”
“Did the caller say that the twins are there?”
“Negative
, he said they were there before but that they’d been taken somewhere else. The caller is Jack Howarth. ”
Tank patched the coms unit through to his helmet, so that he could listen to real time coms. The ambulance and the armed response unit were arriving on the scene. The ambulance crew were told to wait at a safe distance from the caravan until the police had cleared the area. The armed police were outside the caravan. Tank followed their progress.
“Unit one, check the van.” The team leader ordered.
“Roger that.” There was silence for a moment. “The vehicle is locked, driver’s cab is clear.”
“Unit two, enter the caravan.”
“The door is locked, sir.”
“Roger that, force it.”
The coms went silent as the armed police unit carried out their business quickly and efficiently.
“How long?” Tank asked the pilot.
“Five minutes, not far now,” the pilot replied. Tank could see the lights of Warrington twinkling yellow to his right. They seemed to go on forever as they blended into the mass of lights that was Greater Manchester in the distance. There were golf courses and acres of farmland on the left hand side. To the left the ground below them was inky black, broken only by the odd cluster of electric lights here and there. The coms crackled into life again.
“We’re inside the caravan sir, and the area’s clear. There’s one casualty. He’s tachycardic. Better get the ambulance guys in here sharp.” The response team leader reported to his superior officer.
“Roger that,” the reply came. “Give the ambulance team a green light.” Tank could see flashing blue lights in the near distance as they approached the scene.
“Get me as close as you can,” Tank ordered. The pilot took the chopper over the site and then banked sharply onto the fairway of Walton golf club. Leaves and bunker sand were blasted skyward by the downdraft. Tank opened the passenger door and jumped out. He ducked and jogged towards the flashing lights.
“Who the fuck is in the helicopter?” A voice came over the police coms.