“Look, this is all very interesting, but I don't see what it has to do with finding Nadia,” said Doug, starting to feel frustrated.
“The reason I mention this,” said Bullock, “is because significant quantities of home-grown have started flooding the streets and its almost ten times the potency of the imported stuff. We don't know for sure who's behind it, but there seems to be a strong Russian connection.”
“So?” said Doug. “I still don't see...”
“So – are you sure there isn't a side to this story that you're not telling me?” asked Bullock, raising his voice. “I realise from this message,” he said picking up Doug's mobile and studying the photo again, “that this Dream-Zone is important in some way...”
“It's the only thing that's important right now! That and finding Nadia!” cried Doug. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“So why have you never mentioned this girl before - who just happens to be Russian - who is known to have links with Markov? Call me old-fashioned, but in the thirty years I've been doing this job, I've noticed two things: First, people very rarely tell me the whole truth, and second, nobody's ever been killed over a damn computer file!”
“Look!” said Doug with a heavy sigh, “believe what you want, but I know absolutely nothing about the drugs. I don't even fully understand what Dream-Zone is. All I know is that this girl, whom I happen to care about deeply, is being held by the same man who, this afternoon, beat his own cousin to death. Now, in order to prevent him doing the same to her, we need to either give him what he wants, or find out where he's holding her and arrest him. Since I can't seem to find a way of decrypting the file, I've come to you in the hope that you can trace her mobile, find her, and lock him up.” Bullock regarded him for a moment, his hairy face characteristically devoid of expression. “We've already put in a request for a trace on the mobile. The result should be in shortly. We'll also look into the email you received, but that's less likely to get us anywhere.”
“So we just wait?”
“Unless you have anything more to tell me, there's nothing else we can do.”
For a moment Doug considered mentioning Peter's uncanny premonitions.
“Anything at all!” said Bullock, spotting the hesitation.
But what could he say – that some screwed up guy in Bracknell had somehow received thoughts directly from Nadia's mind? And that he thinks she is being held in a wooden shed near a sewage treatment plant? Whatever credibility he might still have in the eyes of this inspector would surely evaporate the moment he said such a thing. “No, it's nothing,” said Doug.
Bullock continued staring at him for a few seconds, and then got up from his chair. “Okay, well, I'll get a car to take you back to campus. You should get some rest. I'll call you as soon as we know something.”
Doug made some coffee and took it to his room. He lit a cigarette and opened the laptop. No email – no new tweets. It was almost midnight and fatigue was finally getting the better of him. Reluctantly, he stripped, brushed his teeth and got under the duvet. He picked up his phone and looked once more at the photo of Nadia's beaten face glowing in the darkness. She was staring into the camera lens with a mixture of confusion and fear. He imagined Markov's cruel face staring back. Again, the image of Dmitri flashed before his eyes. He pushed the thought away and kissed the phone's display. “Hang in there beautiful! I'm going to find you!”
Doug's phone was ringing. He sat up with a jolt. It was still dark except for the mobile's flashing display on the floor beside the bed. The clock read 5:40am. Bullock's voice, “Mr. Richards, sorry to wake you, but I thought you'd want to know that we've found the mobile phone ...”
“And Nadia?” said Doug, switching on the light.
“No, just the phone – it was picked up on the hard shoulder of the M11 not far from Stansted Airport. I have men searching the area, but it seems likely the device was tossed from the window of a passing vehicle sometime last night.”
“So she could still be anywhere.”
“We're doing everything we can, I'll let you know as soon as we have more.”
So Markov had been smart enough to send his ransom message from a different location, and then ditch the phone. But how far would he have bothered to go? Far enough not to give away Nadia's position, but perhaps not much farther. Maybe the choice of motorway hard shoulder was a decoy designed to lead any search to areas up and down the M11. Doug restarted the laptop and ran a search on sewage treatment plants in the vicinity. There were two within a ten mile radius of the airport. Switching from map to satellite view, he started to examine the surrounding areas. One of the plants appeared to be in a fairly heavily built up district which, while odd in itself, did not fit Peter's purported sense of countryside. The other was set in a small triangle of land, bordered by woods on one side and open fields on the other two. About a mile across the open land to the west was a large farm set just off the main road. There were several structures behind the main building which looked like sheds or barns, but it seemed too exposed and established to be used as a hide-out. He scanned the area again and spotted something in the woods. About the same distance to the south west of the sewage plant was a rectangular clearing, in which stood a small cottage, and a solitary out-building. Access appeared to be via a long narrow track running through the trees and joining the road some mile and half to the south. He sketched a rough map showing its location relative to the main roads and called a taxi.
According to Google maps, the distance, at a little over thirty miles, should have taken just under an hour, but the young Asian driver, in spite of Doug's repeated attempts to convey a sense of urgency, seemed in no particular hurry. Chatting away to various friends or family members in some unintelligible language, he rolled happily along behind lorries and tractors, never once risking an overtake on any but the very straightest of roads. To be making such slow progress towards a destination that was at best, a guess based on nothing but the inexplicable premonitions of a man whose sanity he had started to question, was extremely frustrating. But it was all he had to go on. Wherever Nadia was, he reckoned it had to be somewhere within a ten mile radius of the airport, so even if the cottage in the woods turned up nothing, he would at least be in the right approximate area. He could then start searching every building within smelling range of the sewage plant.
As the taxi finally arrived at the entrance to the unmarked dirt track, Doug felt a surge of hope. Paying the fare, he set off into the woods.
CHAPTER 22
It had been the longest night in Nadia's memory. She had eventually teased enough straw from the bale at the end of the shed to insulate her aching body from the cold damp earth beneath, but sleep had been a restless and sporadic visitor. Shadowy shapes in the gloomy blackness, given substance and animated by a stress-wired imagination, had preyed on her mind like soul-sucking spectres of the night. The gusting wind seemed to carry malevolent whispers punctuated only by the occasional scratching and scurrying of unseen things on the ground around her. The dreams that came, laden with fear and frustration, brought little relief from the general foreboding that gripped her lucid being as tightly as the nylon straps around her limbs. As light finally began to creep through the gaps around the door and under the eaves, a curious sequence of semi-wakeful images fought for her rising consciousness. She dreamed that a huge plastic cable tie encircled her waist while her attention seemed drawn to the exaggerated ratchet mechanism holding it in place. As if bidden by some invisible presence, she pushed her finger between the rack and ratchet of the fastening, and felt the strap loosen around her body.
She opened her eyes, shifting uncomfortably and trying to invite some circulation back to the feet and hands, still painfully restrained by the smaller, tighter versions of her dream. It then hit her that a finer, sharper point inserted into the ties' ratchets might serve the same role as the imagined finger of a few seconds earlier. She sat up and looked down around her. No belt buckle - no pins. She
scanned the floor for tacks or staples – nothing. Rolling back down in defeat, a blade of straw pricked the skin of her back. Perplexed at how it had penetrated her blouse, she pulled her wrists up behind her until her thumb came across a small jagged hole in the fabric. Remembering, she struggled excitedly to her feet and shuffled over to the wall, where the cause of the rip still jutted from the wood, glinting in a narrow shaft of morning light. Grasping the nail between thumb and forefinger, she pulled and twisted at the burred metal until her fingertips were raw. It remained fast. Only about an inch of steel protruded from the wood and she guessed at least another two were embedded beneath the surface. There was a rustle from outside. Something was moving around the back of the shed. She quickly hooked the tie over the head of the nail and leant forward bringing her whole weight to bear on the obstinate fixture. Feeling it start to give, she braced herself for a painful landing. Arching backwards, her knees hit the ground first, followed by pelvis, ribs and then chin. She heard a chink and saw a flash of steel in the dirt beside her. Dragging herself sideways, she located it with her fingers, slid it into her back pocket and lay still, listening. For a moment there was nothing but silence, then more soft footsteps outside. A shadow fell over the crack in the door.
“Nadia!” came a familiar whisper.
“Doug! Is that really you?” she whispered back, shuffling towards the door and peering through the gap.
“The one and only!”
“How did you find me?”
“Long story. Let's get you out of here first. Just a sec - I need to call the police and let them know I’ve found you.”
Nadia heard his footsteps receding. “Doug, where are you going?”
After a minute or so, he was back. “Change of plan I’m afraid - can’t seem to get a signal here, so I'm going to see if I can find a crowbar or something to break this chain apart.”
“Be careful! There's at least one other guy besides Markov, and he's armed.”
“Just sit tight – I'll be right back!” he said with a handsome grin.
“Doug!”
“What?”
“I do love you!”
These words had an almost greater effect on Doug than the initial realisation that he had actually found her. They filled him with strength, hope and a sense of invincibility. The tables had seemingly turned; not only had he outwitted the ruthless Russian, he had won the heart of the girl so coveted by him. And although he didn't yet know it, those same words had led to a potentially fatal lapse of judgement.
The cottage, standing about fifty yards from the shed, was partially hidden by a white van. To the rear were three commercial sized greenhouses, the sight of which had initially led him to question whether this was indeed the same clearing he had spotted on the satellite view, in which the barn and cottage had stood alone. He then remembered that such images were usually out of date by at least months if not years. From the approaching track, these large glass buildings had been entirely hidden from sight - obscured by the cottage and a tight line of conifers running behind. Now, viewed from the back of the shed, he could see not only the greenhouses, but rows upon rows of bushy narrow-leafed plants within. Bullock's little lecture on home-grown cannabis echoed in his mind.
He crept over to the van and tried the door. It was locked. Peering through the two side windows of the driver’s cabin, he surveyed the cottage. The single story building was old and dilapidated, with ivy covering most of the walls. He scanned the dark, dusty windows for signs of movement. Perhaps Markov and his henchman were still asleep. He moved slowly across the gravel, placing each foot carefully to minimise sound. On reaching the wall, he put his ear to the brickwork and listened. Nothing. Keeping his head low, he peered through the first window. The room was empty except for a stack of cardboard boxes at one end, two empty beer cans and some burger wrappers. The next window was smaller and frosted. He started to make his way round to the back, when the sound of a lavatory flush stopped him in his tracks. Someone was awake. He waited a few seconds, then continued to the end of the wall, poking his head around the corner tentatively. Two large windows and a partially glazed panel door looked out across twenty feet of moss-mottled concrete terrace to the conifers. At the far side was an open coal shed, against which stood a pile of aluminium struts and some gardening tools. From within the house he could now hear the low murmur of men's voices. Crawling stealthily on his hands and knees, he made his way towards the coal shed, taking care to keep well below the two window sills. The struts (leftover pieces from the greenhouses, Doug surmised) looked too weak to force the chain. Instead, he opted for a shiny new garden fork and a small sledge hammer, and started back along the foot of the wall. He had just reached the panelled door, when his mobile start to vibrate, and in that split second, he was struck by the sickening realisation that this would be followed by a full volume rendition of his ringtone. Dropping the sledgehammer, he managed to silence the phone before the second ring, but raised voices, and the sound of chairs sliding on tiled floor, told him it was already too late. Leaving the sledgehammer where it lay, but keeping hold of the fork, he sped back across the terrace, ducking his head as best he could, and rounded the corner. He stood there for a moment his heart flip-flopping like a manic frog, while he listened for the sound of the backdoor opening. How could he have been so stupid? He quickly set his phone to silent mode while the words stable, door, horse, and bolted sprang to mind. The call had been from Becky, and he now saw that it followed a text she must have sent earlier, while he was in the taxi - a single word: Kaileena! As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, he heard the front door open followed by approaching footsteps. Shit! It was too late to make it back across the gravel to the shed. He peered back around the corner and straight into the twin barrels of a shotgun.
“Drop it!” said Markov, gesturing to the garden fork still in his right hand.
Doug glanced back over his shoulder and saw another man moving towards him, a pistol swinging nonchalantly at the end of his arm. He dropped the fork and raised his hands.
“Give me the phone!” barked Markov, walking slowly past him and snatching brief glances around while keeping the barrel aimed squarely at his chest. He looked across at the other man and pointed towards the shed. “Check on her,” he shouted.
Doug withdrew the mobile and passed it to him, switching it off as he did so. “The police are on their way,” he lied, now wishing he gone for help rather than trying to act the hero.
Markov stared at him for a few seconds. “How you find us?” he asked.
“We traced Nadia's mobile. You may have dumped it by the motorway, but when you switched it on to take that photo...”
“You lie! If that's true, they would be here now! Instead, you come alone. Why?”
Doug could think of no good response to this. “Believe what you want,” he said, “but I just called them, they'll be here soon. If you hurry, you might just manage to get away before they arrive.”
Markov looked at the phone as if to verify this and then frowned, seeing it was switched off. “Either way – I have no more use for you.” Markov raised the shotgun to Doug's head. “Turn round Mr. Richards!”
“Wait!” shouted Doug. “Don't you want the key?”
“If you had the key, you would not be here.”
“I have the key!”
Markov's eyes narrowed as he lowered the end of the shotgun to the level of Doug's groin. “Give it to me then.”
“How do I know you won't just kill me.”
Markov smiled nastily. “You don't!”
“So why should I give it to you?”
“Because if you don't, I kill you slowly. In fact,” he said, his smile growing wider and nastier, “I kill you both together so you can watch each other die slow painful death.”
Doug's mind was racing desperately to find a solution, but none came. Is this what it had come to – a choice between dying quickly or slowly? He needed time to think. “I want to see Nadia!”
“The key?” shouted Markov.
“First Nadia!” Doug shouted back defiantly. There was a sound of footsteps in the gravel and the other man appeared from around the shed giving the thumbs up.
“Bring her to office!” shouted Markov. “You – inside!” he said, jabbing the shotgun into Doug's ribs and gesturing towards the back door. Doug started walking back across the terrace.
“Slowly,” said Markov. “Through the door and right. Any jerking around - I blow your head off.”
Doug made his way cautiously into the cottage. To the left, from the kitchen, the aroma of coffee, stale tobacco and dope hit his nostrils. The room to the right had a large grey metal table at one end surrounded by four folding chairs. Another row of cardboard boxes lined one wall. On the desk was a laptop, some papers, a roll of duct tape and a Stanley knife. Markov walked coolly behind the desk, keeping the shotgun trained steadily on Doug's chest, and opened up the laptop. “Now we wait for your precious Nadia,” he said with a sneer.
After a few minutes, Markov frowned and looked at his watch. “What's keeping stupid Chinaman?” he snarled.
“Maybe he let her go!” goaded Doug nervously. “If you knew what was good for you, you'd do the same – before the police get here.”
The Russian leapt out from behind the desk and started towards him. At that moment there was a noise outside and Nadia burst through the door followed by a stocky, oriental looking man wielding a hand gun. Her legs were free, but the hands were still behind her back. She flashed a sad smile at him, and then looked across at Markov, whose expression had turned from frustrated menace to anger and hatred. He picked up the Stanley knife, walked over to Nadia and held the blade against her one unblemished cheek.
“You touch her and I promise I'll kill you!” said Doug.
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