Trafficked

‘I don’t question it, boss. Just want to be sure, that’s all. I like things the way they are.’

‘Do you? You’re happy with what you have, are you, Laurence, not thinking of branching out on your own?’

Panic flitted across Laurence’s face.

‘No way, boss.’

‘Sure,’ said Terry. ‘We have a good life here. But there’s always more. We stick together and we can achieve it. Is that right, Colonel?’

The Colonel relaxed. He could always rely on Terry. Terry was a shrewd businessman like himself. Terry was the brains in Angeles. The Colonel looked at each man in turn.

‘Now it’s our turn to prove ourselves to Blanco. We can’t afford to make mistakes. We are supposed to be professionals, not fucking amateurs. We were given a job. All we had to do was get the women to the UK and liaise with the Chinese, then we would get our money.’ He turned his head slowly towards Brandon and Laurence. ‘What happened in London was a major error. It looked bad…very bad…We looked like fucking arseholes.’

Brandon stared back at the Colonel. Laurence looked around the table nervously. Sophia picked up Princess Pony and held it up to her face and stared at Laurence through the pony’s pink mane. Sweat was overflowing from Laurence’s frown lines and trickling down the side of his face. Sophia was watching a big droplet form at the end of his nose and she was counting the seconds it took to drop.

‘What did happen in London, Laurence?’

Laurence flashed a look at Brandon. Brandon kept his eyes glued on the Colonel. Sophia giggled as the sweat drip landed on the table.

‘We was caught out, is all. They caught us unawares.’

‘How “unawares” exactly?’

‘One of the women needed teachin’ a lesson—causin’ trouble. I was busy, didn’t see them comin’.’

‘And where were you, Brandon, when this punishment was being handed out?’

‘I was called to a meeting with the Chinese, sir.’

Terry and Reese looked at one another. Everyone around the table knew the truth. It had been Laurence’s cock-up, his fault. He had been left in charge of maintaining a watch over the women. He had been too busy sampling the merchandise.

Laurence’s phone vibrated on the table. Laurence picked it up and read a text message.

‘I have to use the john.’

‘Anything the matter?’ asked the Colonel.

‘Nothin,’ answered Laurence. ‘Be back in five.’

He got up and walked across to the flight of stairs that led down to the toilets and the lower floor. The Colonel had the ‘nearly smile’ glued to his face as he turned his head first to the right, then the left.

‘And where is Jed?’ He drummed his fingers on the table.

Laurence walked past the seating area and the dance floor. A few couples were getting ready to party, a few others were just getting drunk. He read the text again. Meet me in the john. I need to speak to you.

Something about the text bothered him. A text wasn’t just a text. You could tell who it was from by the way they phrased it. Did they use predictive? Did they abbreviate? The Filipinos were the fastest texters in the world, but Laurence’s friend wasn’t. He made mistakes. This text was perfect. Too perfect.

Laurence walked into the toilet area—the urinals, the two toilets with their half doors that never hid a big guy like him. Empty. Nothing unusual, just the foot bath was missing, that was all. They were clean people, these Filipinos, always washing their feet.

The Colonel looked at each man in turn.

‘Any ideas where Jed is?’

Brandon looked uncomfortable. He didn’t like surprises—‘be prepared’ was his motto. He kept his eyes on the Colonel. Reese looked at Terry. Terry glared back and shook his head as if to say don’t even thinkabout opening your mouth.

‘We are getting sloppy. Some people are making mistakes.’ The Colonel’s eyes rolled backwards, his fingers floated above the table. ‘The time of reckoning is upon us…’

Sophia placed Princess Pony back on the table and silently mimicked the Colonel.

Laurence pushed the back door. It was stuck. There was something against it—a weight blocking it. He shoved it, a small sharp push. It moved. Four small shoves then it was open. Gun in hand, he looked out to the alleyway beyond. Nothing. Then he looked at his feet. There was the missing foot bath. He stood for a few seconds as his eyes made sense of what he saw. Jed’s head was in it, the top of his skull blown away. His eyes were shut, his mouth hung open and his balls were inside it.

Laurence tasted the bile as it surged into his mouth. Adrenalin flooded his system; his legs began to give way. He turned. The Teacher was waiting right behind him. He held the gun against Laurence’s heart, smiled and fired.

The Colonel sat upright. Sophia opened her mouth, held her breath, watched the Colonel and waited, ready to say it.

‘The time of deliverance is at hand…’ They spoke in unison.

15 (#ulink_254be571-c06d-5ac4-8532-e716221f8b7a)

Amy pulled the blanket up to just under her eyes and listened hard. She had come to know the sounds in the flat and what they meant. She could identify who it was by the sound of their footsteps and by the way they closed the door. There was the one who had gold teeth and stank of aftershave, who was always watching telly. His name was Sunny. He always had the volume up really loud. He was always eating and farting. The other man, Tony, had spots, and he was the one she had seen that first night. He always walked around a lot. He talked on the telephone. He watched soaps on the telly. Then there was Lenny and a woman. Amy hadn’t seen her, but she had heard her. The woman was always shouting at the men. She only stopped moaning when Lenny arrived. Then she laughed like anything. She must fancy Lenny a lot, thought Amy.

Amy lay still and listened to the woman talking. The woman was Chinese—from Hong Kong—and spoke Cantonese. But Amy never saw her. The only person Amy saw to talk to was Lenny; she saw him every day. She liked him the best, even though he had been the man to take her from the school. He had explained all that to her and said that he had no choice. That he was, in his own way, a prisoner like her, and that when her father paid up they would both be free.

At least Lenny was nicer to her now. They had stopped giving her the sleeping pills every day, and Amy only looked out of the window now, she never banged on it. She understood the rules. She was used to rules. She was also used to fitting in to a pecking order; boarding for so many years had taught her that. She was an observant child and she knew how to watch and appraise others without being seen to do so. She knew how to get on people’s good sides, even when she didn’t like them.

It was a lucky thing that Amy had her drawing pad and her Macramé in her bag. Now she had nothing to do, she would do that. She sat on the chair by the desk. First of all she would draw a picture of Lenny. She sucked the end of her pencil as she thought hard about his face. She wanted to get it right. She wanted to get it so perfect that everyone would know who it was.

16 (#ulink_37a851ed-0be3-5b40-ae7e-3084c3323920)

Mann made his way through Heathrow, picked up his small suitcase and headed out through ‘Nothing to Declare’, where he was handed his weapons’ case, which had been carried separately, locked away in the hold, before he followed the signs for the exit.

The ragged line of people holding cards up behind the flimsy barrier looked hopefully at Mann. He had reached the end of the line when a short-haired blonde woman in her early thirties wearing dark trousers and a slim-fitting brown shirt rushed up to him, coffee cup in one hand and a sticky bun in the other.

‘Detective Inspector Mann?’

He nodded.

She introduced herself. ‘DC Rebecca Stamp, but you can call me Becky. You hungry? Need to stop for a coffee? Long flight?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. I slept well. Lead the way.’

He followed her through to the car park. He watched her as she strode along beside him. She had that athletic gait that policewomen had, as if she were marching along with a rucksack on her back. Women competing in a male-dominated world didn’t lose their femininity, it just changed—became more assertive—showed they knew what they wanted and how to get it. She was no more than five foot two and came to just under his shoulder, but she wasn’t one of those women you should offer to reach things for.

She was still holding her bun in one hand and her coffee in the other when they arrived at level three of the short-stay car park. They stopped at a black Audi A2. She put her coffee on the roof whilst she looked for her keys.

‘Shit! Sorry, my keys are somewhere. I had them in my hand a minute ago.’ She put the bun in her mouth whilst she searched.

‘Left-hand jacket pocket.’