Fallout (The Nick Sullivan Thrillers Book 1)

by Karla Forbes

  He watched the caravan with the tenacity of a polar bear waiting by a seal’s breathing hole. Time ceased to have meaning for him. The leaden grey morning crawled monotonously towards an equally dreary afternoon, before inevitably giving way to evening. With darkness came the long-awaited rain. The first few drops, finding their way down through the thick lattice of branches above him, seemed innocent, but then, as they gathered momentum, the bedraggled and drenched autumn leaves offloaded their burden and the onslaught began. He rushed to gather together his possessions, but before he had got them safely stowed into the dry interior of the car the ground turned to mud beneath his feet. He looked longingly at the car, but from there he couldn’t see the caravan. He hadn’t followed them this far to risk losing them at the eleventh hour.

  With a stubbornness bordering on obsession he returned to his hiding place, fashioned himself a makeshift shelter with plastic bags, and resumed his vigil. It was then that the wind picked up. The trees began to tremble, gently at first in response to a few spiteful gusts, but within minutes the branches were bending under the onslaught. The chill of the rain, worming its way down the back of his neck and creeping under his clothes, competed with his soaring temperature, and soon he was convulsed by violent shuddering. He reluctantly acknowledged that it was no longer determination but desperation that was driving him on, and to stay outside any longer was bordering on madness. With one last mutinous glare at the warm pool of light cascading from the caravan, he hauled himself to his feet, and trudged back to the car.

  He slammed the door on the elements and sat there trembling, his arms wrapped tightly around him for warmth. The rain ran in rivulets down the windscreen, obliterating the view of the trees swaying wildly in rhythm to the driving wind. He briefly switched the engine on to drive away the bone-chilling damp, and once the worst of the shivering had subsided he trawled through his food supplies trying to summon up the enthusiasm to eat. The nausea returned, and the prospect of having to go outside in the storm to empty his guts was reason enough to give up on the idea of a meal. Feeling truly sorry for himself he flicked off the engine, crawled onto the back seat, pulled the duvet around him, and fell into a black sleep of total exhaustion.

  When he woke several hours later, the storm had subsided and the sun was streaming through the windscreen, causing condensation to form on the inside of the glass. He pulled himself into a sitting position, stretched life back into his limbs and looked around him, wondering for a moment where he was. When he remembered, he snatched a look at his watch and cursed violently. It was gone eight o’clock! Common sense told him that no harm had been done and the men were probably still in bed, but his instincts were telling him a different story. He piled out of the car and rushed back to his hiding place, sliding in the mud in his haste.

  Even before he got there he knew it was too late. He had followed these men across the country from Sussex to Croydon, from Hampshire to Kent, not letting them out of his sight for one moment – and now, just when he sensed that something important was about to happen, he had lost them. The van was gone, and with it all hope.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or slit his wrists. In the end he did neither. He sat for a long time staring at the caravan which lay abandoned and devoid of life. The space where the van had been parked stood empty. The muddy tyre tracks leading away from the caravan seemed to mock him. He no longer tried to stay hidden. There was no point. His mind was numb with the sense of failure. He didn’t know how long he sat there, immobile and silent, but the sight of a bird pecking the ground just inches away, no longer worried about his presence, made him realise that he hadn’t moved for half an hour. He didn’t much care. Whatever he did with the rest of his life, half an hour here or there wasn’t going to make any difference.

  He looked down at his hands and saw with shock that his finger was now swollen to almost twice its size. It was purple in colour and hurt like hell. He glared at it accusingly: yet one more thing that had gone wrong in a litany of disasters.

  Eventually, he hauled himself to his feet and trudged slowly back to the car with a heavy heart. He knew now that he had tried to do the impossible. It wasn’t feasible for one man to single-handedly follow three, going without proper food or sleep for days on end, never knowing from one minute to the next when they would be setting off again. It was pure arrogance that had made him think that he could pull it off.

  It was a harsh lesson in reality. He sat in the car and gazed, unseeing, through the windscreen as he attempted to marshal his thoughts. He had rushed headlong over the precipice without thinking through the consequences. Why had he gone on the run? At the time, it had seemed the only logical thing to do. Now, it just seemed stupid and impetuous, and (in the eyes of his accusers) damning. If there had ever been a chance of making a jury believe in his innocence, he had certainly blown that now.

  He pondered the unthinkable: giving himself up and relying on a clever lawyer. His mouth became a thin, bitter line. It would need more than that to help him now; it would need a miracle. The whole country was looking for him. How could he ever hope for a fair trial if the media had already broadcast his guilt to the nation?

  He hit the dashboard with his fist. He was innocent, whatever the rest of the world thought, and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

  With his wheels spinning in the mud, he backed gingerly out of the woods, nosed the car towards the small country road, and sat for a while debating which direction to take. He needed to make a phone call, and with Annelies’s mobile dead that meant finding a phone box. He tossed a mental coin and turned towards Ramsgate. Right now he needed his friends. It was time to call on Ed Burgen once more and ask for help.

  ***

  Leah Taylor stood with her hands on her hips and her mouth pulled into an ugly pout. Her mother threw her a look of resignation. She had seen that expression too often not to know that it was a precursor to yet another fight.

  “What’s the matter now?” she asked, not really interested. She had heard it all too many times before.

  “My sports kit’s dirty,” Leah snapped. “I’m not doing games without a clean kit.”

  Her mother suppressed the urge to slap her. “Did you put it in the laundry basket?”

  “No.”

  “Then how am I supposed to know it’s dirty? I’m not psychic. Hurry up and eat your breakfast.”

  “You never listen to me,” Leah complained. “I told you I’m on a diet. Where’s Emma? If she’s not ready in one minute, I’m going without her.”

  Her mother wearily rolled her eyes. “No you’re not. She’s too young to walk to school on her own. You know that.”

  “So that’s my fault, is it?” Leah asked, throwing her hands theatrically in the air. “She’s your responsibility, not mine. It’s not fair that I have to keep taking her to school. I should be hanging out with my mates, not babysitting a twelve-year-old.”

  “Oh for goodness sake!” her mother snapped in exasperation. “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk every morning. It doesn’t kill you. You know I haven’t got time to take her in the car and still get to work for nine.”

  Emma burst into the kitchen. She was sweet-faced and pretty, with unkempt wispy blonde hair and an expression of panic. She rushed over to the biscuit barrel and plunged her hand into its depths.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” her mother demanded. “How many times have I told you to allow enough time for a proper breakfast?”

  “Not now, Mum,” Emma chided. “I’m late. I’ll buy some fruit at school, OK?”

  “No, it’s not OK,” her mother argued. “If you didn’t spend so long chatting on your mobile to friends that you’re going to see anyway once you get to school, you’d have more time to eat.”

  Leah swept up her bag. “Emma, are you coming or not? I’m not hanging around any longer.”

  “Yeah, just coming… Mum! Where’s my school bag? I left it there by the door. What have you done with it?”


  “It’s still there,” her mother pointed out, just about holding her patience together. “Open your eyes, will you?”

  Emma threw her mother a look of apology, grabbed her bag and scurried out after her sister who was already halfway down the path.

  “Wait for me,” she yelled.

  ***

  Leah slowed her step, just long enough for Emma to catch up. They set off together in the direction of the school they both attended, just fifteen minutes walk down the road. If they noticed the white van that was parked further along, they spared it no more than a passing glance. As they drew level with it, they were deep in conversation about the latest boy to have caught Leah’s eye. So when it happened, it was so fast that neither girl had time to react or draw breath to scream.

  They had gone a few feet past the van when the rear doors flew open. Both girls slowed their steps and looked around, their mouths opening in surprise. The two men who leapt out of the van were wearing black leather gloves and balaclavas. In one smooth action, they each grabbed a girl around the throat, scooped them clear off their feet and dragged them back into the van. As they were thrown to the floor, the doors were slammed behind them and the van pulled away. From start to finish, the whole operation had taken less than six seconds.

  Emma began to scream. Immediately a gloved hand was clamped over her mouth. “Shut up, kid!” the man hissed. “One more sound from you and I’ll slit your throat.”

  “Let go of my sister!” Leah yelled, struggling out of her captive’s grip to reach her. The other man grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back, but she rounded on him, clawing at his eyes. He backhanded her, casually, as though swatting a fly. She was thrown against the side of the van, landing shocked and dazed in a crumpled heap.

  He leaned over her menacingly. “Use your claws on me again, you brat, and I’ll rip your fucking eyes out!”

  She backed, terrified, into the corner, watching him like a wounded animal awaiting the arrival of a circling vulture.

  “That’s better,” he said, mollified. “Now, are you going to behave? Or do I have to hurt you?”

  Without warning, he raised his fist and took a pretend swipe at her, laughing loudly as she shrieked and threw her hands protectively across her face.

  Emma began to whimper, and Leah suddenly felt very scared.

  “What do you want with us?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Your sister is going to stay with us for a while,” the other man told her, tightening his grip on Emma as she heard his words and began to struggle. “You, on the other hand, are going to take a message home to your mum and dad.”

  Leah’s eyes widened in horror. “What are you talking about? Emma can’t stay with you … Please, you’ve got to let us go.”

  “The kid stays here with us,” he said bluntly. “Whether she goes home or not depends on whether your dad does the sensible thing.”

  “No!” Leah wailed, “I won’t leave her, you bastard!!”

  Leah’s captor brought his mouth very close to her ear. “Listen to me, you stupid bitch. Your sister stays here, and you’re going to deliver a message to your folks. It doesn’t make much difference to us whether you’re carrying it in your hand or pinned to your forehead by a four-inch nail. Which is it going to be?”

  Leah recoiled in horror. “Please let us go… Why are you doing this?”

  He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Shut up,” he warned. “You’re getting on my nerves.” His arm came to rest on her breast and he began to explore with his fingers, regarding her with new interest. “Tell me, kid, how old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she said, tremulously. “Why?”

  “Leave it!” the other man warned, throwing him a withering look.

  Leah’s captor chuckled and allowed his gaze to linger on her for a while longer, but then he shrugged, pulled his hand away and leaned back, deliberately making a point of the fact that he had let go.

  The van came to a halt, and a loud rapping came on the wall between them and the driver’s compartment.

  “Sadly this is where we say goodbye,” the man said, with feigned regret. “Another time, perhaps.”

  Emma’s captor tightened his grip on her, pinning her down with one hand whilst easing open the door with the other. The other man suddenly leaned towards Leah and roughly stuffed a note down the front of her school shirt. It was a single sheet of A4 paper, encased in a plastic pocket.

  “Piss off, kid,” he ordered. “Go straight home and deliver this to your mum. If you talk to anyone else on the way or call for help, you’ll never see your sister alive again. Do you understand?”

  “I won’t go!” Leah yelled at him defiantly. “I’m not leaving Emma.”

  “You’ll do what you’re fucking well told,” he said, shoving her towards the door. “Now get going.”

  Leah clung onto to the doorframe by her fingertips. “No, I won’t… Let her go, you bastards!”

  “Please don’t go without me!” Emma screamed, terrified. “Leah…don’t leave me…please.”

  “I won’t, Emma,” Leah yelled, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “That’s what you fucking think.” Leah’s captor wrapped a heavy arm around her neck and began manhandling her through the door. She sunk her teeth into his forearm, clamping down with all her strength until she tasted warm salty blood in her mouth.

  He let go with a start. “You fucking bitch,” he yelped, rubbing at his injured arm. He lunged at her, yanked her head back by her hair and kicked her legs from under her. She toppled back into the van, letting go of the doorframe. With one smooth movement he landed another kick squarely into the small of her back and sent her sprawling onto the road.

  She fell heavily and rolled over, but immediately began scrabbling to her feet. She watched in dismay as the doors slammed closed and the van pulled away. She ran after it, screaming. But seconds later it turned left, and by the time she ran around the corner it had disappeared from sight. She fell to her knees, sobbing.

  “Are you alright dear?” an elderly lady asked, concerned.

  Leah folded her arms over her head and began wailing.

  “Good heavens,” the older woman said, clearly shocked, “whatever’s the matter?”

  “They’ve taken Emma,” Leah sobbed. “I’ve got to get home.”

  “Emma? Who’s Emma? Is she a friend of yours, dear?”

  Leah suddenly remembered the men’s warning. She staggered clumsily to her feet and started to back away. “No… Forget it… It’s OK… I was mistaken.”

  “Are you sure you’re OK, dear?” the old lady asked. “You’re not ill are you?”

  Leah snatched the note from where it was sticking out of her shirt and stuffed it into an inside pocket, then, with a gesture of hopeless apology, she turned and ran back down the road. She knew where she was. She had been dropped in a quiet road near her home. She ran all the way and lunged at her front door, sobbing uncontrollably as she fumbled with her key in the lock. She almost fell into the hallway as the door was unexpectedly yanked open.

  “Leah!” her mother asked, shocked. “Whatever is it?” She looked over her daughter’s shoulder scanning the path behind her. “Leah?” she asked sharply. “Where’s Emma?”

  Leah crumpled to her knees, crying hysterically. “They’ve taken her, Mum…I couldn’t stop them… I’m so sorry, I tried, I really did… I didn’t know what to do… We’ve got to phone Dad.”

  Jenny Taylor took her daughter firmly by the shoulders and held her fast, forcing her to look her in the eye.

  “Listen to me, Leah. What are you saying?”

  Leah stared unseeing at her mother, then, remembering, ripped the note from her inside pocket. She thrust it in her mother’s hand.

  “Two men took Emma. I tried to stop them… Please… We’ve got to call Dad.”

  ***

  Ed idly reached out for his phone, his eyes on his computer screen. When he realised who was talking,
he snapped to attention. “Nick,” he hissed. “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m in Ramsgate,” Nick said. “Is it safe to talk?”

  Ed looked around furtively and lowered his voice. “Yeah. What are you doing there?”

  “I followed the men to a caravan park, but I lost them this morning. What’s going on, Ed? I saw the police appeal on television. Why have I suddenly become national news?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Ed snarled.

  Nick gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “The police don’t use the media unless they consider someone is a danger to the public. Apart from murdering Tim, what else do they ‘mistakenly’ think you’ve done?”

  “I haven’t done anything. But I guess you’ve got your own opinion on that.”

  Ed changed the subject. “I haven’t seen much of Annie lately,” he said, almost conversationally. “You don’t know where she’s got to, do you?”

  Nick hesitated, a fact that wasn’t lost on Ed. “I won’t lie to you, Ed. She was with me up until yesterday morning. I’m sorry if you’ve been worried, but Annie didn’t want you to know.”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” Ed said neutrally. “So she isn’t with you now then?”

  “No,” he said, sounding cautious. “Hubner, Wilson and Fox drove off yesterday morning without warning, and I borrowed Annie’s car and followed them. I tried to phone her during the day, but I couldn’t reach her. I assumed she’d gone home. Are you saying she’s not there?”

  “I haven’t checked,” Ed said off-handedly.

  “Would you mind doing so?” Nick asked. “It would put my mind at rest.”

  Ed ignored the request. “What were you phoning me for?” he asked abruptly.

  “I…er…I phoned Mason from Fox’s house, telling him what I knew. I was wondering if you could find out whether or not the information has been acted on.”

  “If it was, it didn’t help much,” Ed pointed out, bluntly. “You were only wanted by Kent Police before. Now every force in the country’s after you.”