‘I’m sorry.’ Stuttering now, Colin reached into his rucksack. ‘I left my wallet at work. I had to go back. Here… ’ He passed his mother the bottle of wine he’d pulled from the bag.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Mary screwed up her face. ‘Where’s my vodka?’
‘It’s all I could get.’ Colin stared down at the floor. Shuffling his feet as he spoke. ‘I don’t get paid until tomorrow.’
It was better than nothing she supposed, snatching the bottle out of Colin’s hand.
The wine was warm. The numbskull hadn’t even picked a bottle out of the fridge. He couldn’t even get that right.
‘Get all this shit cleared up.’ Shaking her head, Mary walked into the lounge, leaving Colin on his own, loitering awkwardly in the hallway.
The wine might be warm but it was still alcohol, and it wouldn’t go to waste. Especially after the day that Mary Jeffries had just had.
12
‘You’re late!’
Narrowing his eyes as he watched Korab and the last of the passengers pile out of the back of the truck, just as it pulled up on the grass verge, Vincent Harper was in no mood for games. Glancing at his watch, his hands twitched impatiently as he stood waiting by the water’s edge.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered as he paced the sand. It was almost two a.m. and they needed to get a bloody move on if they were going to shift this lot of illegals before they aroused any suspicions.
Korab knew the score; timekeeping in this job was paramount. They might have the local plod buried deeply in their pockets, but unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for the French coastguard.
Still, at least if it did all go tits-up it wouldn’t be him that would be in the firing line, Vincent figured. That was the genius of the operation. That was where people like Korab came in. The brokers and the skippers. They were the mugs stupid enough to do the bulk of Vincent’s hard graft for him. They were the ones taking all the risks when it came to transporting all these migrant tramps from one place to another. Blindsided by greed and the thought of a big fat pay cheque that awaited them when the boat reached British soil. The thick cunts didn’t think about the repercussions if they were caught making the illegal crossing, and if they did, they were too desperate to care.
Half of them didn’t comprehend how big the risks were; they were too thick to realise that the recent huge influx of migrants trying to cross the waters illegally had started to become public knowledge. The law were stepping up their game. Clamping down hard on any boat that drifted into unauthorised territory.
The boats were being seized; hefty prison sentences were being dished out. Even if the divvy cunts did know the risks they still signed up for it; to them it was easy money. Greed was a great motivator in this game.
The migrants that they shipped out of here were not much better either. Most of them could barely string a sentence of English together, yet they all spoke fluently in the universal language of cold hard cash didn’t they?
It was laughable. For a price, Vincent found, you could pretty much get anyone to do your dirty work.
That was the beauty of the set-up. The reason that they were creaming it in. There were no set-up costs, no initial outlay. The goods came to them, in their hordes, and with the world and his proverbial wife wanting to seek asylum in England there wasn’t going to be any kind of shortage of revenue anytime soon.
All Vincent had to do was oversee it all. Pack the fuckers onto the boats and ship them out. Three trips to England a week they were knocking out now; each one totting up just over half a million euros a go.
Fucking child’s play, or at least it would be if this lot hurried the fuck up.
‘Get a fucking shift on!’ Vincent shouted. Grinning as he watched Korab and the rest of the group speed up, hurrying towards him now.
He loved the power that he had over people. Standing almost a foot taller than the average man and with an extremely volatile temper, Vincent Harper rarely had to ask for anything twice.
The sooner tonight was over, the sooner he’d be on English soil himself. Back in London. He couldn’t wait.
It was true what they said: there really was no place like home and, as much as he loved staying at his brother’s beachfront villa here in St Malo, there was only so much overrated French cuisine he could stomach. After several days of delicate cuts of fish smothered in poncy sauces, portions barely big enough to feed a hamster let alone a massive bloke like him, all he could think about was a big succulent steak and chips back home in London. Right now, standing on the beach at stupid-o-clock in the morning, freezing his bleeding nuts off as he waited for that numbskull Korab to get his arse in gear, it was that thought alone that was stopping him from getting the major hump.
That, and the large wedge of cash he’d be getting from tonight’s operation.
‘Five, six, seven. And a baby? What the fuck? Korab? Are you taking the piss or what!’ Cursing as he carried out the final headcount of the group now standing in front of him, Vincent shook his head. ‘I said I only had room for five more, and even that’s a push. Who was last? They’ll have to go on the next one.’
The forty-foot fishing boat was already crammed. There were over a hundred people on board; they’d be lucky if the poxy boat didn’t sink before it got to the other side as it was.
‘This couple were last but they are desperate, Vincent. It’s their baby. She is sick. I can’t send them back to camp.’
Korab lied as he pointed over to where Ramiz and Lena stood awkwardly.
Lena took her cue just as she had been instructed. Remembering what Korab had told her: that this man Vincent was in charge. If he didn’t allow them to get on the boat, they’d have to go back to the Jungle. She needed to beg. To plead.
‘Please Sir, my baby, she needs help. I must get to England. Please, I beg you… ’ Lena meant every word. She was more desperate to get away from here, away from Korab.
Her thoughts jolted back to the previous night, when she had been abruptly woken from her sleep to find Korab’s sharp bony body pinning her down to the shoddy camp bed. His repugnant stench – his filthy body – disgusting her. How she’d awoken disorientated and scared, screaming out for Roza, for Ramiz. But Korab had silenced her with his hand over her mouth, before whispering in her ear that Ramiz had given her as a gift to him. Korab even had the nerve to thank her afterwards. Just knowing that Ramiz had allowed another man to do that to her, had instigated it, made her feel violently sick. It was as if Ramiz had violated her too.
There was no way she was going back to the camp. She’d rather die.
Pleading with this man was all she had.
‘Save the fucking begging routine, love, it don’t fucking wash with me!’
Silencing her pleas, Vincent sneered as he eyed her and her husband. The girl looked scared, timid. The man next to her had a permanent scowl etched on his face, clutching the baby awkwardly in his arms. Vincent wasn’t convinced of their story. The baby was fast asleep. It didn’t look very sick to him.
‘I thought we could squeeze them on, Vincent, that we could make room? I didn’t think it would be too much of a problem.’
‘That’s just the point though, isn’t it, Korab? You didn’t fucking think! The boat’s already over-capacity, you moron. In future stick to the numbers, okay?’ Vincent squared up to Korab. ‘Where’s the cunting money? I take it you at least got that bit right.’
Holding out his hand, Vincent snatched the money bag from Korab’s grasp and began counting the notes. ‘What the fuck is this? Monopoly fucking money?’ he said, holding up the green notes that were tucked down strategically in the middle of the pile of cash.
‘It’s lek: Albanian currency. It’s for the last couple with the baby.’
‘Do I look like a fucking Bureau de Change?’
Vincent shook his head. Sometimes the bloke really did take the royal piss. It was only down to the fact that Korab had done a good stint in his time working for him – that
he’d pulled in a record number of passengers – that Vincent fought to keep his cool.
‘How much is here?’
‘Seventy thousand lek. It works out at about five thousand euros. I didn’t charge for the baby—’
‘You what? Five thousand euros? Are you fucking mugging me off? That’s a grand short? Where’s the fucking rest of it?’
‘It’s everything they had Vincent… ’
Vincent eyed the man now. It was taking every ounce of willpower for him not to beat the living shit out of the bloke.
Korab had started out just like these migrants. Living in the squalor that was the Jungle, desperate to try his luck getting over the border. He was happy to stay behind now though, wasn’t he, now he had regular money coming in. Christ, these fucking scrotes would sell their own grandmothers if the price was right.
‘If I find out that you have been skimming cash off the top of my money… ’ Vincent glared at Korab. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Korab knew what would happen if he was ever that stupid.
‘Honest, Vincent, I haven’t taken so much as a euro from you. I just felt sorry for them.’ Korab pointed to where Lena and Ramiz were standing. ‘Ramiz is an old friend from Albania. We go back years. The baby, she is running a fever. They are desperate.’
Vincent stared at the young couple. The woman was no more than a girl really. Sixteen at the most. Even dressed in the rags that she had on, with no make-up and her knotted hair tied up, her natural beauty could not be denied. Not his type though. Unlike some of the other men that worked for him, Vincent wouldn’t touch an immigrant girl with someone else’s cock, let alone his own. They were scum of the earth as far as he was concerned. Passed around in those squalid campsites like meat for the men to use at their will. Most of them willingly offering themselves up too, if it meant that they might get help to cross the border.
Vincent gobbed a mouthful of phlegm down onto the sand to emphasise his distaste.
He caught the look that Korab gave Lena then.
‘You must think I’m fucking stupid. Since when did you give a fuck about some whiney bastard baby? You got your leg-over didn’t you?’
Glaring at Ramiz, Vincent sneered. ‘What did you do? Use your girl as part of the bargaining plea?’
Ramiz glared back defiantly, but Lena averted her gaze, quickly staring down at the sand, her cheeks turning a violent red.
Vincent laughed. He had his answer. Clutching Korab by the scruff of his neck, Vincent lifted the scrawny man clear off his feet; twisting his T-shirt so tightly around his throat that he could hardly breathe.
‘She’s probably riddled with all fucking sorts. Let me give you a word of advice: next time you make a deal with the illegals use your brain and not your dick. Otherwise I’ll fucking chop it off, you get me!’
Unable to speak, Korab nodded.
‘I hope she was worth it, ’cos you ain’t getting shit from me tonight. By the sounds of it you’ve already had your payment, you greedy cunt.’ Vincent sneered as he abruptly let go of the man, letting him fall awkwardly to the sand. ‘In fact, you ain’t done earning your keep just yet. The skipper can’t do this drop and I need someone to steer the boat, oversee the passengers on the journey. Seeing as you’re so eager to get your hands dirty, you can do it.’
‘I can’t. I’ve never sailed at sea before. You’d be better letting one of the illegals to do it.’
Korab couldn’t leave the camp, couldn’t leave his money. If he left the camp for more than a few hours, the others would think that he wasn’t coming back. They’d ransack his tent like vultures. They’d find it.
Korab had spent months saving up that money. Every penny of his wages was stashed away, buried in the soil of his tent.
It was all he had. It was his lifeline.
‘Exactly my point, Korab. You are a fucking illegal. You just seem to need reminding of the fact.’
Shaking his head, Vincent wasn’t a man to take no for an answer. Losing his patience he came in close now, until his forehead was almost touching Korab’s. Gritting his teeth he kept his voice low so that the passengers wouldn’t hear him.
‘It ain’t hard. A fucking monkey could do it, and let’s face it, you ain’t far off! The GPS will be set up. All you got to do is man the poxy thing. You know the drill. Go as far as the fuel takes you. Then ditch them. Use the motor boat to come back. Do you think that you can at least do that?’
Korab nodded, knowing he didn’t have any choice.
When Vincent Harper wanted something done it got done. There was no room for discussion.
The conversation was over.
He just prayed that his money would still be there when he got back.
‘What are you lot waiting for then huh? Get this lot searched and out to the fucking boat.’ Turning to his men, Vincent bellowed. ‘We ain’t got time to take them out on the dinghies now so make them fucking walk it.’
Stashing the money back inside the money bag, Vincent lit another cigarette as he watched his men pat down the illegals for any concealed weapons. It was his job to ensure that the job went smoothly and seeing as they were dealing with some real desperate fuckers, his men had been warned not to take any chances.
Taking a deep pull of his cigarette he watched his men escort the last of the passengers out into the water. Vincent was starting to feel a bit calmer now.
Seven more of those fuckers plus a baby would be a squeeze, but it was just about doable. Besides, he had his money and that greedy cunt Korab’s cut too.
Vincent smirked. His men seemed to like Korab, but the bloke was seriously starting to get on his tits. He was getting too cocky; making decisions that weren’t his to make. A trip out to sea would be just the lesson that muggy cunt needed. Maybe when he came back he’d realise his place once more. Back in the Jungle with the rest of the poncing cunts.
Glad that the drop was almost done, Vincent grinned to himself before stubbing out his cigarette in the sand. The boat could fucking sink to the bottom of the ocean now for all he cared. He just wanted to get this lot out of here so he could happily fuck off back to the villa and get in a few hours of well-earned shut-eye.
Tomorrow he was London bound and, unlike this lot of scabby fuckers, he’d be flying first class.
Following Ramiz as he trawled through the icy waters, Lena’s body shook uncontrollably as she tried to keep up. The water was up to her chest now; the cutting costal winds lashing down around them all as they walked.
Pulling her bag up on her shoulders to keep it dry, she couldn’t remember ever being so cold.
Squinting as a thick mist of salty seawater sprayed in her face, stinging her eyes, she could barely see the fishing boat ahead of them.
They would be in complete darkness if it wasn’t for the flickering white specks of light that shone out from St Malo. The famous walled city was lit up now, its lights twinkling behind them: shining like a thousand tiny stars dancing against a dramatic black backdrop.
Focusing on Ramiz’s silhouette in front of her as he waded through the water, Lena was desperate to keep Roza in her vision. Ramiz was holding her high above his head, keeping her dry. That was something.
Lena wondered if perhaps their journey was making Ramiz realise his bond with Roza. Twice now, Ramiz had offered to hold the child. It was a start, she supposed.
Terrified of the pending journey, Lena concentrated on pushing her body through the water as she walked. Every step felt like a battle against the bitter cold sting of the sea; her movement slow and heavy as her drenched clothes, as well as the rucksack on her shoulders, weighed her down.
By the time they reached the boat’s ladder Lena was ready to collapse with exhaustion.
Korab climbed aboard first, then Ramiz. Holding onto the last rung of the makeshift ladder to steady herself, Lena remained at the bottom, watching, as her husband pulled himself up the vessel’s side. Clutching Roza tightly in one arm, his free hand gripped each rung as he climbed. He wa
s almost on deck, his shadowy form looming at least ten feet above her.
The boat rocked dramatically.
‘Here,’ Korab shouted, leaning down over the side to reach the child. ‘Pass her up to me.’
Ramiz did as Korab instructed: passing Roza to him before continuing to climb; dragging himself on board as he reached the top.
Lena went next. Terrified. As her feet slipped on the wet metal bars she clutched each rung tightly with her hands. Breathing slowly. When Ramiz leant down and offered his hand she took it, despite herself – allowing him to hoist her up onto the deck – her need to get to her child was greater than her hatred for him.
Wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered with the cold, Lena looked around in horror at the cramped conditions on the boat. Row upon row of bodies took up all the space on deck. Men, women and children all huddled together like cattle; so confined that it looked like they barely had room to breathe, let alone move about.
‘There is space at the back, over there. Go, get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.’
Handing Lena her baby, Korab felt her flinch as his hand brushed against hers. Guilt consumed him as he felt the hatred radiating from her in waves. Deep down he knew what he did was wrong, but he’d been unable to control himself. Craving Lena’s body, her beauty. Justifying himself that Ramiz had given him permission.
Lena hadn’t though.
Snatching the three brown muslin sacks from Korab’s grip, she turned and followed her husband. Cradling Roza in her arms as she walked the length of the boat; weaving carefully through the throng of people until they reached the back.
* * *
Sitting down on the cold, wet deck, Lena watched others around her huddling into each other in a bid to keep warm.
She stared at Ramiz opposite her, selfishly grabbing at his own sack and wrapping it around his shoulders, before stretching his legs out so that Lena would have no choice but to squeeze into the tiny amount of space that was left in the corner.
The Taken Page 9
