by Tim Ellis
‘Sir Peter said you had a gun, and that you smashed his face into the bookcase. It could be the end of your career, Quigg.’
‘Duffy was with me, Sir; she knows I didn’t have a gun. I had the bastard by the lapels of his jacket, but I didn’t hit him. He was in one piece when I left.’
‘There’s an APB out on you and Duffy.’
‘Duffy hasn’t done anything.’
‘She’s with you, Quigg. That’s enough.’
‘I’m going to get my daughter back, Sir. That’s all that matters to me now.’
‘You be careful, Quigg. I hope you find her.’
‘Thanks, Chief.’
***
It was seven fifty when they arrived outside the estate in Cobham, Surrey. The journey took them on a straight route from the A306 to the A3, where they stopped at a Little Chef near Guildford to fill up themselves and the car. For once, Duffy ate more than leaves and had a multigrain chicken salad sandwich. Quigg had an Olympic breakfast, and they shared a pot of tea. They came off the A3 and travelled along the A245 towards Leatherhead. It should only have taken them forty-five minutes, but with the traffic and the appalling weather it took them two hours thirty-five minutes. Throughout the drive, Quigg remained pensive and quiet. Duffy didn’t force him to speak by starting inane conversation. Everything they had planned for tonight had been jettisoned in favour of saving a three year old girl from a group of heartless paedophiles.
‘Hello, Bob - we’re here.’
‘You took your time, but it’s been to your advantage.’
‘I could do with some good luck, Bob.’
‘Your wish is my command. I can see your car on Plough Lane outside the main gate.’
‘I’m eager to find out how.’
‘I’ve taken control of a satellite imaging module via a friend’s server in Venezuela, which has allowed me to carry out a visual inspection of the Apostle’s little hidey-hole. I have also gained control of their security and lighting system, but you’re going to worship me as a god when I tell you that they have a secret underground complex.’
‘You’re a god, Bob.’
‘Hey, I like that: God Bob instead of Surfer Bob. Well, are you going to sit outside in your car, or are you going inside?’
‘We’re going inside, Bob.’
‘I suggest you drive up to the main house; it’s a fair distance from the main gate.’
‘Are you going to open the gates for me, Bob?’
‘Certainly am, Quigg.’
The gates creaked open. Quigg drove through and followed the road towards the main house. He was glad there were no lights on in the building, which indicated no one being home.
‘Listen Bob, I don’t know how long the charge on my mobile will last, so let me give you the other numbers we have with us. He gave him the number of the phone Ruth had bought him, and he passed his mobile to Duffy so that she could give him her number.
‘Don’t go ringing me up any other time, Bob,’ Duffy said to him after she’d given him the number. ‘It’s not your personal sex line.’
Quigg took the phone off her. ‘Keep your mind on the job, Bob; remember why we’re here.’
‘Sorry, Quigg - Duffy gives me a hard-on. Right, I’ve just switched off the security alarm and enabled the lights.’
The house lit up like a beacon on a hill.
‘It’s a bit too bright, Bob. Can you switch some off?’
In response, the external lights went off.
‘A lot better.’
They got out of the car. Quigg unlocked the boot and took out the M9 semi-automatic pistol and spare 15-round magazine from under the spare tyre. He put the spare magazine in his duffel coat pocket, released the safety on the pistol and put a round in the chamber, and then walked up the steps to the entrance with Duffy behind him.
The main door clicked open and they walked through into the reception hall. A wide red-carpeted staircase with black and gold handrails led left and right to a second storey balcony. A chandelier, like a Christmas tree, hung in the centre of the ceiling. A large gold pot with a tall Chrysanthemum in it was standing to the right of the staircase. Quigg knew he had come into another world, one in which Sir Peter Langham and Ruth Lynch-Guevara had garden parties.
‘Where’s the entrance to this underground bunker, Bob?’ he said into the other phone.
‘Go through a door on your right.’
Quigg found the door. It revealed an enormous banqueting room with a Queen Anne table in the centre. There was no one in the room, so he put the gun in his duffel coat pocket.
‘Have you found it yet, Quigg?’
‘We’re in a large room.’
‘The switch should be at the far end of the room, opposite the door.’
Quigg walked along the length of the table towards the far wall. On either side of the window hung paintings of landscapes. He lifted each one, looked underneath, but found no hidden switch.
‘There’s nothing here, Bob.’
‘Try the left-hand wall.’
Moving along the wall, they reached a dark-wood gothic bookcase. Quigg wondered whether it was that simple. He tried pulling books off the shelf until all of them littered the floor. They both inspected the insides of the shelves, but found nothing that would move. He tried pushing the bookcase first to the left then to the right with his shoulder, but it was unmoveable. He grabbed a chair from the table, stood on it and tried moving the gargoyles and demons crafted around the top of the bookcase. Duffy knelt down and did the same with the engraving around the bottom.
Quigg found nothing, but Duffy looked up and said, ‘I think there’s something here, Sir.’
He climbed off the chair and kneeled down to look at what Duffy had noticed. There was a section of the wood that had been worn smooth. Quigg pressed it. They both heard a click as the bookcase moved away from the wall.
‘Have you found it yet?’
‘We’ve found it, Bob.’
‘Well done, Duffy.’ Quigg stood up. ‘You haven’t got your vest on, have you?’
‘I couldn’t wear it with these clothes, Sir.’
‘It was a stupid idea. You’ll have to stay up here while I go and see what’s down there.’ He passed her the mobile phone with Bob on the other end. ‘You’d better talk to him. I don’t think we’ll get a signal down there, and I want my hands free.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but he said, ‘You mean too much to me. I won’t risk your life. Stay here.’
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Be careful, Sir.’
‘Quigg - call me Quigg, Duffy.’ He pulled the gun out of his pocket and clicked the safety off again.
‘I love you, Quigg.’
Tears rolled down her cheeks as he pulled the bookcase away from the wall and stepped through the opening. Lights came on in front of him the further he moved down the steps. When he reached the bottom, more lights - one after the other – activated, revealing a long corridor of doors. He could hear lapping water and the soft hum of a generator. He tried the first door, but it wouldn’t move. There was no keyhole, and he wondered how it had been locked. As he moved slowly down the corridor, he tried each of the doors without success. At the end, he found a swimming pool. On the other side of the pool was an office with a light on and a large window that looked out over the pool. He could see movement through the window.
‘Armed police,’ he shouted. ‘Come out.’ His heart thrashed in his chest.
No one appeared.
He moved towards the half-open door and could see a bank of twenty or more colour CCTV screens through the window. In each one he saw the movement of people, which distracted him as he pushed the door open with his foot and he only saw the man run at him out of the corner of his eye.
The sound of the gun going off as it flew out of his hand echoed horribly in the underground space, but he only heard it briefly before his head went under the water. The man’s hands were round his throat. He tried to fight back, gripped
the man’s arms to loosen his hold, tried to find a purchase on the bottom of the slippery pool. But he couldn’t breathe, and he was beginning to lose consciousness when he heard another gunshot. The hands released him and he fought his way to the surface, but his mouth touched the dead man’s mouth just when he thought he was safe. He panicked, struggled to keep his footing, fell backwards, thrashed his arms and legs about, and he knew he was going to drown as he swallowed gallons of water.
Then, Duffy was there, lifting him out of the water and kissing him. She was standing in the shallow end with the water lapping at her waist.
‘Are you all right, Sir?’ Duffy said, holding him under the shoulders and stroking his face. The smoking gun lay on the tiles at the side of the pool.’
She helped him to the side and they both climbed out of the crimson chlorinated water. ‘I’m OK, Duffy, thanks to you, but did you have to kill him? You know how I hate dead bodies.’
‘You’re welcome, Sir.’
‘I’ll discipline you later for not following orders.’ He picked up the gun and went into the poolside room. He took a closer look at the CCTV screens. Duffy followed him.
‘What are they, Sir?’
‘They’re CCTV monitors of each room along the corridor.’
‘There’re people in them.’
‘Children, to be exact, Duffy: young girls.’ In some there was one girl, in others more than one. ‘Sex slaves I imagine.’
‘Oh God, Sir.’
Quigg saw a girl, younger than the others, in one of the rooms. Releasing what he assumed was the door lock, he ran up the corridor. He opened the door and there was his daughter. Phoebe was sitting on a bed, still in her playschool clothes. Tears welled in his eyes when he realised she was safe and that nobody had touched her.
‘Daddy!’ She held her arms open to him.
He was so happy that she remembered who he was. He lifted her up in his arms, kissed her and held her tight. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said. ‘Daddy’s missed you.’
‘Phoebe missed daddy. Daddy all wet.’
He took her up the stairs. Duffy followed him. ‘What about the others, Sir?’
‘There’ll be chaos if we just let them out. Another thirty minutes where they are won’t make any difference.’ He sat down on the Queen Anne chair in his dripping clothes, took the phone off Duffy and keyed in the Chief’s number.
‘Bellmarsh.’
‘Chief.’
‘Is that you, Quigg?’
‘I’ve got my daughter, Chief, but you’d better get down here and bring the Surrey vice squad with you.’
‘What have you done now, Quigg?’
‘Duffy and I have found about fifty young girls locked in rooms underneath a house in Cobham in Surrey. I had to kill a security guard, but we’re OK, Sir, thanks for asking.’
‘I’m on my way, Quigg. You are staying there, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Next, he phoned Caitlin and told her Phoebe was safe, and that he would bring her back tomorrow.
Finally, he phoned Ruth.
‘You are not here, Quigg,’ she chastised him.
He told her what had happened and that if she wanted her exclusive story, she should get her ass down here. As he spoke to her, he wondered if she was Sir Peter’s plant. Did she know what was going on? Had the Apostles sent her to misdirect him?
He passed the phone back to Duffy. ‘Phone Bob - tell him thanks, and I hope he has a nice Christmas.'
***
It was midnight by the time the Chief arrived. Surrey vice squad had been there a good hour sorting out the mess. Ambulances ferried the young girls to various hospitals around the local area for medical examination, rape tests and counselling. But would words ever make the nightmares go away? White-suited scenes-of-crime officers roamed the place like resident ghosts, bagging evidence, taking photographs, fingerprints and swabs. Quigg hoped that the remaining eleven Apostles could be linked to the house, the underground complex and the young girls by their fingerprints and DNA, but he doubted they would be that careless.
He smiled when Ruth arrived by helicopter, landing on the landscaped garden. At first, Surrey police officers wouldn’t let her out of the helicopter once they knew who she was. Quigg threatened not to co-operate unless she was allowed access, and they acquiesced. When she was free to roam, she took pictures, made notes and explored the underground complex. She even managed to hold brief interviews with some of the girls who spoke English. Duffy eyed her warily like a lioness conducting a threat assessment.
DI Pete Raven, head of Surrey vice, had quizzed him until his head hurt. Raven wanted to know how he’d known about the house; how he’d got access; how he’d found the underground complex; where the gun had come from; who killed the security guard. The questions were endless and came thick and fast, but Quigg couldn’t give him any answers. Raven wanted to arrest him, but the Chief told the eager young inspector that Quigg was a fucking hero, and to piss off and leave him alone.
‘He’ll be available on Friday for questioning; come up to Hammersmith. Tomorrow he’s taking the day off.’
‘Thanks, Chief,’ Quigg said, surprised. He needed a day off. ‘Duffy as well?’
‘Of course Duffy as well. You don’t want to spend the day in bed alone, do you?’
Duffy drove them home. Home! Was that how he thought of Duffy’s flat now? Phoebe seemed none the worse for her kidnapping, but Quigg couldn’t help but wonder how close she’d come to disappearing forever. He cried silently for putting her in danger. Duffy saw his tears in the rear view mirror.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Sir.’
Wasn’t it? He felt like a secret agent in a film. One who hid his weakness, but is eventually found out. If criminals went after your loved ones, how could you possibly do the job? Who would want to be a policeman if those you loved lived with the constant fear of being used as bargaining chips? It wasn’t the end. Now he had to go after them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Daddy, Phoebe wet.’
It was six thirty on Thursday 4th December. He sat up in bed, and for a split-second wondered where he was. Then it all came flooding back. Phoebe was standing in the doorway in her vest and wet knickers. She had been fast asleep when they arrived back at one thirty this morning. He had put her in Duffy’s spare bed. It was hardly surprising that she had wet herself with everything those bastards had put her through.
‘I’ll see to her, Sir,’ Duffy said, pulling a night-dress over her nakedness.
‘Thanks, Duffy,’ he said. He was naked as well under the quilt and didn’t possess any pyjamas. ‘Good morning, Phoebe,’ he said to her. ‘You remember Duffy, don’t you?
‘Phoebe ‘member Duppy.’
Duppy took her into the bathroom, bathed her and wrapped her in a towel to dry. She then hand-washed her vest and knickers and put them in the dryer in the utility room. She would make a wonderful mother, he thought. She made it look so easy.
Quigg washed and dressed, and joined them in the kitchen. Phoebe was busy eating toast and jam. Duffy had made him two bacon toasties.
‘Excellent. Thanks, Duffy.’ He was famished. It felt like a week since he’d last eaten.
‘Are you OK about last night?’
‘You mean killing that man?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m fine. He was trying to kill you, so he deserved it. I didn’t have any nightmares that made me wake up in a cold sweat, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Sometimes, you can get a delayed reaction. I’ll keep an eye on you.’
‘I don’t want you sitting there cross-legged on the bed watching me while I asleep, and waiting for me to sit bolt upright with staring eyes.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
She put a coffee in front of him and sat down opposite with her mug of tea. ‘What are we doing today, Sir?’
‘I’d like to make some time for myself because I need to get these stitches out.’ He touched the sutu
res on his forehead with a finger. ‘And I should go to A & E and get another X-ray and a plaster cast before my arm becomes deformed.’ He rubbed his left forearm gingerly with his other hand. ‘I could do with booking an appointment with the dentist.’ He massaged his jaw.
Duffy rolled her eyes. ‘It sounds like we should spend all day in the hospital.’
‘Instead, I have to give Phoebe back to Caitlin. But first we should take her to see her grandma. Then I have to call in and see Ruth.’
‘Have sex with her, you mean?’
‘No, Duffy. I don’t mean that. I have to pick up a new Mercedes she bought me for saving her life, and thank her for making me a hero.’
‘Is she rich?’
‘She’s an heiress.’
‘So you want her and not me because she has money?’
Duffy was forcing him to make a decision, and he realised who he wanted. ‘I want you, Duffy,’ he said.
Reaching across the table, she gripped his hand. ‘I’m glad, Sir. I don’t mind if you want to sleep with her now and again, but not every night so that I get all the leftovers.’
‘Thanks, Duffy, but I won’t be doing that.’ He realised how much it must have hurt her to say that. ‘I also need to go and see Debbie in the hospital.’ He hadn’t seen her yesterday at all. If he’d chosen Duffy, where did that leave Debbie? It wasn’t as if he’d made promises, given her an engagement ring, or offered her a spring marriage. All they’d had was a nearly-date. There had been no holding of hands, no kissing, and no sex. The closest they’d come to sharing was pushing his car round a corner together. He felt like shit. She’d taken a bullet for him. Didn’t he owe her for that?
‘What are you going to do about her?’
‘I was just asking myself the same question, Duffy.’
‘And what answer did you give yourself?’
‘She’s lying in that bed because of me, Duffy.’
‘You visit her whenever you can; what else can you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
***
Maggie opened the door like a door-troll. The way she looked at them he thought she might ask each of them to solve riddles before entering. Duffy held Phoebe’s hand and went through into the kitchen, followed by Quigg and then Maggie.
