by Matt Johnson
‘It’s actually an old mental hospital but go on…’
‘Well, it made me think about my childhood. What Mollie described sounded like the cell she was kept in was created by bricking up some form of a cave complex. When I was a kid; we used to go into some nearby caves with my pops. He knew the local freeminers and they used to allow us to go underground.’
‘What are freeminers?’ I asked.
‘Local men who have the rights to dig for iron ore and ochre beneath the forest. A bit like commoners grazing rights for livestock but under the ground.’
‘So what’s that got to do with us?’
Wendy explained. The Forest of Dean freeminers had created a warren of underground passageways that connected huge caverns – now abandoned. One or two were used as film sets for programmes like Dr Who, but the majority didn’t see a human visitor from one year to the next. Her theory was that the cells being used to house the slave girls were most likely former miners’ passageways, now bricked up.
It sounded plausible. And, as she went on to suggest, it might just provide a covert entry into the underground areas of the former hospital.
The miners favoured one of the local pubs, near Clearwell. Wendy was confident that, with her family connections, they might be persuaded to help us have a look.
We had the beginnings of a plan.
Chapter 90
At the pub, it didn’t take Wendy long to make her move. In an alcove away from the bar, two old-timers had just finished their pints. They accepted her offer of a drink and, as she set the two ciders down in front of them, they invited her to sit down.
‘Copper ain’t y’a?’ said the older-looking man.
Wendy just smiled.
‘Needing summat, I guess?’
‘A favour, if you can oblige,’ said Wendy. ‘Something that only a miner would be up for. Let me explain.’
As soon as Wendy mentioned who her father was and that a young girl might be being held against her will, the two men stopped drinking. They both had daughters, and they both read the papers.
The men knew exactly where we wanted to go. As soon as Wendy started talking about a cavern beneath the hospital, they nodded in unison. They knew of it. They also knew that it had been walled off many decades ago when the hospital had been used to house mentally ill patients. It all seemed to fit. We struck a deal. They agreed to show us the tunnels provided that afterwards, Wendy agreed to buy their cider for the rest of the evening.
Their pints of cider drained, we headed out to the car park.
Half an hour later, in the company of two rather ancient and slightly tipsy free miners, wearing hastily donned and tatty overalls, wellington boots, lamps and helmets they had borrowed from a supply kept for sightseers, the four of us entered the Coleford mine system.
Despite the ciders, our guides moved confidently, seemingly familiar with every nook and cranny of the tunnels. Wendy and I simply followed the beams from their helmet lamps. I had no doubt both men were over the drink-drive limit and I’d said something along those lines as we followed them in Wendy’s car to the mine entrance. She’d simply shrugged and said nothing. I guessed why. The roads in this area were dark and completely deserted, meaning it was pretty unlikely we were going to bump into any uniformed patrols.
I lost count of the number of times I hit my helmet on the roof of the passageways. I was also grateful for the protection given by the boiler suit I’d squeezed into. My elbows crunched against spurs of rock that were hidden by the darkness. Ahead, the helmet lights of our guides gave little indication of what dangers surrounded us. They simply moved forward at a clip that belied their age.
The caves were warmer than I had expected, and less stuffy. The walls were powdery and, in the glimpses of light, I saw rich veins of colour that I guessed was the ochre that had been mined.
After twenty minutes, the lights in front stopped moving. I was breathing heavily. Wendy, who had been just ahead of me, seemed to be doing better. One of the miners was carrying a large hessian bag across his shoulder. He reached into it and produced a flashlight.
A large concrete wall faced us – eight feet wide and six feet high. With the help of the additional light, I could see there was no sign of any gaps, despite the uneven nature of the rock against which the blocks had been laid.
I tried the wall surface. It was dry. I had hoped that years exposed to a damp atmosphere might have caused it to start decaying. It looked old, but the blocks were dense, the mortar between them dry. I tapped the blockwork. It felt solid – too solid to break through easily.
‘Want to make a hole, see if there’s anything to see?’ the older of the two men asked.
I looked across to him. In his hand he held a small, cordless power drill. I wondered what other goodies he had in the bag.
Wendy raised her hand. ‘What if they hear us? We need to keep surprise on our side.’
It was a good point. But Mollie had been adamant the only blockwork she had seen had been the back wall of her cell. I had the beginnings of an idea forming in my brain, but for it to work we were going to need to get through the wall.
‘Can you drill through slowly, without using a hammer drill?’ I asked.
A huge, grimy hand tapped the end of the bit. ‘Diamond tip, mate. So quiet, you wouldn’t hear it in a church. Name’s Albert, by the way.’
I decided to chance it. If Lynn was behind the wall, we might even be able to rescue her immediately.
Penetrating the wall took no more than a few minutes. Once the drill was pulled clear, I tried to look through the hole. There was nothing, only darkness, and no sense of any air movement on my eye.
Albert whispered in my ear. ‘Let me try.’
I stood to one side as he pushed a long, thin drill bit into the hole. It penetrated to a depth of about six inches and then stopped.
‘Second skin,’ he declared. ‘There’s another wall behind the first one.’
I swore.
‘Gimme a few minutes. There’s an even longer bit in me bag.’
A few tense minutes later, and Albert announced he had broken through the second skin. He was listening at the hole.
‘All quiet,’ he whispered.
As he stepped to one side, I leaned against the wall and looked into the small hole.
There was no light, but I could feel the faintest of breezes against my eyeball. I stared into the darkness in the hope that, as my eyes adjusted, I might be able to see something. Nothing. Turning my head, I put my ear close to the drill hole. I waved my hand to indicate to the others to stay silent. I could hear something. It sounded like a child … a soft whimpering sound. Crying.
It stopped. Then I picked up a faint voice … a whisper, dry and croaky.
Not a child … a woman. She spoke.
‘Is there someone there?’
Chapter 91
I stepped away from the wall, turned, and raised my finger to my lips. There was just enough light for the others to see the signal for silence.
Praying, silently, that it would be Lynn’s voice I heard, I whispered into the drill hole. ‘Can you hear me?’
Several seconds passed without a response.
Then I heard the voice again. This time clearer, the speaker closer to the opening. ‘Who’s there?’ The voice was weak but clear.
I had to think quickly. If I said it was the police or hinted we were rescuers then the reaction of the woman on the other side of the wall might give us away.
‘Miners,’ I said. ‘Who are you?’
‘Please … help me.’
‘Are you trapped?’ I asked.
‘Not trapped … prisoners. Please get help.’
‘What’s your name?’ Again, I hoped it would be Lynn.
‘Angie.’ The woman said a surname but I couldn’t make it out.
I turned to Wendy and gently shook my head.
‘Not her?’ she said, softly.
‘A girl called Angie.’
�
�Talk to her, Finlay. She’s our only insight into what’s going on behind that wall.’
Whispering a conversation into a narrow hole that cut through two concrete block walls would have been hard enough at the best of times. Trying to talk to a woman who was both excited and extremely frightened was a real challenge. At first, either we both spoke at the same time or we both tried to listen at the tiny aperture. It took several attempts before we were able to slow down and take it in turns to speak.
I was able to learn that Angie was alone in a small, dark cell with no lights and with a wooden door. The guards would only open it when she was to be allowed out to work or when they brought food. Several times, all went quiet when she became fearful of being overheard.
I kept up the pretence that we were simple miners who had stumbled across her. In response to a question about other prisoners, she confirmed what Mollie had said: there were perhaps thirty to forty girls, all held in separate, locked cells.
In an effort to learn about Lynn, I asked if any new girls had come in during the last few days. Angie confirmed there had been just one. The men seemed to be giving her special treatment.
‘What do you mean “special”?’
‘They’ve been hosing her down a lot and beating her up. She’s a fighter.’
It was just as Mollie had described. The power hose used to ensure compliance. I asked if she knew where the new girl was.
After a few seconds, Angie simply replied, ‘It’s too late for her, mate.’
My heart sank. ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘They’ve started on her. She’s had her jabs, just like the rest of us. I heard ‘em talking. Tonight they’re gonna rape her. They got a table, they’ll tie her to it … set up their cameras and video themselves having her.’
Angie’s accent was East London, suggesting she was a long way from home. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her that we were going to save them all, but I knew I had to be patient. We were close; this was no time to panic or accidentally warn the traffickers before we were ready.
‘That’s awful,’ I said, as I sought to control the anger that surged through me. ‘We’ll be back later. I’d best call the law…’
‘No, don’t,’ she said, immediately. ‘Can’t ring the feds; they’re part of it.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘I know the local coppers; no way they’re a part of something like this.’ I wanted – needed – to know if Nina was part of it. If Angie knew Nina was a cop, it would confirm my fears.
The whispered response was insistent. ‘They are, they are,’ she repeated. ‘That’s how they catch the ones who escape. They even come here in uniform. The guards get us out to entertain them.’
I wanted more detail to help put together a plan. Mollie had been helpful but this new girl was right here. I needed as much as she could tell me about the guards, any firearms or other weapons, the inside layout of the building, how the cell doors operated, and anything else she could tell me.
I was just about to start probing Angie further, when she interrupted me. ‘Shhh…’
I held off from speaking and raised up my hand for the others to keep silent. For a moment, all went quiet. Then I heard male voices, muffled and indistinct. They seemed angry, one voice becoming louder. I heard the word ‘move’ and the sound of heavy doors slamming. Several minutes passed before Angie returned to speak to me.
‘You still there?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘You’d better be quick. They’re moving us.’
The minibuses. The ones I had seen in the car park. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘I dunno. They’re panicking. Some of the girls been taken out of their cells to do some packing.’
I’d learned enough. I ended the conversation with the promise that we would be going for help. In the light from Albert’s torch I relayed what Angie had told me and then indicated to the others that we should leave.
As we marched quickly towards the surface, Wendy grabbed my arm. ‘Did I just hear what I thought I heard?’ she whispered between breaths.
‘About the cops, you mean?’
‘Yes. Local uniform lads. It’s what Mollie said about Buff … unbelievable.’
In the darkness, I couldn’t see Wendy, but her voice gave away her disgust. Angie had confirmed the potential risk if we went to the local police for help. So calling MI5 had been the right decision.
But, there was another, more pressing problem. How would we prevent the traffickers from escaping while we waited for help?
There was one chance, one person I could turn to. He was less than an hour away by car.
Kevin Jones.
Chapter 92
After pressing some cash into Albert’s powerful hand, we said goodbye and Wendy led the way back to her car. As soon as we shut the doors, I put my idea to her.
‘And he’s close enough to help?’ she said.
‘He should be. And if he can persuade a few of the lads to spend a night off-base, we can isolate the building until MI5 arrive.’
‘Well, I can’t think of anything better for now, so go ahead. Make the call.’
Unfortunately, not only was my friend not expecting my call, he was drunk. Not falling-down drunk, but still too drunk to be of much help to me, and way too drunk to drive. Plan A hit the buffers.
Noise from the wedding reception made conversation difficult. I waited a few moments while Kevin found a quiet place to speak. When he came back to the phone, his voice sounded like he was in an echo chamber.
‘Where are you?’ I asked. ‘Can you speak?’
‘I’m in the head. There’s nobody here. What’s up? Any more news on those papers we got from Bob’s missus? You sent me a text … is my pension sorted?’
‘The translator’s nearly done.’ I was careful. Wendy could hear what Kevin was saying. ‘I’ll fill you in on it soon.’
Explaining to an inebriated mate that I needed him and a few of the Regiment lads to head down to the Forest of Dean for an off-the-radar operation proved difficult. Not surprisingly, Kevin wasn’t keen, especially when I explained why we couldn’t get local help or call in the Met. Finally, after several attempts, some odd discussions about slaves, miners, bent coppers and the hospital, I seemed to get through to him.
‘No good, boss. All the CRW team are on half-hour call. Most everyone else is here at the do … and we’re all pissed.’
The Counter Revolutionary Warfare team were on permanent standby in case of an incident anywhere in the UK. They all carried pagers and all had strict orders to stay off the grog and keep within travelling distance of the new Regimental Base. Those that had families further away tended to either live on base or share digs in the local town. It wasn’t looking good.
‘There must be somebody,’ I demanded.
‘There’s only three people around here that are sober. Superpig, but he’s an officer; Cochrane the armourer, cos he’s behind the bar … and a lad called ‘Danny’ who drew the short straw and is on the door. He’s just back from Belize … just been badged.’ Kevin slurred his words. It was going to take a few mugs of black coffee before he would be in a fit state to be any help.
‘Who’s Superpig?’ I asked.
‘The ‘A’ squadron commander. He’s making sure we don’t wreck the bar.’
‘Christ,’ I exclaimed. ‘You can’t ask him. What about the other two – could you ask them? I just need them to do a containment until help arrives and we might then have to break down a wall.’ Even just two additional lads would be better than nothing, I thought.
‘Gimme a minute,’ said Kevin.
I waited. After what seemed an eternity, I heard his voice once more. ‘You’re in luck,’ he said. ‘Cochrane seems to think he owes you and said to pass on that it’s because you’re the only fuckin’ Rupert who would have thought to lay on beers for the lads after the Embassy.’
I grinned. Over twenty years later, and Cochrane still remembered.
Briefly, I outlined to Kevin what we were facing and the kind of kit we needed. To break in to the armoured windows at the Embassy, we had used frame charges. I explained about the double-skinned wall and asked if Cochrane could dig out something similar we could use to break through and, hopefully, not harm the girl in the cell beyond.
We arranged to meet in the pub car park. It wasn’t the most discreet of locations, but I figured it would be an easy place to find.
Then I settled down with Wendy to wait.
The pub was still busy, which helped as we were able to tuck Wendy’s car in amongst all the others that were in the adjacent car park. From the side, it would be impossible to tell if our car was occupied, but we could see people coming and going and, as an extra benefit, we could watch the main route from the former hospital to the nearest motorway.
In the other direction, the road led into the forest. If the minibuses left before Kevin arrived, we would see them. That would mean implementing plan B. Problem was I didn’t yet have a plan B, which was why I sat with fingers crossed, hoping that no effort would be made to move the slaves before we were ready.
We sat in silence while I went through our options in my mind. I reckoned I could get us into the underground complex, now that we had found the block wall. But what might happen after that was worrying me. If things went wrong before MI5 arrived, we were going to have to handle it ourselves.
Cochrane, the Regiment Quartermaster, and the new lad were soldiers. This wasn’t an operation like anything they would have done before. Mollie had said one girl had been killed with a pistol, but that was the first and only time she had ever seen a gun of any kind. I wasn’t sure if the guards were going to be armed.
