I leaned against the door and listened – nothing. I raised my hand ready to push the door open, and stopped. The door had squeaked on its hinges when the yob had opened it. I pressed my fingers against the wood and slowly, very slowly, pushed.
Six inches and there was an ever so slight squeak. I stopped.
‘Ivonne, get the girls lined up, flat against the wall.’
I crouched down and placed my hand halfway up the door. Slowly, I applied pressure. Another tiny squeak. I kept up the pressure and eased the door half open, enough that I could see along the corridor.
No lights, however halfway along, light from two of the offices spilled into the corridor. Another quick glance; the corridor was at least one hundred metres long with the double doors to the warehouse floor set halfway along. They demarcated the point of no return, and if they weren’t locked they would provide a means to hide, if need be.
I held the door half open, turned and whispered to Ivonne; ‘I’ll go first. Make sure everyone stays below the windows and tight up against the right-hand side.’
I set off along the corridor, every sense on high alert. At the first office door, I checked behind me; the girls were following, single file, with Ivonne bringing up the rear.
I reached the next door and paused, hearing voices from the office in front of me. I crept along to a point just short of the widow and stood up, before inching towards the glass. From there I could see part of the room. Three men stood, on the left-hand side of the room, propped against filing cabinets. Thankfully, their attention was not focused in my direction.
Slowly, I leaned forward, taking in more of the room; on the far side, opposite me, stood a girl. Her head was being held up by one of Erjon’s yobs. Our eyes met. I stood frozen. Was I imagining the eye contact? Could she have really seen me in the semi-darkness?
The moment passed. The yob turned the girl’s head, forcing her body around.
I forced myself to examine the rest of the room. One man was leaning against the right-hand wall and a further two sat on opposite ends of a desk. All the men had that look endemic to those who live off the flesh trade; over styled and vain. And with the fast cash generated by pimping, the baubles and the bling reflected from their wrists and necks.
I was tempted to jerk my head back, but sudden movement might attract attention. Slowly, I eased my head back behind the wall.
‘Ivonne,’ I whispered, turning towards her, ‘give me that phone.’
She crept up to where I stood.
‘Keep moving along the corridor,’ I said, taking the phone.
I tapped the screen on the phone accessing the camera function and it started filming. Remaining hidden behind the wall, I stretched out my left hand and held the camera to the office window. The images were just visible; I tilted the phone at various angles, making sure that every person in the room was filmed.
That brief, if only imagined, eye contact with the girl in the office continued to disturb me – there but for the grace of God go I. We still weren’t out of the building, we still hadn’t escaped, but in that office was a girl whose only chance of escape might be my intervention. Charging into the office and trying to save her was absurd. The only sane option available was to get her and the bidders on film and then take the evidence to the police. Oh God no, the police, they couldn’t be trusted, not with Driscoll in the background. I’d think of something.
A raised voice from the office said; ‘Deal.’
I sneaked forward and saw the yob propelling the girl towards the doorway to the next office. I froze as Erjon emerged. Shit, at least he hadn’t looked in my direction.
That’s when I remembered the day Ivonne and I had planted the tracking software into his phone. Somehow he had known that I had been in the spare bedroom of Ivonne’s apartment. It was time to get moving. Erjon’s instincts were too sharp to hang about, and the way he had taken out Markus proved that he was a ruthless fighter.
I kept the phone just above the window frame and watched as Erjon pulled the girl through the doorway. He turned and led a different girl into the office. I adjusted the phone capturing the girl’s face. Erjon made some remark which elicited a burst of laughter before returning to the other office.
I crouched down, lowered the phone and sped silently along the wall to the next window. I stood up cautiously using the wall as cover. This time I didn’t even attempt to stick my head around the window frame, instead I edged the phone towards the glass. Part of the office came into view. I couldn’t see Erjon. I hesitated; concerned that he might spot the phone, before easing it along the window. More of the room came into view; four girls were sitting on the floor, all in various states of apathy or fear, staring towards the room in which the auction was taking place.
I wiggled the camera and Erjon appeared on the display. He clapped a hand on to the shoulder of one of his thugs and they walked towards me, towards the window, Erjon talking.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maria scuttling towards me. She grabbed my free hand and tugged. ‘Quick,’ she whispered, ‘Erjon is sending Viktor to look for Marko – that’s the one you KOed.’
I lowered the phone and ducked below the window. Maria and I scurried along the right-hand wall and reached Ivonne and the other girls.
‘Quick,’ I whispered, ‘into the warehouse.’
I sped towards the double doors of the warehouse. Were they locked? Would they squeak? I pressed my hand against the right-hand door and pushed. The door flew inwards. I almost fell. I lunged for the door and caught it before it could slam against its frame.
A quick scan of the warehouse told me there was no one there. Ivonne and the girls rushed in behind me. I gently pushed the door closed and took a peek through the small window, set at eye level. That was close; Viktor entered the corridor.
‘Tina,’ Ivonne whispered into my ear, ‘give me the phone. I’m calling the police.’
I turned and stared at her, all the downsides of doing that racing through my head.
‘If we get caught again,’ Ivonne continued, ‘there will be no escape. And we must think of them.’ She nodded in the direction of the four girls who stood staring at us. ‘With the police they stand a chance.’
‘I know.’
‘And even if we make it to the car park, think of the minders out there who’ll be waiting for those poor girls to be brought out.’
‘That’s been in my mind.’
The door at the end of the corridor squeaked. I glanced through the window; it was Viktor heading for the storerooms.
‘Okay,’ I said, handing Ivonne the phone. ‘Do it. Tell them there’s a robbery in progress.’
I turned back to the window. There was still a chance of making it to the car park and getting away before the police arrived. I certainly didn’t want the police asking me questions. The bomb threat to Crew Street station and all the tweets about a cop, a nun and three trafficked girls were not even twenty-four-hours old. It wouldn’t take a lot of intelligence to connect that to me, Ivonne and the girls with us now. And yet, the police might still provide a useful diversion.
Still looking through the window, I saw Erjon open the office door and glance in the direction of the storerooms.
Hell! Viktor was bound to come in here looking for Marko. What to do? Make a dash for it along the corridor? At any moment Viktor would re-emerge from the storerooms.
I turned and studied the warehouse. We could hide amongst the junk littered along the walls and try to hold out until the police descended. There was one last option; the two loading bays. They both had roller-shutter doors, no doubt locked and even if they weren’t, the noise they’d make being opened would be horrendous.
Ivonne looked at me. ‘The police are on their way.’
‘Quick, over there,’ I said, pointing towards the roller doors. ‘We’ve got to get out of this place. Viktor is bound to come in here when he can’t find Marko.’
I started to run towards the doors, now quite sure that
Viktor would check the warehouse next. Running at full tilt, I leapt over some loose timber, and then began to focus my attention on the Judas gate set between the roller doors. Two bolts secured the gate, top and bottom. I skidded to a halt, reached down for the lower bolt, grabbed it and pulled. One tug told me all – it was stuck fast. The upper bolt was equally old and rusty, and didn’t budge either.
I rapidly searched around looking for something solid with which to bash the bolt – lots of scrap metal but nothing that fitted the bill. Then I remembered having seen a short heavy post amongst the loose timber. I raced back across the floor and grabbed the post. A splinter ruptured my skin, driving in deep. I held on to the post and ran back to the Judas gate, blood trickling down the palm of my hand.
I lined up the end of the post with the head of the lower bolt and swung. The bolt popped free and shot backwards. I raised the post and took aim at the other bolt. At shoulder level the angles were more difficult; the first blow glanced off the head of the bolt. Second time lucky – the bolt slid across with a screech. Shit! Automatically, I turned and glanced across the warehouse floor to the double doors, half expecting the noise to have already summoned Viktor.
Thankfully, the Judas gate was made of wood and age had done it no favours. Only the door and its lock separated us from the car park and, critically, the door was hinged to swing outwards.
‘Ivonne,’ I said, stepping back from the door, ‘the moment this thing opens run for the Volkswagen bus.’ I pulled the keys out of my pocket and handing them to her said; ‘And hope to God they’re the right ones.’
I faced the door and took a deep breath focusing my attention. Ready, I spun on my right foot and, using all the momentum of the spin, kicked backwards with my left foot. My heel connected with a solid blow to the door. There was a loud crack of splintering wood. The door, however, still hung in its frame.
I spun again using the rear-horse kick – another loud crack reverberated across the warehouse.
Avoiding the temptation to see if the noise had raised the alarm, I instead impelled myself into a third kick. This time the frame gave way and I felt the door fly open.
A door slammed behind me. I twisted around and saw Viktor. He yelled something and ducked back into the corridor.
‘Go, go, go,’ I yelled.
Three steps led down to the car park. I took them in one leap.
In the car park, I immediately ran towards the VW bus. Ivonne, who was ahead of me, clicked the remote control and the VW’s hazard lights blinked.
‘Get them in!’ I yelled, and pulled up short at my car which was parked next to the bus.
I yanked at the door handle, flung myself across the seat and grabbed Ivonne’s phone. One quick glance told me that my phone was gone as were the car keys.
I heard the back door of the bus slam closed and ran towards it. Ivonne was already seated behind the steering wheel, her head down as she fumbled to put the key in the ignition.
I grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pulled. The engine barked into life. As I was about to hop in, I spotted my phone and car keys on the passenger seat. I grabbed them, dumping Ivonne’s phone on the seat.
‘Go!’ I yelled. ‘I’ll take my car.’
‘Get in!’ Ivonne shouted, as she engaged first gear.
The sound of a siren in the distance made me look up. The gates were wide open, and parked on the far side of the VW were a number of similar vans. A couple of doors slammed closed as the drivers hurried towards the office block at the front of the warehouse.
‘Get going!’ I yelled at Ivonne. ‘Go to the refuge.’
I slammed the door closed. The VW jerked forward, only to stall. Jesus F.
The bus had rolled forward enough to reveal the door to the office block. Erjon leapt through the doorway and headed straight for the driver’s door of the bus. The engine bellowed, but Ivonne had not seen Erjon.
I raced around the back of the bus just as Erjon grabbed the door handle. I jumped clear of the bus, turning in midair, and went straight for the tornado kick. I landed on my left foot with my back towards Erjon and immediately pushed off, twisting in midair. With my body rotating, I thrust my left knee forward. Using the entire momentum of my spinning body, I launched a powerful kick to Erjon’s head. The kick connected. Erjon’s head snapped sideways hitting the doorframe.
Ivonne yanked the door closed. The van shot forwards with a squeal of tires.
Erjon jumped around and ran straight at me. At the last moment, I jumped left. His fist grazed my ribcage. I grunted as the pain seared through me.
I spun around bouncing on my feet, my arms held defensively in front of my upper body. Erjon snapped around and jumped straight at me, his right leg held high. I jinked right, only just avoiding his foot as it sliced down. His left hand was headed straight for my head in a chopping motion. I blocked the blow with my right arm. Pain burned along my arm. I bounced away. I had to keep moving.
A van was heading fast towards the gate. I sprinted towards it and raced around the front. Erjon yelled as the van forced him to stop. I kept running. The next van was just completing a turn, ready to bolt for the gate. I caught the faint reflection of blue lights on the van’s bodywork. I sprinted behind the van, putting it between me and Erjon.
The siren wailed and echoed, drawing closer. I glanced at my car. I needed to get to it, now.
The van surged towards the gate, revealing Erjon who stood in the middle of the car park. As soon as he saw me he sprinted in my direction.
I took off, racing towards my car. Erjon altered his run trying to head me off. A black M3 roared around the corner of the office block, coming straight at me.
A single police car sped towards the gate. The M3 hooted its horn and braked to an abrupt halt. Erjon stopped, glaring at me. A shout from the driver of the M3 and Erjon ran towards the car.
The police car turned sharply, its tyres squealing as it entered the car park. Erjon jumped into the M3.
I ran for my car hearing a second siren approaching. The M3’s engine growled. Still running, I turned and watched as the M3 roared around the back of the police car and then shot through the gate.
The doors of the police car opened.
‘Stop!’ an officer yelled at me.
I broke my run. I was only metres from my car. I heard the boom of the M3’s vee-eight engine as the revs built up. The second police car slewed to a stop, blocking the gateway. I slowed to a walking pace and glanced at my car, longingly.
‘Put your hands in the air,’ the cop ordered. ‘Where I can see them.’
I stopped, and turned slowly, raising my hands.
Part V
22
I was handcuffed and put in the back of a police car. From there, I witnessed the arrival of more and more police cars – it seemed as if every cop who could drive a car turned up. With the gates to the warehouse blocked by numerous squad cars and the car park a sea of revolving blue lights, the first ambulance to arrive was forced to stop short. The medics wasted no time and hurried from the ambulance, weaving a stretcher between the haphazardly parked police cars.
More ambulances arrived. All the women police officers at the scene were called into the building, if they weren’t already inside.
Four men were led away in handcuffs; the men from the two vans who hadn’t made it through the gate before the police had arrived.
A stretcher came out of the warehouse, carrying Marko. That piece of dirt didn’t deserve the first-class medical care he was getting. He wouldn’t have called an ambulance for any of the trafficked girls; at best he’d have called a dubious doctor who’d been struck off the register.
One by one various girls were led out of the warehouse, in each case, accompanied by women police officers who escorted them to a waiting police bus.
After having been in the back of the police car for almost an hour, someone remembered my existence. I was driven away, only to be kept sitting in the back of the car for a further h
our until I was processed.
A detective, wearing jeans and a T-shirt to make him look like one of the lads, introduced himself as Crawford without even having the courtesy to look at me. Well, he did look at my body. He led me to an upstairs room. I’d expected a window or a mirror in one of the walls – that comes from watching too much TV. Before I sat down, I did however, spot the tiny camera suspended from the ceiling in the far corner, facing me.
‘Detective,’ I said. ‘I want my phone back.’
‘Sorry, miss,’ he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, ‘that won’t be possible.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Not getting the phone back was a bad omen.
‘It’s being treated as evidence.’
‘Shit,’ I said softly.
‘Do you mind.’
‘I do mind,’ I said, propping an elbow on the table. ‘How am I supposed to contact a lawyer?’
‘You’ll be provided with access to a phone.’
‘Very considerate, but,’ I smiled at the detective, ‘all my phone numbers are stored in the phone.’
‘Including your solicitor?’ the detective asked with obvious disbelief.
‘I don’t have one yet—’
‘Then you don’t need the phone.’
‘I do, because the man I want to phone will get me a lawyer.’
‘What sort of man is that?’ the detective asked, as if he wasn’t paying attention.
Thinks he’s clever. ‘Oh, he’s an accountant.’
‘An accountant?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Then he’ll be in the phone book.’
‘I’m sure he is.’ I bit my lower lip, stopping myself from saying; sure a phone book full of mobile numbers, every magician has one.
I smiled at the detective and then glanced at my fingernails – two of the extensions were missing. ‘The point is,’ I looked up, ‘at this time of the night I’m going to have to call my accountant on his mobile.’
Bitter Sweet Page 20
