by Bo Brennan
BABY SNATCHERS
BY
BO BRENNAN
This is a work of fiction.
Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organisations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of authenticity and reality. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Bo Brennan 2014
Bo Brennan asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
Cover Design by thecovercollection.com
Other books by this author: STEALING POWER http://bit.ly/1k34UFQ
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
~Martin Luther King
Chapter 1
Tuesday 12th July.
Royal South Hants Hospital, Winchester.
Her trainers squeaked against the highly polished floor as she hurried along the corridor. The incessant squeak turned to a screech as she nimbly dodged a collision with the breakfast round trolley exiting a ward on her left. Under normal circumstances she would have been embarrassed by the noise, but not today. Today it was anxiety and haste reddening her cheeks.
Rounding the corner, the change in decor from stark clinical walls to a brightly painted underwater scene, did little to ease her anxiety. She pressed the intercom on the secure unit door and waited. A giant yellow cartoon octopus smiled down at her as she caught her breath.
A friendly face appeared at the glass panel and with a click and a buzz the door finally opened. “Can I help you?”
“I'm Lisa, Billy's mum,” she blurted. “Billy Lewis.”
The nurse's eyebrows bunched together forming deep furrows above the bridge of her nose.
“Oh no, it's serious isn't it,” Lisa cried as a tightness gripped her chest. Her face filled with panic, her eyes stung with tears. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Please. Please just tell me he's ok,” she pleaded.
“I'm sure he's fine,” the nurse said ushering her into a side room. “Take a seat. I'll be back in a moment.”
Lisa paced the small brightly coloured room. Her heart clenched at the sight of the plastic toys almost identical to the ones in the corner of her lounge. Of course, they were far too old for Billy to play with yet, but the gifts were well intentioned and gratefully received. It had been a long time since her flat had been littered with such paraphernalia.
Lisa chewed at her nails. The nurse seemed to have been gone for an eternity. She took a calming breath and reminded herself that new-borns were demanding enough when well. The hospital unit, full of sickly babies, would be incredibly busy first thing in the morning.
The doctor said he'd call if anything happened. Go home, get some rest, he'd said. She took her mobile from her hand bag and checked the missed calls registry for the hundredth time. Nothing. She hadn't been able to sleep last night, had lain atop her bedcovers staring at the phone in her hand, terrified it would ring. And now she found herself staring at it again. But this time she was here - at the time he'd told her to come - and he hadn't phoned, so Billy had to be okay.
“I'm Doctor Johnson. How can I help you, Miss Lewis?” a voice behind her said.
Startled, she turned to see the nurse now accompanied by the kindly doctor who she had been so grateful to last night. For the first time in almost twelve hours she allowed a hint of a relieved smile to grace her lips as she dropped the phone back into her bag.
“Oh, Dr Johnson, thank god,” she said gripping his hand with both of hers. “How is he?”
The doctor glanced at the nurse - who raised a shoulder and shook her head - before peering at Lisa intently. “How is who, Miss Lewis?”
“Billy,” she smiled uneasily. “How's my Billy?”
Dr Johnson frowned. “I'm sorry Miss Lewis, we don't have Billy here.”
“Where is he?” she said, the first signs of hysteria creeping into her voice. “Is he still in A&E?”
“Miss Lewis,” the Doctor said softly. “There is no record of a Billy Lewis being anywhere in this hospital.”
Lisa frowned and rubbed at her forehead. Her mouth worked hard to find the right words. “Then where did you take him?” she cried. “Last night you told me to come here. You said he'd be here!”
The nurse's eyes widened in astonishment. “Calm down and take a seat, dear,” she said patting her arm. “I'll fetch you a glass of water.”
“I don't want a glass of water,” she cried pushing the nurse away and grabbing at the doctor's white coat. “I want my son! What have you done with my son?”
The doctor set his jaw. “Miss Lewis, I haven't done anything with your son. I've never seen you before in my life.”
“You're not stealing my baby!” she screamed, pushing past him and into the main corridor of the baby unit. “I want my baby!”
“Nurse, call security,” Dr Johnson said grabbing at Lisa's shoulder in a vain attempt to drag her back into the waiting room where the situation could be contained.
Lisa didn't want to be contained. She wanted her son. And she wasn't leaving without him.
“Billy!” She ran frantically through the unit, evading the doctor's attempts to restrain her, screaming all the while at the top of her lungs for her baby boy.
The commotion set off a chain reaction as one by one the babies in the unit began to cry out. Her mothering instincts went to full scale alert. Wrenching door after door open, she subconsciously discarded each cry. In the din of a thousand babies she would home to her own. If Billy was there, she would find him.
The six burly security guards arrived all too soon.
She was tackled to the ground and pinned like a starfish - one on each limb, one on her back, and another pressing her face into the cold hard floor. She could barely breathe, yet still she strained and struggled against them. Her screams for her son spilled from her lips as drooling mumbles.
“The police are on their way,” one of the security guards called out as he ground her face harder into the floor, stemming her screams to mere guttural growls of fury.
“There's no need for the police,” the doctor said. “I've called the duty psychiatrist.”
“There's every need,” the nurse said. “Look what she's done.”
“Police,” Lisa grunted. He might not want them, but she did. They'd get her son back. She groaned as more pressure was applied to her back, squeezing the last of the air from her lungs. All she needed to do was stay calm and concentrate on her breathing. When the police arrived everything would be all right.
“That's a bit excessive boys,” a stern female voice called out. “Off. Now.”
Lisa felt the weight leave her body as one by one the security guards rose, until she could fill her lungs with air again. Breathing deeply she struggled to her knees and lifted her eyes to meet those of the female voice. The police officer extended her hand to help her up. As Lisa reached for it, she glanced at the doctor who had stolen her baby.
He was smiling sympathetically at her.
Invigorated with the fullness of air in her lungs, she sprang from a kneeling position to on him in a split second, screaming, “Where's my son,” over and over again.
This time only the two police officers grabbed at her, the security guards standing idly by until the officers shouted for assistance. Seconds later she found herself pinned to the cold hard floor once more, her cheek pressed into a growing pool of her own saliva, her hands cuffed behind her ba
ck.
“Doctor, you're bleeding,” the male police officer said. “You might want to get that looked at.”
“I'll be fine,” he said taking the sterile dressing from the nurse and pressing it to his face. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“You've been gouged pretty good,” the male officer persisted.
“Well, I'm sure he'll do okay for medical assistance,” the female officer said curtly, “after he's told us what’s going on.”
“Do you want to press charges, Doctor?” the male officer asked
“Goodness no,” he gasped. “The woman is mentally ill, she needs help.”
“She claimed Dr Johnson stole her baby,” the nurse snapped. The doctor didn't appear particularly pleased with her attempts at helping.
“Why would she do that?” the female officer asked. Exactly, Lisa thought and growled her agreement.
From her available left eye she watched the doctor shrug. “I have absolutely no idea,” he said.
“Have you ever seen her before?” the female officer pressed.
“No,” Dr Johnson said. “None of us have.”
Liar! Lisa struggled. The pressure on her back increased and she let out a stifled groan. She wanted her say, but with at least thirty stones of security on her back, squeezing the air from her lungs and squashing her face into the floor, she couldn't even move her lips let alone articulate her defence. Her chance to speak would come soon. Until then, she resigned herself to listening to every word exchanged between the doctor and the police as she seethed silently on the ground. And then she felt a sharp scratch in the crook of her left arm.
“What are you doing?” the female officer shouted coming towards her.
“Duty Psychiatrist,” a new voice said. “I've sedated her.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
Lisa Lewis's world went blank robbing her of the courtesy of his response to the female officer’s question.
Chapter 2
High Courts of Justice, London.
Felicity Firman walked with purpose along The Strand. The much younger man, with the much longer stride, clumsily juggled his arm full of folders and files in his quest to keep up.
The childlike thumb and forefinger of her right hand expertly worked the keypad of the Blackberry clasped tightly in its palm; the left hand firmly grasped her briefcase. To a woman of Felicity’s calibre, every minute of every day was precious, more so when the sun made a rare appearance. She intended coming home tonight to enjoy dinner on the terrace while the weather was fine.
Reaching the steps of the High Court, the unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile phone in her pocket began to ring. Momentarily she froze, only a handful of people had the number. She'd done everything required of her. There was no need for them to call. Especially not now. With a blasé flick of her hand she gestured her acquaintance to go on inside before pulling the phone from her pocket. ‘Mickey,’ flashed on the screen. She turned her back on the bustling street entrance and huddled to the grey stone wall before answering. “What's wrong?” she said dropping her briefcase at her feet.
“We need to move the girls,” he said.
“It's arranged for the weekend,” she whispered.
“You have to change it,” Mickey said. “We lost one. They’re getting restless.”
Felicity closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cold stone. “When to?”
“Tonight,” he said. “The boat leaves at 8.45.”
“It's too soon,” she hissed eyes darting over her shoulder as a crowd passed behind her. “We don't have transport.”
“He's already here,” Mickey said. “You need to add two more.”
Felicity frowned and bit her lip. “You said we lost one.”
“We did,” he said. “But we gained three. Stephen has emailed you their details. He's concerned, Flick. People are poking around.”
Felicity tapped her heel on the pavement. “I'll deal with it as soon as I get back. I'm in court all morning.”
“I know,” he said. “I like the new hairdo. Suits you.”
She smoothed the back of her shorter than usual crop, pursing her lips at the less than subtle humour in his voice. He was here. Watching her. Her eyes bored into the grey stonework of the High Court of Justice as she fought the urge to turn her head and look for him. Just hearing his voice made her nervous. She didn't need this today. Especially not here.
“I'll deal with it.” She abruptly ended the call and switched off the phone. Taking a deep breath she lifted her briefcase and entered the building. At the security check point she took the opportunity to toss the handset into her open briefcase, where it nestled comfortably against the well-worn yellowing wig she didn't need today either.
New Scotland Yard, London.
Detective Chief Inspector AJ Colt surveyed the conference room from his seat between Ali Hussein - the Met's Child Abuse Investigation Commander, and Colin Matthews - Chief Executive of CEOP, the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Centre.
In amongst the sea of hardened faces looking back at him were eighteen Child Abuse Investigation Teams covering the thirty two London Boroughs, and seventeen Detective Chief Inspectors from Paedophile Units across the UK. They weren’t here for a conference, and they weren’t here for a jolly. They were an army preparing for war.
This was their time. This was the end game of a four year investigation into an international online paedophile ring, and every one of the units assembled had targets on their patch.
Interpol, having arrested the sole operator of the enterprise and seizing the server in The Hague three months ago, had been covertly operating the website ever since. Now, they had identified every one of the site’s 75,000-strong membership.
Colin Matthews took the podium first. “Ladies and Gentleman, as you are aware our international colleagues in Operation Saviour have this week targeted six hundred and seventy suspected paedophiles in thirty countries. So far, one hundred and eighty four arrests have been made, and two hundred and thirty children have been taken out of danger.” Colin Matthews smiled. “And now it’s your turn.”
The room erupted into spontaneous applause.
“CEOP will take a backseat role now. We will be liaising with the other agencies involved, keeping them on standby and abreast of the situation as it unfolds. We will also be actively working on the prevention of leaks. The man charged with coordinating the UK operation needs no introduction,” he said turning to DCI Colt and shaking his hand as he took to the podium.
As applause turned to cheers, Colt frowned and raised his hands to quieten the crowd. Good as it was their time had finally come, there was nothing to celebrate. “Some of you will be facing a more difficult time than others ahead,” he said solemnly “None of the UK suspects were known to the authorities prior to Operation Saviour. The vast majority are in positions of trust, power, or highly regarded members of their communities, and most have their own children. Some are high profile.”
Colt took a moment to silently observe them, allowing the implications to sink in. Cases like this tore communities apart and divided opinion. These officers were used to being the good guys, which might not be the case by the end of the week.
“Intelligence tells us that more than one force has the unenviable task of bringing in one of our own,” Colt continued.
A DI from the Lincolnshire Child Abuse Team stood up in the second row. “I’m personally bringing ours in, Sir. It will be my pleasure.”
Colt nodded and waited for him to take his seat before continuing. “Of the one hundred and twenty UK targets, nineteen hold firearms licences. I’m not prepared to take any chances. Full tactical firearms teams will be deployed alongside each of you during a series of coordinated dawn raids. The CPS, medics, and care providers will also be in attendance. Some of these targets are believed to be manufacturers. Children could well be present. I want everything. There is no room for error.”
Commander Hussein appeared a
t his side and leant into the microphone. “This is a big money operation folks. You cannot afford to make mistakes.”
Colt raised his eyebrows, he didn’t give a shit what it cost in monetary terms, all he was concerned about was someone wriggling off the hook because they’d screwed up somewhere. A warrant with an ‘I’ not dotted, or a ‘T’ not crossed was all it took. A mistake like that could cost a child. No amount of money would cover that.
“Our colleagues in London also have to contend with parts of the city being on lockdown due to the South African Ambassador's visit,” Colt said. “The Home Office and Mayor's office have given assurances his schedule will not impact our work.”
“His wife isn't well at the moment, she didn’t attend our Home Office supper last night,” the Commander chipped in. “People were very disappointed. She’s a very stylish woman.”
Colt glared at him. “Let's hope she's still sick on Friday,” he said. “Hopefully, there’ll be less people bunging up the streets to get in the way of the firearms units.”
City Secondary School, Winchester.
“I'm surprised at you, Sasha!” Terri said stepping away from the blackboard and towards her star pupil in the front row of the class.
“I'm sorry, Miss Davies,” the eleven year old stammered. “I was just checking it.”
“Hand it over,” Terri said wearily, extending a hand to jeers and sniggers from the rest of the class.
“Please Miss Davies,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. “I'm waiting for my mum to call.”
Terri raised her eyebrows as the class erupted into laughter. She could write a book on the excuses she'd heard from pupils caught using mobile phones in the classroom. None of them had ever included the word mum. To mention the M word in front of your peers guaranteed a one way ticket to a school lifetime of ridicule and certain misery.
