by Frank Smith
The older woman smiled and shook her head as she might with a child who had not yet managed to grasp a simple lesson. ‘Oh, Trisiana,’ she said softly, ‘you have so very much to learn. You’ll fetch a very good price, my girl; a very good price indeed.’
Twenty-Eight
It had seemed like overkill to Paget when he realized how many people were involved in the operation to take Kellerman down, but as Trowbridge explained, traffickers who wouldn’t hesitate to throw their human cargo overboard if they were in danger of being caught by a police patrol boat while at sea, would not go down without a fight.
‘Some padlock chains around the hands and feet of their victims as a precaution as soon as they board,’ he said. ‘Most of them make it, of course – the smugglers have very fast boats and the police can’t be everywhere – but like the slavers of old, they’ll dump their cargo rather than be caught with them. Which is why we have someone like Mike Bell leading the tactical squad,’ he continued, ‘and why we are stuck here until we get the signal from him that everything is secure.’
If Mike Bell had had his way, and if these were his men, he would have simply killed the flankers and guards. Slit their throats, garrotted them, broken their necks or clubbed them down instead of just putting them out of action temporarily. But his superiors in London had made it very clear to him that this was a police operation, and no one – no one, it was emphasized – was to be killed or even seriously maimed unless there was no other choice. The men assigned to him were just as highly trained, but he had to remember that they were policemen, subject to somewhat different rules to the ones he was used to working under.
But they were good and they had done their job well so far. Both ends of the cross-country road had been blocked off; the flankers had been taken out without a sound, and now they were closing in on the farmhouse.
The team on the far side of the valley behind the farm had been ordered to come down and take up positions in the valley bottom, but to keep well away from the barn itself until given the order to move in.
Clad in Kevlar vests, Bell and his team moved like wraiths up the hillside, thankful for the cloud obscuring the moon. They paused, crouching while Bell scanned the ground between them and the house before declaring it clear and moving forward. When they reached the house, two men took up positions beside the front door, and two broke away, one to the left to circle the house from that side, the other circling wide to the right. Bell and one other man moved silently up the narrow lane beside the house, almost exactly as Mark Newman had done almost a month earlier.
They heard voices. Muffled conversation; the scrape of a boot on cobblestones. Bell poked his head around the corner. He could just make out the shapes of two men standing beside Roper’s old truck no more than six or seven paces away from the corner. One of them was smoking and moving his feet as if he were cold. His cigarette glowed as he sucked on it, and Bell caught a glimpse of something bulky in the man’s left hand. Portable phone? Two-way radio? Impossible to tell, but there was no sign of a weapon.
But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one within easy reach.
Bell withdrew and signalled his companion to do the same.
Safely out of earshot, Bell switched on his headphone mike and whispered instructions to the men circling in from right and left, then moved up to the corner of the house once again.
The two men were still talking in a desultory fashion.
Bell whispered an instruction, then tapped the right hand of the man beside him. The man took a padded glove from his pocket and put it on. Bell did the same, but before putting his glove on, he took a couple of coins from his pocket.
The smoker took one last drag at his cigarette, and as he dropped the butt at his feet to grind it into the cobblestones, Bell tossed the coins, then slipped on the glove.
The coins landed just beyond the two men, a soft clatter on the stones, one of them rolling. ‘Mine!’ said one of the men swiftly as he switched on a torch and bent to search for the coins.
Bell and his colleague stripped the protective covering from the palm of the glove as they came up behind the two men. Bell snaked his left arm around the man’s throat and jerked him upright, then clamped his gloved hand over the man’s face. The man arched his back, tried to fill his lungs and found himself sucking raw anaesthetic from the soft, sponge-like pad covering his face. His knees buckled. Bell held him for a couple of seconds longer before lowering him to the ground, while his colleague did the same to the second man. Right on cue, the two men who had circled the house materialized to kneel and slap tape across the unconscious men’s mouths and wrap it around their heads. They secured their arms and legs, then dragged them to one of the barns and heaved them inside before taking up positions on either side of the back door. No one spoke. There was no need; they knew what to do next.
One man reached for the old-fashioned latch on the door and pressed down. The door swung inward to his touch, and the two men disappeared inside. Bell spoke quietly into the mike and received an acknowledgement from the man he had posted outside the front door, then followed his men inside.
They went through every room, but the house was empty. And that, thought Bell, was odd. Very odd, because his watchers had not seen Roper and his wife leave. Which meant that either they had managed to slip out unnoticed – and someone would hear about it if they had – or they were down in the barn with the rest of the crew.
But that idea didn’t sit well with Bell. He couldn’t see Kellerman allowing the farmer and his wife to see what their barn was really being used for, so where were they?
The question troubled Bell, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. The good news was that he and his team had managed to get this far without alerting anyone, so the sooner they got themselves down to where the action was, the better.
Back in the makeshift control room in the caravan, the man at the desk took off his headset and logged off his computer. ‘All clear at the farmhouse, sir,’ he told Trowbridge, ‘and they are on their way down to the barn. Mr Bell says he wants the transport and the medics and interpreters up as far as the house as quickly as possible, and they’re to stand by for further orders. And you and Chief Inspector Paget can go up there as well if you wish.’
‘Can we, now?’ Trowbridge growled. ‘Big of him, I must say. Very well, then,’ he told the operator, ‘pass that message on and get everyone up there on the double.’
He turned to Paget and shook his head. ‘Being a superintendent doesn’t seem to have the clout it used to,’ he observed with an air of resignation. ‘It’s a whole new game these days, Neil, and I’m not at all sure I’m cut out for it. There was a time when a superintendent would be right in the thick of it when there was a raid on, but now you find yourself being politely – and sometimes not so politely – pushed off to one side as soon as the action starts. And I must say I resent it.
‘On the other hand,’ he continued with a self-deprecating grimace, ‘I’m not sure I could keep up with some of these youngsters and the way they go about things these days.
‘But my blethering on about it isn’t helping, is it?’ He sighed heavily as he got to his feet. ‘So let’s go. We can cut across country in the Range Rover, and still keep in contact on the mobile.’
Down now in the valley bottom, Mike Bell sent two men forward to scout the area before attempting to move through the trees to converge on the barn. The night was still, and the slightest sound carried a long way on the cold night air. If they had guards posted, one snapped twig underfoot would be enough to alert them.
A shadow moved in close to Bell. ‘The white van is parked at the side of the barn, and the two SUVs are out in front, facing the big double doors,’ the man said quietly. ‘I reckon they must feel pretty secure down here, because the only people we could find are two blokes nattering away like old women in one of the SUVs. They’re sitting in there with the engine running. Probably got a heater in there and they’re trying to keep warm. As long
as we stay clear of the side mirrors, we can have them out of there before they know what’s hit them.
‘There’s a small door next to the big double doors,’ he continued, ‘and another small one round the back. The one at the back is being covered by men from Unit Two. They’re all down from the top of the hill now.’
‘Were you able to see inside?’
Bell felt rather than saw the man shake his head. ‘No, sir. The windows have been covered, and the only light I can see is a faint glow coming from under the eaves. But I could hear voices. Couldn’t tell what they were saying, but there is definitely something going on in there.’
‘Right, then let’s get on with it,’ Bell said crisply, and gave the order to move forward. ‘But wait for my orders before leaving the shelter of the trees,’ he cautioned.
‘Look, George, we’ll be here till bloody Wednesday if we keep on at this rate,’ Jimmy Cragg complained. ‘We’ve had a bit of a chat, and we want you to bring ’em on in job lots of five at a time. Except for the kids, of course. We’ll have them in last like you said. All right?’
This wasn’t going at all the way Kellerman had planned. He’d envisioned a festive affair; loosen them up a bit with drink, get them in an expansive mood, but these northerners were a hard-nosed bunch, and all they were interested in was getting down to business.
But if that was the way they wanted it, so be it. Business was business, but if they thought they were going to get the merchandise any cheaper by bidding on groups of five, they had another think coming.
They crouched at the edge of the trees. Bell’s eyes were now so accustomed to the darkness that he could see the silhouette of the SUVs quite clearly on the hard standing in front of the barn doors.
‘The men are in the nearest one,’ the man beside him whispered.
‘You take the passenger and I’ll take the driver,’ Bell told him. ‘Stand by,’ he said, speaking into the mike, ‘and be prepared to move in on my signal.’ He switched off the mike. ‘Ready?’ he asked the man beside him. ‘Then let’s go!’
The two men crossed the open space in seconds, crouching low behind the SUV. Vapour curled from the exhaust pipe, and Bell choked back the urge to cough. He touched his companion on the shoulder and whispered, ‘Go!’
They slid around opposite sides of the van, grabbed the handles of the doors and flung them open. The man in the passenger’s seat drew in his breath to shout, but the hand that gripped his throat made that impossible, and the next thing he knew he was flat on the ground, and a soft pad was covering his nose and mouth.
But when Bell attempted to do the same on the driver’s side, the man jerked his head back and lashed out. Bell caught his arm and pulled. The man should have come flying out of his seat, but he barely moved – held in place by his seatbelt!
The man opened his mouth to shout, but choked it back when he felt the barrel of a gun jammed beneath his chin.
‘Slowly, very slowly,’ whispered Bell. ‘Undo the belt.’
The man fumbled with the release. The belt across his chest went slack. ‘Gently does it,’ Bell advised. ‘Now, hands on your head and get out slowly.’ He backed away, gun levelled at the man’s head. The man eased himself around in his seat, slid one foot out, reaching for the ground, then brought his elbow down hard on the centre of the steering wheel, and the quiet of the night was shattered by the blaring horn.
Bell drove a knee into his gut as the man’s feet hit the ground, then brought the butt of the gun down hard on his head. The man slumped to the ground as Bell’s colleague raced around from the other side of the vehicle to kneel on the man to make sure he was immobilized.
Bell leapt into the driver’s seat, flicked on his mike and shouted, ‘Ground lights on! Go! Everyone, go now!’ He slammed the vehicle into gear and gunned the engine. Portable floodlights lit up the barn. Rubber screamed as tyres bit into the hard standing and the SUV leapt forward to smash into the barn’s double doors. The doors sagged but held. Bell slammed the gearshift into reverse, backed away then shot forward to ram the doors again.
The engine stalled and died, but the doors were open and Bell was out and running, yelling, ‘Police! Stay where you are!’ as the rest of the team poured inside.
A group of naked women in the middle of a stage stood transfixed at the sight of armed and helmeted police charging toward them. One of them screamed, and suddenly they broke and ran, elbowing each other out of the way in a mad scramble to escape through a door at the far end of the room.
A man and a woman ran with them, shoving the girls ahead of them before slamming the door behind them.
A small group of men and women, fully clothed, fell back against the wall and raised their hands as the police rushed toward them.
‘Don’t shoot!’ shouted one of the men. ‘For Christ’s sake don’t shoot! We’re not armed.’ He was shaking with fear as he and his friends were surrounded.
Bell, together with half a dozen of his men, raced to the far end of the room. The door was locked. Bell spoke into the mike. ‘Lights on the back door,’ he ordered. ‘And remember, I want Kellerman alive.’
Outside, three small but powerful lights converged on the back door of the barn. It started to open, then slammed shut.
Inside the barn, Bell stood to one side to avoid being shot through the door as he reached out to pound on it with his fist.
‘Police!’ he roared, then, for the benefit of the women inside, he added, ‘No one will be harmed if you come out quietly. Open the door!’
He spoke into the mike again. ‘Get the medics and interpreters down here fast,’ he ordered.
He banged on the door again, then held up his hand for silence as he pressed an ear to the wall. Someone inside was shouting orders; probably Kellerman, but another sound was rising to drown him out, an eerie, keening wail rising to a screaming howl that sent chills down the spines of those outside the door.
At Bell’s signal, one man stood back, automatic pistol at the ready, while Bell and a second man threw their combined weight at the door. The jamb splintered; the door gave way and they stumbled through. Others followed, but stopped dead to stare in amazement at the struggling mass of flesh in the middle of the room. More screaming women had three men backed up against the wall, tearing at them with their bare hands. The biggest of the three suddenly went down to be trampled underfoot. An older man was sinking to his knees. His eyes were closed and blood streamed down his face as he, too, went down.
But the third man, a smaller, dark-skinned man, was crouching low, slashing at the air in front of him with a long, thin-bladed knife, daring the screaming women to come closer.
The noise was deafening, inhuman. Bell roared an order, but he might as well have saved his breath. He fired three shots in rapid succession into the wall above the head of the man wielding the knife.
The noise stopped so abruptly that the silence was almost deafening by contrast. The women at the side of the room remained frozen in position as if fearing they would be shot if they moved, while the mass of women in the middle of the room began to untangle themselves and struggle to their feet.
‘Drop it, Luka!’ Bell ordered harshly, ‘or the next one will be for you. I won’t kill you, but I guarantee you’ll never walk again. Your choice.’ He raised the gun.
Luka shrugged and dropped the knife. Two men pushed their way through the mob to handcuff him and, on Bell’s instruction, bundle him out of the room.
‘Away from the wall, please, ladies,’ Bell said in as normal a voice as he could muster. ‘Those of you who speak English, please translate for the others as best you can. You will not be harmed. I repeat, we are here to help you; you will not be harmed.’
Muttered words in several languages were passed on. Slowly, reluctantly, they moved aside to let him through. He went down on one knee to check the pulse of the big man who lay face down. He shook his head and turned his attention to the older man who was curled up in a foetal position and sobbing quietly.
Bell hauled him to his feet. One of the man’s eyes was completely closed, and his nose appeared to be broken. Blood oozed from the scratches on his face, and on his chest where his shirt had been stripped away, but no limbs appeared to be broken and he seemed to be otherwise unhurt. He, too, was handcuffed and led away.
Bell eyed the cluster of women in the middle of the room. There must have been thirty or forty of them huddled together between two of the benches. Most of them avoided his eyes, but a few met his gaze defiantly.
‘Please move back,’ he said, making a pushing motion with his hands as he walked toward them.
Slowly, grudgingly, they moved back.
‘Holy shit!’ breathed one of the men behind Bell.
Kellerman, or the thing that had once been Kellerman, lay stretched out on the floor. Part of his face was gone, literally ripped to shreds by clawing hands and nails. His clothes were in tatters and soaked in blood. Beneath him lay a woman, grey hair spattered with blood. He couldn’t see her face. Which was, perhaps, just as well, because it had been smashed into the floor so hard that her teeth were spread across the floor in front of her.
And off to one side, half hidden beneath one of the benches, lay another man, battered and bloodied, eyes wide open, staring. A cattle prod lay beside him.
Bell looked around the room, and for the first time saw the children. There must have been a dozen of them; some no more than seven or eight, boys and girls. They were being held tightly by women who glared back at him defiantly as if daring him to touch their young charges.
Women with blood on their hands, on their arms, on their faces. He should have felt revulsion, but all he could feel was pity for these poor souls who had endured unknown horrors since falling into the hands of Kellerman and his cohorts.
‘Close the door and make sure no one comes in,’ he said quietly to one of the men, then raised his voice to ask, ‘How many of you speak English? I repeat, we are not here to harm you but to get you out of here, and I want to speak to someone who understands English and can translate for me.’
