by S J Grey
“Yeah. Let’s find it.” Caleb grabbed a length of metal from the floor and turned around, gazing at the walls to orient himself. “That side, I think.” He pointed at the empty shelves. The kinky shit was scattered over the floor. “Behind those.”
They tore down the shelves, using makeshift tools to prise the metal racks from the wall. A wall that was now cracked from top to bottom.
Miller bent over, as if catching his breath, but with his phone light illuminating the wall.
Caleb examined it. He ran his hands across the surface, feeling the depth of the crack. “The plaster feels uneven,” he said. “Let’s smash through it.”
His adrenaline level was high. The need to get out burned in him. He had to find Emma. He smacked at the plaster with the heaviest bar he could find. Miller doing the same at his side.
Every blow rattled through Caleb’s aching body. He picked up a rhythm. The drumbeat in his brain chanting her name. Emma. Emma.
No way was he going to explain to Sandra and Geoff that Emma died because of him. They were like adopted parents to him. She was like another sister.
Emma. Emma.
He lost one sister. He wasn’t losing her as well.
Emma. Emma.
“Stop,” said Miller on a gasp. “We’re through.”
They stripped away the plaster. It had been applied straight over raw brickwork, and Caleb’s hopes rose. Was this the same wall he stood beside a few hours earlier? It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Here goes,” said Miller. He launched an attack on the bricks. Three, four blows, and then he paused, one hand on his side. “Your turn.”
Caleb beat the shit out of the brickwork, and on the fifth blow, when his shoulders were screaming with pain, he pitched forwards. One of the bricks had fallen through to the other side.
“Fuck yeah.” With renewed energy, he smashed the surrounding bricks. Miller joined him. The hole grew. It was jagged and haphazard, and there was a risk the entire wall could come tumbling down, but it was a way out. Maybe. They’d no idea how bad the damage was on the other side.
Miller sank to the floor, head in his hands. His breathing was laboured. “Text your people,” he rasped. “Ask them if it’s safe to go through.”
Caleb sat too, uncaring of the ankle-deep dirt. He still had one bar of signal. He messaged Nat.
Caleb: We hav a hole into t bsemnt of t grk. Is it safe?
He sent another to Emma while he was there.
Caleb: RU ok? Pls txt
Nat pinged right back.
Nat: One moment. I’ll check.
It was a long freaking moment. Long enough for Caleb to check on Andi. Griff was drifting in and out of consciousness. The three girls huddled together, naked and filthy. One of the dead girls wore Caleb’s jacket, while another wore Griff’s. It felt wrong on so many levels, to take the clothing back for the living girls. Caleb never wanted to touch that jacket again.
He hunkered down near the survivors and averted his gaze. “We’re getting out of here soon. We’re going to be rescued. Everything is going to be alright.”
Andi’s phone light was dim, but she had Griff’s phone ready to use when her battery gave out.
“Are we really getting out soon?” she asked, her voice low. “Griff needs help.”
As though he heard her question, Nat sent a new text.
Nat: Rescue team en route to restaurant basement. ETA 10 mins. Stay where you are until they declare it safe.
It was nearly over.
They grouped together, keeping one phone torch lit between them, in case the ten minutes turned into twenty or longer.
Caleb replied to Nat to confirm, and sent another message.
Caleb: Is Em ok?
Again, Nat was slow to reply.
Nat: Not sure yet. Checking now.
Caleb’s phone battery was low, and he was the only one who had any kind of signal, so texting had to be brief. It suited him. He shook from a combination of exhaustion and receding adrenaline, and typing more than the bare minimum wasn’t gonna happen.
Caleb: we nd blnkets 4 grls, n medic 4 Grf
It was the longest ten minutes of his life. Right on cue, Nat messaged.
Nat: Rescue team almost in the basement. Will shout when they get there.
There was a banging noise, and then a man’s voice. “Hello? Are you down here?”
Miller and Caleb shouted back, and then stumbled over the floor to the hole they made in the wall. Torchlights flashed on the other side, and Caleb saw a flash of a bright-yellow jacket.
“Griff first,” he said to Miller.
The cop nodded. “Over here,” he called. “We need a paramedic and blankets. Possible spinal injury.”
Several people wearing hi-vis jackets scrambled through what was left of the wall, and Miller led them to where Griff lay. Soon, Griff was on a stretcher and being taken with great care away from the ruined dungeon. Andi went with him.
The girls were given blankets and carried out, one by one, rather than having to walk over the rubble in bare feet.
Caleb and Miller were last to leave. The emergency services were insistent that they get out sooner rather than later, and Caleb was happy with that idea. If there was even the slightest chance of the ceiling coming down, he wanted to be well away. Preferably at street level.
The restaurant basement was damaged. Like a mirror image of the dungeon, the shelves lay across the floor, and the roof was crumbling, concrete chunks falling down around them. The staircase was almost gone, but there was a series of ropes and pulleys to help them out, with strips of emergency lighting to guide the way. The corridor on the next level was in better shape, but those stairs were also wrecked. Caleb hauled himself up on ropes.
Hope beat with his pulse now. Maybe Emma’s phone was lost, and that was why she didn’t reply.
He forced himself to focus on positives. Emma would be fine. Her friends, too. And Jonathan, wherever he was.
The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Caleb emerged into a wasteland. From what he could see, the centre of the restaurant suffered the worst. It had slumped, the roof coming down and walls collapsing. Broken glass sparkled across the pavements—and there was a hole in the middle of the street. That’d be right above the tunnel. Sirens wailed, and strobes flashed. Floodlights bathed the area, and people clustered together in little groups. At first glance, they were all white-haired, but that was the dust from the building.
Emma had been sitting near the window. That side of the building was gone. Crumbled.
If Caleb believed in God, he’d be praying. Offering anything he had, to keep his friend safe.
He grabbed the nearest paramedic. “My friend was in there. Emma Blackthorne. Is she on the casualty list?”
“Sorry,” said the guy, “but I don’t have the list. Try the triage point on the other side of the street.”
A hand on his arm made him stop and spin around. It wasn’t Emma.
It was DS Miller. “You need to come with me.”
Caleb shook himself free. “You’re fucking kidding me. I had nothing to do with this. I helped you get in there.”
Miller shook his head. “Don’t be an ass. You need to—”
“I need to find Emma. She was having dinner in there. Next to the window.”
“Emma Blackthorne?”
Caleb nodded. “I told her to stay there.” The words hurt to say.
“I can see if there’s news. Come with me.” Miller grabbed the first uniformed cop they came across. “Check the casualty lists for Emma Blackthorne.” He turned to Caleb. “Was she with Mark?”
“No. With her friends. Uh… Kelly and someone.”
The uniformed officer spoke into his radio, angling himself away from Miller and Caleb. That looked ominous.
Caleb let out a shuddering sigh. “Let me find out what happened to her, and then I’ll go wherever you need. Okay?”
�
��I was trying to get you to see a paramedic. Your leg needs attention.” Miller shoved his hands in his pockets and winced.
“Sure you don’t need to see one?”
“Sir,” interrupted the constable. “Emma Blackthorne isn’t on any of our lists so far.”
Caleb let the words sink in. They hadn’t seen her; it was that simple. She wouldn’t have walked away, knowing Caleb was here somewhere. Jesus. She must still be in there.
“I have to find her,” he said. He lurched as fast as he could toward the cordon around the remains of the building.
“You can’t go in there,” someone shouted, but Caleb ignored them. His leg felt as though the flesh had been seared off it. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but pain was good. Pain meant he was alive. Alive meant he had a chance to find Emma.
“He’s with me,” snapped a voice at his side. Miller.
They dodged around a strip of tape, and like before, Caleb tried to orient himself. She sat at the window facing onto the street and the visa office.
“Where do we look?” Miller asked.
“Right here.” The ground had dropped away, easily two metres lower than before. The restaurant walls were constructed of weatherboard—long planks of treated wood, the style in this part of town. They’d folded inwards like a house of cards, and the long roof spars hung at a crazy angle. Glass crunched underfoot.
Caleb dropped to his knees, and hissed with pain when his shin made contact with the glass. It was necessary, though. It meant he could peer over the edge into the crater.
He couldn’t make anything out in the darkness below. “Emma,” he shouted. “Emma.” There was too much noise. She’d never hear him.
“Give me some light over here,” Miller yelled. Moments later, floodlights were angled into the hole.
Something moved below them. Fluttered in the breeze.
It wasn’t windy.
Caleb peered through the haze of dust, so thick in parts that it could have been sea fog. He was seeing things. Flowers, dancing in a non-existent breeze.
Not flowers.
A garland.
The lei he gave Emma.
Hope surged. “There.” He pointed. “See the flowers? They’re hers.”
Miller flashed him a smile. “Nice work, Rush.” He twisted around and shouted instructions. Lights. Ropes. Paramedics. There were more survivors.
“I want to get down there,” said Caleb as soon as there was a rope available, but Miller stopped him.
“Her best chance is with a trained rescuer. Let the experts do their jobs.”
The next minutes crawled by. Caleb’s heart was lodged in his throat the entire time, until he saw her being carried up by a fireman, the flower garland clutched in her hand. She was alive.
“Hey, Ginger,” he said. “Nice flowers. Disappointed you didn’t reply to my text, though.”
“Caleb.” She hurled herself into his arms. “I was so scared for you. Are you okay?”
“You were scared for me? I was fuckin’ petrified for you. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Honest.” She wriggled free and peered closely at him. “We thought it was an earthquake and took cover under the table, but then the ground dropped away, and we kinda surfed down. It was scary, but we’re all fine. Just stuck under a pile of tables. And I’ve no idea where my phone is. Mark is going to be cross. It’s a new one.”
Caleb didn’t plan to sit down, but his ass hit the ground with a thud that jolted through his body. He’d never felt so exhausted in his entire life. He smiled up at Emma. “Gimme a hand to get up?”
“You need more than a hand,” she said. “Let me find a paramedic for you.”
Before Caleb would climb into the ambulance, he needed to know his team were okay. Miller helped him to track them down. They were all safe—including Jonathan, who was on the top floor of the visa office when the explosives blew. Finally, Caleb let the paramedics take him to the hospital, with Emma following.
*
Caleb lay on a bed, wearing just his boxers and a blanket, while he waited to hear if he had to stay in for the rest of the night. His right leg was stitched and bandaged, and as well as a likely concussion, he had two broken ribs. He’d felt better, but he itched to go home. The idea of staying until morning didn’t sit well with him.
When Jonathan walked in, he looked exhausted, with scruff on his jaw and his jeans covered with concrete dust. “You did bloody well, tonight,” he told Caleb. There was a hint of a smile. “Told you DS Miller was one of the good guys.”
“He helped me find Emma,” said Caleb. “He’s not as much of a pain in the ass as I thought.”
“Funny, that,” said Jonathan, a definite smile in place. “That’s what he said.”
“Ha ha.”
Jonathan’s smile faltered. “There’s bad news, though. Kaali wasn’t down there. We’ve no idea where she is.”
“Shit. How many girls were there?” The image of the dead girls was burned on his retinas. It would haunt him the minute he tried to sleep.
“Three survivors, and they retrieved eleven bodies.”
“Shit,” Caleb repeated. “What about the bastards who did this? Do you have any of them?”
“Not yet, but we’ve got some excellent leads. At the top of the building was a kind of waiting room, where the clients could have a drink and snort some coke until their favourite girl was ready. And watch while other girls were being used. They filmed everything. We’ve got footage of a lot of clients.” Jonathan’s face was grim. “We’ll get the names, believe me.”
“And they might tell you what happened to Kaali?”
“We can hope.”
Caleb rearranged the blanket and shifted position on the bed. Nope. Still as uncomfortable, even after a dose of painkillers. “How’s Griff?” he asked.
“It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Severe crush injuries and a bleed into the brain. He’s been put into a medically induced coma.”
Caleb flinched. “How’s Andi coping?”
Jonathan shrugged. “As well as you’d expect? His family is with her. She’s not alone.” He yawned behind his hand. “I need to get some sleep. Anything I can get you before I go?”
Was there? “Yeah. A phone charger, please. Or a replacement. Mine’s kinda fucked.”
“No worries. I’ll get someone onto that. Are you leaving anytime soon?”
“I want to. I don’t like leaving Min on her own. Will you make sure Emma gets home safely?”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll make sure you get a ride when you get the all clear. I hope you’re okay for Monday. It’s the official start of the red team exercise.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. See ya.”
Emma fussed over him a little longer, but then Jonathan swept her away and Caleb settled back against his pillows. He’d have a nap, and maybe he’d feel better when he awoke. There might be a glimmer of good news if he was lucky.
He closed his eyes, the painkiller finally taking effect. It dulled the sharp edge of his aches and pains enough to let him rest.
He could sleep. There was nothing else he could do.
Saturday 6 April
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Caleb drifted awake to daylight filtering through the window and the noise of people around him. A creaking trolley in the distance. Where was he?
Oh yeah. In the hospital. That’s why he ached all over and then some. He stretched out one hand, to pick up his phone, and stared at the cracked screen. The digits danced and blurred before him, but when he squinted, they became readable. Just. It was a little after seven in the morning. They’d let him go home soon, wouldn’t they?
The image of the dead girls burst into his brain, along with the memory of Griff protecting Andi.
Caleb’s mouth was dry, and he could still taste dust. A glass of water was close at hand, and he downed it, grateful for the brief respite from the sandpaper sensation in his throat.
He asked the first nurs
e that came by how soon he could leave. When the doctor did his rounds. That worked.
While he waited, he called Jonathan.
“Let me guess,” Jonathan greeted him. “You want a ride home?”
“Any chance of it?”
“I’ll send someone within the hour. They’ll bring you a new phone, too.”
“Thanks, dude.”
It was too early to call Emma, so he sent her a text.
Caleb: Hope you’re ok today. I’m going home soon, and I’ll call you later.
Half an hour later, he perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in yesterday’s filthy clothes and waiting for his driver. He was sore and grumpy, and longed for a shower and a clean shirt, but dirty clothes were preferable to a hospital gown. He was relieved when Will knocked on the door.
“Hey. You ready to get out of here?” Will asked. He didn’t look as though he’d slept much.
“Too right. Thanks, mate.” Caleb winced when he stood, but was determined to walk out unassisted.
“Here’s your new phone.” Will handed him a box when they got in the car. “It’s charged and got our usual apps loaded.”
“Cheers.” Caleb held onto a yawn. He’d only walked a short distance to the exit, but he was exhausted. Must be the painkillers they pumped into him.
“I’ve got an update from Jonathan, as well. Erich Morgen refuses to say anything, but we dug up some of his history. He’s ex-special-forces, and his records are so highly classified, we can’t get into them. The only detail we found was a mention of him in a report. Something about a raid on Do Ab in the Bamiyan province. He was an expert with C4.”
Caleb’s head was spinning. “Hang on. C4? That’s an explosive, right? I’ve no idea where Do Ab is.”
“Afghanistan.”
“Right.” Caleb put the pieces together. “Is there any chance he’s linked to the plastic explosive in the tunnel?”
“That’s the direction we’re taking with him now. Jonathan’s back in there with Mitch.”
Caleb was glad Will didn’t need any further conversation, and even more glad when he arrived home to a rapturous welcome from Minerva. He gave her fresh food and water, and hit the shower before he crashed.
