The People Traders (4 page)

"Next time, I don't want to wait for an answer, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied without hesitation.

"Let her go, Garrett," he shouted, and then glared down at her. "I want you in that dinghy, crouched down in the bow now."

She did as he'd asked, climbing quickly into the dinghy. "May I have the blanket back, I'm so cold?" she uttered bravely.

He shrugged indifferently, ignoring her plea, and climbed in after her. Too frightened to ask again, she winced as the salt water washing about in the dinghy caught the sore areas on her bottom from Assam's belt.

Time seemed to pass very slowly; her body was shaking uncontrollably, her head spinning. Resigned to the fact that escape was futile, the effort of the swim, the punishment, and now the cold, was taking its toll. Even as strong and fit as she was, Karen sank slowly into unconsciousness.

Garrett looked at her closely. "This girl's very cold, Assam, I'd better put her straight into a shower when we're aboard. Then just for tonight, stick her in the empty cabin on the lower deck, rather than leave her in the hold."

Assam looked at her for a moment then nodded his agreement. They had by now arrived by the side of the ship and Garrett leaned over, grabbing a cable which he attached to the bow. Assam grabbed the second and attached it to the stern, then after shouting to someone on deck, the dinghy quickly rose and was swung into its holders. Garrett leaned across to her, splashing cold water from the bottom of the dinghy onto her face, shouting at her to wake up.

She opened her eyes, at first not knowing where she was, only that she felt cold, before the memory of her ordeal came flooding back. Garrett gave her no time to think; as soon as she seemed awake he grasped her hand and half dragged her off the dinghy and onto the deck. Then he pushed her through a door, down two flights of stairs and along a corridor, before stopping outside a closed door. He opened it and leaned inside. Turning the taps, he waited until the water ran hot and stepped aside. "Clothes off and inside under the shower. Stay until I return."

She went and did as he asked, pulling the door shut. She'd found a small piece of soap on the shower floor and soaped herself under the hot water, finally beginning to feel warm again.

Garrett came in and stood watching her. She cowered back in the corner of the shower cubicle, embarrassed at him seeing her naked. "That's enough, kid, take this towel and dry yourself."

Although embarrassed with him watching her, she did as he asked, and when dry, wrapped the towel round her body.

"Follow me," he demanded.

At the end of the corridor they entered a cabin furnished with a bunk bed, a chair and a small table with a cupboard below.

"If you're hungry, there's a hot drink and sandwiches. I'll keep your clothes, they need drying. When you've finished, get to bed. Tomorrow you'll be given work around the ship. Talk to anyone and you'll feel the strap later. Believe me, you don't want to take that route."

"Thank you for the food," she replied, still very aware of the risk if she didn't answer quickly enough.

"Let me see your bottom." he asked, at the same time turning her round and pulling the towel up. Karen stood there, afraid to move or object. However, he only looked then let go of the towel before reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a jar. "You're lucky; Assam's belt's not cut the skin, but it's obviously sore, so use this cream, it'll help ease the pain."

She took the jar, at the same time thanking him again.

He grinned. "I'm not a hard man, Karen, play fair with me and we should get on. You're in here for tonight and then it's the hold for you. We have other guests and they are more valuable, but the hold can be chilly so I'll find you an extra blanket if you're no trouble."

Feeling that the barrier between them had softened, Karen took the opportunity to ask questions. "Can you tell me where I'm going?"

Garrett was stood at the door looking at her. "To hell kid… To hell."

A lump came to her throat, tears forming in her eyes. "Why, what have I done?" she whispered.

There was an uneasy silence as if Garrett was choosing his reply carefully. "Nothing that I know of," he began, "but Whittle paid a lot of money for us to deliver you to a people trader. This trader will offer you at auction. You'll go to the highest bidder. That could be a brothel, or perhaps to some man who's after a young girl. Either way, kid, life as you've known it is finished. Perhaps if you're lucky you'll last a year or two, after that," he shrugged indifferently, "who knows?"

She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "Don't you have a family, a daughter? Could you really send me into a life like you describe? You've been paid. I'm positive my daddy would double anything you'd expect to get from this trader. You've only got to call him."

He smiled softly. "Don't try that route, kid, I've heard it all before. Besides, when push comes to shove, parents get police involved and rarely pay. We've a reputation to uphold; ten years on this ship and we've moved all sorts of cargo across the world. You're cargo for us and that's all. I don't want to know the reason why Whittle hates you so much. Perhaps you threw over his son for some other lad? Killed his dog or goldfish? It's of no interest to me. But he's paid for you to be delivered and delivered you'll be. So I'd forget about trying to play on my feelings, I'm not interested. Mind you while we're on that subject, try talking this way to any member of the crew and believe me you will go to a brothel. But it'll be a brothel that couldn't care less what you looked like; the client can always turn you over. I tell you this for your own good. Assam's a past master at cutting pretty faces into grotesque ones."

Watching him as he talked, she realised nothing she said would dissuade him from their own plans for her, so she averted her eyes away from him, staring down at the floor.

"Food, sleep, in that order," then he was gone.

Karen sat for some time, chewing at the huge sandwich filled with cheese, in-between sipping the strong coffee. Resigned to the fact that no white knight was coming to her rescue, she sat there defiant. She'd no intention of being sold, no intention of living the life this Frank seemed to have sent her to. She needed to study the lie of the land, form a plan and keep as fit as she could. She'd skills like swimming, self-defence and had done lots of weekends with her dad in mock combat exercises using paint guns. If she chose her time well, she could possibly escape and use these skills. Before climbing into bed she knelt down, clasping her hands, praying silently.

Frank had stood at the top of the path, watching the ship move slowly into the blackness. At last it was all over. At last his wife and daughter were avenged. He turned and climbed into the car, removing a telephone from the glove box. Dialling a number, he waited until someone answered.

CHAPTER 3

When Karen's father arrived home, three police cars were already outside the house. He ran in to see his wife and older daughter sitting quietly on the settee. Both were crying, but his wife on seeing him, stood quickly and threw her arms round his neck.

"What is it, love?" he asked gently.

She could say nothing, just sobbed her heart out on his shoulder. A policeman, who seemed in charge, asked a policewoman to look after her, before explaining what had happened.

He frowned. "You say she was abducted, but why? We've not enough money to pay a ransom; I work in the city as a banking adviser, so what reason would anybody have?"

The policeman pulled a cigarette out, offering one to Karen's father, who declined.

"Mr. Marshall, at this point we believe it's a case of mistaken identity. In the school there's another Karen; she's one year younger and is the daughter of a diplomat. Currently this man's working at a very high level on behalf of the U.N. towards peace in the Baltics. We're working on this assumption and believe when they find their mistake, Karen will be released."

He looked for a moment at the policeman, their eyes locking. "Or killed, officer, or killed."

The policeman shook his head. "We don't envisage that, Mr. Marshall. These people are extremists, yes, but the damage to their reputation in killing a young girl; I don't think so. We've also informed the ports and airlines in case they try to take her out of the country. Karen will not leave this country, I can guarantee that."

Just then a police officer came into the room and spoke quietly to the officer in charge. He nodded his understanding and turned to Karen's father. "Have you ever heard of a Frank Whittle, Sir?"

"I have, but what's Frank Whittle got to do with Karen?"

The officer removed his book from his pocket to make notes then looked at Karen's father. "It would seem, Sir, that a girl called Susan James has mentioned this name a number of times; she kept saying you would know him. Perhaps under the circumstances you'd better explain."

He shrugged, trying to act indifferently. "There's not a lot to tell. Ten years ago I was leaving a sales meeting and there was an accident. Frank Whittle's daughter ran out of a shop with two of her friends: she never stopped at the kerb, but ran out on the road and under my car’s wheels. To cut a long story short, I was breathalysed and the result was positive. Frank Whittle blamed me because of that, saying I'd murdered his child. Shortly after the court case, his wife, suffering from depression, committed suicide. Her death really shook him and for weeks he'd ring day and night, threatening to get even. Eventually I had an injunction placed against him. It was more for the safety of my children rather than myself. The man was a nuisance, yes, but I was also worried his hatred would spread to the family. Anyway, he stopped ringing and I heard nothing again, so I suppose the injunction worked."

The officer made notes and looked up. "As a matter of interest, how long has it been since hearing from this Whittle?"

"I don't know exactly, perhaps five years."

"And how old was his daughter when she died?"

Karen's father sat for a moment and suddenly put his hands to his head. "My God, she was Karen's age when she died, seventeen with only weeks before her eighteenth. You don't think he's been waiting all these years to take her from us at the same age as his daughter died, do you?"The officer glanced towards another stood by the door and nodded to him. That officer left the room quickly. He then looked back at Karen's father. "It would seem, Sir, in view of what you've told me, that it may not be a simple matter of mistaken identity but more a grudge abduction. Karen's in greater danger than we first thought. I suspect after what you've told me, the snatch was a very carefully planned action by this Whittle. What his intentions are can only be pure conjecture at this stage."

The room fell silent, everyone considering in their own minds the implications of what had been said. Suddenly the police officer stood. "We'll be in constant contact with you, Sir. I'll have the telephone line tapped and one of our officers will remain here. If you can think of anything out of the ordinary that might have happened in the last few days which may give us some sort of lead or clue, don't hesitate to call me."

With that he left the house and climbed into a waiting car alongside his assistant. "Anything come through yet?" he asked.

"Nothing, Sir, it's as if both the girl and this Frank Whittle have disappeared into thin air."

The senior officer nodded. "He'll emerge, believe me. It's Karen I'm worried about."

The other detective frowned, "Why's that, Sir?"

"Well, Frank Whittle wasn't afraid of leaving his name. In my book it can mean one of two things. One, he's intending to leave the country with or without the girl, if he's not already gone. Two, he hasn't given the right name and Frank Whittle's completely innocent. Either way the girl's life's in great danger."

They fell silent and the senior officer asked the driver to take them to the hospital. He'd decided it was important to interview Susan, now she'd regained consciousness, as to what really happened.

With the senior officers gone, Karen's father sat down alongside his wife. The remaining officer was stood some distance away when the telephone rang. The officer answered it.

"Get me Marshall," Frank demanded.

The officer asked his name. "Just get him, tell him it's about his precious daughter: he'll talk to me."

The officer handed Karen's father the telephone.

"Hello, this is Kevin Marshall here, who am I talking to?"

Frank leaned back in satisfaction. "Marshall, its Frank Whittle. Perhaps you remember my name? After all, it was you who killed my Sharon."

Kevin covered the handset and looked at the policeman standing there. "It's Whittle, how do you want me to play it?"

The policeman spoke quickly into his radio before looking back at Kevin. "They think it's a mobile; keep the man talking as long as possible and leave it to us. We will be able to locate the cell area at least."

Kevin nodded, at the same time he could hear Frank demanding a response. Kevin took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "I suppose you want some sort of ransom for Karen... Whittle?"

Frank laughed. "Money... Money from you, Marshall? What are you offering? Perhaps a hundred quid, after all that's all they fined you after killing my Sharon? I don't want your money; in fact I want nothing from you except what I have... your daughter."