Ultimate Justice (21 page)

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. “Of course. I’ll stay here and hope that either Sean or your pals at MI5 get in touch with fresh information. You get off now, son.”

Tony rose, gently squeezed Sam’s left shoulder, and patted Henry on the head. “I have a few quick chores to see to around here first. Sam, can you take care of the pups’ feeding times? I’ll go and feed the dogs in the kennels. I know it’s a bit early, but there’s no telling what time I’ll get back.”
Or
if
I’ll get back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C
arol volunteered to exercise
the dogs while Tony filled up their food and water bowls. Once the chores were completed, he rushed upstairs to the bedroom to change into an all-black outfit—’A covert operation necessity’ as MI6 agents liked to call it.

With Sam and Carol’s good wishes, Tony set off in the van—hardly the most conspicuous vehicle he could conjure up, but it would have to do. The weather had turned dull and drizzly, so he put the heater on to get a blast of warm air. It was unusual for him to feel the cold; he shivered away the ominous feeling.

He parked outside the port and scanned the area for Croft. Twenty feet in front of him, a red sports car flashed its lights. It had to be Croft. He couldn’t help but feel annoyed that the journalist had turned up in a car that would draw attention rather than deflect it.
Dipshit!

Tony glanced around in all directions to see if anyone was nearby; they weren’t. He pulled the van out of its space and came to a stop next to Croft. Croft eased the window down on the sports car and smiled at him. “Get in,” Tony said.

He watched the journalist gingerly get out of his vehicle and hobble around the back of the van. Tony leaned across and pushed the passenger’s door open.

“Is this a vehicle left over from your days in Her Majesty’s Secret Service?”

Tony shook his head at the wisecrack. “How long have you been here?”

“About a minute or so before you turned up. What’s the plan?” Croft asked, his eyes darting around nervously.

“I thought you would have a plan up your sleeve.”

Croft glared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I’m kidding.” Tony glanced down at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s ten minutes to six now; I reckon we should get into position on foot. Are you up to that?”

“I am; are you? I wouldn’t want that false leg of yours dropping off before we reached the dock.”

“Ha ha! You just concentrate on getting yourself there in one piece and leave me to do the same. Any other information before we go?”

“Such as?” Croft asked, frowning.

“Such as do we know how the girls are going to be transported once they arrive on the dock, bearing in mind it’s broad daylight still?”

“Good point.” Croft craned his neck to look up at the sky. “Dusk is setting in and it’ll be dark in an hour or so, my guess is they’ll move the girls then. Like I said, my informant gives me snippets, that’s all.”

They left the van parked a few feet from Croft’s vehicle and walked toward the dock. Croft pointed out to sea. “Could that be it?”

“It could be. We better take cover soon.” Tony pointed at a couple of large skips full of building rubbish. “We’ll hide behind them. That way, we’ll have a clear view of the dock. Damn, I should have brought my binoculars with me.”

“Out of practice, old man?” Croft laughed. He placed a hand in the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a tiny pair of binoculars, the kind you get at an opera house or theatre.

“Great—small, but handy nevertheless.” Tony pointed the binoculars out to sea. The name of the ship had worn off slightly, and it was hard to make out. “Looks like two crewmembers on board, as far as I can see. No, wait—there’s a third one just appeared.”

Croft eagerly snatched the glasses out of Tony’s grasp. “There might be more crew downstairs, who knows. They don’t seem in a rush to come ashore.”

“Probably waiting for nightfall,” Tony said. He searched the area and glimpsed a white van waiting along the quayside. Three men on the ship, one in the van—that made four. They were outnumbered two to one. Not great odds. Plus, there was no telling if these men would be armed or not; the likelihood was they would be. Tony reached in his pocket for his mobile and rang a number. “Weir? I’m down at Herne Bay Marina. Got my eye on a boat coming in that could have a connection to our case. The thing is, we’re outnumbered and weaponless. Any chance you can give us a hand down here?”

“Who’s
we
?” Weir asked, suspicion edging his voice.

“Croft. He’s an investigative journalist that Lorne and I have been working with. I’m working off his information.”

Weir snorted. “And you trust this guy? A journo?”

“Yep, he’s come up with the goods thus far. Even landed up in hospital for his trouble. So? How are you fixed?”

“As it happens, Taylor and I were just about to call it a day. Rather than go home to be with our loving wives, I’m sure we’d be willing to help out a mate again.”

“Thanks, mate. See you soon.”

Tony hung up and heard Croft exhale. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. The opposite, actually. I’m glad you called for reinforcements. I didn’t really fancy tackling those guys alone. Let’s face it: neither of us are in good enough shape to put up a fight.”

Offended, Tony replied sharply, “Huh! You speak for yourself. I’m in excellent shape.”

“No offence, man, but your leg seems to drop off at will.”

“Piss off, Croft. I’ll be sure to hang on to it. I wouldn’t want you screaming the place down, would I?” Tony watched the smile slip from the journalist’s face and mentally stroked the air with his finger, a habit he’d picked up from his wife.
God, I miss you, Lorne.

For the next thirty minutes, they watched the ship bob up and down just inside the harbour walls. Then, as darkness spread around them, the ship slowly ventured closer to shore.

Croft frantically glanced over his shoulder. “I wish your mates would get a move on.”

“You talking about us?” a voice said from the other side of the skip.

“Shit! Give a guy a fucking heart attack, why don’t ya!”

Tony laughed as Weir and Taylor came into view. He briefly introduced them to Croft, and then they all focused on the ship. Tony looked through the binoculars. He saw one man moving to the rear and another holding one of the ropes at the front. “I’m still thinking there’s only three aboard.”

Weir pointed at the van. The driver got out and paced up and down on the edge of the harbour. The guys at the front threw him the rope, which he attached to a concrete post before he moved to the rear and did the same with another rope. The driver climbed aboard the forty-foot ship and high-fived the three men. They shared a joke or two before they all disappeared down below.

“How do you want to play this, Tony? Attack now, or wait until the cargo has been unloaded?”

“I think we should sit tight and wait. Why don’t you two try and get a little closer while they’re down below?” he said to Taylor and Weir.

They nodded. Crouching, they ran forward and dipped behind a tiny wooden hut.

“Why didn’t we do that?” Croft mumbled.

“Because…” Tony replied, kicking himself for having the same thought.

“Yeah, because…?”

“They’ve got weapons, idiot. We haven’t. Now stop whining. Sssh!” Tony said urgently as the four men appeared on deck again. They formed a line between the edge of the boat and what Tony presumed was the hold door. The driver hopped down and opened the rear van doors. A stream of young terrified girls were led off the ship and into the back of the van. The whole process took a matter of minutes.

“What happens now?” Croft asked, shuffling forward to stretch his stiff legs and accidentally kicking a nearby bottle over.

“Shit!” Tony said under his breath as the driver looked their way.

Sensing trouble, the three men on board chattered nervously. When the captain shouted orders to set sail, the driver swore at him. “You can’t fucking leave me to deal with this shit.”

The captain possibly fearing his escape would be hampered, reluctantly ordered his two men ashore to help load the girls into the van. Tony could see that they all had guns.

Weir gave Tony the thumbs-up. Then all hell broke loose. Amid the shooting, the girls screaming echoed from the van.

Weir and Taylor were cautious not to fire near the van, but the driver was tucked behind the door for safety. Instead, they aimed most of their bullets at the captain and his two crewmen. The crew, now back on the ship were crouched, firing at will in their direction, forcing Tony and Croft to take cover.

Tony hated feeling inadequate. He should have asked Weir if he had a backup weapon he could have used, but the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before.

“Do something! We can’t sit it out here,” Croft said, looking scared.

“That’s just what we’re going to have to do. If you hadn’t alerted them to us being here, we wouldn’t be in this shit now. Tell you what—why don’t you just keep your fucking mouth shut?”

Tony looked around him and saw a large wooden pole lying beside the skip. He picked it up and ran around the skip, heading for the van. If he could take on the driver, it would help. He reached the side of the van and crept toward the back, where the driver was situated. His foot hit a rock, and he looked down. Suddenly the driver was standing in front of him, his gun aimed at his head.

“Drop it!” the driver snarled and moved closer to him.

Reluctantly, Tony threw the pole aside. He waited for the man to get closer. Then, catching the man unaware, he charged him like a raging bull. The man grunted when Tony rammed his head into the man’s stomach, but he didn’t let go of the gun, as Tony had expected. They fought, Tony’s fists connected with the man’s face and upper body several times. A gun went off close by. Tony froze when he realised he’d been hit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T
he balding man, who
stood a good four inches taller than him, gave Tony a puzzled look. Seizing the opportunity to pounce on the man’s confused state Tony issued a punch to the man’s windpipe, and the gun flew out of his hand and slid under the van. Tony was the first to react. He retrieved the gun and told the man to put his hands on his head. When he did, Tony grabbed the man and smashed him against the side of the van.

The man’s muffled voice said, “But…‌I shot you.”

Tony laughed. “You hit my fake leg, arsehole.” Then he called out to Weir and Taylor, “I’ve got the driver.”

Detecting Tony’s distraction, the driver kicked out at Tony’s fake leg. The leg gave way beneath him, and the gun bounced across the concrete, far enough away that neither man could reach it. The driver jumped on top of Tony, his hands clasped around Tony’s throat. The man was stronger than he looked, and Tony struggled for breath. Then another shot rang out a few feet from them. The man’s grip loosened and he collapsed on Tony’s chest. Tony heaved the man off him to see Croft holding the gun.

“Do you mind pointing that thing the other way in case it goes off again?” Tony said, scrambling to his feet.

He took the gun from Croft’s extended shaking hand. “I just killed a man,” Croft said numbly.

“You’ll get over it. Look at it this way: he was a dirtbag, and the world will be a better place without him,” Tony assured him, amused by his reaction.

He switched back into agent mode and peered around the edge of the van’s rear door at the ship. The men firing at Weir and Taylor were in plain sight; it would be easy for him to take them out. They wouldn’t be expecting any bullets to be fired from his location. He aimed the gun and fired off four shots. The two shooters went down, which left only the captain of the vessel to deal with. Tony saw Weir and Taylor run up to the ship and climb aboard. He’d let them deal with the captain. Within seconds, two more shots sounded in the night air.

Croft nudged Tony in the ribs. He turned around to see the girls clinging to each other in the back of the van. All of them looked—and probably were—underage, and much too young for the life they had been destined to lead. He smiled and felt sick to the stomach. A few of them gave a brief smile in response, but most of them just stared at him in bewilderment.

“You’re safe now, believe me.” Tony closed the van doors gently and said to Croft, “I’m just going to make a call.”

He stepped away from the van and dialled a number. “Sean, it’s Tony. Sorry to trouble you out of office hours, but—”

“Have you found them?”

Tony sighed heavily. “Not yet, I’m still working on that. I’ve just rescued another shipment of girls. Any chance your lot can come and collect them? Oh, and there are three dead men to deal with, too.”

“What? How the fuck did that happen, Tony?”

“Umm…‌Croft called me with some information that the girls were coming in by boat. I arranged for two mates from MI5 to be on standby in case I needed them. Well, one thing led to another, and there was a little shootout. Nothing major.”

“Nothing major! Fucking hell, Tony. I’ll get a crew down there now. What state are the girls in and how many are there?”

“As expected, they’re petrified. Can you arrange for some female officers to attend? I think it would help. The girls’ clothes look as though they could do with replacing, so a change of clothes would help, as well.”

“Yeah, first things first, though: let’s get them checked over and in a warm place. Despite my anger, I appreciate what you’ve done, Tony. Oh, by the way, I was going to ring you after I’d had dinner.”

“With some news, I hope?”

“Angela North is still maintaining that she had nothing to do with her husband’s new business, and to be honest, I’m inclined to believe her. I did some digging on Roger North, and apparently he got the sack from his job in the city about six weeks ago. When I asked his wife about it, it was obvious she had no idea. He’d been sticking to his routine of staying in London during the week and going home at the weekend to be with her and his kid. He’s clearly got another woman on the side, or he’s been dipping his wick at one of his many brothels.”