Zero Hour (21 page)

A vertical access ladder was fixed to the wall. I curled my body until I was able to reach my boots, unlace them and tug them off. I scraped off the worst of the mud on the top edge of the Meccano, tied the laces together and slung them round my neck. I eased myself back through the hatch, feet first, until I made contact with the top rung. I took a breath and started down.

After about twenty metres I stopped to look and listen. My feet hurt without the boots to protect them, but that was better than leaving mud on the ladder or having clumps of it fall off and land below.

The further down I went, the stronger the smell of flour and the brighter the light. I paused again just before reaching the ground. The edges of the silo were lined with flour two or three feet high.

I stepped down onto a concrete base. I didn’t need to worry where I trod. There were plenty of disturbances in the flour, including footprints.

The opening into the rest of the building was about the size of a garage door. Steel shutters above it were locked in the up position.

Very slowly, I moved my head around the corner. A brick wall stood immediately opposite me, in the middle of which was a door. Two windows either side of it were in darkness. There were also three windows on the second floor of what had probably once been offices. Light spilt from the one on the right - enough for me to see its haze reflecting off the remains of what had once been hundreds of tonnes of flour dust piled up against the walls.

A body moved across the window.

I froze.

Male, early twenties. Both forearms dark with tattoos; cigarette in mouth; bare-chested and overweight. His bitch tits wobbled as he moved.

He shouted something to someone and gestured at his crotch. A young girl shuffled into view. Her hair was dark and frizzy. She sank slowly to her knees in front of him. Her head disappeared below the sill. Bitch Tits soon had a slack smile on his face. He looked down at her, took a deep drag and flicked some ash onto her head.

I stayed where I was. If there was just one of them, maybe I could take him now, then get Lilian and the rest of them out.

I heard screams from the ground floor, along with some very pissed-off male shouting.

The door to Bitch Tits’s office burst open. The new arrival wore a lot of black leather. His head was shaved, neo-Nazi style. His face had multiple piercings.

Bitch Tits wasn’t impressed by what he was hearing. ‘Well, fucking find her! Don’t you dare fucking lose her!’

He was a Brit - a Scouser. It was beginning to sound like a family business.

The ground-floor office door was also thrown wide. This time the yells were Dutch.

I didn’t see any of the bodies. I was too busy climbing back up the ladder as fast as my legs would carry me.

12

I lay on my side at the top of the conveyor-belt and pulled my boots back on. I gulped in mouthfuls of air. The smell of decayed rubber made me gag.

The shouts below me - now in heavily accented English - echoed round the tower.

‘There is nothing.’

‘She is not here.’

More shouts from the Dutch guys outside. Bodies bomb-burst from the door. Bitch Tits screamed with anger - or it could have been fear. His voice was high-pitched, out of control. ‘Fucking get out there! Fucking
find
the bitch!’

I finished tying my laces and started reversing carefully down the conveyor-belt, keeping as low as I could. A few metres below me, fucked-off men tried to organize themselves for the hunt. It wasn’t working. Bitch Tits was going completely ballistic in Scouse. ‘
Yous cunts! We’ll all be in the shite! Get out there!
’

By the time I was about two-thirds of the way down, the shouts had begun to fade. I stared into the darkness. The search party had spread into the wasteground. I jumped the last couple of metres and ran for cover.

I legged it in the direction of Distelweg, making each big chunk of concrete a single bound. I checked the ground ahead as best I could, straining my ears for the shout that would signal they’d found her. She’d be terrified. Maybe she’d got stuck trying to get over the fence - desperately wanting to, but having lost all control because she was so scared.

I heard nothing. Total silence. The Dutch must have gone out via the gate or jumped the fence. Keeping in the shadows, I used my three-light marker to navigate back to the gap. Someone else had been through here since I last had. Someone in bare feet. I could see the mark of my boots in the mud, and also the imprint of small, frantic toes.

I slipped through and kept to the edge of the road, almost hugging the fence. The search party would be moving up and down Distelweg by now, checking every bit of cover, flapping more and more as the minutes ticked by.

I came level with the Panda and felt around in the scrub for the keys. Once inside I powered down the window and had one last listen before I fired up the engine.

Lights extinguished, I moved off slowly, following the road on the bay side of the dock. It started to rain again.

There was a massive thump on the front of the car. I braked hard.

A face flew up out of nowhere and banged against the windscreen. For a split second, all I could see was a mass of wet blonde hair and a pair of big scared eyes.

I threw the engine out of gear. Fuck the handbrake. I jumped out to grab her.

By the time I got round to the front of the car the girl was already scrabbling along the tarmac. There was blood on her face. Her jeans were soaked. Her feet were bare.

‘Lilian?’

She was swallowed up by the shadows as quickly as she’d appeared.

I stopped and listened.

Nothing.

I jumped back into the Panda. There was a streak of blood on the windscreen. If it was Lillian, I had to get to her before those fuckers did.

I moved off, nice and slow, windows down.

13

I drove across the canal and into the prefab estate. A left took me back towards the Distelweg bridge. I parked up about a hundred metres further on and tucked Brad’s mallet into the waistband of my jeans. I’d move back onto the target on foot and start searching again from there. I didn’t want to take the car through the area twice that night. It was bad drills. Bitch Tits and his mates might still be out there.

The shop lights splashed across the wet pavements. I was hungry and thirsty, and it was going to be a long night. I went into a mini-mart and bought crisps, pitta bread and a bottle of water. I managed the whole transaction without a single word to the guy behind the counter. I just grunted and paid.

I jammed the crisps into the bread as I walked past a line of graffiti-covered boathouses. I kept close to the walls and fences of the industrial units, ready to dodge oncoming headlights. I threw the last of the crisp sandwich down my neck as I approached the tile warehouse.

I heard a cry.

Then male laughter, followed by grunts and curses, monosyllabic and aggressive.

I took a couple of steps.

And heard it again.

There was a blur of movement from beneath the canopy. The girl ran from the shadows, naked and sobbing. Two guys appeared behind her. Too fast, too powerful. They grabbed her and dragged her back into the darkness.

It wasn’t hard to work out what they were doing to her. I just needed to know how many of them were doing it.

Another cry. Part pain, part despair.

It looked like Bitch Tits was the only one allowed to sample the merchandise on site, and this lot fancied a taster before they dragged her back to him.

14

Rhythmic sobs continued to come from under the canopy. I inched forward, fingers closing around the handle of the mallet.

I heard more grunts and A couple of slaps. There was a muffled, anguished scream followed by a chorus of laughter. The air was heavy with cannabis.

There were four of them, all fully paid-up members of the neo-Nazi club. Crew-cuts, tattoos and plenty of face metal were the order of the day. The girl was on her knees. Three of them stood around her with their jeans halfway down their thighs. A fourth lounged against the door with a stupid grin on his face, smoking a joint. It was either his turn to chill, or he preferred to watch.

The girl’s bloodstained face was rounder and younger than the image I had of Lilian. Much younger. She took a couple more slaps to the head to make her work harder.

A million years of training told me there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t intervene. Bad things happen. This shit went on a million times a day, all over the world. I was here for a job. I wasn’t the UN. I needed to let this run its course. Four guys here raping this girl meant four fewer guarding Lilian. I needed to stop fucking around and get back to the silo.

But there was another voice in my head. Anna’s voice. What about this girl?
What about her parents, her sisters, her brothers? How would you feel if this was happening to someone you cared for, if this was happening to me?

I looked round for something heavier than the mallet. A bit of scaffolding would have come in handy. A wheel-brace, maybe …

Then I checked myself. What family? Every scrap of experience and years of fucking up screamed at me: I had to let this one go.

I turned and headed back the way I’d come. I’d have to pull my finger out if I wanted to get this job done by first light.

When I’d covered about twenty metres I straightened up and shoved the mallet back into the waistband of my jeans.

Another heartbreaking scream pierced the darkness.

Fuck it
.

I pulled the mallet out again and turned back.

I was in auto mode, en route to a possible nightmare. I’d need to be quick and hard - just take them down and run. After that, the girl would have to sort her own shit out.

I got within a few metres of them. She was still on her knees. The one in front of her looked up just in time to see me jump into the air and bring the mallet down hard a couple of inches above his eyebrows. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. All I heard was a loud pop as the toughened rubber worked its kinetic shit and he crumpled to the floor.

I spun round, swung back my arm and zoned in on the guy to my right. He got the good news just above the temple. He groaned and collapsed onto the girl.

She whimpered and tried to kick him off.

I turned to the other two. The one with the spliff was still some distance from Planet Earth, and instead of rushing me, the other stupid fucker was pulling up his jeans. I barged against him. He staggered back under the canopy, arms windmilling, and crashed into his mate.

I didn’t give them a second to recover.

Mr Windmill’s jeans had slipped back round his knees.

I swung the mallet from right to left, demolishing his cheekbone and part of his jaw. He howled with pain. It didn’t make up for what he’d done to the girl, but it was a start.

Mr Spliff threw up his arms to protect himself, but he still wasn’t up to speed. I cannoned into him. As he went down I gave him two more quick hits. He’d managed to cover his head, so I snapped his wrist with the first blow and banged the second into his bollocks. That opened him up big-time. I brought down the mallet right on top of his closely shaven nut. Hard rubber smashed into soft bone with a dull thud. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. He wasn’t going anywhere, period.

I dug the keys out of the plant pot. The girl held her jumper against her breasts, watching me.

Two of the bodies stirred.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her out from under the canopy. I gathered up her jeans and thrust them at her.

‘Go! Go on!
Fuck off!
’

She stood there shivering, clothes held up in front of her, knees trembling, like the child she was.

I gave her a shove. ‘Go!
Run!
’

Two sets of headlights swept down the road from the direction of the bridge.

She was so tiny it was easy to pull her out of sight. I pushed her against the wheel of a trailer loaded with pallets as the engine got louder. She struggled, trying to escape. She probably thought I fancied a bit of what the neos had already helped themselves to. I grabbed her by the back of her head, wound my fingers through her hair and pushed her against the tyre.

The car came into view: a green Passat, two up. It slowed but didn’t stop. I caught a glimpse of long, greasy black hair and matching shirt but couldn’t see their faces. Ten seconds later a blue-and-white did the same. I dragged the girl to her feet the moment it had passed and we started moving in the opposite direction.

We’d covered a couple of hundred metres when I heard the whoop of a siren, just one quick hit. Blue lights strobed the darkness, glinting off the puddles, then they stopped just as suddenly.

We kept going.

She had to come with me now, even though I knew I was giving myself a very big dose of drama. I couldn’t let her get lifted. Tarasov and his box of tricks had better be worth all this shit.

I flung open the back door of the Panda and shoved her down into the footwell. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.

‘You understand English?’

The only response was some laboured breathing and a cough. She was crying quietly to herself.

Ten minutes passed. There were no more wailing sirens or blue flashing lights. What the fuck was going on? One of the neos was probably dead, and the others couldn’t have legged it. A broken jaw makes you think twice about doing that. It makes you want to stay very, very still instead.

A set of headlights appeared in the rear-view. I felt between the seats to make sure she was still hidden. The green Passat rolled past, still two up. I got a better look at them this time. They’d completed my circuit, down past the ferry, up the bay road, then back.

I waited five more minutes, but there was no sign of the blue-and-white. I switched on the ignition.

‘Stay down …’

I threaded my way through the housing estate until I came out onto a main. I didn’t know where the fuck I was, but I’d work it out soon enough. There was a lot of trouble by the back seat, and I needed to think.