“Joshua Hammond!” she called out, and like a naughty schoolchild I went to her and took the rebuke with head bowed. I might have been a man of thirty, but she was seventy and she made me feel like a kid again. She doesn’t hold grudges, though, because when my downstairs neighbour told her I was in bed with the flu, she came around with a casserole, and by the time she left my flat was as clean as it had ever been.
On this occasion I made it without being caught and, having saved myself three hundred yards, I set off in the direction of Spice Island.
***
The Lexus circled the area for a second time and all was quiet. It came to a stop outside the townhouse. The light was on, as they had hoped. It suggested that their journey hadn’t been wasted. The three men in the car were tired; it had been a long couple of days. They had left Amsterdam yesterday evening and driven to the Channel Tunnel to avoid as much customs interest as possible. They had expected a thorough search of their SUV, and so they hadn’t carried anything illegal with them. That meant, of course, that they had to rely on Mr Van Aart’s good friend Mr Holloway, the owner of the printing press, receiver of stolen goods and seller of humans trafficked from Eastern Europe, the Middle East, the Far East and Africa. Van Aart and Holloway had what they called a framework agreement. In Western Europe Van Aart would provide anything Holloway needed, and in the UK Holloway was the provider. If the balance swayed too far in one direction, a financial settlement was agreed. It was all very business-like, and very grubby.
The counterfeit Kazakh Ambassador, better known to his friends as Rik, sat beside Gregor in the back seat. Piet, now without his chauffeur uniform, was again in the driving seat.
“How long to open the front door?” Rik asked Gregor.
“A few seconds, that’s all. It’s on a movable latch that can be operated from the flats.”
The three men exited the car and walked to the front door. Gregor took what looked like a wallpaper stripper bent halfway down the blade. The big man placed his weight on the centre of the glazed door until it flexed, then he forced the thin blade between the door and the frame exactly where the Yale lock was located. The door sprang open. They entered and closed the door behind them, allowing the lock to engage.
***
Dee decided that in ten minutes she would go to the kitchen and find some plates and cutlery, ready for the take away meal Josh was bringing home. She would just wait until this episode of Friends had finished. Dee had surprised herself this last week. She had always considered herself to be a strong, independent woman who could live happily without a man. In her teenage years the closest she came to the boys was when she was throwing them around, kicking them or punching them in martial arts classes. Her sacrifice had seemed to be worthwhile when Dee had qualified to compete in the Commonwealth Games, held in Manchester, but she had been injured in training and lost her place. So, rather depressingly, she spent the duration of the Games in the arena seating, watching her ‘Team GB’ teammates.
Somehow, Josh had caught her unawares. He wasn’t so handsome that he turned heads. He wasn’t terribly intellectual, either, and whilst he was in reasonable physical shape, he was nowhere near as fit as she was. Then again, he didn’t have to work in the kinds of dangerous and tawdry places Dee encountered on a regular basis. Whilst the largest part of her time was spent in close protection work, looking after people who considered themselves to be celebrities and at risk from fans, there were more testing duties from time to time. Vastrick Security had initially specialised in extracting people from cults and deprogramming them. About half of the rescued men and women went on to lead normal lives again, but the other half would go back, find another cult or even be sectioned under the mental health act. Some of the extractions were violently opposed, with weapons being used to try to keep Dee and her colleagues away from their targets. She still found it surprising how many cults with names like ‘The Universal Congregation for Peace and Love” employed thugs to keep their members in line until the programming finally weakened their resistance.
Josh got under her skin. She was beginning to believe that she loved him, and it was difficult trying to persuade herself that this was not a sign of weakness. She was suddenly aware that Friends had finished, and she stood up just as the front door exploded against the wall.
***
Dee looked around to see three masked men rush into the flat, the third man closing the damaged door. It was this third man who spoke, as he looked her up and down, his eyes wide with obvious surprise.
“Good evening, Miss Whiplash. We are sorry we damaged the door but we forgot our key.” Dee recognised the accent immediately. Van Aart’s men, she thought to herself. She would play along for the time being, to see what developed. She put on a panicky girlish voice.
“What do you want? Who are you? I don’t have anything valuable.”
“Where is Josh Hammond?” the leader asked, his tenor suggesting he expected a helpful answer.
“Josh is out at a stag party for his friend. He won’t be back until two or three in the morning. He might not be back at all, if they drink too much,” she lied.
The leader swore under his breath, and told his colleagues to search the flat, to be sure that Josh was not around.
“And who, exactly, are you?” the man enquired.
“I’m just a friend,” she answered, genuinely not knowing whether she was anything more than that.
The heavy set man returned to the room, carrying her nightdress.
“They’re sleeping together, boss,” he said, brandishing the lingerie.
The leader took his mobile phone and pressed a speed dial button. There was a brief conversation in Dutch before he hung up. All three were now back in the lounge. The leader said something in Dutch and the two others moved towards Dee.
“What are you going to do to me?” Dee shrieked, as if terrified. The men smiled at the seemingly frightened girl, and dropped their guard, as she had hoped.
“You’re coming with us, to make sure Mr Hammond does as he’s told.”
Piet came up behind her and grabbed her upper arms, while Gregor approached from the front. Dee waited, and then made her move. She threw her head back and felt the satisfaction of her head crunching against the gristle of Piet’s nose. Piet let go with one hand and clutched his face with a howl of pain. Dee lifted her right leg, and with her high heeled boots she scraped her foot down his shin. He yelped, let go of her other arm and doubled over, as she had anticipated. Dee threw back her right elbow until it connected with Piet’s chin, and he went down. The big guy was almost on her, and so she deterred him by placing a well-aimed kick into his groin. The pointed toes of the boots did their job and she heard the wind go out of him. As he bent forward, her right knee came up to meet his chin and his head snapped back. He was teetering on his feet, and so Dee took hold of the ski mask, and a good chunk of hair, and pulled him towards her. She used his weight against him, and threw him on top of his groaning friend.
Dee was about to take out the third man when she felt a burning sensation in the middle of her back. Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably. She knew that she had trained for this eventuality, and so she forced herself to breathe so she would stay conscious, but her attacker did not stop sending the pulsing electricity down the wires in the same way the man leading her training session had done, and eventually she passed out.
Rik sniggered as his men began to lift themselves from the floor. He placed the stun gun back in his pocket. He had never had to use that much voltage to put someone down before. He just hoped she wasn’t dead.
Chapter 62
Lambeth Road, London. 7:30pm.