“Why is it odd, Sergeant?” Coombes asked.
“Well, there’s a sign on the door saying it’s closed for holidays and reopens after the Bank Holiday.”
Chapter 6 8
Commercial Road, Tottenham, North London. Sunday 6am.
Dee and Lavender were lying under the table on a sleeping bag which had been opened up for use as a thin mattress. Both were still chained to the table, which meant it would be virtually impossible to make themselves comfortable. Nonetheless, Lavender had fallen asleep quickly and showed no signs of rousing. The night had been warm enough to sleep through, and Dee had managed a few hours of fitful sleep herself. Now, though, she felt cold and thirsty. She could look forward to another thirty six hours of this if things didn’t go well.
Dee lay on her back, thinking. She trusted Tom Vastrick and she believed that Josh would move heaven and earth to save her. That was the type of person he was. Between the two of them, and Boniface and Coombes, Dee was sure her message would have been received and understood. At least, she hoped it had been received and understood.
Lavender stirred and turned to face Dee. Then, much to Dee’s surprise, she smiled. The girl had been kidnapped and had spent the night on an uncomfortable floor, chained to a table, yet she was still smiling. Dee involuntarily smiled back. Without layers of make-up, the young woman facing her looked like the vulnerable young girl she was.
“Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept well.” The voice made them jump. It was the leader, who had just entered the room. “If you promise not to do anything silly, I will allow you both fifteen minutes in the bathroom. If you don’t promise, I’ll have to keep the door open and watch you, won’t I? So, do you promise?”
Both women promised. Quite what this man thought either of them could possibly get up to in a bathroom was anyone’s guess. There was no external wall to the bathroom, and no window; it was a Portakabin, inside a factory unit.
***
When Dee returned to the room, having allowed Lavender to go first, she held her hands out dutifully to allow herself to be handcuffed. A two litre bottle of still water had been placed on the side table, and Rik moved it to within their reach.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing. Breakfast will be along shortly. Oh, it will probably be more continental style than ‘full English’.” He laughed and left.
Lavender reached for the water at once, but Dee stopped her. She picked it up and turned the bottle upside down before squeezing it hard. She seemed satisfied with her efforts and turned to examining the plastic bottle closely, concentrating on the section above the water line.
“What are you doing?” Lavender asked, clearly puzzled.
“If they want to keep us subdued for the day they may try to drug us. The easiest way is to inject a sedative into our drinking water.”
“Oh.” Lavender was beginning to realise how dangerous this situation really was.
Dee broke the seal on the water and handed it to Lavender.
“I think this is safe, but just in case we’ll have only a mouthful now, just to take the edge off our thirst, and if we’re both still OK in an hour we’ll be able to drink as much of it as we want. All right?”
Lavender took a mouthful thankfully. She passed the bottle to Dee and asked, “Do you think we’ll get out of here today?”
Dee didn’t want to crush her hopes. “Only if we escape, but that may not be as unlikely as it seems. I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter 69
Vastrick Security, No. 1 Poultry, London. Sunday, 8am.
I had managed to snatch five hours’ sleep on a bed set up in a small room at the back of the offices. Obviously the Vastrick staff stayed overnight regularly because there were two such rooms. Don Fisher had retired to the other room.
DCI Coombes and Inspector Boniface had gone home after a raging argument with their superiors. They had both wanted to go into the printing press ‘hard and heavy’, in the early hours of the morning, but they were ordered to hold off for twelve hours after an intervention from Europol. Tom, Don and I were livid.
We were told that Europol would be taking down Van Aart and his organisation in a coordinated series of raids spanning the Netherlands, Belgium and Northern France. Van Aart’s home, offices, brothels and drug dens would all be hit by a variety of well-armed national police and security forces.
The Koninklijke Marechaussee, the Dutch Military Police, would also hit two industrial units where East European girls were held until they could be transported to a place where they could earn money by selling their bodies. Europol were tracking a container lorry from Bucharest, which they believed was heading for one of the units in Pernis on the outskirts of Rotterdam. It would arrive within the next hour and disgorge its cargo of teenage girls.
At twelve noon, European time, or one o’clock in the UK, the raids would begin. Unbeknown to either DCI Coombes or Inspector Boniface, the Metropolitan Police had been secretly planning to coordinate raids on the Holloways’ premises at the same time. The secret plans had been codenamed Operation Tango, and we couldn’t act until the raids were over. The Assistant Commissioner had explained that almost four hundred officers would be involved in the raids in four countries, and that they couldn’t take the chance of Holloway or Van Aart’s men reporting back to Amsterdam that the police were onto them.
Despite the Assistant Commissioner’s pleas, Don Fisher still had to be threatened with a night in the cells before he accepted the decision. I had serious qualms about the idea, too, but we reached a compromise that I was able to live with.
The police now had three men watching the Tottenham Press building; they had taken up their positions at four o’clock in the morning, and were in constant radio contact. One was in a highly specialised vehicle parked in the car park of the factory across the street, and the remaining two were concealed where they could see the two personnel doors that also served as fire exits. Nobody would go in or out of the printing press without being observed.
In less than an hour we would be meeting with DS Scott, DCI Coombes, DS Fellowes, Inspector Boniface, Tom Vastrick and a new face, Geordie Lowden, who would lead Vastrick’s assault team.
Geordie, as his name suggested, was travelling down to London from Tyneside on a chartered helicopter, which should have landed by now at London Heliport in Battersea. Given that the roads would be quiet, as they usually are early on a Sunday morning, I reckoned that the car journey from the heliport would take twenty minutes or so. I managed to pull myself away from my bed and head towards the shower.
Chapter 70
Commercial Road, Tottenham, North London. Sunday 11am.
Piet entered the room where Dee and Lavender were secured and removed the coffee cups.
“I’ll be back in an hour with your famous British roast beef dinner, or another packet of sandwiches.” He sniggered and left, closing the door behind him.
So far they had been provided with water, coffee from a vending machine and sandwiches. In each case the food had been delivered on the hour. Dee was working on the theory that they had an hour until the next visit.
“Lavender, our hands have only about nine inches of movement, and so I need your help. I’m going to lean forward, and I want you to unfasten my necklace.”
Dee leaned over the table so that her nose was almost touching the table top. Lavender reached over and unclipped the necklace. The necklace was sterling silver and consisted of a thin chain and a loop which attached just below the throat, from which hung three sterling silver rods. The outer two rods were the same length, which was around an inch, but the middle rod was slightly longer, perhaps by half an inch. Their diameter was about three sixteenths of an inch.