Henry moved his head round again. Gunk stepped into his line of sight, wearing a stupid grin of triumph.
‘ Hiya, Frank — or whatever your name is.’
‘ What’s going on, Gunk? What’s this for?’
Gunk held up a silencing finger. ‘Shut up, Frank. I know you’re a cop.’
‘ What the hell are you talking about? We’ve been through all this shit before. I am not a cop, so let me go.’
Gunk shook his head. ‘I know you’re a cop. An undercover cop. I always knew, always suspected. Just something about you that never quite rang true for me. Intuition, I suppose you’d call it. Me in touch with my feminine side.’
‘ You’re wrong, Gunk. Now let me go.’
‘ I hate being done over by anybody, but when a cop does it, I’m really fucking annoyed.’ He leaned into Henry’s face. ‘So you know what? I’m going to make you suffer.’ He reached underneath Henry and found his belt buckle which he started to unfasten. All the while he retained eye-contact. ‘I, on the other hand, will enjoy this. Know what I mean?’
Henry understood exactly. Gunk, who had previously indicated how much he would like to bugger Henry was now going to do just that. Henry started to struggle violently, all sorts of horrendous images flying through his mind. He strained against the twine which fastened his wrists.
A gun appeared in Gunk’s hand. He shoved it into Henry’s cheek and roughly screwed the muzzle into Henry’s mouth, cracking against teeth. Henry stopped moving instantly. His eyes were wide open in fear. Gunk was breathing heavily.
‘ Now then, Frank, if that’s what you want to be called, the choice you have is very simple. Honestly. Stop struggling and let this thing take its natural course like two grown men and I won’t be rough with you. I mean, I will fuck you good and proper, that definitely will happen. Alternatively you can have a bullet in your mouth now. Your choice, pal. Death or rape.’ Gunk’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I know which I’d choose.’
Loz threw Danny down on to the sand between two fishing boats, hardly fifty yards away from the promenade.
He dropped on top of her like a dead weight, forcing himself between her legs, driving all the air out of her body, and pulling her skirt up over her hips. He jammed his dirty bandaged hand over her mouth and with his other he held her left wrist, effectively pinning her down. She could hardly move underneath him.
‘ Now then, you fucking flighty bitch,’ he panted into her face, spittle bubbling out of his mouth. The exertion of the struggle with her across the beach had expended most of his stamina. However, he was on top, in control, had the power. He smiled wickedly and ground his pubic’ bone against hers. She whimpered. ‘You’ve been asking too many questions, causing too many ripples. This is just a warning to you — fuck off back to England and don’t come nosying down here again, or next time, you’re a dead bitch. Got that?’
He allowed her to nod her head.
‘ Good,’ he sneered. ‘But now that we’re here,’ he went on, ‘all intimate, no point in missing a chance, is there?’ He simply could not resist. He released her hand and reached down to unzip his trousers.
Bad move on his part.
Danny had no wish to discover what delicacy lay waiting behind his flies. Nor would she ever placidly accept being sexually assaulted. She would rather have died. She did two things simultaneously. Although his bandaged hand smelled awful, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into it; she also grabbed a handful of sand and flung it into his eyes and followed through with a punch, though it wasn’t as rock-solid as she would have liked.
Loz screamed and rolled over, not knowing whether to nurse his hand or rub his eyes.
‘ You bitch! You bitch! You bitch!’ he yelled in agony, getting to his knees.
Danny had a surge of power and energy, resources tapped from the well of self-preservation. She smacked Loz hard across the side of his head, sending him sprawling. Then she really laid into him, screaming wildly, incoherently, savagely kicking him repeatedly about the head, ribs, guts and legs. He rolled with the blows, scrambling wildly to escape from the barrage, now having lost all the advantage.
Danny was remorseless in her attack, until Loz secured a foothold in the sand, dragged himself to his feet and ran away.
Danny watched him, her eyes afire, doubled over with exertion, unable to give chase. He loped on to the promenade like a wounded animal and disappeared up a side street.
When she had regained control of her breathing and heart rate, Danny found her handbag in the sand and liberated a cigarette from it. She lit it with dithering hands.
Now she knew for certain: she really had rattled somebody’s cage. She knew she should have reported the matter there and then to the police — but the thought of dealing with the Spanish cops filled her with dread. It would turn into a bureaucratic nightmare… if anything came of this, she wanted some English-speaking back-up behind her.
Terry Briggs was feeling worried. He checked his watch. Thirty-five minutes had passed since he’d driven away from Henry and Gunk. As he had pulled away, Henry had given a thumbs-up which, in the sign language the two undercover officers had developed between themselves, meant ‘call me in half an hour if I haven’t already made contact’.
Terry had twice tried Henry’s mobile but had not been able to make a connection. It was possible Henry’s batteries were down or that his machine was switched off — but only possible, not probable. A working mobile phone was a lifeline for U/C officers these days and only a reckless one would let the mobile become inoperative. Henry wasn’t reckless.
Terry had driven out of Rochdale and taken the road across the moors towards Blackburn. He had stopped close to a pub called Owd Bett’s.
Forty minutes, then forty-five passed. Not good.
Terry weighed up the odds of cocking the job up, but decided to drive back to the industrial unit anyway. He would think up some excuse for his return if necessary.
He did a U-turn and headed back towards Rochdale. He went into Healey Dell from the opposite direction and bounced down the road towards the industrial estate. As he turned off the road, he slammed on to avoid Gunk’s Jeep which careered out of the estate, slithering and sliding on the loose ground, no lights displayed. Terry caught a glimpse of Gunk at the wheel. There was a savage expression on his features as he threw the fourwheel-drive vehicle around. Then he was gone. With trepidation Terry edged the van across the bumpy ground towards the unit.
Henry’s XJS was parked in exactly the same spot.
Terry’s stomach churned.
Terry could see a light behind the shutter door. He reached under his seat and picked up the expandable baton secured underneath. With a flick of the wrist, he cracked it out to its full length. He switched the van engine off, leaving the headlights on, then stepped slowly down. All was quiet. He could hear nothing at first, then there was something, a sort of sobbing or moaning from inside the warehouse. He approached the side door, fear of the unknown gripping him, his chest palpitating. He stepped inside. Apprehensively with the tip of the baton he pushed the next door, the one which opened out into the unit.
At the sight before him, Terry’s mouth dropped open in shock.
PART TWO
Chapter Fifteen
Through his dubious contacts in the north of Lancashire, Smith had arranged accommodation for himself and Billy Crane the night before the robbery was due to be committed in a grotty, damp-ridden flat in the west end of Morecambe, an area of town with a shifting population, where crime and drugs were facts of everyday life and strangers did not stand out because everyone was a stranger. It was a good choice of location.