Zero Hour Part 16

She finished her exchange with the bald guy and crossed the road towards the taxi rank. I stopped to let her past as he powered up his window and drove off.

I dropped the BlackBerry into my lap and carried on for a couple of hundred metres before swinging round by a dark-grey stone building. It looked like an old government inst.i.tution, maybe a library or a theatre. Its big gla.s.s windows were filled with posters in Arabic. It must have been a mosque of sorts. Shoes were stacked on racks outside a side entrance.

Anna was talking to the driver of the taxi at the head of the queue. She saw me, gave the guy a thanks-but-no-thanks, and turned to walk down one of the side streets. I followed and pulled up alongside her. She looked around and jumped in. The expression on her face said she was ready for her b.o.l.l.o.c.king.

'What the f.u.c.k are you doing? I told you, didn't I? Anything spooks you, get up and walk. Didn't I say don't take any chances?'

She listened to me as she fastened her seatbelt. 'Nick, watch the road. I've found Lilian.'

'Alive?'

'I think it's her. There were twelve girls, some of them fresh off the plane. I can show you. Go back to the roundabout.' She lowered her window and lit a cigarette.

She took a drag. 'It was dark. But there's one who could definitely be her.'

'What about Baldilocks - you get his name? Anything?'

She shook her head. 'He's a Brit, but he doesn't sound like you. He's like the one in Christiania. The one who gave us the address.'

'A Scouser?'

'I don't know what that means. But he sounded the same.' She took another drag. As we turned onto the roundabout I let down my window too.

'Take the second exit - follow the signs for the docks.'

I checked the blue plate high up on the first building past the roundabout. The street was called Distelweg.

'Follow the road. It twists and turns through this housing estate, and then you cross a ca.n.a.l. After that, it's a dead straight line down the centre of the docks.' She turned her head to blow out another cloud of smoke. 'I told him I'd buy the lot, thinking that maybe I could get them all out quickly. We could find the money, couldn't we, Nicholas? Five thousand euros. Five thousand each. They're young ...'

'Brilliant. When do we have to deliver the cash?'

'We don't.' She sighed. 'Turns out they've already been sold and are due to leave this Thursday. He just wanted to show me how fresh his merchandise is.'

As we drove over the bridge and into almost total darkness I had the same feeling I'd had at the Bender border crossing into Transnistria - like I was crossing into East Berlin. In my rear-view, the ca.n.a.l s.h.i.+mmered under the street-lights. We pa.s.sed four or five ropy-looking boathouses. Just forty metres later the world was pitch black.

Anna tossed out her cigarette and climbed into the back without being told. She crouched in the foot-well as I turned onto the dead straight tarmac road that bisected the dock. Potholes lined the verge where it surrendered to the mud, and stacks of wooden pallets sat outside a parade of industrial units. Watery pools of security lighting surrounded a similar group of buildings in the distance. A few trucks and vans were parked up here and there, but there was no sign of life. This wasn't a 24/7 part of town.

All signs of habitation petered out about four hundred metres further on and were replaced by a run of steel railings. To reinforce the Checkpoint Charlie experience, it started to rain.

Anna rested her head on the baby seat. 'OK - now we're at the wasteground. The place I was taken is on its own, set back from the road. There's a tower on the left-hand side.'

The Noord 5 area was on the far side of the water. Piles of rubble and twisted steel reinforcing rods glistened in its ambient light.

We pa.s.sed a double gate secured with a s.h.i.+ny new padlock and chain.

'That's where we drove in.'

Droplets of rain bounced through the open window and onto my cheek. I studied the dark silhouette of the target: an imposing rectangular structure with a tower at the left end. I couldn't see a single light.

'I think it's a grain silo - or, at least, it used to be. There was flour over everything. It smells like a cake shop when you go in.'

I carried on for another hundred metres or so, to a point where the road turned sharp left and then almost wound back on itself. We pa.s.sed a ferry point, not much more than a slipway, too small for vehicles, just for pedestrians and cyclists. I drove back towards what I hoped was the Berlin Wall ca.n.a.l. With luck we'd be able to cross it and get back onto Distelweg via the estate.

The bay was immediately to my right. On the other side of it was the Amsterdam I remembered. Spires were silhouetted in the neon glow. Navigation lights glided up and down the waterway between us as tonight's pa.s.sengers tucked into a romantic ca.n.a.l-cruise dinner.

'Describe the building for me.'

'It has concrete floors. The door we went in through is on the right-hand side of the building. Inside is a hallway with four doors into offices, two on each side. The first on the right is where the girls are kept. They're in sleeping bags on mattresses.'

'Did you see inside the other three rooms?'

She shook her head. 'We went straight into the first on the right. There is a staircase on the left. I could hear voices coming from the first floor. Dutch voices. I didn't see them. There were definitely two captors, maybe three or four.'

We crossed the ca.n.a.l and found ourselves in another estate - narrow roads and prefab houses, painted white.

'Did they open the main door for you, or did the bald guy have a key?'

'It was locked. He made a call and they unlocked it from the inside. They locked themselves in again when we left.'

'What about the gate? Was it open when you got there?'

'I couldn't tell. The driver got out, but I don't know if it was locked. They might have unlocked it after the call. I just don't know.'

'Anything else?'

She climbed back alongside me and thought for a while. 'It all happened so fast and I didn't want to be obvious. When we met at the cafe, I told him I wanted to see what condition the girls were in. If they were good, we could do business. These guys are greedy, they always are.'

'Well done, mate. Brilliant.'

She laughed. 'But ... ?' She knew what was coming.

'Anna, you're a nightmare.' I looked at her. 'Don't do that sort of s.h.i.+t again.' I stopped the car. 'You drive back.'

We swapped seats and I checked the BlackBerry footage I'd taken earlier to make sure Anna wasn't visible. The quality was OK - a bit dark, but they'd be able to get a few decent sightings of the face.

Anna followed signs to the A10.

I hit the secure b.u.t.ton and waited for the app to do its stuff. I pressed send, then dialled Jules's number. 'I've found a possible.'

He sounded surprised. 'Is she OK?'

'I've uploaded a video for you. He has the possible. I've got three days max before she's being moved on. The lad's got a Lexus, a crimson four-by-four hybrid thing. I don't know if it's his. I don't even know the plate. All I know is that face. Can you find out who he is? The quality ain't great, but the Tefalheads should be able to sort something out. If not, fire them.'

'How difficult will it be to get to her?'

'Hard to tell. The girls are protected.' I repeated Anna's description of the target. 'All I know is, there are twelve of them, and one's a possible. I'm going to get in there and confirm.'

Tresillian jumped in from nowhere. 'Well done, Mr Stone. I'll organize a safe-house and a contact. Call back in two hours. In the meantime, start planning to get in there, find the possible, and if she is our target, get her out. We need this to be done as quickly as you can. Do you understand me?'

'Loud and clear.'

'Stand by.'

He cut us off.

We reached the slip road onto the A10, southbound to Schiphol.

'We'll drop you off at the Radisson and I'll take the car.'

'Drop me off?'

'I've got to go on and do the job. You're not going to come to the safe-house, are you? They can't know you're here. So wait out in the hotel. It'll be safer for both of us. If the s.h.i.+t hits the fan, it means I've got somewhere to go, a safe RV. And if I've got Lilian, it means she's got somewhere to go as well.'

'But can't I drive for you or something like that?'

'No.' I squeezed her hand. 'You have to be on the safe side of the fence. For both of our sakes.'

6

22.35 hrs

Back on the A10 from the airport, I ignored the city centre turnoff. I crossed the North Sea ca.n.a.l. The smoking-chimneys sign warned me to turn off in one K. I downed a couple more Smarties and a swig of c.o.ke.

Anna was p.i.s.sed off with me. She didn't want to sit in a hotel room until I'd finished the job. But there was no alternative. The less my contact - and therefore Tresillian - knew about what I had up my sleeve, the better. In any case, the job would be done and dusted within a couple of days. Then we could sample some R-and-R, Moscow-style. And find a way of not talking about how long I might have to go.

I'd follow Tresillian's most recent set of instructions, then get back on target tonight. Who knows? I might even have her out of there by first light.

It wasn't long before I was paralleling the market. The place was closed but a lot of the kebab joints and corner shops in the vicinity were still open. Brightly coloured lights glistened in the rain slick that coated the Panda's side windows.

It had been good spending time with Anna. And I wouldn't have got here so quickly if it wasn't for her. But now I had to perform, and when push came to shove, I preferred to work alone. I was in control of just one person. If anything went wrong, I only had one person to blame.

I ignored the first two exits on the small roundabout, including Distelweg, and took the last option. I hit the road that doubled back on itself, eventually turning left onto the street I'd been given. Papaverhoek was narrow, and paved with concrete cobblestones.

Down at the far end, maybe two hundred metres away, sat a baby cargo s.h.i.+p looking like a road-block. I slowed right down. Cars parked both sides. A long blue wooden building with yellow awnings on my right. Blinds - also yellow - closed, but a sign hinting at the pleasures within: 'FilmNoord x.x.x'. Foyer open, but no customers in sight.

I pa.s.sed a run of concrete prefab garages with corrugated-asbestos roofs. Some didn't have doors, just the a.r.s.e of a rusty car sticking out. To my left, and stretching for sixty to seventy metres, was a two-storey office block: brick with white metal windows; precise, uncluttered, well-kept, Germanic. Numbered '1-3', it wasn't the one I wanted.

The next building along was connected to it, with its far end overlooking a patch of wasteground. A large wooden door that might once have been varnished stood to the left of a metal shutter. 'd.i.c.kinson (NL)' was stamped on a faded white plastic nameplate.

I parked nose-in to the shutter and left the engine running. The windows above me on the first floor were barred and grimy. There was no movement or light.

I retrieved my day sack from the pa.s.senger seat and got out. There was nothing in it I'd particularly need if I had to do a runner: it was just good drills to keep all your gear with you.

I looked for cameras as I walked towards the entrance but couldn't see any. A couple of street-lamps further back towards the main cast an intermittent glow, but that was about it. Nothing much happened down here. The only reason for anyone to venture this way after hours would be to work late for the Germans or stock up on some p.o.r.n. I wondered if FilmNoord x.x.x had contributed to Slobo's collection.

My head was clear. I realized I'd forgotten about the pain as soon as Anna had gone missing. I decided to ease back on the Smarties and see if I could start to grip this thing on my own.

The door had three locks. I rang the bell. The intercom crackled alongside it.

'It's Nick.'

'Bradley.' His tone was crisp.

'OK, Bradley. Fifty-five.'

He was silent for a moment. 'Subtract forty-six.'

'OK. Let me in?'

The intercom closed down and an electric motor to my right began to whirr. The shutter groaned and shrieked its way upwards. I went and sat in the Panda while it finished torturing itself.

Only two of the four fluorescent tubes hanging from its ceiling were working but they were enough to show that the Volkswagen Golf to the right of the loading bay was disguised as a compost heap. Its wiper blade had somehow managed to cut an arc through the s.h.i.+t on the rear windscreen but reversing was still going to be a challenge.

I pulled in beside it as soon as there was enough clearance, then got out and hit the green down b.u.t.ton. The floor was covered with dust and the kind of tyre prints they get very excited about on CSI: Miami CSI: Miami. Beyond the cars there was an empty s.p.a.ce where whatever came into or out of this building was stored, and a set of steps that led up to a gallery.

'Mr Smith ...'

A man in jeans and a leather jacket came down them to greet me. His voice was accentless but educated and his smile was ironic. He thrust out a hand, allowing me a glimpse of cufflinks in the shape of miniature shotgun cartridges, and we shook.

Bradley's hair was short and blond, and casual dress wasn't his thing. He reminded me of my estate agent, and the kind of officer I'd done my best to forget about since leaving the Regiment. He had a blue plastic folder tucked under his arm. 'Shall we go inside? I have your briefing pack.'

He led me back up to the gallery and through a thick wooden fire door. A narrow concrete stairway went up the centre of the building, past a landing with a push-bar fire escape, to a corridor which ran the length of the top floor. Three doors, all of them open, led into empty offices that overlooked the road. A couple of old wooden filing cabinets was all that remained of the furniture, but indentations in the carpet marked where desks had once stood, and worn areas traced the most popular routes between them.

'What is this place? Who does it belong to?'

He checked his stride, as if he couldn't walk and talk at the same time. 'It was built just before the Germans invaded. The Resistance used it as a hide for downed Brit air crews.'

'Who else knows I'm here?'

He looked disappointed that I'd needed to ask. 'No one apart from Mr T and Julian. Did Julian tell you he and I knew each other at Marlborough? I joined the army and he ... Well, he's done all right for himself, hasn't he?'

'Don't know, mate. Never set eyes on him. Where do the d.i.c.kinsons fit in? Do they know what's going on?'

'My mother's family. They were the ones with the money. Her grandfather started in paper packaging in 1936. He ended up with businesses all over Europe. My father took over the group when my mother inherited, and they both died just over ten years ago. A boating accident ...' The blood rushed to his cheeks. 'It was only then that I discovered he was bankrupt. I managed to keep a little of the empire, and this is part of it.'

'Are you in the service?'

He smiled. 'I like to think so. The company has had links with HMG since those Resistance days. During the Cold War, my father gave the Firm any t.i.tbits he picked up while on business in the East. I'm more a sort of roving amba.s.sador myself - one foot in the import/export world, the other with you guys, whoever you are. I don't need to know. We're not exactly a new breed, I suppose. Private enterprise doing its bit to defend democracy.'

He gave me a smile that didn't go anywhere near his eyes.