CHAPTER FIVE
The old container yard at Paull had been abandoned long enough for nature to start winning.
Grass pushed through cracked concrete. Salt air had eaten orange scars through the steel. Beyond the flood bank, the Humber was black under a low sky.
Drew parked half a mile away.
No bikes. No cuts. No convoy.
He had brought Leah, Gareth and one member he trusted more than most men he had known since childhood: Sam Ridley, club treasurer, forty-eight, quiet, terrifyingly good with numbers and worse with grudges.
Owen had been ordered to remain at the clubhouse.
He had taken it badly.
"Three vehicles," Leah whispered from behind a collapsed wall.
Drew followed her gaze.
A Transit van. A silver hatchback. A black Audi.
No visible people.
"Too obvious," Sam muttered.
Leah nodded. "Yes."
Gareth looked at her. "Meaning?"
"They want us to approach from here."
Drew studied the yard.
"Then we don't."
They circled south along the flood defence, moving through wet grass until they reached the rear fence.
Leah stopped.
"Camera."
Drew saw it only after she pointed.
Tiny black dome beneath a broken security lamp.
"Police training?" he asked.
"Yes."
"At least you're honest now."
"Don't get used to it."
He looked at her.
She almost smiled.
Wrong night. Wrong woman. Wrong everything.
Still there.
Sam cut the fence.
They entered between two containers and moved without lights.
Drew had a pistol low against his leg. Gareth carried a shotgun despite Drew telling him not to. Leah had demanded a weapon.
Drew had refused.
She had called him an idiot.
Then she had taken a crowbar from the vehicle.
He respected the improvisation.
They found the marked container in the third row.
782.
Red triangle.
Door closed.
No guard.
Leah crouched near the threshold.
"Fresh tyre marks."
"Van?"
"Maybe."
Drew touched the door.
"Warm."
Gareth moved forward.
Leah caught him.
"Wait."
Gareth looked ready to hit her.
"Your daughter may be behind that door."
"Exactly."
"Which is why you don't open it until we know what they've attached to it."
Drew crouched beside the locking bar.
A wire ran from the lower hinge into the gap.
He swore quietly.
"Good spot."
Leah leaned closer. "Could be alarm. Could be explosive."
"Can you tell?"
"Not without touching it."
"Useful."
"I have many talents."
"I've noticed."
Her eyes met his.
For half a second the hostage yard disappeared.
Then a phone rang inside the container.
Gareth lunged for the door.
Drew caught him around the chest.
"Stop."
"Amy!"
The phone kept ringing.
Once. Twice.
Then stopped.
A speaker above them crackled.
"Good evening, North End."
Distorted voice.
Leah's expression changed.
Drew saw recognition.
"You know it?"
"No."
"That was quick."
The speaker continued.
"You weren't supposed to come until tomorrow. That's disappointing."
Gareth shouted into the darkness. "Where is she?"
A laugh echoed from somewhere in the yard.
"Close."
Drew looked at the containers around them.
Too many doors.
Too many blind corners.
"Leah Quinn," the voice said. "You brought criminals to a police crime scene. Marcus is going to be furious."
Leah went pale.
Drew turned toward her.
"Marcus who?"
Gunfire cracked from the far row.
Sam dropped behind steel.
Drew shoved Leah down as rounds sparked from the container wall.
Gareth fired the shotgun toward the muzzle flashes.
"Don't!" Leah shouted.
Too late.
A second shooter opened from behind them.
Crossfire.
Drew fired twice, moved left and heard Sam grunt.
"Hit?"
"Vest. I'm good."
They had worn armour under jackets. Leah had not.
Drew grabbed her by the belt and dragged her behind a concrete barrier.
"Stay."
"Fuck off."
She crawled to the edge and looked around it.
"Two shooters. One north, one east. They're pushing us toward the container."
"Bomb?"
"Maybe."
"Then where do we go?"
She looked up.
"Through."
"Through what?"
Leah pointed at the rotten plywood wall of a maintenance shed behind them.
Drew understood.
He fired toward the east shooter while Gareth and Sam moved. Leah swung the crowbar into the plywood once, twice, three times. A panel split.
"Again," Drew said.
"I am."
"Helpful encouragement."
"You're welcome."
The wall gave way.
They dived through one by one.
Inside, the shed smelled of oil and dead rats.
Leah pushed a rusted cabinet against the hole.
"Back exit?"
Sam pointed. "There."
The rear door opened onto another lane of containers.
No shots.
Drew looked at Leah.
"You said Marcus."
"Not now."
"When?"
"When we're not being shot at."
"We're often being shot at. Schedule something."
She stared at him.
Then, incredibly, laughed.
Short and breathless.
Drew felt it like a punch.
Gareth was already moving toward the next row.
"Amy!"
"Gareth," Drew hissed.
A weak scream answered.
Female.
Every man froze.
"Dad!"
Gareth ran.
Drew swore and followed.
The scream came again from container 614.
No red triangle.
No wire.
Gareth tore at the locking bar.
Drew helped him.
The doors opened.
A young woman lay on the floor, wrists tied.
Not Amy.
Leah got there first.
"Jesus."
The woman was maybe twenty-five. Blonde. Barefoot. Blood on both knees.
A printed photograph had been taped to her chest.
Amy Pike, alive, holding that day's newspaper.
Under the photograph was a handwritten message.
WRONG GIRL.
TRY AGAIN.
Gareth made a sound Drew had never heard from him before.
The rescued woman started sobbing.
Leah crouched.
"What's your name?"
"M-Mia."
"Mia what?"
"Carter."
Leah's face changed again.
"You know her?" Drew asked.
Mia looked past Leah toward Gareth's cut.
Her fear doubled.
"Please don't kill me."
"We're not going to kill you," Leah said.
Mia shook her head violently.
"They said you would. They said North End takes women when debts aren't paid."
Gareth swore. "Who said?"
Mia's eyes went to Leah.
"The policeman."
Silence.
Drew looked at Leah.
"Marcus?"
Leah closed her eyes for one second.
When she opened them, he knew.
"DI Marcus Venn," she said. "My handler."