Towards Light Page 5

  But she’d have to wait until he returned. Janet gazed out of the window into the dingy street. Big men in suits jumped out of a flash SUV and escorted two guys in dinner jackets towards a basement staircase.

  A woman in six-inch stilettos and leggings with a fur coat around her shoulders greeted them at street level. This road had everything for a young man’s needs, even an underground strip joint. Too exhausted for another fingertip search, Janet tried door-to-door enquiries as she doubted that Cole would arrive back soon.

  She left the flat and crossed the street to greet the only neighbours awake at this hour. Police cars and ambulances flashed past her as she reached the pavement. They’d be too late for Brady and his mate.

  The SUV drove off in the opposite direction to the police and the girl in the high heels ducked down the stairwell out of site. Janet joined her at the base of the stairs. A pink neon sign strobed above the door. The light tubes looped and twisted to spell the venue’s name: “Jonjo’s”

  ‘Hello Sweetie, I love your shoes. I bought a pair like that fifty years ago. They still fit me, but I only wear them on my birthday. And only in the safety of my kitchen where I’m not too far from the telephone in case I stumble.’

  The girl giggled. She was eighteen or twenty and had her hair scraped back over her scalp into a black ponytail that reached midway down her back. Her makeup was perfect, and Janet respected the time she’d taken over it. Janet’s own beauty regime was shorter, but she’d enjoyed applying the anti-ageing formula that her son had bought for her birthday.

  ‘What are you doing here this late at night? You should go home and stay safe. This is a bad neighbourhood.’

  ‘Are you Russian?’

  ‘I’m from Moldova.’ Janet noticed a bruise on the girl’s cheek blended into the makeup.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘You don’t want to go in there. Go home. Trust me.’

  ‘My daughter’s in there. I’m here to take her home. I’ll take you with me too? You may feel helpless, but you can get away from here and find new people. Go to a different city where they won’t find you. Call me if you need me.’

  Janet handed over her card. She’d printed them at a motorway service station ten years ago and rarely gave them out. The card was yellowed and dog-eared but redeemed by its fifty-pound note wrapping paper.

  ‘You take care old lady.’ The girl at the door kissed Janet on the cheek, opened the door and then climbed the stairs back to the pavement.

  Jonjo’s was smarter than Janet had predicted, and she sat in a booth out of site. Blonde girls in white underwear attended the guys in dinner jackets. One guy was around fifty with hair on his head and glasses. His blonde host stroked his hair and pointed towards some curtains over by the stage. The other guy had a shiny dome, but lights were out behind the facade. He stood and rocked back and forth with the music. He tried to hit the beats on “b” but swayed somewhere between “a” and “t”.

  A dancer arrived on stage and the guys gazed over. They were the only punters, but Janet guessed it would get busier as the SUV cruised central London in search of corporate events kicking out or even naïve young men from out-of-town.

  There were five more girls sitting together at a table waiting for guests to entertain. Janet beckoned them. Four girls didn’t move but laughed when they saw Janet perched in her booth. An older one with red hair who sat a little apart from the group strolled over to Janet.

  ‘Hello love are you ok?’ the girl said.

  ‘Yes, I came to see my grandson Tom from across the road. Do you know him?’

  ‘We all know Tom, but do you think he’d want to see his grandma in this place?’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘He paid me for a dance earlier on. He was short of money afterwards though and couldn’t settle his bar bill, but Maggie let him put it on his tab. When Jonjo arrived an hour ago he saw the tab. He marched over to Tom’s flat and dragged him back here. They’re in the back room. Tom’s a sweet guy but he’s so dumb.’

  ‘How do I get to the back room?’

  ‘The only way is across the stage.’

  Janet rose and stepped onto the stage. The guy in the dinner jacket with hair gave her a wolf whistle. Janet took a bow. The dancer on the pole shot a stare, not happy at sharing the limelight. Gold stitching embossed the thick red curtain at the rear of the stage. Janet peeled back a corner to create a gap to peer through. She poked her head between the drapes and checked the corridor was clear before she stepped through.

  Janet heard voices from a room at the end of the corridor and approached. She couldn’t see through the shut door, but the plasterboard was thin, and she listened to every word.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you again Tom, where have you hidden her?’

  ‘I’m not handing her over Jonjo, they’ll kill her.’

  ‘Rand will kill me if I don’t get her to him by morning. You’ll be dead by then though, I’ll kill you myself!’

  ‘I wish you would. It would save me the job. As soon as I walk out of here, I’ll tell Mike where I hid her and then I’ll top myself, I’ve had enough.’

  Janet detected no other voices. She stayed up late most nights playing online bridge and the early hours of the morning was her peak time. The fight in the street had tired her but she could still handle Jonjo. She entered the room.

  Jonjo was a tiny guy, five foot two at the most. He’d slicked his hair into a greasy black pony tail. Jonjo wore a white shirt under his leather jacket. He faced Tom across a vinyl table with seats for eight. Janet guessed the room served as both canteen and dressing area for the girls: sweatpants, hoodies, coats and bags filled the other chairs.

  Janet shifted a bag and sat in silence. Tom had no bruises and sat unrestrained. His head drooped, his face was ashen, and his hair hung unbrushed and unwashed. If not undercover, he was in poor shape.

  Jonjo regarded her with confusion. Janet had found this edge useful over the years. An old lady looks out of place in most criminal situations. This provokes questions in the minds of criminals. And questions demand thinking which takes time.

  ‘Let me help you,’ Janet said.

  ‘Are you in the right place old lady? Why don’t you get a girl to show you out? I’m busy right now with Tom.’

  ‘It’s your lucky day Jonjo. I can get you out of this mess and take care of Bill Rand for you.’

  The offer piqued the boss’s interest. He had not risen to manager of the best clip joint in London by closing his mind to possibilities and opportunities.

  ‘How can you help?’

  ‘I’ve followed Rand for most of my adult life. Two years ago, I was close to finishing him for good, but his friends in high places meant he didn’t go to trial. I must take care of him myself. You take me to Rand and I’ll do the rest. What have you got to lose?’

  ‘Are you Janet?’ said Tom. ‘Mike Baker told me about you. You should listen to her Jonjo, she’s dangerous.’

  And Jonjo listened. If he didn’t get the Teague woman to Rand by morning, then he would be all out of options.

  ‘OK old lady, if Mike Baker thinks you’re dangerous then I’ll take a chance on you. Tom here was a good cop, I was his snout. But Tom’s got a weakness or ten. He’s not great with money and he’d rather gamble than save. Tom’s not the best with the ladies so he pays for it. He eats takeaway rather than cook. I could go on but the boy’s down enough already without me rubbing his nose further into the poop. The result is that Tom owes me money, a lot of money, so I own him. Is that a fair assessment Tom?’

  The bent cop nodded.

  ‘Four months ago, Bill Rand calls me up and needs a favour. A big favour. Needs me to kidnap a woman for him. Now shit travels downhill and Tom’s umbrella’s broken, so he got covered. I could have got my guys to take her by force but why bother when you’ve got a policeman in your pocket. So, Tom here planned his operation. He’s smarter than Mike Baker takes him for. He watched her for months and then yester
day when the call came he knew where she’d be, and he took her easy. Now Tom’s weak as I told you and he didn’t want to turn out this way. Few of us do? He still wants to be the good guy and deep inside him he’s got a moral problem and won’t hand over the woman. The fact he’s suicidal means there’s no way to motivate him. So, there’s my predicament.’

  ‘Take me to Mrs Teague Tom and all of this will go away.’ Janet regarded the broken CID officer with a mother’s love.

  Tom felt safe in her gaze. ‘OK,’ he said. Then he cried.

  Chapter 9

  In the depths of the tank, Dr Mowbrey got to work. The environment was unpleasant; slime covered his grey Wellington boots. But he couldn’t see the slime or his boots in the darkness. It was dark for a reason and Mowbrey worked by the scant illumination provided by his red filtered torch. He replaced the fuse taking care not to spill torchlight on the gloop encasing his ankles. But he stumbled on the step to the vessel’s door and dropped the flashlight.

  He heard a pop from the floor: an oxygen bubble which frightened him. Oxygen bubbles meant respiration. He fumbled for the wheel that locked the silo, grasped it and turned. The steel ring squeezed and shrieked as he forced it clockwise until the hatch opened. He stepped into the airlock, more like a light lock, and shut the steel portal behind him.

  High-pressure sprays cleared the slime from his boots and fans sucked the residue through the grated floor.

  Strip lights overhead illuminated and the access gate opposite opened. He exited the decontamination chamber and changed out of his protective clothing in the locker room. He straightened his tie and donned his jacket: the Tuesday suit with the purple lining.

  The torch he’d dropped in the tank was a problem and would set him back a few days. They’d need to drain the residue and start a fresh batch which was unfortunate but not catastrophic. His operation was not yet on the critical path.

  Mowbrey descended the spiral staircase to the canteen. His allocated network of tunnels and caverns provided secrecy for his operation but posed problems with access. He resented the twenty-minute walk through the steam and the stench and the heat to get over ground.

  He had several exits, but he favoured the one by the statue of Achilles in Hyde Park. His security clearance provided passage through the ultra-high security routes: the command centres, accommodation blocks and medical facilities once envisaged for use after a nuclear holocaust. The bunker had received upgrades and recent investment, but fear of nuclear annihilation had not driven the spending.

  It amazed him that the runners, dog walkers and families bore him no second glance as he emerged from the ground in his suit. Perhaps if he’d held a cane and sported a bowler hat, he would have provoked more interest. The high visibility vest and safety hat he removed and placed on the ledge before he closed the hatch gave him cover, and he didn’t use this route often.

  Rand had chosen a Japanese restaurant near Oxford Street to meet. Mowbrey strolled up to Speaker’s Corner and past Marble Arch. He enjoyed the sun on his face, the sight of the daffodils and a few remaining snowdrops. He’d been underground too much for the last two years and he savoured the moment.

  Rand sat in an alcove as Mowbrey arrived at the tiny restaurant. He sipped tea in front of two filled Bento boxes which sat undisturbed on the table. The waitresses ignored them.

  ‘Morning Doctor. You’re late.’

  ‘I’m surprised you mention it, as you’ve not delivered the Teague woman yet.’

  ‘But I have delivered. She’ll be here soon.’

  They ate the food. Getting Teague’s wife underground was the trickiest part of the operation. Access through the university tunnels was easy but a scream from the woman would alert nosy students.

  The hatch near Achilles stood in clear sight but seemed safer. The passing runners wore earphones and there would need to be a real commotion before they got involved.

  As Mowbrey sipped his tea, a short guy with a ponytail entered the restaurant, made eye contact with Rand and then left again.

  Rand stood and left notes on the table. ‘Let’s go Mowbrey.’

  Jonjo walked ahead without glancing back. Rand and Mowbrey followed the guy down Park Lane to some parking bays opposite a hotel at the South-East corner of the park.

  A dishevelled man jumped out of a battered car and hauled a woman out with him. They’d drugged the woman, her eyes stared. She wore jeans and a jumper with no coat.

  ‘All yours Mowbrey,’ said Rand.

  ‘What am I going to do with her?’

  ‘Your problem. I’ve delivered. Consider this a handover.’

  Rand got into the vehicle with Jonjo and Tom Cole and drove off, leaving Mowbrey and the woman alone on the pavement.

  ‘Would you like to see your husband?’ Mowbrey said.

  The woman didn’t answer but nodded to him.

  ‘Follow me then, I’ll take you to him.’ Which was true. And the truth, and the drugs, convinced Jess to comply. Mowbrey offered his arm and escorted Jess over Park lane, across the square with the statue of Byron, and back into Hyde Park.

  An old woman approached Mowbrey and said, ‘Lovely day for a walk isn’t it. Do you know the way to Buckingham Palace?’

  ‘You need to go that way.’ Mowbrey motioned East with his arm. Jess regarded Janet with a blank expression.

  ‘Will it take long? Only I’m late already. I said I’d meet my daughter at Canada gate.’

  ‘It’s about five minutes. I’m sorry but I must go. My wife is sick, and I need to get her home.’

  ‘Oh dear, she looks pale. Would you like me to look at her? I used to be a nurse. Why don’t you take a seat on that bench my love?’

  Jess complied which annoyed Mowbrey. Teague’s wife appeared to be regaining her senses, and he needed to get her underground fast. Rand would pay for this half-baked plan. Mowbrey forced his annoyance with Rand from his head and thought of how to get rid of this troublesome old woman. CCTV covered the area, so he didn’t want a disturbance here that would render this route underground unviable.

  A taxi passed with its light on and Mowbrey put his fingers to his mouth and forced out a whistle. The cab driver turned and Mowbrey hailed him. He ushered Jess by her waist to the cab. Janet followed.

  The cabby wound down his window. ‘Where to mate?’

  Mowbrey took a twenty out his wallet and handed it to the cab driver. ‘Can you take this lady to Canada gate please? Keep the change.’

  Janet stepped into the vehicle but stumbled and as Mowbrey caught her his wallet fell on the pavement. Janet regained her balance, scooped the leather pouch from the ground, and handed it back to its owner.

  ‘Thank you so much. You’re so kind,’ Janet said. She waved as the cab pulled away.

  Mowbrey continued towards the hatch, unhindered by the meddling pensioner. He reached into his wallet for the access card to open the flap, but it was missing along with his credit cards.

  Mowbrey banged his fist into the steel plate and bruised his knuckle.

  Janet viewed this futile expression of anger from behind a tree. The cab driver had agreed to drop her fifty metres down the road and kept the full twenty for the fare.

  There had not been time to analyse the contents of the wallet, so Janet had grabbed a handful of plastic. She threw the credit cards in the bin but kept the plain white one.

  Jess seemed agitated, the drugs had worn off, and she walked away from Mowbrey. He pulled her arm, and she kicked him in the shin. Janet watched as Jess walked away from the irate guy in a suit. He’d thought better than to restrain Jess. Janet suspected that Jess may have given him a good hiding, she’d shown a vicious streak with that kick.

  Janet called Mike Baker and appraised him. Mike sent a car to pick up Mrs Teague and take her home. The patrol car found her walking on Rotten Row making her way to Exhibition Road. She knew the route from a reunion she’d attended with Andy at his university.

  Mowbrey stalked away in the opposite direction and
half an hour later Janet emerged from her hide.

  The slot on the steel flap near the base of the statue received the white card presented by Janet. No light blinked to confirm but a clicking sound confirmed access. A spring mechanism raised the lip of the cover two inches, but the hatch was too heavy for the old woman to lift. She flagged down two teenage runners, a boy and a girl, and they raised it vertical.

  Janet descended the ladder and thanked them. The pair laughed at the site of Janet putting on the hard hat and vest stowed on the ledge in the shaft.

  The hatch dropped as Janet pulled the cord fixed to its underside and hydraulics hissed as a mechanism forced it closed. Strip lights lit the chute.

  The access card proved a good steal as it opened the first door that Janet approached when she reached the bottom of the ladder. She entered a chamber fitted out like a locker room. Various garments hung from pegs in size order. The material was perforated cotton in options of blue, white, green and red.

  The heat stifled Janet, and she changed into a green jacket, leaving her coat and jumper on an empty hanger.

  Her new clothes were more appropriate to the underground climate, and she thought it may serve as a useful disguise if challenged. Her key card presented two choices: a door on the right or one on the left. Janet chose the right.

  She stared at the rows of a hundred seats fixed to the floor and the screens still in plastic wrapping. A ticket dispenser hung from a wall near a water cooler. Janet guessed that she stood in a waiting room in which no-one had yet waited. But what would they wait for? Where would you go when your number came up on the screens?

  She took a ticket: no 1! The screens flashed white and her number appeared in a green box on a monitor. The pixilated rectangle containing the number slid down and when it hit the bottom a buzzer sounded once, and a green light lit above the door in the far corner.

  The shortest wait in Janet’s life ended as a friendly face appeared in the door's window. Julia Matthews beckoned Janet in to the hospital. Six bays with frosted glass dividers stood empty. The room smelled new: no antiseptic.