Page 81 of Into the Fire

The reality had been very different.Viyan had never seen the Welfare Centre, nor did she meet Leyla again, until she dismounted from the filthy cargo container into the bewildering surrounds of the farm.The traffickers, far from being sympathetic to the desperate migrants, were brutal and heartless, barely feeding their charges as they were transported in blacked-out vans across shadowy border crossings in Bulgaria, Serbia, Slovenia and more, before eventually arriving in a refugee hostel in Holland.Perhaps the place was genuine, perhaps thereweregenuine asylum seekers there, but Viyan never got to find out, bundled into the Dutchman’s container truck, with only the shortest of breaks to use the bathroom and beg a slice of bread.A day or two later, she had found herself at this hideous farm, imprisoned by her desperation, her vulnerability, her gullibility.

How she cursed herself now for her naivety.For believing Leyla’s wicked lies.And yet, what reason did she have to question this kindly woman’s motives?She was of Kurdish heritage, she was a charity worker, she even claimed to be a mother, mentioning a trio of beloved children whom Viyan now knew didn’t exist.Leyla had preyed on Viyan’s maternal love, playing on her fears for the welfare of her children.She had assured Viyan that if she accepted her proposal that her family would prosper, that they would grow up happy, healthy, even wealthy, that it was her duty as a mother to put them first.She had sealed the deal by invoking their shared heritage, citing the duty of every Kurd to look out for each other in the face of relentless suspicion,hostility and persecution.And it was that, her gross misuse of this sacred bond, amongst a plethora of other lies, obfuscations and half-truths, that had been the greatest betrayal of all.

Chapter 88

Helen was heading east, gliding over the Itchen Toll bridge, speeding fast out into the countryside.The M27 came and went, then the village of Swanwick, Helen pushing deeper into the remote agricultural land that bordered the east of the city.Seldom visited and little explored, it was the perfect spot for a criminal enterprise that needed to remain below the radar.

How well Leyla Rashidi had fooled them all, keeping her operation, her success, her very existence totally under wraps.She was a devious criminal who for years had operated in the shadows, presenting to the outside world as Harika Guli, loving mother and protector of her community, whilst in reality operating a sophisticated and successful trafficking operation.Helen’s mind was still reeling from all that Viyan had told her, marvelling at the audacity, duplicity and cruelty of this mysterious woman.She was obviously greedy, ruthless and sadistic, delighting in tormenting her charges when they behaved, eliminating them in the vilest way possible when they didn’t.Helen had been devastated to learn of Selima’s terrible end, her fellow worker’s fractured description of her agonized screaming utterly sickening.It was yet another death on Helen’s conscience, the very last thing she needed today.

Would Viyan perish in the same agonizing way?If so, wouldHelen be able to live with herself?It wasshewho’d asked ‘Harika’ to come to Southampton Central to help translate for Viyan.It wasshewho’d unwittingly given away Viyan’s hiding place at the refuge, handing the young mother over to her captors on a plate.Helen raged against herself for her stupidity, yet in her heart of hearts she knew it was Leyla Rashidi who was to blame, the pitiless gangmaster to whom killing was as natural as breathing.

How convincing she’d seemed when Helen had been quizzing her only a few days ago, concerned, committed and eager to help.At the time, Helen had no doubts as to her sincerity, nor she assumed did her fellow volunteers, who appeared to hang on her every word.Loath though she was to admit it, Leyla’s diabolical scheme had a touch of genius to it, using her charitable work in the UK to justify numerous trips to the remote villages, slums and, on occasion, disaster zones of Turkey.No one, not Interpol, not the UK police, nor the refugee charities, would have any cause to question her activities or motives, giving her total freedom to recruit desperate new migrants.With that kind expression, those big brown eyes, that winning smile, who wouldn’t be convinced?Preying on fellow Kurds, exploiting their difficult situation for her own gain, she’d ensured a steady supply of illegal workers, topping up the numbers with other refugees from central Asia who’d managed to make it to the asylum centre in Rotterdam.Was that organization in on it too?Or were they innocent dupes?Time would tell.

Time, however, was the one commodity Helen didn’t have.Cranking up her speed, she raced on down the deserted country lanes.Her satnav was leading her ever deeper into the unknown, indicating that she should turn right onto a dirt track which led away into woodland.Skidding onto it, Helen bumped down the rutted path, each impact shooting right through her weakened body.Despite this, she was heedless of caution, determined tolocate the camp, taking the next bend as fast as she could, before suddenly coming to an abrupt halt, sending up a cloud of dust.Her prize was just a hundred feet in front of her, access barred by a pair of tall, metal gates.This then was Dearham Farm, surrounded on all sides by a chain-link fence which was topped with razor wire.Killing the ignition, Helen dismounted swiftly, tugging off her helmet and wheeling her Kawasaki off the road.

Leaving her bike concealed, Helen crept back to the roadside.As she did so, the towering metal gates suddenly opened.Intrigued, she hung back, wondering what this sudden movement might mean.The sharp toot of a horn explained all, an articulated lorry leaving the farm and heading away fast down the dirt track.Surprised, Helen stepped back into the shadows, watching with interest as the Dutch lorry thundered past.

A smile spread across her face as she watched it go, another piece of the puzzle falling into place.Fired up, Helen pulled her phone from her pocket, then quickly dialled Charlie’s number.

Chapter 89

‘Where the hell have you been, Helen?I’ve been going out of my mind here.’

Charlie’s overriding feeling was one of relief, but her enquiry was nevertheless tinged with anger.She’d spent the last few hours trying to placate an irate Holmes, but more than that had been genuinely worried about her old friend.News had reached her of the arson attack at the women’s refuge and the subsequent discovery of an injured woman lying in the street, but her enquiries at the local hospitals had yielded nothing, Helen having apparently discharged herself a couple of hours ago.

‘Look, I’m sorry about that and I’ll explain later,’ Helen replied, her voice catching.‘All you need to know right now is that they’ve got Viyan.It’s my belief that she’s being held at Dearham Farm, which is just on the outskirts of Swanwick.I’m there now.Also, your man is on the move.A Dutch registered Scania truck just left the farm at speed.I think he’s making a break for it, trying to get home before the shit hits the fan.’

‘Did you catch the registration plate?’Charlie enquired urgently.

‘R 945 DX, so it’s definitely our guy,’ Helen replied quickly.‘If he’s heading to the docks, he should be there in under an hour.Anyway, that’s all, I’ve gotta go.See you on the other side.’

She rang off, leaving Charlie hanging.

‘Bye then …’ Charlie said to the dead line, shaking her head at her old friend’s unfailing ability to surprise her.

‘Good news?’

Charlie spun round to find DC Malik staring at her curiously.

‘Very good news,’ Charlie replied, raising her voice as she continued.‘Right, listen up everyone.We have a confirmed sighting of our man.He’s just left a remote farm in Swanwick and, we presume, is heading for the docks.DC Malik, can you liaise with the port authorities?I want a name for whoever’s booked a crossing today for a Scania truck, registration number R 945 DX.’

‘I will alert Traffic and Border Force and I want us all on the road in five minutes.Our top priority now is to intercept him with the minimum drama, bringing him into custody safely and securely.’

For a moment, the assorted team members did nothing, staring in astonishment at this sudden change in their fortunes.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?This is our chance to show what we’re made of.’

Now there was a flurry of activity, as phones, jackets, batons and more were scooped up, the team keen to respond to her call to arms.It was a sight that stirred Charlie’s heart, sending pulses of adrenaline coursing through her.After months of dead ends, embarrassments and failures, this was her chance to make amends.To show Holmes she was worthy of her rank.To convince the team that she was fit to lead.

To prove to herself that shecoulddo the job.

Chapter 90

Emilia drummed her fingers on the wheel, frustrated and anxious.She had been camped out at the petrol station for four hours now and still there was no sign of him.Curious as to why the tracking signal had hardly moved since last night, she’d driven straight to Dearham Farm from the mortuary, only to be deterred by the high chain-link fences and perimeter guards.Executing a swift U-turn, she’d retreated to the nearby Shell station to ponder her next move.Would her plan still work or had something already gone wrong?She had terrible visions of the Dutchman’s jacket lying discarded in the dirt as he crept away via some secret route, but now to her immeasurable relief, he appeared to be on the move again.The little dot was gliding fast away from the vast swathe of green on the digital map, heading down Swanwick Lane towards the heart of the village.

‘Come on, come on …’

She craned left and right, peering through her windscreen.Suddenly Emilia was desperate to lay her eyes on her assailant again, to convince herself that he was still unaware of her subterfuge.The flashing dot was almost on top of her now, so exhaling slowly, she turned the key in the ignition, sliding the gears into first.

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