down at the boy who lay unconscious at her feet. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could utter a sound the girl raised her foot and stamped it down, as hard as she could, on the boy's neck. There was a dreadful crunch, the boy spasmed and twitched, gasped, sighed, then lay still. A trickle of blood leaked from his mouth. The girl looked up at me and wiped the back of her hand across her face, smearing away the tears and snot. Then she cocked her head to one side, and said: 'Now what?' She spoke primly, with the self-possession of monied privilege.
It took me a few seconds to respond.
'Is there anybody else in here with you?' I asked.
'Just Tim,' said the girl. 'He's upstairs. He's sick.'
'No more guards?'
She shook her head.
'All right. Can you open the front door for me? Walk outside and wave. My friends will see you.'
She looped the rope over her neck and let it drop to the floor, then she nodded, turned and left.
I looked down at the seated children. One boy seemed more present than the others. He looked about ten. I leant down so we were eye to eye.
'When my friends arrive can you show them where Tim is and help them get everyone out the front door?'
He nodded solemnly.
'Thank you. Now, could you all just keep quiet for a moment? I have one more thing to do then we can get you out of here.'
A few small nods. One girl went back to her porridge.
I avoided looking at the dead teenager, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, fixed a smile on my face and opened the door to the courtyard again. I strode out confidently, but I was painfully aware that I was unarmed. It wouldn't have helped anyway; my hands were shaking too much to use a gun even if I'd had one. I couldn't tell you whether they shook from fear or fury – probably an equal measure of both. I took a deep breath and tried to relax; I'd need steady hands for the next bit.
As I walked past the stables, I saw Rowles and Caroline, still sitting on the floor in Olly's office. I caught Rowles' eye and inclined my head. He nodded back and rose to his feet. I kept walking past the doorway, towards the bookworm. He lay his book aside as I approached, carefully inserting a bookmark to keep his place.
'I thought you were getting paid?' he asked as he swung his legs over the side of the sofa.
The plan had been to find a bag and fill it with stuff, make it look like I'd been paid. I'd been distracted, lost my concentration, and forgotten. Stupid mistake.
'Nothing left,' I improvised. 'Jonny told me to come back tomorrow. He reckons you'll be flush once you've offloaded this consignment.'
The man looked confused.
'Yeah, we will be. But we won't be back for a week.'
So wherever they took the children was much further away than I'd thought.
The guard smiled. 'Jonny probably just wants you to come and visit him while we're away. Dirty bastard.'
The gun was on the sofa beside him. Bookworm stood up and walked past me to yell at the farmhouse. 'Oi! Jonny! You dirty fucker. Your dick making you tell porkies again?'
He obviously expected a comeback. But Jonny wasn't saying anything. He stood there, smiling, waiting for a sarcastic reply. Then the smile gradually changed to puzzlement. 'Oi! Jonny! You in there?' He took another step forwards. Suddenly he realised something was wrong, and he spun around to face me. I couldn't go for his gun because the guard at the top of the scaffolding was watching us. He'd have picked me off if I'd made a move. But I was standing between the bookworm and his sofa, blocking access to his gun. I silently urged everyone to get a move on.
'Last I saw Jonny, he was dragging some girl upstairs by a rope,' I said, shrugging.
Bookworm eyed me suspiciously.
'Probably can't hear you for her groans of ecstasy,' I added. Then I flashed my eyes at him knowingly, pretending to be one of the lads, laughing at the teenage rapist.
I felt sick.
'So not tomorrow, next week, yeah?' I asked.
'Yeah,' he said thoughtfully.
We stood there facing each other as he see-sawed between amusement and suspicion. Amusement eventually won.
'He's a dirty little bastard, Jonny,' he laughed. 'You want to watch him.'
'Will do. See you next week then?'
He nodded and walked to the gate, unshackling the chains and pulling hard. The guard on the tower returned his attention to the flood plain as the door swung open. I leaned down and grabbed the sawn-off shotgun from the sofa, and walked up behind Bookworm. I buried the muzzle in the small of his back. He stiffened and froze. I pushed him forward so that the metal door shielded us from the man on the scaffolding.
The guard outside the door looked puzzled for an instant and then raised his gun to his hip.
'Drop it,' I whispered to the black-toothed lech. 'Or the bookworm dies.'
He considered this for a moment.
'I don't really like him that much,' he replied.
'Fred!' protested Bookworm.
'Shut up you speccy twat,' said Blackteeth. 'Always got your nose buried in a book. Think you're better than the rest of us. Threatening him ain't gonna stop me, love. Oi, Mike, we've got a situation down here. Wanna lend a hand or you just gonna sit up there staring into space all afternoon?'
I heard the metal clang of the other guard climbing down the scaffolding.
All the plan required was that I disarm the door guards. It should have been easy. Instead I had two barrels ready to fire, two armed men coming at me from two sides, and one unarmed but still dangerous guy stuck in the middle with me. Lee would have known what to do.
I just had to stall. What was keeping everyone?
'What about you, Mike?' I shouted. 'You want to see your mate's guts blown out?' I had my free hand on Bookworm's shoulder, and I began backing us away from Blackteeth, back inside the courtyard, towards the sofa. When Mike finally hit the ground and rounded the gate we were far enough back that I could see him and Blackteeth without dividing my attention. At least I'd avoided being caught between the two of them – now they were all in front of me.
'Not really,' said Mike. He was tall and lean, bald, about forty. He wore a Barbour jacket, blue jeans and green wellies, and he had the shotgun held up to his shoulder, aimed steadily at us. Something about his poise made me very nervous. He wasn't a thug like Blackteeth, or a novice like Bookworm – he was experienced and deliberate. He was the real threat here.
I remembered the briefing that morning. 'Nobody gets hurt,' I'd insisted. 'Whatever happens, no-one gets killed. All right?' I looked pointedly at Rowles as I said this. He smirked, then nodded. 'Yes, Matron.'
One dumb teenage bastard was already going cold twenty metres to my right. I didn't want anyone else to join him. Not even these guys.
'Olly!' Mike shouted. 'Get out here, boss.'
'Olly's not available right now,' came the reply. 'Can I help at all?' It was Rowles; all five foot nothing of him. He was standing outside the stables, muddy and bedraggled, legs apart, arms raised, with a pistol in his hands. His face and hair dripped fresh blood.
'Dammit Rowles,' I shouted. 'I told you not to kill him.'
'He's not dead Matron,' replied the boy quietly. 'I can't guarantee he'll ever be the same again, but he's not dead.'
Mike's aim didn't waver for a second, but his eyes widened as he calculated the odds. He was square in Rowles' sights.
'Fuck me,' said Blackteeth.
'It's just a kid, Fred,' said Mike. 'Get a grip.'
'Caroline, you got a minute?' said Rowles.
