but the junctions I used as hand- and footholds were awkwardly spaced and the steel was rusty and wet. By the time I heaved myself over the top, I felt like I’d completed an assault course.
The conveyor-belt itself was just over a metre wide. Its rubberized fabric was rotten and frayed and a lot of the steel banding was exposed. I raised myself slowly onto my hands and knees and started to crawl. Almost immediately, the rubber between the rollers gave way with a loud, tearing sound. I dropped flat, listened and watched. Then I decided not to fuck around. If they’d seen me, they’d seen me. It wasn’t as if I could do anything about it. I might as well carry on until I heard the shouts.
The belt led up to a pair of rusty metal doors each about a metre square. A gentle push and they opened.
The brickwork was four courses thick. If there was still any flour in there, it would be bone dry. I edged forward on my elbows until my chest was on the lip of the hatchway and peered down. Right at the bottom, the faintest flicker of light showed through what looked like a tunnel connecting the silo with the rest of the building.
A vertical access ladder was fixed to the wall. I curled my body until I was able to reach my boots, unlace them and tug them off. I scraped off the worst of the mud on the top edge of the Meccano, tied the laces together and slung them round my neck. I eased myself back through the hatch, feet first, until I made contact with the top rung. I took a breath and started down.
After about twenty metres I stopped to look and listen. My feet hurt without the boots to protect them, but that was better than leaving mud on the ladder or having clumps of it fall off and land below.
The further down I went, the stronger the smell of flour and the brighter the light. I paused again just before reaching the ground. The edges of the silo were lined with flour two or three feet high.
I stepped down onto a concrete base. I didn’t need to worry where I trod. There were plenty of disturbances in the flour, including footprints.
The opening into the rest of the building was about the size of a garage door. Steel shutters above it were locked in the up position.
Very slowly, I moved my head around the corner. A brick wall stood immediately opposite me, in the middle of which was a door. Two windows either side of it were in darkness. There were also three windows on the second floor of what had probably once been offices. Light spilt from the one on the right - enough for me to see its haze reflecting off the remains of what had once been hundreds of tonnes of flour dust piled up against the walls.
A body moved across the window.
I froze.
Male, early twenties. Both forearms dark with tattoos; cigarette in mouth; bare-chested and overweight. His bitch tits wobbled as he moved.
He shouted something to someone and gestured at his crotch. A young girl shuffled into view. Her hair was dark and frizzy. She sank slowly to her knees in front of him. Her head disappeared below the sill. Bitch Tits soon had a slack smile on his face. He looked down at her, took a deep drag and flicked some ash onto her head.
I stayed where I was. If there was just one of them, maybe I could take him now, then get Lilian and the rest of them out.
I heard screams from the ground floor, along with some very pissed-off male shouting.
The door to Bitch Tits’s office burst open. The new arrival wore a lot of black leather. His head was shaved, neo-Nazi style. His face had multiple piercings.
Bitch Tits wasn’t impressed by what he was hearing. ‘Well, fucking find her! Don’t you dare fucking lose her!’
He was a Brit - a Scouser. It was beginning to sound like a family business.
The ground-floor office door was also thrown wide. This time the yells were Dutch.
I didn’t see any of the bodies. I was too busy climbing back up the ladder as fast as my legs would carry me.
12
I lay on my side at the top of the conveyor-belt and pulled my boots back on. I gulped in mouthfuls of air. The smell of decayed rubber made me gag.
The shouts below me - now in heavily accented English - echoed round the tower.
‘There is nothing.’
‘She is not here.’
More shouts from the Dutch guys outside. Bodies bomb-burst from the door. Bitch Tits screamed with anger - or it could have been fear. His voice was high-pitched, out of control. ‘Fucking get out there! Fucking
I finished tying my laces and started reversing carefully down the conveyor-belt, keeping as low as I could. A few metres below me, fucked-off men tried to organize themselves for the hunt. It wasn’t working. Bitch Tits was going completely ballistic in Scouse. ‘
By the time I was about two-thirds of the way down, the shouts had begun to fade. I stared into the darkness. The search party had spread into the wasteground. I jumped the last couple of metres and ran for cover.
I legged it in the direction of Distelweg, making each big chunk of concrete a single bound. I checked the ground ahead as best I could, straining my ears for the shout that would signal they’d found her. She’d be terrified. Maybe she’d got stuck trying to get over the fence - desperately wanting to, but having lost all control because she was so scared.
I heard nothing. Total silence. The Dutch must have gone out via the gate or jumped the fence. Keeping in the shadows, I used my three-light marker to navigate back to the gap. Someone else had been through here since I last had. Someone in bare feet. I could see the mark of my boots in the mud, and also the imprint of small, frantic toes.
I slipped through and kept to the edge of the road, almost hugging the fence. The search party would be moving up and down Distelweg by now, checking every bit of cover, flapping more and more as the minutes ticked by.
I came level with the Panda and felt around in the scrub for the keys. Once inside I powered down the window and had one last listen before I fired up the engine.
Lights extinguished, I moved off slowly, following the road on the bay side of the dock. It started to rain again.
There was a massive thump on the front of the car. I braked hard.
A face flew up out of nowhere and banged against the windscreen. For a split second, all I could see was a mass of wet blonde hair and a pair of big scared eyes.
I threw the engine out of gear. Fuck the handbrake. I jumped out to grab her.
By the time I got round to the front of the car the girl was already scrabbling along the tarmac. There was blood on her face. Her jeans were soaked. Her feet were bare.
‘Lilian?’
She was swallowed up by the shadows as quickly as she’d appeared.
I stopped and listened.
Nothing.
I jumped back into the Panda. There was a streak of blood on the windscreen. If it was Lillian, I had to get to her before those fuckers did.
I moved off, nice and slow, windows down.
