Zero Hour (2010)

13

I drove across the canal and into the prefab estate. A left took me back towards the Distelweg bridge. I parked up about a hundred metres further on and tucked Brad’s mallet into the waistband of my jeans. I’d move back onto the target on foot and start searching again from there. I didn’t want to take the car through the area twice that night. It was bad drills. Bitch Tits and his mates might still be out there.

The shop lights splashed across the wet pavements. I was hungry and thirsty, and it was going to be a long night. I went into a mini-mart and bought crisps, pitta bread and a bottle of water. I managed the whole transaction without a single word to the guy behind the counter. I just grunted and paid.

I jammed the crisps into the bread as I walked past a line of graffiti-covered boathouses. I kept close to the walls and fences of the industrial units, ready to dodge oncoming headlights. I threw the last of the crisp sandwich down my neck as I approached the tile warehouse.

I heard a cry.

Then male laughter, followed by grunts and curses, monosyllabic and aggressive.

I took a couple of steps.

And heard it again.

There was a blur of movement from beneath the canopy. The girl ran from the shadows, naked and sobbing. Two guys appeared behind her. Too fast, too powerful. They grabbed her and dragged her back into the darkness.

It wasn’t hard to work out what they were doing to her. I just needed to know how many of them were doing it.

Another cry. Part pain, part despair.

It looked like Bitch Tits was the only one allowed to sample the merchandise on site, and this lot fancied a taster before they dragged her back to him.

14

Rhythmic sobs continued to come from under the canopy. I inched forward, fingers closing around the handle of the mallet.

I heard more grunts and A couple of slaps. There was a muffled, anguished scream followed by a chorus of laughter. The air was heavy with cannabis.

There were four of them, all fully paid-up members of the neo-Nazi club. Crew-cuts, tattoos and plenty of face metal were the order of the day. The girl was on her knees. Three of them stood around her with their jeans halfway down their thighs. A fourth lounged against the door with a stupid grin on his face, smoking a joint. It was either his turn to chill, or he preferred to watch.

The girl’s bloodstained face was rounder and younger than the image I had of Lilian. Much younger. She took a couple more slaps to the head to make her work harder.

A million years of training told me there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t intervene. Bad things happen. This shit went on a million times a day, all over the world. I was here for a job. I wasn’t the UN. I needed to let this run its course. Four guys here raping this girl meant four fewer guarding Lilian. I needed to stop fucking around and get back to the silo.

But there was another voice in my head. Anna’s voice. What about this girl? What about her parents, her sisters, her brothers? How would you feel if this was happening to someone you cared for, if this was happening to me?

I looked round for something heavier than the mallet. A bit of scaffolding would have come in handy. A wheel-brace, maybe …

Then I checked myself. What family? Every scrap of experience and years of fucking up screamed at me: I had to let this one go.

I turned and headed back the way I’d come. I’d have to pull my finger out if I wanted to get this job done by first light.

When I’d covered about twenty metres I straightened up and shoved the mallet back into the waistband of my jeans.

Another heartbreaking scream pierced the darkness.

Fuck it.

I pulled the mallet out again and turned back.

I was in auto mode, en route to a possible nightmare. I’d need to be quick and hard - just take them down and run. After that, the girl would have to sort her own shit out.

I got within a few metres of them. She was still on her knees. The one in front of her looked up just in time to see me jump into the air and bring the mallet down hard a couple of inches above his eyebrows. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. All I heard was a loud pop as the toughened rubber worked its kinetic shit and he crumpled to the floor.

I spun round, swung back my arm and zoned in on the guy to my right. He got the good news just above the temple. He groaned and collapsed onto the girl.

She whimpered and tried to kick him off.

I turned to the other two. The one with the spliff was still some distance from Planet Earth, and instead of rushing me, the other stupid fucker was pulling up his jeans. I barged against him. He staggered back under the canopy, arms windmilling, and crashed into his mate.

I didn’t give them a second to recover.

Mr Windmill’s jeans had slipped back round his knees.

I swung the mallet from right to left, demolishing his cheekbone and part of his jaw. He howled with pain. It didn’t make up for what he’d done to the girl, but it was a start.

Mr Spliff threw up his arms to protect himself, but he still wasn’t up to speed. I cannoned into him. As he went down I gave him two more quick hits. He’d managed to cover his head, so I snapped his wrist with the first blow and banged the second into his bollocks. That opened him up big-time. I brought down the mallet right on top of his closely shaven nut. Hard rubber smashed into soft bone with a dull thud. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. He wasn’t going anywhere, period.

I dug the keys out of the plant pot. The girl held her jumper against her breasts, watching me.

Two of the bodies stirred.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her out from under the canopy. I gathered up her jeans and thrust them at her.

‘Go! Go on! Fuck off!’

She stood there shivering, clothes held up in front of her, knees trembling, like the child she was.

I gave her a shove. ‘Go! Run!’

Two sets of headlights swept down the road from the direction of the bridge.

She was so tiny it was easy to pull her out of sight. I pushed her against the wheel of a trailer loaded with pallets as the engine got louder. She struggled, trying to escape. She probably thought I fancied a bit of what the neos had already helped themselves to. I grabbed her by the back of her head, wound my fingers through her hair and pushed her against the tyre.

The car came into view: a green Passat, two up. It slowed but didn’t stop. I caught a glimpse of long, greasy black hair and matching shirt but couldn’t see their faces. Ten seconds later a blue-and-white did the same. I dragged the girl to her feet the moment it had passed and we started moving in the opposite direction.

We’d covered a couple of hundred metres when I heard the whoop of a siren, just one quick hit. Blue lights strobed the darkness, glinting off the puddles, then they stopped just as suddenly.

We kept going.

She had to come with me now, even though I knew I was giving myself a very big dose of drama. I couldn’t let her get lifted. Tarasov and his box of tricks had better be worth all this shit.

I flung open the back door of the Panda and shoved her down into the footwell. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.