‘Do you have any observations?’ he asked the men once they had finished looking through the folders.
It was the man who had been a passenger in the Mercedes who answered first.
‘Do they speak English?’ he asked, nodding towards the girls.
‘Simple words,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but not enough to understand a conversation.’ He looked at the girls who were standing forlornly in the line, and smiled knowingly. ‘But they will soon understand the words you will need to encourage them.’
‘Are they virgins?’ the man asked.
Janov nodded emphatically. ‘Yes. I would not offer you anything less. Once you have finished with them, they can go into the system.’
‘If there is anything left of them worth keeping,’ one of the men said. They all laughed; the man who had made the remark was well known for his sadism.
‘The list,’ the passenger said, raising the folder. ‘It is comprehensive, but fairly simple. When would you expect delivery?’
Janov stepped forward so that his face came into the shadows. ‘As always you will be given ample time to get the weapons together. I expect you to deliver within two weeks. They must be in the warehouse by then.’
‘What about the other merchandise?’ one of the men asked.
Janov turned his head away in a quick movement. ‘It is waiting for you and will be handed over once you have confirmed you have the weapons. Agreed?’
They all nodded their acceptance of what was a very simple contract and made by men of honour; if that was the right word to describe men who held positions of immense power in their respective fields.
‘Good,’ Janov said with satisfaction. ‘Now, you can take the girls upstairs. There are drinks in the room and the usual equipment. I will give you two hours. The room is well soundproofed, so go upstairs and enjoy yourselves.’
The three men stood up with smiles beginning to gather on their faces and followed Janov who was leading the three girls from the room. And at that point, the three young teenagers had no idea exactly what was waiting for them in that room upstairs.
Marcus saw the punch coming and turned inside his opponent’s swinging arm, bringing his elbow snapping into the man’s rib cage. But the jab did not affect his opponent because he brought his knee up and drove it into Marcus’s thigh. Marcus yelled and jumped back, then spun and lifted his leg to kick out at the man’s face. All this succeeded in doing was to unbalance him slightly. This gave his opponent an opportunity to drive forward as Marcus struggled to regain any momentum. The blow to Marcus’s face was not unexpected, but he was able to deflect most of the effect by lifting his forearm and grabbing the man’s wrist. He pushed it away and dived underneath the upraised arm, spun and kicked the man sharply in the rib cage. The man winced and Marcus seized the moment and drove his fist into the man’s side. The man collapsed on to the floor, then spun like a street dancer. His rotating legs caught Marcus across the ankle and whipped his legs from beneath him. Marcus went down, flat on his back. His opponent leapt up and pounced, driving his knee into Marcus’s chest and pushing a hand down hard on to his throat.
‘You lose, Marcus,’ he declared triumphantly. ‘Now you’ve got to buy me lunch’
‘Sod you, Maggot,’ Marcus cried and tried to wriggle free as his opponent eased the pressure on his throat. ‘You always seem to get the better of me.’
Maggot laughed and stood up, hauling Marcus up with him. ‘That’s because you don’t try,’ he told him as he slipped off his protective headgear. ‘You know, Marcus, you would be so much better if you bloody concentrated.’
Marcus got to his feet. ‘I let you win, anyway,’ he joked. ‘It’s the only way to stop you moaning all week.’ He pulled off his headgear and followed Maggot across the gymnasium floor to where their towels were hanging from coat hooks.
‘So, where do you want to go for lunch?’ Marcus asked his friend, ‘MacDonald’s?’
‘Now, now,’ Maggot complained. ‘You know I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.’
‘That settles it then,’ Marcus answered, ‘we’ll go to Dimitri’s Burger Bar.’
Maggot flicked him with his towel. ‘Bloody cheek,’ he said. ‘Next time I beat you up; I’ll do it for real.’
Marcus had known Maggot for years. Nobody knew how he came by the name because his real name was Rafiq Shah. His mother and father were from the remote region of northern Pakistan. They came from the small town of Beraul Bandal, about ten miles from the Afghanistan border and had arrived in England as working doctors when Maggot was an infant. Marcus had met Maggot at University. They struck up an instant friendship and took up martial arts together. Maggot said it was because he wanted to compensate for his naturally slight frame, while Marcus took the sport up because Maggot had persuaded him to.
Maggot went into teaching once he had left University, but he found it difficult because of the struggle he had at the boys’ school where he taught. He told Marcus that young boys needed an Alpha Male role model to look up to and respect, and that he felt he was failing to supply that need. Marcus told him that it was because he was a lousy bloody teacher, and they laughed about it. But in the end, Maggot gave up teaching and opened a small gymnasium south of the River Thames, and it was there that he and Marcus spent many a happy hour beating the living daylights out of each other.
‘Why don’t you get a proper job?’ Maggot asked.
‘That’s what my Dad says,’ Marcus answered.
They had finished the lunch that Marcus had willingly paid for and were now having a drink. Marcus had a beer while Maggot had a Coke. Beside them the Thames flowed effortlessly past and the sun tried desperately to come out from behind the clouds. The weather was being kind and allowed them to sit in the garden of the pub without getting too cold.
‘How about next week, Maggot, can you make it?’
Maggot shook his head. ‘Sorry, Marcus, but I’ll be in Pakistan.’
‘Visiting family?’
Maggot nodded. ‘Something like that. And what about you, what’s your latest project?’ he asked.
Marcus explained briefly about Susan Ellis and Cavendish. ‘So I want to know who this Cavendish bloke is,’ he finished saying.
‘Do you think he has a connection with the girl’s brother then?’ Maggot asked him.
‘Got to,’ Marcus said sternly. ‘Otherwise it doesn’t make bloody sense. He’s not a do-gooder, is he? I mean, how come he brings her a piddling bit of information about her brother yet lies about who he really is?’
‘You say he’s Secret Service,’ Maggot reminded him. ‘Could be a bit dodgy poking your nose in there, you know.’
Marcus shot him a sideways glance and lifted the glass to his mouth. ‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ he said.
Maggot shifted on his chair. ‘No, but you will, won’t you?’
Marcus took a mouthful of beer before answering. He put his glass down. ‘The way I see it,’ he began, ‘is that I could find out who this Cavendish bloke is and pass that on to Susan Ellis. Then she could go to the Press and maybe stir up a little mischief; find out about her brother that way.’
Maggot leaned forward, his expression taking a more serious tone. ‘You know, Marcus, my mother and father have always loved it here in this country. Always believed it was truly the land of the free and the fair. But now they admit their adopted nation is no longer free and fair; it’s no longer safe. Since we climbed into bed with the Americans after 9/11 we have been forced to submit ourselves to the security forces. We’ve given them carte blanche to decide what the meaning of freedom is for the British people. They blame terrorism, the Muslims, other people, other countries. But they use those reasons as a stick with which to beat us and subdue us.’ He pointed a finger at Marcus. ‘Just be very careful who you get tangled up with, Marcus. Let Susan Ellis find her own way in this. Her brother is probably dead anyway. Don’t add to the body count.’
Marcus tipped his head over to one side and regarded Maggot with a curious expression.
‘You know, Maggot if we all gave in like that, we’d have been under the jackboot years ago. That Cavendish bloke has dumped on Susan Ellis and simply added to her grief and worry. She has no way of ever learning the truth, and if I don’t help her, no other bugger will.’
Maggot smiled at him. ‘You always were a softie, Marcus. That’s why I keep beating you.’
