Holm was out of the car and making for the warehouse on the field side of the hedge.
‘Boss.’ Javed was right behind, stumbling in the now near darkness. ‘We’ve got to be careful. We could get shot if we venture onto the base.’
‘Forget the base.’ They’d reached the corner of the field. Through the hedge they could see the truck backing up to the warehouse. Huge double doors stood open, blackness within. The truck inched inside, its reversing lights illuminating pallets and wooden crates and some sort of racking system. In the security box the guard had returned to reading a magazine. ‘This has nothing to do with the military. Now give me a bunk up.’
The fence was a couple of metres high but there was no barbed wire. The barrier was a deterrent rather than an impediment. Javed cupped his hands and Holm stepped onto the makeshift step. He grasped the top of the fence and hoisted himself up. The edge of the fence dug into his stomach and ripped his shirt, but he swung over awkwardly and dropped down the other side. Javed pulled himself up and over in one smooth movement.
‘Show-off,’ Holm said. A strip from his white shirt hung down towards his knees and when he put his hand to his stomach his fingers found a warm sticky liquid.
‘Man down?’ Javed said.
‘I’m fine. It’s just a graze.’ Holm pulled the strip of linen free and dabbed the cut. He tucked the remains of his shirt back in. ‘Come on, we need to get closer.’
The security was minimal. There didn’t seem to be any cameras, and shrubs dotted the grassy area round the warehouse, providing plenty of cover. They reached the edge of the building and moved along until they came to a door set into the metal cladding. From inside came the revving and idling of the truck’s diesel engine. Holm tried the door but it was locked. He gestured back towards the front of the building and as he did so he heard the engine rev again. Seconds later the truck cab rolled out from the warehouse and drove to the gate. The guard raised the barrier and the truck drove off.
‘He’s dumped the container,’ Javed said. ‘Should we try and get inside?’
Holm considered the terrain. A multitude of shrubs would allow them to make their way to the front of the building undetected, but they’d have to cross the open tarmac to get to the doors. It was now dark and floodlights illuminated the whole area. If the guard turned, he’d spot them.
He tapped Javed on the shoulder, made a circling motion and set off along the wall of the warehouse. At the rear there was a small strip of land and beyond that a fence which marked the edge of RAF Wittering. The runway was lit up and a series of lights dotted off into the darkness. A large jet waited on an apron of concrete, a door near the cabin open and a set of steps in place. A glow shone from a cargo hatch and a fuel bowser stood near the aircraft.
Holm turned to the building. There was a set of double doors, a mirror to the ones at the front. He moved across. There was a standard-sized door set into one and he was surprised to find it was unlocked. He eased the door open and stepped into the dark of the warehouse.
‘Fuck.’ Holm smashed his ankle on something low down. ‘We should have brought a torch.’
‘Here.’ Javed’s face lit up in the glow from his phone. A bright light on the back blinked on and Javed moved the phone to illuminate the area in front of them. Dozens of lengths of scaffolding lay in a metal rack; it was the corner of the rack that had connected with Holm’s ankle.
Holm bent and rubbed his foot and moved forward. The cavernous space appeared almost empty, but in the centre was the container on its trailer.
‘There,’ Holm said. The rear doors were closed, but there was no seal. ‘Let’s open it up.’
Holm winced at the noise as Javed shifted an empty pallet box over to the container. Holm clambered up on top of the box and worked at the handle. Metal squeaked on metal as the rods top and bottom sprung from their holes and Javed helped Holm pull the door open. Inside were a number of wooden crates, each labelled with the words ‘Genuine Volvo Penta Marine Parts’.
‘These are similar to the ones we saw in Naples,’ Javed said. He began to undo the metal ties holding one of the crates closed and then lifted the lid. ‘Looks legit to me.’
‘Right.’ Holm moved his attention to the rear of the container where there was something odd about the back wall. He tapped the metal and glanced down the side to the open doors. ‘Too short,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘The inside of the container. There’s something beyond this.’ He tapped the metal again. ‘With these boxes loaded you wouldn’t notice if you glanced in from the rear.’
‘But anyone taking their time would realise.’
‘Yes, but remember this container never left UK jurisdiction. If it was ever checked the inspection would be cursory at best.’ Holm moved to one side where the seam of a weld looked rough and badly made. He grasped at a couple of bolt heads. ‘Here, help me.’
Javed came across. He flashed the light of his phone at the corner, placed it on a crate, and moved to lend a hand. By gripping the bolt heads they were able to lift a section of the wall. Something clicked and the wall swung open on invisible hinges. Behind was a small compartment the width of the container and a pace deep.
‘They’re not here.’ Holm looked round, trying to
