Aaron began to cry, turning away from Sam out of a senseless notion of macho pride.
‘I’m not. I wanted to kill that kid.’
‘But you didn’t.’ Sam pointed out as he stood. ‘You didn’t kill him, because that’s not who you are. You’re a good man and a good father. You’ve knocked on doors even I wouldn’t knock on to find her.’
Aaron took a deep breath and wiped away the final tear. Sam reached out and patted him on his shoulder.
‘I believe your daughter is being shipped out of Tilbury Port at some point this evening. I don’t know when or where to. If you feel you need to call the police, let them handle it, then that’s your prerogative as Jasmine’s father. But I promised you I would get your daughter back, and that’s what I’m going to do.’
Sam nodded, and then headed towards the hallway, making his way down towards the door. Aaron watched him march to the door, his eyes flicking to the business card of DI Singh who had visited him the day before. She had been so adamant that Sam needed to be stopped, but she would be able to bring the full fury of the Metropolitan Police to the location of his daughter.
Did he place his faith in one man? Or the entire justice system?
Sam opened the front door, taking one look at the downpour and then pulled the collar of his jacket up. Just as he stepped out into the elements, Aaron called after him.
‘What are you going to do?’
Sam stopped and turned, the rain crashing into him, soaking him instantly and chilling him to the bone.
His words were even colder.
‘What I do best.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jasmine and the other girls were all huddled together in the dark. With their arms interlinked they did their best to keep calm. Inside the metal crate, the darkness had begun to feel like home. The foul smell of body odour and human waste all too familiar. Outside, they could hear the hustle and bustle of machinery, the warning beep of a truck, and a few voices shouting instructions. An hour before, they felt the crate begin to move as it was loaded onto a small boat, the restlessness of the Thames causing them to rock from side to side.
One of the other girls emptied her guts onto the floor.
It didn’t matter. It was just enveloped by the rest of the foul stench.
Jasmine closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. Two of the girls were weeping, the realisation that they were about to be shipped to an unknown destination had dawned on them. The words that no one was to touch them until they got to the other side raced around Jasmine’s head.
Wherever they were going, it wasn’t going to be nice.
Jasmine wasn’t as young as the other girls and had taken on the responsibility of keeping them calm. While few words were shared between the girls, their fear was.
They huddled together, knowing that wherever the crate was being transported to, their nightmare awaited on the other side of the door. A life of abuse and violation, so far away from home they would have no chance of returning.
As the two girls wept louder, Jasmine felt a lone tear slide over the edge of her eyelid, and she yearned for her dad. She had been so horrible to him, pushed him away when all he had wanted was for her to be safe.
When her mother had died, she’d blamed him.
She had never taken the time to realise that he had lost a wife.
Her lip quivered and soon, Jasmine was crying. The other girls snuggled closer to comfort her and the four of them agreed, that no matter what awaited them, they would always have each other.
But their time was running out.
The Port of Tilbury was spookily quiet as Sam Pope emerged from the building opposite. After he had left Aaron’s house, he had gone home to grab a few hours of rest and then suited up. He had strapped a bulletproof vest to his torso, remembering the burning sensation of the bullets that had passed through his body before. He had liberated one of the Glock 20s from the wardrobe, and it now hung securely in the shoulder holster under his leather bomber jacket.
His trusted L85IW SATO assault rifle lay across his back, the strap diagonally dissecting across his vest.
His back-up plan was nine stories above him.
Sam had arrived in Tilbury just before five, intentionally missing the rush hour that turned the M25 into a carbon dioxide sponsored game of sardines. He had chuckled as he had broken into another car, wondering if maybe he should go into the lucrative business of boosting cars. It was a skill he had learnt years back while serving in the army when he and Etheridge had come under heavy fire.
It was Etheridge who had shown him how, which had saved his life.
Now, he was relying on Etheridge to save another.
Sam had his fingers clasped around his mobile phone, his hand stuffed in his pocket to shield the device from the relentless downpour. Sam had slowly walked around the outer fence of the port, trying his best to get an idea of the layout. It was the same as before, mountain after mountain of metal crates, all stacked up like an iron metropolis. Sam didn’t like it. He always plotted and planned his attacks to the minutest detail. Nothing was trivial and every fine margin was well scouted beforehand.
The last time he headed into a situation this severe with no preparation, he took down the entire High Rise, ending with him arresting a senior officer and unloading a clip into the chest of one of the most hardened criminals.
Now, he
