John Milton: The Jungle Part 22

"She has a brother. John said-"

"'John said?'" Florin repeated, interrupting her. "You are on first-name terms with this nn-qim?"

"Be quiet," Pasko snapped at his son. "Go on, Sarah. He said what?"

"He said that she stole a man's phone and contacted her brother. She told him where she was. They're immigrants, like me. The brother came to get her, but he was arrested at the port. Smith was involved somehow, I don't know how, but he is helping the brother. He came to the flat to get her. That's why."

"Do you know the brother's name?" She shook her head, upset that she didn't, and he moved to rea.s.sure her. "It doesn't matter. We can just ask Nadia instead."

"Where is Smith now?" Florin asked.

"I don't know. He left to do something. He didn't tell me what."

"So where have you been?"

"At his flat."

"On your own?"

"No. There is another man, a friend of Smith's. He has been guarding me."

"Tell me about him."

"His name is Hicks."

"And?"

"He was a soldier. That's how he knows John Smith. They were both soldiers."

"So why did you take so long to come here?"

She swallowed. "Because they wouldn't let me leave."

Pasko looked at the girl, levelling his gaze at her. She looked down to her hands. Pasko looked at them, too; her nails were chewed. She was lying; her duplicity was as obvious as the nose on her face. He knew what had happened. She had nowhere else to go. She had seen that her rescuers would not be able to offer her what she needed. She wanted to stay in a country that she had worked so hard to reach. She feared that they would abandon her to the authorities, and that would mean that she would be deported. The only man who could offer the certainty of being able to stay was Pasko. She might not like her side of the bargain, but, given the alternatives, it was the best that she would be able to do. There had been runaways before, many of them, but they almost always came back to him. This little putane was no different.

Pasko laid down his utensils, took a paper napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth. "So. Mr. Hicks. Where is he now?"

"He went out for the morning-that's when I got away."

"And you came to us."

"I-" She stopped, her throat clotted.

"Hush," Pasko said. "You've done the right thing. I'm pleased you trust me. Do you think he is still out?"

She looked at the clock on the wall. It showed eleven thirty.

"Probably. He said he would be back for lunch."

Pasko took both bowls and stacked them on the table. "You will take us to him now, Sarah."

Pasko stood. Florin was waiting at the edge of the room. He went over to him.

"What will you do?" his son asked.

"This man, this milosh-I will talk to him. He will tell me about the man who killed Drago. And then I will kill them both."

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

HICKS WALKED for an hour to clear his head.

He went east, all the way to Brick Lane, picking a path through the crowds of people who were in the area for the market. He went south, pa.s.sing the brightly lit curry houses that made the road famous, ignoring the fast-talking touts who stood outside, encouraging diners to choose their establishment over those of their rivals. He walked all the way down to Quaker Street, turned right and walked on until he reached Commercial Street. He continued to the north, turned onto Sh.o.r.editch High Street, and pa.s.sed shops selling trendy sneakers, art supplies and antiques. He reached Calvert Avenue and turned back to the east, going by the little shack that had been built at the side of the road as a cafe for taxi drivers. A sign said that it was Syd's Coffee Stall and that it had been there for nearly one hundred years. It reminded Hicks of the shelter where Milton had worked, and that made him think of Milton and how he was determined not to let him down.

He stopped at the convenience store and bought the things on Sarah's list. He checked his watch. It was midday. He had promised her he would be back for lunch. He thanked the man behind the counter, collected the bag of shopping and stepped outside again.

He set off back to the flat.

THE DOOR WAS STILL LOCKED.

Hicks took out his spare key, unlocked it, and went inside.

"I'm back," he called out.

He took off his coat and hung it on one of the spare hooks that were fastened to the wall.

"Sarah?"

Her voice came from the sitting room. "I'm in here."

Hicks stopped in the kitchen and put the plastic bag on the counter. The dirty washing from breakfast was still in the sink. That was unusual, he thought. Sarah had been getting ready to clean them when he had left the flat. He dismissed it. She was waiting until the things from lunch needed to be cleaned. They had got into the habit of doing the washing-up together. He washed, she wiped. They spent the time talking. Hicks enjoyed the little routine.

"You want a drink?" he called out.

"No, thanks," she called back.

Hicks filled the kettle and set it to boil. He took the packet of cigarettes from the bag and went to the sitting room. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and went inside. Sarah was sitting on the sofa, her back to him.

"Are these okay?" he said.

He tossed the cigarettes onto the coffee table. She didn't turn. She didn't move to pick them up.

Hicks stepped into the room.

"Sarah?" he said. "What is it?"

He caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, but, before he could react, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck. A sensation of coldness spread both up and down his body, and a wave of enervating weakness crippled him. The strength in his legs vanished and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the back of the sofa. Sarah got up quickly, turned to him and then backed away, almost falling over the low table.

She looked up. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at someone behind him.

Hicks tried to turn. His knees buckled and he fell down, dropping onto his backside. His eyelids felt heavy, as if weighted down, and he had to struggle to keep them from closing. His vision was blurred and, as darkness ma.s.sed on the edges of his sight and started to swell, he saw a man coming toward him.

Chapter Forty.

HICKS COULDN'T OPEN HIS EYES.

He was lying on something uncomfortable, with sharp edges digging into his flesh. He felt so bone tired-why was that?

He lay still for another moment and then forced his eyes open.

He was looking up into the light from two halogen strips that had been fastened to a bare concrete ceiling. The light was bright, and it sent sharp stabs of pain into his brain. He blinked and tried to turn away. He couldn't. He could move his neck, at least a little, but, when he tried to sit, he found that he could not move. Something was restraining him. He tried to raise his hands to cover his face and felt the bonds that were looped around his wrists. He tried to move his legs and felt the same restrictions around his ankles.

He felt the touch of cool air on his body and knew that he was naked.

He started to panic.

He remembered: Milton's flat, Sarah, the man who had been waiting for him behind the door.

He remembered the pain in the side of his neck.

He had been drugged.

His eyes were heavy, but he forced them to stay open. He was in a room. It was a large s.p.a.ce, around ten metres square, with bare concrete walls. There were no windows, and the illumination came from the two halogen strips. He saw a metal table on the other side of the room. There was a large item on the table, the length of the table, hidden within a dark plastic bag. There was a metal rack with plastic bottles lined up on the shelves. Wooden coffins were stacked next to the rack, one atop the other.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Hicks."

Hicks followed the voice to his left.

A man was sitting on a chair next to him.

"My name is Pasko," the man said.

Hicks did not answer. The man was big and heavy-set, with an unshaven face and cruel eyes. He was wearing a white shirt and a black tie. Hicks watched as he made a show of taking out the cufflinks. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing tattoos that covered both forearms.

"Where am I?"

"You are in one of my businesses. I have several. We have an undertaker's business. It serves the Albanian community in London."

Hicks instinctively turned his head to the metal table. He realised, then, what was in the bag.

"Yes, Mr. Hicks. This room is where the bodies are prepared."

Hicks turned away from the body and raised his head so that he could look down at whatever it was he was lying on. He couldn't see very much, save the edges of metal frame. He could see his wrists; they were secured with leather straps. He glanced back at Pasko. There was a wooden table next to his chair. The table bore a tray and a plain metal box from which Hicks saw two trailing cables.

He slumped down, the back of his head resting against something hard and sharp. "Who are you?"

"I am Sarah's employer."

Hicks raised his head again and looked ahead. He was naked from head to toe. He saw the bottom edge of the frame and, beyond that, three other people. There were two men, one of whom bore a resemblance to Pasko. The third person was behind them. Hicks couldn't see them.

Pasko spoke again. "Are you surprised that she would run straight back to us?"

"A little."

"Did you wonder why?"

"I'd be surprised if it was because of your sparkling personality."

"You are funny, Mr. Hicks. And you are very nave. It is simple. These girls, they have nothing. They have no one. All they want to do is stay in this country. They know that they cannot go to the police. They will deport them, and all the money that they have spent to get here, all the risks that they have taken-that will all be wasted. The only people who have given them somewhere to stay, who have fed them and given them the chance to earn some money-it is us. We have had girls who have run away before. They always come back. Always. Isn't that right, Sarah?"

Hicks fought the fatigue to glance up again. The two men stood aside so that Hicks could see. Sarah was standing there. She looked at him for a moment, their eyes very briefly connecting, before she looked down.

"No, Sarah," Pasko said. "Look at him."

She did not. Pasko said something in Albanian, and the man next to her grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up.

"I want you to watch this," Pasko said to her. "It is important."

"Let her go," Hicks said. "She doesn't have anything to do with this."

"I am afraid I must disagree with you," Pasko said. "She most certainly does. Sarah is my property. I paid for her. That means that you and your friend stole from me. And Sarah took a week to come back to me-so that means that she stole from me, too. Sarah understands now that that was wrong. And she is going to watch what happens to those who try to steal from me so that she can tell the other girls."

Hicks struggled to keep his eyes open. "What do you want?"

"I have some questions for you, Mr. Hicks. Are you prepared to cooperate?"

"I'm a little tired. How about we do this later."

"We will do it now. What do you do?"

He closed his eyes. "Security."

"You were a soldier, then? Before?"

"Yes."