Chapter 12: Chapter 12

James Michael looks me up and down. “You fit to walk?”

“I’ll manage.”

He gives a short jerk of his head and turns to Charlotte, arms outstretched. “You walk. I’ll carry Cara for you.”

She retreats, clutching Cara to herself, shrieking. “No!”

Michael steps back, holding up his palms. “Whoa… Calm down. It’s me. What do you think I’m going to do?”

She bursts into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

He takes a step closer, moving carefully. “Charlotte, we have to leave. I’m not sure you can carry Cara and walk too.”

“No.” She swings her head in denial, tries to step out, then totters, Cara still tight to her chest.

Michael exchanges a look with me, shaking his head, then he moves in… “Hold on to Cara.” ….

sweeping her up. His voice changes to a kind of fake yokel accent. “Come, Mr Frodo!” he says. “I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you.”

She gives him a watery smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. You’ll be fine when we’ve got you home and rested up for a few days.”

Klempner shoves a knife into his belt. Another into the top of his boot. A handgun into a pocket. Then, picking up his SMG, “We need to get moving. I'll go to the front. Michael, you with Jenny in between.

James, cover our backs.”

*****

Michael My arms full of Charlotte, we clear the first flight of stairs to the corridor of ‘cells’. “Klempner, we should release the other women.”

James double-takes at me, then looking along the passage and its barred doorways, nods understanding.

Klempner gives me a startled look. “Michael, we don't have time for that. Once we're out, you can sing to the world about what's in here, but until then...”

I cut him short. “By that time Finchby and Baxter could have murdered all the witnesses. Gotten rid of the evidence.”

“Finchby won’t. Whoever’s in those cells represents his working stock. His property. He’ll not be eager to get rid of them. What’s your priority, Michael? We have to get out of here.”

“So, you don’t think a lot of screaming, panicking women, running around the place, creating chaos, trying to escape, is likely to make our job easier?”

Klempner pauses, shoots me a calculating look. “Sold to the man with the highest bid. Get on with it then. You got those keys?”

“Nope. They’re downstairs somewhere. But I do have my axe. James, can you take Charlotte from me.”

I pass her to him, clinging to his Cara with one hand, waving a gun in the other.

Then striding ahead, unslinging the axe from my shoulders, I aim… swing… and strike at the first padlock. The angle’s a little wrong. The blade bites in, but the lock doesn’t break.

I adjust my aim, this time striking square on.

And this time, the blade cuts through. The lock springs open and after a brief struggle with the bolt, I open the door to a dim cell.

A woman cringes back, babbling something at me. Dark-haired and eyed, fair-skinned, she would be beautiful if she weren’t so obviously terrified.

I gesture her, “Quick, out.”

She backs away, then sees James with Charlotte and Cara. Wide-eyed, tearful, she jabbers at me, hands outstretched, pleading.

Klempner pokes his head around the door. “Você quer partir? Venha conosco.” He throws a glance to me. “Portuguese.”

She draws a breath, then scrabbling up, dashes out, joining us, babbling at Klempner.

He’s short with her. “Nós estamos indo embora. Você quer ajudar?” He jabs a finger to me… “Ajudem-

no.” Then he stands back, plucking at his lip.

She nods, and this time, as I crash open the padlock, she darts inside, gesturing me on to the next.

Half a minute later, she exits, now with another two women, one looking barely old enough to drive legally.

But I’m already working on the next. Klempner taps me on the shoulder. “Keep at it. I’ll see if I can find those keys. Back in a minute.”

Three cells, four, five. I lose count. The crowd of women grows; black-skinned, white-skinned, coffee-

skinned. Asian, Caucasian, Afro. Few seem to share a language, but all come bursting from their grim prisons, flooding down the cells. A couple of boys emerge from one cell, ten, maybe eleven years old.

Another, with eyes like blue ice and hair of Scandinavian platinum, is maybe sixteen.

Klempner reappears, now with the keys, thrusting them into the hands of the first woman we released.

“Abre as portas.”

She tugs at his sleeve. “Onde vamos?”

“Eu não sei. Em toda parte. Eles não podem encontrar todos vocês.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m telling them to scatter. Finchby can’t catch all of them and Baxter probably won’t try.”

As the final door opens, disgorging its prisoner…

Gunshots…

Something screams by me, ricocheting from the wall and spitting brick-dust. I duck, and screaming and shouting, chaotically, the women scatter. Splitting and flowing one way and the other; maybe thirty of them, running as if the devil rides behind them.

Klempner yells, “Suba as escadas.”

James’ limp is heavier, more pronounced. He must already have been exhausted as he arrived at the cell and he’d taken a beating. He may not want to admit it, but he’s struggling with Charlotte’s weight.

“James, give her to me. Klempner needs you with a gun in your hand. Charlotte, give James yours.

Arm around my neck. I need you to hang on tight.”

James gives me a dry look…

Ever the diplomat…

… but hands Charlotte over…

*****

Richard The doctor speaks quietly, nodding towards Elizabeth, now sleeping. “It appears, Mr Haswell, that we have been successful, and your wife’s premature contractions have ceased. We would like to keep her here for a few hours to be sure. But meanwhile, please try to stop worrying and get some sleep yourself. We’ll wake you if anything changes.”

“I’ll do that, yes.”

Feeling wrung out, I sit in the armchair…

James…

Michael… Charlotte…

Mitch…

At least I can call Mitch. Let her know that this part of events is back under control.

I tap in her number.

It rings, but there’s no reply.

Why would she not answer?

At a time like this?

I check the number. Try again.

Still no reply.

Where is she?

*****