Part 24 (1/2)

Angeles was sitting on the airbed with the sleeping bag draped around her shoulders. The rest of my clothes were wet with blood or covered in vomit. I'd bin them eventually, but for now I was going to put them in one of the spare offices. The smell was making me want to gag even more. I started to gather them up. She jumped up to help. She grabbed whatever she could and wrapped it all in the brown nylon coat.

'Are you going home to your family? Your children?' She smiled. 'You have a baby seat.'

'I said no questions, remember? Don't ask. Do you understand?'

Her face fell. I kept forgetting she was only fifteen.

'Yes. I'm sorry.'

I took the bundle from her and reintroduced my feet to my Timberlands. 'I'm going out for a little while.'

Her world was falling apart once more. 'Please - can I come? Please don't leave me. You are coming back?'

I scrabbled about in the Bergen for a couple of aspirin. 'I'm going out to get some food, all right? I'll see if I can get you some clothes too. What do you want to eat? Meat? Bread?'

'Anything. Thank you.'

'Just sit down and rest. Do not leave the room. Understand?'

She wrapped herself up once more and settled on the airbed. She started to s.h.i.+ver.

'Look, I will be coming back. All my gear's here. I'm coming back. It's OK.'

In an ideal world it would be better if she came with me so I had control of her all the time, but I didn't have enough clothes for her. And I had a phone call to make.

I dumped the Bergen in the loading bay and locked the door. I headed down past FilmNoord x.x.x towards the market. I felt a lot better with my boots back on. The market itself wouldn't be open just yet, but some of the shops would be.

The all-night store I landed up in could have been anywhere in the Middle East. Big sacks of spices sat alongside crates of weird fruit and veg. The Arab version of Starsky and Hutch blared out from a TV mounted over the counter. Behind the checkout a young guy, with shaved sides to his gelled jet-black hair, munched pistachio nuts and watched the car chase. Half a souk's worth of bling hung down the front of his T-s.h.i.+rt, and the Iranian flag hung proudly behind him.

I walked up and down the aisles and filled a basket with pitta bread, cans of salmon with ring-pulls and cartons of UHT milk that sat alongside 25-kilo bags of rice and huge aluminium cooking pots. There were cheap plastic buckets, dustpan and brush sets, ironing boards and, more importantly, kids' clothing - cheap cotton s.h.i.+rts and jumpers, most of them with old Disney themes like Lion King Lion King or anything else that had pa.s.sed its sell-by date. There were a few things that I thought would fit her and I threw them in the basket as well. I couldn't see any decent bath towels, just small ones the size of dishcloths, but they'd have to do. or anything else that had pa.s.sed its sell-by date. There were a few things that I thought would fit her and I threw them in the basket as well. I couldn't see any decent bath towels, just small ones the size of dishcloths, but they'd have to do.

I got back to the counter as the cars drew level and bad guys with seventies haircuts and spear-pointed collars drew their weapons and fired at each other. The soundtrack sounded like belly-dancing music on steroids. A dozen or so phone cards were displayed in clear plastic wallets behind the boy with the bling. The point-of-sale poster showed little arrows aiming at all the different world flags, and a sentence or two in Dutch that I guessed told me it only cost two euros to call Iran or the USA. I grunted and pointed, as most people do if they can't speak the language, and managed to end up with a fifty-euro one.

I headed out with my shopping in thin carrier bags that dug into my fingers. The good thing about poor areas of any city, especially those with a migrant population, is that most of the phone boxes are still working. The mobile-phone network hasn't taken over completely because the locals don't have the cash.

I went into a call box and scratched the strip off the back of my brand new if slightly grubby card. I dialled the company number, and then the code. Finally, I dialled her mobile number.

I got a ringing tone, and then her recorded voice in Russian. I waited for the bleep.

'Anna - it's Nick. I'm going to keep trying to get hold of you.' I hit the receiver and rang straight back. If I'd woken her, she might have been too slow to pick up. After three rings I got the Russian version of h.e.l.lo.

'It's Nick.' I only told her as much about the girl as she needed to know for now. This wasn't the time for a full rundown and you never know who or what is listening. 'Her name is Angeles. She won't leave me. You have to come and pick her up.'

'She is scared, Nick. She's scared of everything and everyone - except for you right now. You're probably the only friendly face she's seen for months. I can get a cab and pick her up, but she could still run. Why should she trust me? She's probably been handed from person to person, and each one has made her situation worse. Can't you hand her over to the contact with Lilian?'

'No. I'll explain later. Could you lock her in the room?'

She thought for a few seconds. 'She is young, yes?'

'Fifteen.'

'Jesus. There's no saying what she will do. You are her only friend. Just think, Nick - chances are, the reason she is here is because of strangers. I have already called Lena. She will be able to help. She has contacts in the city. But you'll have to take her, Nick - you're the one she trusts.'

I stood with the phone to my ear while I tried to forget the pain in my a.r.s.e and do some thinking.

'Nick? What do you want me to do?'

'OK, I'll keep her with me. Can you set up the meeting with Lena's people at your hotel, say three hours before the flight?'

'What flight?'

'Our flight to Moscow. We need to be away from here as soon as we can on Sat.u.r.day. You should book the flights. Still got my card details?'

'Yes. But-'

'But what?'

'The other girls. What about them?'

'Don't worry. I have that sorted.'

4

My fingers were numb and throbbing from the carrier-bag handles by the time I got back.

She jumped off the airbed to grab them, the sleeping bag still gathered tightly around her. 'I help you.'

I let her. Why not give her the chance to feel she was earning her keep?

'Here are some clothes for you. Take a look.'

I went over to the kettle. I could hear the rustle of plastic behind me.

'My friend, the blonde woman, is going to help you - in a couple of days. But I'll be with you to make sure everything is OK, yeah?'

There was more rustling as she ignored what I'd said, pulled the gear out and tried it on.

'You must never tell anyone you were here, or tell anyone anything about me. You understand?'

I turned to see Angeles splitting open one of the carrier bags to make a kind of tablecloth. She spread it on the floor by the airbed and started tearing into the bread and opening the ring-pull cans.

'Angeles, do you understand what I said?'

All I wanted was for her to say jack-s.h.i.+t until I got tucked in with Anna in Moscow. After that, so what?

She looked up, her big eyes focused on mine, and nodded.