Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) (13 page)

The blues and twos surged over the crest of the hill, the police motorcycle drawing alongside the dark 4x4 and flagging it down.

Winding down the window, Jason gave the officer his best smile. ‘I’m sure I was under sixty.’

‘Licence and registration please.’

Jason pulled his driving licence out of his wallet and handed it over. ‘It’s my mate’s. He asked me to drive after he had a skinful.’

Jason jerked his thumb towards the back seat, where Kyle was snoring with a rough blanket hauled over him. Concealing the trickle of blood down the side of his head and the jump leads tying his hands. The vodka miniature Jason had found in Kyle’s coat pocket added that smell of authenticity.

The cop wrinkled his nose. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Carmarthen,’ Jason said, sure that was vaguely in the right direction. ‘It was our mate’s stag do – bit of a late one up in Aber.’

‘You’re not from around here,’ the officer said, handing back the licence.

‘Cardiff.’ No point in hiding it when the man had seen the address on his licence and could hear his native accent. ‘Staying the night round Kyle’s before heading home.’

‘And you weren’t drinking?’

‘I had a pint with my lunch,’ Jason remembered. He didn’t want the inevitable breathalyser to make him a liar. ‘But I knew I had to do the driving. Kyle always likes one too many.’

‘I’m sure you won’t mind a breathalyser.’

Jason stepped out of the car and blew into the little device. A big fat zero – it had been over twelve hours ago, after all.

‘Did you stop at a garage a few hours ago?’ The police officer’s voice was light, but Jason realised that was the crux of the matter. They had been seen.

‘Kyle needed to take a piss,’ Jason blurted, as if he were confessing under duress. ‘He wouldn’t get back in the car, so I had to … sort of lift him in. Lost my phone in the dark.’

‘Lose anything else?’

Shit, the knife.

‘Don’t think so.’ Jason played innocent. ‘There was a fair bit of rubbish about, though. That’s why I couldn’t find my phone – didn’t want to rummage through that lot.’

Kyle moaned, shifting in his sleep. Jason prayed to whatever gods might watch over ex-cons and hackers’ assistants that he stayed asleep long enough for the cop to let them go.

‘His missus is gonna go spare,’ Jason said ruefully.

That seemed to decide it for the cop, who let him go with a friendly warning to drive safe and bring his full licence to his nearest police station within seven days. Jason fully intended to do just that, hoping he could get through to Bryn when he next found a phone. The payphone in Aberaeron had several loose wires sprouting from it and he’d been cut off as soon as he reached Bryn.

Of course, he could’ve come clean to the cop on the bike, but he didn’t think he would look as kindly on Jason knocking out a guy to steal his car and his treasures. Not that he was any damn closer to finding out what was in the box.

When Kyle had come at him with the knife, Jason had moved before his brain had time to catch up. Swinging the picnic cooler, he’d connected the heavy box with the side of Kyle’s head. The big man had gone down like a sack of potatoes and Jason had hurriedly loaded him into the back seat. A few miles down the road, he’d stopped to truss him up, cover him with the blanket and splash the vodka around. Kyle had woken up a few times, cursed Jason for a bastard, and then fallen asleep again. Hopefully, there wasn’t more damage beneath the surface but Jason would get him to a hospital just as soon as he made the drop in Bridgend.

Or before, if he could just get hold of his backup in Cardiff. But there was nothing about but fields and quaint villages, no twenty-four hour petrol stations in these parts, and their proud red phone boxes had likely been vandalised and scrawled with ‘CALL ME 4 GR8 SEX’ graffiti.

It was coming up to four in the morning, the night still clinging stubbornly to its hold over the gently sloping landscape, as Jason looked keenly for any flash of red that might indicate a phone box. A bruise was developing on his right arm from bashing it into the door every time he turned the wheel – he’d thought his Micra was a cramped drive, but this thing was a nightmare to even keep on the road. He was sure it was great over fields but it was an unwieldy juggernaut on the roads. Dylan would laugh his arse off if he saw him now.

‘You cock-sucking wanker!’

At least Kyle’s headache must be improving.

‘That’s quite a talent,’ Jason said mildly. ‘Could earn me some admirers with that one.’

‘How the fuck do you think you’re gonna pull this off?’

‘Guess we’re not talking about the wanking.’ Jason had hoped for another hour or two of silence, but his luck had never been that good.

‘The bosses will carve you up and chuck you in the harbour.’

‘“Sleeping with the fishes”? You can do better than that, Kyle.’

‘You arrogant little sod!’

In the rear-view mirror Jason caught sight of Kyle struggling to sit up and realised he was in a precarious position. A man didn’t need full use of his hands to take a swing.

He pulled into the nearest lay-by, fetched the wheel wrench from the boot and opened the passenger door nearest Kyle’s head.

‘Get out or I hit you again.’

Kyle looked up, past Jason’s head and out into the surrounding darkness. ‘You can’t leave me out here.’

‘Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Out.’

Kyle slowly swung his legs round, sizing Jason up as he slowly got out of the car. He teetered, falling against the side of the Land Rover. Jason made no move to help him – he wouldn’t have his mercy turned against him in the Middle of Nowhere, Wales.

Jason shut the door and nudged Kyle in the back with the wrench. ‘Move.’

He opened up the boot, removed their precious cargo and gestured with the wrench.

Kyle shook his head. ‘Fuck no.’

‘Get in or get this.’ Jason raised the wrench, wanting to make himself absolutely plain. He wasn’t going to tolerate any messing around.

Kyle tried to run.

Which was an error because he had a recent head injury and Jason had a heavy metal rod in his hand. Thwacking Kyle across the shoulder, Jason grabbed his arm and swung him into the boot. Kyle yowled as he fell into the nest of blankets and Jason shut the boot. The grill across the back – usually for keeping dogs in line – should keep him out of harm’s way for now, but it would be harder once it started getting light.

A disturbing thought stole through his mind – had there been any women in the back there, a special delivery for someone who just couldn’t wait? It made him feel sick, a feeling that reminded him he’d had nothing to eat since lunch.

Strapping the cooler into the passenger seat, Jason took the driver’s seat once more. Kyle started shouting about his rights and his boss, so Jason turned the CD player up to full volume, drowning out his prisoner’s protests.
Prisoner
was a strong word – did this count as a citizen’s arrest? Jason hoped Bryn could spin it that way.

Finally, a phone box loomed out of the night and Jason nipped out to make the call, sure to take the keys with him.

He was put through to Bryn immediately. ‘Jason? Where are you?’

‘Somewhere after Carmarthen. I’m heading to Bridgend to drop off a mystery package, but the driver and I had a bit of a disagreement.’

‘How much time do you have?’

Jason didn’t wear a watch and his phone was smashed. ‘Hang on.’

He set down the receiver and peered through the car window at the satnav, before returning. ‘Just under an hour to go and I reckon they’re expecting me about then.’

‘What’s the meeting point?’

‘Satnav location is for the Bridgend industrial estate just off the motorway, behind the hospital.’

‘Come off a junction early and we’ll meet you there.’

The pips started in his ear. ‘Bryn, I’ve gotta go.’

‘Drive safe now. Don’t get pulled over – again.’

Jason laughed and hung up.

Bryn didn’t want to wake Matt Boateng, but there’d be hell to pay tomorrow if he neglected to keep the NCA agent up to speed.

Bryn wasn’t a glory hog, desperate for the spotlight like some eager officers – even Owain could be a bit of a fisherman for career-making cases. However, he wanted to keep his hand on the tiller where Jason was concerned. If Matt had taken against Amy, what would he reckon to her assistant being right at the centre of this operation?

Though he only had his colleague to blame for that. It was Frieda Haas who had led their boy a merry dance across the country, only to leave him on his own with a gang runner in the middle of the countryside.

But Jason could hold his own, as long as they could back him up. And that was what Bryn intended to do, whether Matt liked it or not.

‘Boateng.’

Matt had barely a trace of sleep in his voice. Bryn envied his youth.

‘It’s Bryn here. We’ve got a situation that I thought you should know about.’

‘Yes?’

‘Your agent up north – Frieda Haas – has sent one of our boys down here with a gang runner on a delivery. But it seems the runner got wise to it and Jason had to—’

‘Jason Carr? Amy Lane’s assistant?’

Bryn paused. It was odd information to have on the tip of his tongue. How did he know about Jason?

‘That’s the one.’

‘Go on,’ Matt said, his voice giving nothing away.

‘Well, the drop is in Bridgend. I reckon the reason he’s on this run is that they might try to give him something to take back.’

‘The painting. ETA?’

Bryn glanced at the wall clock. ‘We’ve got fifty minutes to get out to Bridgend.’

‘I’m at the Hilton. Two minutes.’

The bloody Hilton – of course he was. No expense spared for Bryn to have yet another boss to answer to.

Bryn hung up and grabbed his coat. ‘Owain, we’re going to Bridgend.’

The boy hesitated, his cheeks pale and his grip on his pen tight enough to warp the plastic. ‘I…’

‘You’ll be all right,’ Bryn said gently, seeing the echoes of fire in his partner’s eyes. ‘We’ll be in the car the entire time.’

Owain nodded, a rough jerk of his head, and Bryn shepherded him to his car at a brisk trot. If they made Jason late for this drop-off, the consequences did not bear thinking about.

Amy paced like a caged tiger, her muscles trembling with every frantic step. The familiar surge of panic was rising in her, clawing at her throat and causing her heart to flutter like a trapped sparrow in her chest.

The radio burst into life.

‘Dispatch, this is Lampeter, over.’

‘Go ahead, Lampeter.’

‘Our bike found your 4x4. Said it was a squabble at the garage. False alarm. Over.’

Amy wanted to scream at the monitor, rail against the idiotic West Walean police officers who couldn’t see through a simple lie. Of course he would say that. Of course he would deceive them!

‘You have a name for the book?’

‘Jason Carr – that’s Charlie, Alpha, Romeo, Romeo.’

Amy collapsed onto the sofa and closed her eyes.
Thank fuck.

‘Any record?’

‘He’s that boy what was on the news early in the year. If we’d known at the time, we might’ve brought him in, but the boys in Cardiff aren’t fussed. Over.’

‘Ta for that, Lampeter. Over and out.’

The boys in Cardiff.
Which meant that someone at Cardiff Police Station knew and hadn’t called her. And who would’ve been confident enough to dismiss Jason as harmless? Amy could name those people on one hand – and Bryn and Owain were top of the list.

If they knew Jason was safe, why hadn’t they rung? They didn’t know she was looking for him, but Bryn had kept her up to speed before. Had Bryn spoken to Jason? Had Jason asked for her not to be in the loop?

Amy returned to AEON and called up her GPS tracker again, inputting both Bryn and Owain’s phone locations. Maybe they were both safely in their beds and someone like Catriona Aitken had taken the call. Jason might not get on well with the detective sergeant, but she now knew he was one of the good guys.

The GPS beeped. The two signals were side by side on the edge of Park Place – Central Police Station.

Amy reached for her phone, typing a sarcastic text – before stopping. Was it deliberate? Did they not want to worry her? Or did they think she couldn’t handle it? Jason had gone off with Frieda with barely a word – maybe they thought he didn’t report in to her anymore. Did they know something she didn’t?

Suddenly, the GPS signals were on the move, little flashing dots speeding out of Park Place. Was Jason in danger?

Amy tuned the police radio back to Cardiff, activating her CCTV camera network to track the car. Bryn’s number plate was now logged on her automatic recognition software, so she followed them easily – across the main road to the Hilton entrance.

She changed the camera angle, an unfamiliar man getting into the front of Bryn’s car, before they were off again. Heading out of town, she reckoned, and onto the motorway. Towards Jason?

Amy was determined they would not keep her out. If Jason was in trouble, she would follow him, find some way to be part of this. She wasn’t some child to be coddled while the big boys played cops.

Forcing her body under control, Amy sat stock-still in her chair, following the little dots and the cameras as they sped away into the night.

Ten minutes before the exchange was due to go down, Jason took the slip road off the M4 down to a quiet roundabout. The satnav squawked at him to get back on track, Kyle warning him that the blokes didn’t like to be kept waiting, that they would hunt him down and dismember him.

Jason saw a pair of static headlights just beyond the first exit of the roundabout and he pulled up on the opposite verge. Bryn and a man he didn’t recognise got out of the car and crossed over to him.

‘Nice Land Rover,’ Bryn said, then caught sight of Kyle’s scowling face. ‘I like your little cage back there.’

‘My boss is going to fuck you all up,’ Kyle seethed.

‘Not unless he wants to be known as a cop killer,’ the new man said coolly, and Kyle subsided into shocked silence.

‘This is Matt Boateng, NCA,’ Bryn said, as Jason got out of the car. ‘He read through Frieda’s report on the way over.’

‘There’s very little evidence, isn’t there?’ Matt said shrewdly.

‘Close to none,’ Jason admitted.

‘Well, at least we can break this chain. What you carrying?’

Jason winced. ‘I don’t know.’

He pulled the picnic cooler out of the passenger seat and handed it to Matt, who gave a low whistle.

‘You know what this is?’ Bryn asked.

‘Yes, I do.’ Matt turned to Kyle. ‘Code?’

‘Don’t open it!’ Kyle said, a panicked note in his voice. ‘You’ll ruin it.’

‘No one’s getting what’s inside now,’ Matt said. ‘Code?’

‘8008.’

‘What are you, five?’ Bryn said.

‘Not my idea,’ Kyle shot back.

Matt entered the code and removed the lock, before opening up the box.

Chipped ice filled the cooler to the brim. Matt used his gloved hand to gently separate the top layers. Beneath, under several layers of plastic bag, was a bright blue curved bowl containing a chilled human kidney.

Jason gawped at it. ‘That’s … shit.’

‘Human organ trade. Never used to touch us much here, but the waiting lists are getting longer.’ Matt shook his head. ‘I’ll call it in, make sure we’re not treading on any toes.’

Matt repacked the kidney and replaced the lid of the cooler, before passing it back to Jason. He held it awkwardly, like a squalling baby unceremoniously dumped in his arms.

‘What … what happens to it now?’ Jason asked Bryn.

‘Nothing. It goes into evidence.’

‘So, some poor sod’s lost a kidney for nothing?’

‘I expect he was paid for it. He … or she.’ Bryn squinted at the closed box, as if he could somehow divine the gender of the donor by his stare.

‘And what about the person on the other end?’

‘They wait their turn.’

Jason cradled the box in his arms, suddenly reluctant to let go. ‘Can’t we just … let this one go?’

‘That’s an illegal kidney. Who knows where it came from? Maybe some junkie, or a man offed in Ireland for his organs. We’re doing everyone a favour by taking it into custody.’

Jason’s fingers brushed the sticker on the side again, the snake and wings aligning in his head to form a symbol of medicine, a long staff with two snakes and wings at the top.
First, do no harm…

‘How desperate do you have to be to take an organ off the black market?’

‘Jason, this isn’t a discussion,’ Bryn said sharply. ‘You’re gonna deliver that organ to the gangs to complete the chain, and then we’re gonna arrest the lot of them. Backup’s already on its way.’

‘What about the doctor? And the patient?’

‘We’ll have to deal with them too, in time. Since when did you care so much about the consequences?’

Jason knew the answer to that, knew that it was Damage Jones’ blank staring eyes that had altered him, changed him. The boy who had died merely to frame Jason for murder.

Drugs and women and now organs – nothing gang life touched came away untainted. Needing a kidney had led to someone seeking the only solution they could think of, and look where it had landed them. No kidney, maybe doing prison time on dialysis, before dying behind bars. What was the penalty for handling stolen goods, if those goods were sewn inside you? What about all the others in receipt of those organs – what price would they pay?

Jason thrust the cooler into Bryn’s arms. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘You can and you will. There is no one else.’

‘I can’t condemn them all like this.’

‘You want to work for the police, you play by our rules. You don’t play and you’re out, you and Amy.’

Jason baulked at Amy’s name. He could decide for himself how much he was prepared to sacrifice, but he couldn’t decide for Amy. Except he could – losing her police work would cripple her, and he could never be the cause of that pain. Not even for his own guilty conscience.

‘Fine,’ Jason said. ‘But I don’t like it.’

‘I’m not taking a vote.’ Bryn pushed the cooler back towards him, as Matt came over.

‘Problem?’ Matt asked.

‘What’s happening?’ Jason deflected, not looking at Bryn.

‘We’ve got the go-ahead from HQ. Make the drop as planned and, as soon as you’ve got the money, I’ll come in with the uniforms to make the arrests. I’ve formally noted you as an undercover, so there’s no issue of prosecution. We ready?’

Jason nodded his reluctant agreement, feeling inexplicably dirty. He also didn’t let on to Matt that there was no plan for the drop – Kyle had that knowledge and he was unlikely to share. Matt and Bryn hauled Kyle out of the car and into the back of theirs, while Jason replaced the cooler in its nest of blankets in the boot.

‘They always work in pairs,’ he called back to Matt.

The NCA agent returned to his side and beckoned someone out of the back of the car – Owain. ‘I think a black face will draw too much suspicion around here,’ he said.

Jason privately agreed, but he saw the way Owain’s hands trembled, shoulders hunched over as he approached.

‘You all right with this?’ Jason asked.

‘We’ve got three minutes to rendezvous.’ Matt was already moving back towards his car, leaving the two of them alone.

Owain said nothing, just slid into the passenger seat and did up his seatbelt, like a robot running on autopilot.

‘Let’s hope I don’t cop a speeding ticket,’ Jason quipped, trying to garner a response. Nothing.

Jason sped off towards the meet, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. He was signing someone’s death warrant tonight and he felt the Reaper looking on, judging him and his. He didn’t feel like chancing his karma tonight, but surely Owain had earned a reprieve from yet more trouble?

The dots departed the motorway just after Bridgend and stopped. She didn’t have a camera on that spot, so Amy had to content herself with manually refreshing the GPS every thirty seconds.

Suddenly, one dot moved away from the rest. Amy double-checked the ID – Owain. After a minute, Bryn’s dot followed, heading towards Cardiff. But instead of continuing down the motorway, they took the Bridgend turnoff, making their way past the shopping centre and into the industrial estate beyond.

Her fingers itched to call Owain, demand if he was with Jason. It was entirely possible – enough time had elapsed since the altercation in Aberystwyth to allow him to reach Bridgend, especially with his somewhat reckless driving style. But why wasn’t he coming home? Was he persisting in whatever ridiculous mission Frieda had sent him on?

She didn’t have enough data. How was she supposed to work this out, calculate the risks, if she didn’t have data? Why were they keeping her in the dark?

Owain’s dot stopped at the edge of the industrial estate. Amy hunted desperately for cameras, but only caught one at the end of the road. She turned it as far as it would go, just able to make out the shape of a tall car – a 4x4? – parked up in the middle of the street.

No one moved. Amy checked several times to make sure the image hadn’t frozen, but the time code continued to rise, much slower than her frantic heartbeat.

Then a second car arrived, parking up on the opposite side of the street. After a moment, the doors opened together, like it had been perfectly choreographed. Two figures met in the middle of the road – while Amy couldn’t see faces at this distance, the man was too tall for Owain and Amy had watched Jason on too many cameras to mistake him.

The man seemed to be arguing with Jason, before another couple of men emerged to flank him. Three against one – with Owain in the car. Why wasn’t Owain moving to help him? Where was the backup?

But whatever Jason said reassured them, as the newcomers backed off a step. Jason handed over a large box and took something in return. A small powerful light source blinked on, whiting out the low threshold of the camera. Amy desperately tried to see around the edges of the light, but it obscured everyone in the road. Anything could be happening and she wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t know until it was too late.

The light died, and the camera readjusted along with Amy’s eyes. Jason turned and got back in the car. Suddenly, the road was filled with flashing lights, cars blocking both ends of the road. The cavalry had arrived.

But the gang boys weren’t going down without a fight. Little bursts of light surrounded their car – and Amy belatedly realised they were muzzle flashes. They were shooting at Jason.

The 4x4 was stuck between the barricading police cars, unable to escape. Amy’s heart was in her mouth. Would she watch him die here, helplessly separated?

But Jason wasn’t easily beaten. The 4x4 heaved up onto the pavement, reversing away from the shooters and scraping past the police car nearest her camera. The flashes from the surrounded car stopped. Had they run out of ammunition? Or had they realised, as Amy had, that the police weren’t shooting back? That the cars carried no SWAT team, no guns at all.

All they had to do was leave their car and execute the police officers one by one. And there was nothing that could be done to stop them.