The Network (8 page)

‘You can,’ Sean managed to say through rising bile. ‘I swear you can.’

‘I believe you,’ Conway smiled looking from Sean to the Ford Zodiac. ‘We’ll take your car. I’ll drive.’

‘What about me?’ Sean asked.

‘Oh, don’t worry – you’re coming too. You’re my guest of honour.’ He looked to the man who’d threatened to cave Sean’s skull in and gave a single nod of his head, prompting him to step forward and pull a white hood from inside his jacket, which he tossed it to Sean. ‘Put that on.’ Conway ordered.

‘Why do I need this?’

‘All will be revealed,’ Conway promised. ‘Trust me – it’s for your own protection.’

Sean forced himself to slide the hood over his own head, the material instantly stifling and suffocating – intruding into his mouth as he tried to breathe and making him gag as he felt hands gripping him under the arm-pits and dragging him upright. The car keys with the fob – his lifeline – were snatched away and his arms pulled around his back, thin plastic strips tightened around his wrists. The soles of his shoes slid and bumped on the tarmac as he was led to the rear of the Zodiac. He heard the boot of a car being opened, the smell of the recently cleaned carpet inside assuring him which car it was as his legs were kicked from under him, tipping him into the open space. Conway’s voice cut through his fear. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t have far to go.’ Before he could answer the boot was slammed shut and he was swallowed by the darkness, the sound of his own breathing and cascading heartbeats deafening in the small space. The only other sound he could hear was the muffled laughter of the men who now controlled his destiny. He worked hard to control his bladder and bowels, slow his breathing and pulse rate.
What did they know? What did they know?
He convinced himself it was all part of the plan, assuring himself that if he was in their shoes he would have done the same to any wannabe new member of their illicit club. He heard doors slamming and engines starting, the sudden motion of the car rocking him to-and-fro in the boot. In a few minutes he would know – know if it was soon to be the end of The Network or soon to be the end of Sean Corrigan.

***

The car stopped abruptly, rolling him around in the boot like a small boat in a stormy sea. He heard doors open, but no voices – no mocking laughter – just intimidating silence. They were getting ready for something. The boot was opened, flooding it with light and making Sean squint even though he was still covered with the hood. Arms grabbed at his clothes and pulled him up into a sitting position before wrestling him over the ledge and dropping him on the floor with a sickening thud – his bound wrists preventing him from breaking the fall that knocked the wind out of him. More hands grabbed at him, pulling him up and onto his knees and cutting the plastic twine from his wrists before someone whipped the hood from his head, the brightness of the sudden light making him seal his eyes shut for a second or two. When he opened them, the men in balaclavas were gone, replaced by the strange creatures he’d seen in the obscene films – creatures with the ugly unclothed bodies of men and the beautiful heads of wild animals. He took a few seconds to take in the scene, looking up at the men standing in a line in front of him, trying to work out which one was Conway, until finally he removed his mask – the maned mask of the lion, of course.

‘What do you see yourself as, Justin?’ Conway asked.

‘What?’ Sean replied, buying time while he adjusted to his surroundings, the image of an old farm house beginning to come into focus behind the chimeras.

‘I see you as a fox, but you must decide for yourself,’ Conway explained, turning and heading towards the farmhouse, briefly twisting back to speak again. ‘Come on,’ he encouraged Sean. ‘I’ve arranged a little something for you. A very special surprise.’

‘Like what?’ Sean asked.

‘If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise – would it?’ He turned his back on Sean and kept walking to the house, the other men following, their growing excitement palpable as they fidgeted and giggled, mumbling quietly behind their masks, the same two words over and over. ‘Chicken feast. Chicken feast. Chicken feast.’

Sean knew the term – the coded words used by paedophiles and paedophile rings that initially referred to the use of under-age prostitutes, but had evolved to indicate the sexual abuse of any young child. He was now certain he’d been brought to the place where children were being held, but Conway still had his car key and with it the fob he needed to activate the alarm in the tracker that would summon the arrest team. He needed to get the keys back. ‘Hey,’ he called to Conway, stopping his march to the house.

Conway turned back, irritation etched into his face. ‘Now what?’

‘My keys,’ Sean told him. ‘I need my car keys.’

‘Why?’ Conway asked, taking several steps back towards him, his expression changing from irritation to suspicion.

‘Because I need to lock it,’ he answered, trying to look and sound innocent and naive, relieved to see Conway break into a slight smile.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Conway insisted. ‘There’s no need to lock it here.’

Sean thought of Conway’s own immaculate Jaguar. ‘It’s important to me. I won’t be able to relax until I know it’s safe.’ He waited for Conway’s reaction, and finally the other man pulled the car keys from his trouser pocket, pointed the fob at the Zodiac and pressed the button to activate the alarm and the covert tracker. Relief washed over Sean as he tried to stifle a smile. The fact that Conway had alerted his own executioners made the moment all the sweeter, but it would be minutes before they arrived – long minutes during which he would need to survive as Justin Cramer.

‘Happy now?’ Conway asked.

‘Very,’ Sean told him, allowing the smile to spread across his face.

‘Come on then,’ Conway told him and turned back towards the house, his henchmen marching slowly after him. Sean scrambled to catch up – a little anxiety creeping back into his mind that he’d cried wolf too quickly, that Conway was setting him up in the same way Enrico Ismain had tried to do weeks earlier, only this time the merchandise was human.
Too late now
, Sean told himself.
The die is cast.

Conway led the men into the house, re-affixing the lion’s mask to his face as they moved deeper inside, the sights and smells of the house telling Sean it was lived in – either by one of the men behind one of the masks or possibly rented or borrowed from a willing conspirator. He remembered the film they’d made him watch back in the warehouse, the furniture he’d seen, and was pretty sure this house was the location. Children would be here – he was sure of it now. Abruptly they stopped at a closed door and Conway ushered Sean forward to the front of the line, turning the handle and swinging it open, gesturing for Sean to go inside. ‘Just you,’ Conway told him. ‘This is just for you.’

As Sean stepped past him into the room he saw two young children huddled on an old sofa, one boy and one girl, no more than twelve years old, their fragile, naked bodies hidden by a thin blanket. They shivered despite the warmth. In the corner of the room a camera waited on its tripod, the red light indicating it was in stand-by mode. Conway pushed past Sean’s frozen body and headed for the camera, pressing a single switch and turning the red light green.

‘They’re both for you,’ he told Sean. ‘I didn’t know which you preferred so I brought you one of each. Neither has ever been touched before, but they’ve been well groomed. They know what to do and the rewards they’ll receive. They won’t tell anyone about it, so do what you want with them, but don’t mark them. They need to be sent home once you’re finished. Here,’ Conway added pushing the hood he’d worn earlier into his hand, ‘use this until you decide on what mask you want. Can’t have you being recognized now can we?’ Sean took the mask without speaking, his eyes fixed on the young bodies under the blanket. ‘Okay, children,’ Conway suddenly spoke loudly clapping his hands like a school teacher, ‘time to play.’ The girl pulled the blanket from both of them and began to walk slowly towards him, a nervous, mischievous smile spreading across her face as she approached, her head full of warped ideas placed there by months of grooming, ready to perform acts she shouldn’t have even been aware of let alone ready to commit. Conway placed a hand on Sean’s frozen shoulder as he slipped from the room. ‘Enjoy yourself. And remember, Justin, everything’s being recorded.’ Conway looked in the direction of the camera. ‘I may want to watch your little home movie later – for my pleasure.’ Sean felt Conway’s hand slide from his shoulder as he left the room, the door closing silently behind him. The girl continued to slowly advance towards him, her immature nakedness startling and repelling, transfixing and terrifying.

‘It’s alright,’ she told him softly. ‘I know what to do. I won’t tell anyone. You can do whatever you like to me. I won’t mind.’ Sean pushed the demons away and snapped himself back to reality, quickly covering the short distance between them, spinning her around by the shoulders and marching her back to the boy and the sofa. He forced her to sit, folding the blanket over her frail body. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she complained, increasing the look of panic and fear in the boy’s eyes. ‘You’re not supposed to hurt us – Mr Conway promised.’

‘What else did Mr Conway promise?’ Sean asked, suddenly aware of the need to gather evidence, to secure witnesses and find victims. ‘What does he tell you to do?’

‘You know,’ she answered suspiciously, ‘he showed us some films – they showed us what to do. Then he said he’d bring men to us and that we should do things for them – things we’ve seen in the films – and they’d give us money and other things and that we wouldn’t be hurt.’

‘Listen.’ Sean told her glancing over his shoulder at the camera, praying he wasn’t being watched on a live feed to the others, or even worse being listened to, but either way it was too late now. This was the end game. ‘You shouldn’t do these things – it’s wrong. You’re too young and the men are too old. These men are bad men.’

‘No they’re not,’ she argued. ‘They’re kind and they give us things – nice things our parents won’t let us have. And Mr Conway listens to us – he understands us.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he told her. ‘These men are bad men – they’re going to use you and lie to you.’

‘Why are you saying these things?’ she asked through swelling tears. ‘Who are you?’

Sean breathed in deeply before answering, the relief of suddenly shedding Justin Cramer and becoming himself once more almost overwhelming. ‘I’m a police officer – Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan – and I’m gonna get you out of here. But first I need to know if there are any more children in the house. Were any other children brought to the house?’

The girl had gone blank, frozen in a catatonic state, as if the reality of Sean’s words had paralyzed her mind and body, but the boy began to stir. ‘I think there were,’ he answered weakly. ‘When we first got here – I think I saw some other children going into another room.’

‘Where?’ Sean asked quickly and quietly. ‘Where did you see them?’

‘Along the hallway.’

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know. Five or six.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean whispered, reeling at the scale of The Sanctum’s abuse.

His mental paralysis was shattered as the door behind them flew open and the men now wearing balaclavas poured through the narrow gap in a seemingly never-ending flow of retribution. Sean managed to spin as he rose from kneeling in front of the children and catch the first intruder on the chin, sending him spiraling away and down. But the second man he hit was already too close to be hurt, his weight and the weight of those behind him sending them crashing to the floor with Sean pinned under the falling bodies. He struggled in vain until exhaustion and the reality of the situation got the better of him. The men above him peeled off one-by-one, pulling him into a sitting position with his arms twisted painfully behind his back, one attacker for each, while three more stood closely in front of him ready to rain down punches and kicks. But instead they waited, and Sean knew who for.

After what seemed like minutes Conway drifted into the room, unmasked and smiling slightly, shaking his head like a disapproving parent to a child. He leant in so close that Sean could smell his minted breath – his eyes were sparkling with cunning and anticipation. ‘Did you really think I didn’t know what you are? From the very first time you looked at me in that stinking prison I knew you were an undercover
.
Your eyes betrayed you. You looked too long and too deep, like only a policeman looks. You fucked up, Justin, or should I say Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan? That is what you told the children isn’t it?’ Sean looked accusingly at the camera on its tripod. ‘From the very first second, you fucked up.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sean lied. ‘My name is Justin Cramer.’
Buy time. Just buy time until the arrest team gets here. Tell them nothing.

‘No more lies,’ Conway told him, his voice slightly raised, the smile gone from his face. ‘No more pointless lies. There are more important things to take care of now.’ He looked at the boy and girl and licked his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. ‘You haven’t unwrapped your presents yet,’ he continued. ‘If you don’t want them there are plenty who will. But you do want them don’t you?’

‘It’s over,’ Sean ignored him. ‘You’re fucked.’

‘Do you know why I let you in to the inner Sanctum, despite the fact I knew exactly what you were?’

‘You’re talking shit. You don’t know who I am – you never have.’

‘You may be a policeman, but that only runs skin deep – doesn’t it, my friend? Because deep down, where the others can’t see – I know what you really are.
You’re one of us
. You may have different tastes, clearly children aren’t your thing, but there’s a darkness in you that runs oh so very deep.’

Sean shook his head feigning disbelief. He knew what Conway meant, but how did he know?
How could he see?
‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean finally answered. ‘You thought you could turn me. You thought I’d join you?’

‘Not turn you – awaken you. You already are one of us, of sorts.’