Buying The Virgin Part 1-3 novel Chapter 112

MICHAEL

Richard pauses, obviously thinking. “Do you think we want the police in on this?”

“We should have them available,” I say. “But if the area is suddenly flooded with police vehicles, someone’s going to start asking how they know to look there. If Charlotte still has her tracers, we don’t want them being taken away from her.”

“Fair point. I’ll have a word with Will and ask him to keep any police presence discreet for the moment.”

*****

I drive at a crazy speed, following James’ navigation from the previous path of the tracers. We pass the spot where Charlotte’s assorted signals separated, where we now know that she was taken from her car; where her phone was destroyed, and her bag thrown away. We pass by, still pursuing the more recent trail.

“This is where we lost the signal,” says James. Haswell says nothing, his face grim.

“You think we should just circle first?” I ask. “Try different areas to try to catch the signal?”

“Yes. You just drive. I’ll keep an eye on the trace... Wait! There... it’s back again….”

“Which way?”

I slam onto the gas. After only half a minute, James again. “Damn! It’s off again…”

“Perhaps taking her out of a car and into a building?”

“Seems plausible.”

“Did you see enough to get us there?”

“I think so, yes. Certainly, we can get closer. Keep driving. We’re losing the light.”

*****

CHARLOTTE

The truck rattles to a halt, and the engine stops.

Are we here?

The door opens, from the outside I notice, and my guard thumbs me out.

It is still daylight, and we have pulled up in woodland, at the end of a broken mud track, much ridged and rutted. Only tough, overland vehicles would be able to reach here. There is a long, low, block-built shed. Overhung by trees, the shed would not be very visible from the air.

Fuck! The roof’s made of corrugated iron….

The signal from my remaining tracers will almost certainly not escape the building, so I have only a few seconds out of doors for them to transmit freely and be spotted again.

I drag my heels, delaying the moment until I am in the shadow of the metal roofing, and my Masters will no longer be able to find me. All the while, I glance furtively around, looking for any detail that will help in my escape…. and Beth’s.

Is she here…?

…. Am I in the right place?

But the guard seizes me by the arm, his fingers biting into the muscle as he drags me indoors. Without word or ceremony, I am marched through a main central room, then pushed through a side door, staggering to keep my balance as I am thrust inside. The door slams closed behind me.

The room is small and cheerless, with no furnishings barring a bucket in one corner, and bars on the window; a cell.

And Beth is here….

I’ve found you….

Sitting on filthy blankets piled in a corner on the floor, her face is tear-streaked, eyes red and swollen, her hair an unkempt red tangle around her shoulders.

She looks utterly lost.

“Hi. How are you doing?”

She looks as though she will burst into tears again. Her voice broken, “Oh, Charlotte! They got you too….”

I can’t say too much. She needs to keep looking scared….

“Yeah, ‘fraid so. If it’s any help, it was me they wanted in the first place.”

She stares up at me. “You? I thought they must be trying to ransom me.”

I sit down next to her, and she shuffles up the blankets to make room. “They’re connected to the people who ran Blessingmoors. It’s looking as though they want to make sure I don’t give evidence.”

Her breath shudders as she resists weeping. “It’s awful here. There’s things living in the blankets. They keep getting into my hair.”

We’ve been imprisoned by traffickers, and she’s worrying about fleas?

Convenient though….