Shadows Read online

  SHADOWS

  CONRAD JONES

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  A Note from Bloodhound Books:

  Copyright © 2017 Conrad Jones

  The right of Conrad Jones to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  1

  She clung to the girder as tightly as she could, the metal cold as ice against her cheek. The wind howled and whistled between the stanchions of the bridge, threatening to rip her from her perch and toss her into the abyss. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would explode at any second. Fear pumped through her veins. She hated heights. It was a real phobia. Climbing the bridge was the hardest thing that she had ever done. If the stakes weren’t so high, she couldn’t have done it. Not for all the money in the world, not for anything. Tears blurred her vision and the contents of her stomach churned, threatening to come back up. Her body shook from head to toe. She looked down and retched, bitter tasting bile spewed into the wind, splattering the windscreens of the traffic far below. The vehicles had come to a halt, their owners staring upwards in disbelief. They seemed so small and far away. Just a glance down was enough to bring up another mouthful of bile. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to control her breathing. The air was bitterly cold and it bit into her lungs each time she inhaled. She spat the bitter fluid out and the wind took it away into the darkness. Her heart was pounding in her chest; cold sweat ran down the small of her back. The wind blew harder and harder, lifting her from the structure. Her hands gripped the rough metal edges, desperately clinging on as the wind pulled violently at her. The gusts were like ice cutting through her clothes, her exposed flesh was numb. If she waited too long, her limbs would be too numb to move. She sobbed as her feet found purchase against the rusty bolts and pushed upwards, higher and higher, every inch agony. Her goal was above. She had to reach it or the consequences were dire. The wind dragged at her body, freezing her scalp, whistling painfully into her ears. Her tears poured and were taken by the wind. Saliva drooled from the corners of her mouth. She crept upwards, inch by inch, yard by yard. Her palms were cut and scratched; blood trickled from her nails, making her fingers slippery. Clinging on became more difficult with every minute that passed. It was twenty minutes of bitterly cold and painful progress before she was high enough.

  Finally she was there. She had reached the designated point. They had been specific about where she must be. If she didn’t climb that high, then they would kill them. It was that simple. A black and white choice. Do it, or they die. All of them, except her sister and her children. Their fate would be worse than death. They said they would force them into the sex trade and she believed them. Her fingers cramped as she clung to the metal.

  When she stopped climbing, she looked over the edge and her stomach lurched again and she almost let go as panic set in. She felt dizzy with fear. Her head was spinning. The wind blew stronger, each gust lifting her body away from the metal, edging her closer to the drop. Her thoughts were a quagmire of regrets, her emotions in turmoil. The cold was sapping her strength. Life had taken her down a one way street and she couldn’t go back. There was no way out. This was her only option. She had pushed too hard against an irresistible force and when it pushed back, she realised that she was nothing in comparison. They searched for her weak points and utilised them, quickly and brutally, leaving her no choice but to do as they said. She had begged and pleaded, promised to back off and destroy the evidence that she had gathered but there was no mercy forthcoming. They had warned her several times but she thought that the force would protect her. Her position was her armour, her strength and shield but she underestimated the power of her foe. Its reach and ruthlessness had no boundary. No laws restricted their response. They had their own laws, their own code. Anyone threatening their existence was made to suffer and then eliminated. She was part of an awesome organisation but despite the strength of the law enforcement agencies, the reality was that she was an individual and easily crushed. Her family were her weak point. They were vulnerable and she couldn’t protect them. No one could.

  Her vision was blurred with tears as she looked over the edge, the vehicles below like insects crawling across the bridge. She heard sirens approaching and blue lights flashed on the approach roads. They couldn’t help her now. They couldn’t stop what was about to happen. No one could. It was too late. The lights of the power station down river twinkled through her tears, rainbows surrounded each glowing gem. A tugboat floated silently on the Mersey, heading for the estuary and the sea beyond, the water as black as oil. The lights of the bridge penetrated the darkness for only a few metres before being swallowed up by the night. Below the bridge was nothing but inky darkness. She wondered how long it would take to fall and hit the water. Her stomach flipped, anguish, fear and deep regret gripped her like a giant fist. She thought of her mother, how scared she had been. The image of her father, stricken with dementia, unaware of what was happening to him as they bundled him into a van. His eyes were childlike, terror and helplessness behind them. She thought about her pregnant sister and her other children. She thought about what they had said they would do to her and her unborn baby.

  The images floated by in her mind as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and rolled off the girder into the abyss. Her journey to the river took much longer than she thought and her impact with the water was catastrophic. She was dead before the Mersey engulfed her body and claimed her for its own.

  2

  The old fish factory was dark, damp and the stench of its past pervaded the air, finding its way into their nostrils. They could almost taste the decay on their lips. Another odour filled the air. The smell of fear. Sweat ran from every pore, running down their foreheads, trickling down their backs. It was cold, painfully cold. Fear made them perspire, soaking their clothes, increasing their discomfort. The sound of rainwater dripping through holes in the roof echoed through the cavernous factory. Their trawler swayed gently with the swell, protected from the powerful waves in the harbour, by the dock wall. They were cold, tired and frightened, very frightened. The thick cable ties that bo
und their wrists and ankles, bit deep into their flesh. Their muscles cramped and burned, their fingers and toes were numb. Six men, with hopes and dreams, stared death in the face. Their skipper eyed each of them, regret and guilt weighed him down.

  ‘A simple drop-off,’ he had said. ‘The easiest money you will ever make,’ he said. It had seemed easy enough when he recruited them but with hindsight, he had stepped into a world that he didn’t belong in, unwittingly placing his crew in danger.

  They sat shivering on the dock, the sound of seagulls drifted on the biting wind. The headlights of a car swept over the scene, dazzling them, making them blink. It came to a stop and the doors opened, engine still running, heavy footsteps splashed in the rainwater. The murmur of foreign voices reached them. Orders were barked in an alien tongue. Men ran here and there, shadows in the darkness. The frightened six looked at each other, their eyes wide with trepidation. They wanted to talk but dare not. Powerful torches swept the darkness, illuminating the trawler and the dockside and the harbour beyond. The white tips of the waves appeared and then vanished. Footsteps echoed into the night, coming closer, increasing their angst. Men dressed in dark combat clothing materialised from the dark and one figure stepped forward from the group.

  “Which one of you is the captain?” a deep voice asked. The accent was thick and guttural, its owner tall, dressed in an Italian suit and black overcoat. His eyes were piercing blue, his hair cropped to the scalp. The six remained silent, scared and unwilling to betray their skipper. “I will not ask again.” They remained tight lipped. “Okay, have it your way. Shoot the young one in the legs.”

  “Wait, wait! Don’t shoot anyone for Christ’s sake. I am the skipper,” an elderly man answered. His watery eyes scanned the men on the dock. He was frightened but there was steel in his eyes. His tongue flicked over dry lips, touching his whiskers. “There’s no need to hurt anyone. I’m the captain.”

  “Your name, old man?” the foreigner asked curtly.

  “Linus Murphy.”

  “Where did you sail from?”

  “Dublin,” the old man answered. His white beard hid his lips.

  “Who are you working for?”

  “I don’t work for anyone,” the skipper said, shaking his head. “I was paid to deliver those crates here. It was a one off job. We’re fishermen by trade.”

  “Who paid you to carry the crates?”

  “I don’t know his name,” Linus answered hoarsely. His throat felt like sandpaper.

  “You don’t know who paid you?” the foreign man chuckled sourly. He exchanged glances with the other men on the dock. Some of them smiled and shook their heads, others grinned and glared at the fishermen, amusement touched their lips. “I don’t have all day. I asked you a simple question, answer me or you will be sorry.”

  The old man stared back, defiance in his eyes. “I don’t know his name. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “No, you are not but you will tell me the truth in the end. Take the young one,” he said, pointing to the youngest fisherman. Two of the men grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him from the group, cracking his head hard on the moss covered concrete. One of them kicked him in the midriff, knocking the breath from his lungs. A second kick doubled him over. He groaned, gasping for air. Another kick landed to the side of his jaw. Two teeth clattered across the dock. He retched and the contents of his stomach splattered on the dock.

  “Stop, stop. Don’t hurt him anymore please!” Linus shouted. The foreigner raised his hand and the men stopped the beating. “I genuinely don’t know who is behind this,” Linus snapped. “I only know the man who set this up. I don’t know who is behind him.” The men on the dock remained silent, waiting for more information. The silence was menacing, their eyes filled with loathing. Linus swallowed hard and carried on. “All I know is that I was approached two weeks ago and offered a lot of money to bring those crates across the Irish Sea. It seemed like easy money and I couldn’t see the harm in it.” He nodded to four huge crates on the dock. Fresh fish packed in ice glistened in the torchlight. The foreign men stared, looking unimpressed with what he had said. “Look, we don’t want to step on anyone’s toes here. We’ve never done anything like this before. Times have been hard,” Linus said apologetically. “We’re fishermen trying to make a living, nothing more. We don’t want any trouble. These lads don’t know anything, honestly. There’s no need to hurt them.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” The foreigner nodded and his men kicked the young fisherman in the head repeatedly, taking it in turns until his face was a bloody mess. His lips split against his remaining teeth. A long gash opened above his left eyebrow and blood splattered the other fishermen.

  “Stop, stop!” Linus shouted. His crew closed their eyes or looked away. Long seconds went by as the onslaught continued. “For God’s sake!” Linus cried helplessly.

  Another nod from the foreigner and they stopped. “Don’t waste my time any longer. I will only ask one more time. What is the name of the man who paid you?”

  “Patrick,” Linus mumbled. “Patrick Finnen. I only met him the once. I was told to sail the crates over here. He said that we would be met here, unload the cargo and sail home, nothing else. It was supposed to be a simple pick up and drop off.”

  “Who does Patrick Finnen work for?”

  “I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know who he works for. I didn’t ask what was in the crates and I don’t want to know that either. Take them and let us go home. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “You don’t know what is in the crates?” The man smiled thinly. His expression was one of mild amusement. “Come now, Linus. You are a man of many years. Your country has seen more troubles than most, yes?” Linus nodded reluctantly. “Drugs have become part of life for the young, even in Dublin, no?”

  “Unfortunately,” Linus mumbled.

  “Then you had a good idea what you were carrying,” the foreigner said, wagging his finger. He paused and rubbed his chin. “Had you heard of this Finnen man before he approached you?”

  “No,” Linus shook his head. He had heard that the local mobs were vying for the routes that Ireland offered into the UK but had no interest in the names of dangerous men, no matter what nationality. “I swear to you that I had never met him before.”

  “You’re lying, Linus,” the foreigner said with a twisted smirk. “You had heard his name. I can see it in your eyes.” He nodded to his men and they kicked the injured fisherman in the head, breaking his nose and splitting his cheek against his teeth. Blood splattered Linus’s face. Another kick broke the young man’s jaw with an audible crack.

  “Stop for Christ’s sake!” Linus shouted, his voice breaking. “He’s just a boy. You’ll kill him!”

  “Tell me the truth, old man or this young lad dies in front of your eyes. Then the others, one by one.”

  “Please don’t hurt him anymore,” Linus pleaded. “I honestly don’t recall hearing the name before he approached me. That is the truth.” The foreigner nodded slowly. He seemed to believe him. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You can ask.”

  “Who are you and why are you doing this to us?”

  “All you need to know is that we are very pissed off with your boss, this Finnen character. He is trying to encroach on our territory. We can’t allow that to happen.”

  “I am awful sorry about that, truly I am. Like I said, we didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes. It was just a delivery. We have no part in Finnen’s business. Had I known, I never would have agreed to carry those crates and whatever is in them.”

  “You pretended not to know what was in them.”

  “I didn’t ask what was in them. I should have done but I didn’t want to know.”

  “You must have suspected what you were carrying.”

  “I have to admit that I didn’t think it was just fish but I didn’t think it would lead to this, believe me,” Linus nodded again and looked down at his feet, feeling embarrass
ed. Greed had landed him and his crew in dire trouble. “I would never have put my men in danger. Like I said, I didn’t ask enough questions. These lads didn’t know anything. They just do as I tell them. They had no idea what we were carrying.”

  “Show them what they were carrying.”

  “We don’t want to know!” Linus snapped but it was too late. One of the Russians kicked over a crate, ice and fish clattered across the dock. Thick packages wrapped in tape spilled out. Linus shook his head and bit his lip. “Like I said, take it and let us go home. We won’t say a word to anyone about this. You have my word on that.”

  “And if we do let you sail away, will Patrick Finnen stop sending his drugs across the sea onto our turf?” The foreigner shrugged.

  “I don’t...”

  “He is attempting to branch out into our territory. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “We’ll never have anything to do with this business again. You have my word.”

  “Unfortunately, there will always be gullible people who think that they can make fast money. People like you, Linus. People who close their eyes and don’t see,” he paused. “How did you say it?” A wry smile crossed his lips, “Yes that was it, ‘they don’t see the harm in it’. Wasn’t that what you said?”

  “We meant no disrespect to you or anyone else. I had no idea that it would affect anyone else. Honestly I didn’t. These lads are innocent in all this. Let us go and we’ll sail home and say no more about it.”

  The man nodded and folded his arms. He shook his head as if talking to a child. “And what will you tell Patrick Finnen about his shipment?” Linus suddenly looked up; realisation hit him like a hammer. “What do you think your friend Patrick will do to you and your families when you tell him that you lost his drugs?”

  “I wasn’t planning on losing them. I didn’t think about that…”

  “No, you didn’t think about it, Linus,” the man wagged his finger again. “You didn’t think about it at all. You didn’t see the harm, as you said.”