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‘I need an answer. And I need it now .’

Visser hissed the words at the startled seaman, who stared blankly at him, shocked by both his sudden appearance and his surprising proposal.

‘You do speak English, right?’ Visser persisted, moving a step closer.

‘Yes, of course,’ the young man managed in response.

‘So, do we have a deal or not? This is a one-time offer, believe me, and you need to give me an answer right now.’

‘You want passage on our ship?’ the Polish seaman asked, gesturing to the vast container ship that loomed behind them in the docks beyond.

‘I want to get to the Continent,’ Visser repeated, keeping his voice low. ‘No questions asked. No passenger logs, no immigration checks, no issues of any kind. If you can do that for me, I will pay you well, trust me …’

A sudden noise behind them made them both look up sharply, a stevedore roaring past on a forklift truck. Alarmed, Visser took the seaman by the arm, ushering him out of sight behind a packing crate.

‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘What do you say?’

The young man looked at him, wary, uncertain. For the first time, Visser felt a shiver of alarm. Had he picked the wrong guy? Had he unwittingly managed to find the one honest seaman in the whole of Southampton?

‘How much?’ the young man asked, scrutinizing the trafficker’s face.

‘Two thousand pounds now, two thousand when I’m free and clear on the other side.’

‘Five,’ came the instant response, putting paid to the notion that the young sailor might have qualms about breaking the law. ‘Five now, five on arrival.’

Visser glared at him, well aware that the boyish seaman was rinsing him, taking full advantage of his precarious situation.

‘OK then,’ he muttered angrily. ‘You tell me where and when and I’ll be there.’

‘Money first. You have it on you?’

Now for the first time, Visser hesitated.

What if this young man simply intended to rob him, leaving him high and dry, without any resources to attempt an escape?

And yet what choice did he have? Even now Visser could hear shouting from the docks, as dozens of law enforcement officers swept the warehouses and docksides looking for him.

So far his plan had worked well, jumping from his speeding lorry as it raced down the corridor of trucks towards certain ambush, buying him precious seconds to make good his escape.

But how long could his luck hold out? How long before they descended on him, hauling him away in cuffs? He needed to get away from here fast .

‘Have it your way,’ he grumbled, turning away.

Deftly, he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the money belt strapped to his torso.

Then running a finger down the bulky stash of ￡50 notes, he extracted a large bundle, counting them out rapidly, before zipping up his hoard once more.

Re-buttoning his shirt, he pivoted, thrusting the notes into his accomplice’s hand.

Surprised, an amused smile playing over his face, the young Pole methodically checked his haul, before looking up at Visser, holding out a meaty hand.

‘Departure in thirty minutes.’

Pocketing the money, the sailor walked off whistling to himself, his happiness shared by his new accomplice. Against all the odds, Visser now had a chance to evade his pursuers. And he planned to make the most of it.