Page 11

They sat in hushed silence, their eyes glued to the snake of foreign lorries, bringing in vegetables, flowers, electric cars, televisions and more, but there was no sign of Adam Peeters, the Belgian haulier who they’d been assured was smuggling a dozen desperate souls into the UK.

Breathing out heavily, Charlie pondered her options.

She still hadn’t heard from DC Roberts, who’d hot-footed it down to the embarkation zone, nor from DC Shona Williams, who must by now have reached the rendezvous site in Portswood.

So what to do? She could pull the operation, saving valuable money and resources, trying to salvage what she could from another missed opportunity, or she could persist with the operation, potentially making the situation worse if they were wasting their time here with no genuine prospect of an arrest. Charlie’s authority was already in question, her reputation on the line, so the choices she made now mattered.

‘Five more minutes,’ she muttered to DC Malik, who nodded soberly. ‘We’ll give it five more minutes.’

But she’d barely finished when her radio crackled into life.

‘DC Roberts to DI Brooks.’

Charlie snatched up her radio.

‘This is DI Brooks. Go ahead.’

‘We have eyes on the prize,’ Roberts breathed excitedly.

Hope surged within Charlie. Raising her binoculars, she scanned the busy dock.

‘Right, where are you …?’

And now she saw it. Just as their tip-off predicted. An Iveco lorry with a Belgian plate – 1 AYB 209 – driven by a lone male. He was behind schedule, a good couple of hours past his disembarkation time, but he was here at last.

‘Alert Border Force,’ Charlie demanded, turning to DC Malik. ‘Tell them to seal the exits and stand by. I want him in cuffs before he gets anywhere near the gates.’

Charlie was on the move, heading fast towards the stairs, as she raised her radio again.

‘DC Roberts? Where are you now?’

‘I’m staying with him. Proceeding on foot, maybe thirty feet behind.’

‘Keep it steady, don’t do anything to spook him.’

‘Roger that.’

Charlie had now reached the ground floor, teasing open the door.

‘Team A, are you in position?’

A crackle of static, then her officers answered in the affirmative.

‘Team B?’

‘Ready and raring to go.’

DC McAndrew’s Scottish burr rang through loud and clear, energized and professional as always.

Pushing the door a little further open, Charlie strained to pick up the progress of their prize once more.

The truck was a hundred yards away, lumbering towards the turn that Charlie had earmarked as the best spot for their ambush.

Peeters would have to reduce his speed then, hopefully allowing them to make their intervention without any danger of injury or escape.

‘Come on, come on …’

After all the tension, frustration and delay, now Charlie just wanted to get on with it.

But there was no question of going too early, of alerting their mark to their presence.

Rocking back and forth on her heels, she implored him not to dawdle, the passing seconds seeming like hours, but now finally he approached the turn.

‘Right, this is it. All teams standing by.’

Deftly, Charlie strapped on her identification armband, whilst plucking her warrant card from her pocket. She had a clear view of Peeters, a burly, unshaven man in a dark blue polo shirt, watching him intently as he began to turn the heavy steering wheel.

‘Go, go, go,’ Charlie shouted, as she sprang from her hiding place, tearing towards the cab.

Even as he turned the heavy vehicle, Peeters seemed to hesitate, pivoting to take in the onrushing officer.

Charlie saw his expression change from surprise to confusion.

Now his attention was diverted by another alarming sight – uniformed officers hurling a stinger across the road in front of him, half a dozen plain clothes CID appearing from nowhere, bearing down on his vehicle.

Charlie took full advantage of his distraction, leaping onto the side of the cab and wrenching the passenger door open.

‘Hey? What are you doing?’ the trucker protested, shocked.

‘Police!’ Charlie responded, flashing her warrant card. ‘Kill the engine and put your hands on your head.’

But the trucker made no move to comply, staring at Charlie in horror.

‘Have it your way,’ she hissed, leaning over and wrenching up the handbrake.

Immediately the lorry ground to a halt, Charlie thrown against the dashboard, as the driver hit his head on the sun visor.

But Charlie had been expecting this and was quicker to respond, reaching across him and turning off the ignition, before whipping out the keys.

As she did so, the driver’s door was flung open and a breathless DC Roberts appeared, reaching towards their captive.

‘Right, mate, let’s do this nice and slow, shall we? No sudden movements …’

Peeters was too stunned to resist, allowing DC Roberts to haul him from the cab. Charlie didn’t dawdle to watch the show, instead descending swiftly and tossing the keys to DC McAndrew.

‘Right, let’s open this up and get those poor folk out …’

Charlie was marching towards the back, nodding purposefully at the approaching Border Force officers.

One of them, an athletic young woman, now mounted the back of the vehicle, tugging fiercely at the bolts that secured Peeter’s precious cargo.

What would each of these poor souls have paid for their transit here?

￡5k? More? It was easy money, if only you could keep them quiet and calm.

Not an easy task when the journey was arduous and the air supply scarce.

Border Force had already had two fatal incidents in the last six months, desperate immigrants suffocating to death in the most appalling circumstances, but Charlie pushed those thoughts from her mind, dearly hoping they wouldn’t be facing anything so hideous today.

With a soft metallic moan, the heavy doors swung open. Charlie was first to react, climbing up into the truck, relieved to see it stacked with tall crates marked ‘machine parts’.

‘Let’s get these open.’

Her colleagues swarmed past her, setting to work.

As they did so, a triumphant-looking DC Roberts came into view, pushing his defeated charge in front of him.

These were the days that made Charlie feel good, when she realized she was actually giving something back.

Turning, she took in the officers’ feverish work as they used crowbars to break the crates open.

‘Quick as you can, please …’

Charlie cracked her knuckles, rolling her neck to relieve the tension. She had no idea what state the concealed immigrants would be in and she wanted them out and on their way to a hospital or police station as fast as possible.

‘Nothing in this one,’ the nearest officer declared. ‘Just machine parts.’

‘OK, let’s keep going. They are probably in the crates further back. We’re only looking for a handful of people, remember?

But despite her confident tone, Charlie felt the first shiver of alarm. All the details were right – Peeters had turned up as predicted, the crates were marked as machine parts – the tip-off had to be correct, didn’t it?

‘Nothing in this, either,’ DC Williams offered, shaking her head dolefully.

‘Keep looking,’ Charlie urged.

But one after another the crates were opened and passed clear.

Still Charlie clung to hope that their prize lay in wait deep in the bowels of the vehicle.

But as the final crate was opened, the full extent of her error became clear: there was nothing in the truck apart from agricultural machine parts.

Turning once more, she took in the unfortunate driver, Peeters’ expression – one of indignation and outrage – and behind him DC Roberts, whose reaction was even worse.

Anger, frustration, but deep embarrassment too.

Charlie had staked a lot on this operation, putting her reputation with Holmes, with the team, on the line. And she had lost.