Page 57

They emerged as silently, as mysteriously, as they had arrived.

Exactly one hour after they’d been dropped off, the line of browbeaten workers slipped unobtrusively from the hospital building, walking robotically back towards the van.

This was clearly a slick, well-practised operation, designed to allow the workers minimal time in the real world.

This would always be the point of greatest danger, when a curious hospital doctor might stumble upon them, or a desperate worker might make a break for it, but there seemed little chance of that tonight.

The loading bay was deserted and their minders seemed on high alert, force-marching their charges to the vehicle, insisting on speed, efficiency and obedience.

The whole enterprise had been characterized by caution and circumspection.

Two minders had gone into the hospital with the women, another had loitered by the back door, whilst another drove the van away, perhaps worried about being bothered again by the local parking enforcement officer.

The burly one who remained guarding the back door, a murderous-looking villain with pitted skin and unruly curls, presented a problem, as he was only twenty feet away from her, meaning it would be impossible for Helen to move from her hidey-hole without being spotted.

His proximity did allow her, however, to take several good clean shots of him with her phone, which she was sure would come in useful later.

Fortune was on her side today it seemed, as eventually the minder turned away from her, talking urgently on his phone, whilst drawing on a cigarette.

This had been Helen’s cue to act, snatching up her helmet and hurrying from the portacabin.

She did this with some regret as she would lose her perfect vantage point, but she knew she had to be ready to move when the van departed, and there would be no way of emerging from her hiding place without being spotted once all the minders were back on the scene.

Padding quietly away, sticking to the shadows, she hurried to the end of the access road, taking cover behind a parked ambulance.

From here she could see both the van in the loading bay and her Kawasaki out front.

And although she was nowhere near as close to the action as she had been, she was still close enough, zooming in on her screen to snap the silent workers as they emerged at the end of their shift.

The women looked indistinguishable. All wore tired tracksuits and all carried tightly knotted, heavy-duty refuse bags, decorated with warning signs of danger and toxicity.

The last one had now emerged, the automatic doors at the rear of the hospital kissing shut behind her.

This was Helen’s cue to move again, the former police officer stepping out of her hiding place and stealing away down the side alley.

Once out of view, she didn’t hesitate, jogging fast towards the car park.

Moments later, she was on her bike, the engine purring.

She had to be ready, she had to be on her mettle tonight – if she lost sight of the van now, all her efforts would have been for nothing.

Easing away from the curb, she skirted the front of the hospital, stationing herself behind a pay station, which gave her a good view of the main road, onto which the van would have to emerge.

Sure enough, the beaten-up transit came into view, indicating left, before pulling out and driving off down the road.

How smooth an operation it was, the enforced workers in and out of the hospital in an hour, without once exciting any interest. Was this how it was every night, these poor women utterly invisible as they were forced to do the grimmest of jobs without adequate protection or any concern for their well-being?

It was gruesome, inhumane, a prison sentence in all but name.

Had they finished for the night? Or did they have more arduous work ahead?

If they were to move on to other jobs, this might prove useful, helping Helen to piece together the jigsaw of complicity and exploitation, seemingly bona-fide institutions happy to turn a blind eye to this illegal practice, but in truth Helen hoped their work was complete.

Not only for their sakes, but her own, Helen was curious to find out where these poor women were housed, where the beating heart of this evil operation was to be found.

Happily, the van seemed to be heading away from the city centre, raising her hopes that the workers’ shift was done.

Given the late hour, traffic was scarce, so Helen kept a safe distance, the best part of a hundred yards behind the van, using the few other vehicles that presented themselves as cover.

They were heading south, moving fast now through St Mary’s.

Ignoring signs for the Saints stadium, the van pressed on, speeding up slightly now in its haste to be out of the city.

Helen matched its pace, keeping a beady eye on the approaching traffic lights.

A sudden change from green to amber might necessitate a burst of speed, which could prove disastrous.

Following the chase the other day, she felt sure that the thugs in charge would be keeping a beady eye out for interfering bikers, even if they must have suspected that her interest in them was not ‘official’.

Happily, however, the driver of the van seemed unconcerned tonight, driving briskly and steadily ever southward.

Now, however, he changed course, indicating diligently, before swinging left onto the Itchen Toll Bridge.

The way was clear and the van sped on, Helen clocking that it had almost reached the far end, when she too mounted the bridge.

Concerned, she tugged back on her throttle, her tyres gripping the tarmac, powering her forward.

The van was speeding towards Woolston, apparently gaining pace, despite the punitively low speed limits round here.

Was this simply natural excitement at finally escaping the CCTV-rich environs of the city centre?

Or had she been spotted? Immediately, Helen dropped her speed, allowing the van to turn the bend and disappear briefly from view, before raising her pace once more.

Careful pursuits such as these were always about balance – press too hard and you’d be spotted, be too cautious and you’d lose your mark.

Scared of the latter, Helen took the bend fast, leaning into the turn, thrilled by the exhilarating turn of speed.

To her surprise, however, on mastering the bend, she realized the van was now nearly two hundred yards ahead and in grave danger of disappearing altogether.

Once they were through Woolston and Newtown, the countryside really opened up and there would be all manner of turn offs, discrete woodland spots or remote farms to disappear into.

Tense, anxious, Helen raised her speed. Better now to risk detection than to lose sight of her quarry.

Her speedometer was tickling seventy miles per hour now, far too fast for these city streets.

The van must have been doing similar, for it maintained a healthy lead, even though Helen was slowly closing the gap.

Gripping the handlebars tightly, she sped on, avoiding a gaping pothole at the very last moment, as she maintained her pursuit.

With each passing minute, she was gaining on the van.

She felt instinctively that the driver hadn’t spotted her, as he wasn’t making any evasive moves, but she wondered where he was heading so fast?

To some hideout deep in the countryside?

Another town entirely? And why the urgency?

Was there somewhere he needed to be? Or was he just keen to get his charges back home as swiftly as possible?

Helen roared on, loving the feeling of the powerful bike beneath her, the low growl of its engine sending shivers of excitement pulsing through her.

This was when she was happiest, when she felt truly free, the added edge of the pursuit heightening her pleasure.

She felt sure that tonight she would finally make some progress, throwing light on the fate of poor Selima, exposing the dark cancer at the heart of her hometown.

Still, however, the van maintained its lead, a good sixty yards ahead, and now Helen spotted a problem.

They were right on the edge of the city, the border of town and country.

One of the natural boundaries to the east of Southampton was the train line that cut south through Newtown and Netley, before veering off again, hugging the coast all the way to Portsmouth.

Driving east out of the city involved passing through the occasional and one now came into view.

Normally this would have presented no obstacle, but tonight the warning lights were flashing, beacons in the night sky, signalling that the barriers were about to descend, a train due imminently.

Would the van slow, forcing Helen to come to a halt behind them?

Or would they try to get across before the barriers fell?

Immediately, Helen had her answer, the van powering forwards, racing towards the crossing.

Instinctively, Helen responded, ripping back her throttle and speeding after the fugitives.

They were one hundred yards from the crossing, now fifty, the pair locked together in a furious race.

To Helen’s horror the barriers now started to descend, lumbering slowly downwards.

The van barrelled on heedless, a collision seemingly inevitable, but to her surprise the speeding vehicle made it across, bumping over the trainlines and missing the descending barriers by a whisker.

The lights were flashing vigorously now, the alarms going crazy, but Helen refused to relent, raising her speed still further.

The barriers were down now, there was no question of going around them, meaning she had only one option.

She waited until the last second, before tugging on the brakes and wrenching the handlebars sideways.

The wheels slid out from beneath her, allowing the bike to slide sideways, her helmet skimming the first barrier as she glided underneath.

Holding her breath, she released the brakes and tugged hard on the throttle, the tyres biting the road and propelling her into an upright position.

Speed was of the essence now. She had only seconds in which to beat the approaching train, seconds in which to maintain her desperate pursuit.

Ratcheting up her speed, she roared forward, the train’s horn blaring in her ears.

But then, at the very last moment, she jammed on the brakes.

The bike bucked violently, Helen nearly catapulted up and over the handlebars, before her Kawasaki came back down to earth with a crunch.

Horn blaring, the train roared past in front of her, buffeting Helen with its tail wind.

Her heart thumping, sweat sliding down her cheeks, Helen sat totally still, in shock.

She was sure she could have made it … and yet at the last second she had chosen not to, for the first time opting for caution over risk.

Why? The answer was simple and crushing.

Because she had too much to lose.