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‘How could you let this happen?’

Leyla had never seen her Dutch accomplice so angry, so assertive, before. It unnerved her, but she knew she needed to talk him round, if this crisis was not to burgeon into a full-blown disaster.

‘Your men are supposed to control these people. Instead, they let her walk straight out of the hospital.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Leyla protested. ‘That bitch Viyan tricked him.’

‘Tricked him? She could barely walk after what you did to her …’

He glared at her, his fury clear, but she thought she detected something else there too? Suspicion? Unease? Was he doubting her?

‘How could she out-fight your man?’ Visser persisted. ‘Out-run your man? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Look, she was smart, OK? She split one of the waste bags, there was blood, tissue, used swabs everywhere. He was worried about infection.’

‘I don’t give a shit. It was his job to keep her in line.’

‘Plus, she had help,’ Leyla insisted, talking over him. ‘She would never have got away without someone else’s intervention.’

‘That’s supposed to make me feel better?’ her accomplice erupted. ‘The fact that she’s now hidden away somewhere, spilling her guts to her guardian angel. She knows all about the operation, she knows my nationality, what I look like. She can spoil everything, for you as well as me.’

Visser didn’t need to spell that out. As soon as she’d heard about the calamity at South Hants hospital, Leyla’s mind had been turning on the implications. The Dutch haulier was right – it could spell the end for all of them.

‘Who was it? Who helped her?’ Visser demanded angrily.

‘Just some local busybody. Her name is Helen Grace and—’

‘Who is she? A doctor? A social worker?’

Leyla hesitated, weighing up how honest to be with him, and then decided there was no point lying – he would smell her deception.

‘She’s a former police officer.’

Visser stared at her, lost for words, running his hand through his thick curls in anguish, as if trying to pluck a solution from his addled brain.

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ she insisted, prompting a snort of derision. ‘Grace is estranged from her colleagues. She has no sway with them anymore.’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Visser exploded. ‘She has evidence. Living, breathing evidence. A woman who can tell her the route we took to the UK, how far out of Southampton your camp is, who her co-workers were, who imprisoned her. She can put us all behind bars for a very long time.’

‘Look, there’s no need to fly off the handle, OK?

It’s my problem, our mistake, and we will deal with it.

There’s absolutely no reason why any of this should come back on us.

She doesn’t really know where the farm is or what our real names are.

She’s running blind. Trust me, I can contain this. I know I can …’

‘Well, I’m not waiting around to find out. I’m heading back to Holland as soon as possible.’

‘But the container’s not full yet,’ Leyla protested.

‘Do I look like I give a fuck?’

The Dutchman glared at her, his eyes bulging. Leyla could scarcely believe it – her accomplice had always been so amenable, happy to take her money and run the risk. But something had changed today.

‘Keep calm and think of the money. I’m happy to raise your fee if you’ll just be patien—’

‘To hell with the money,’ Visser interrupted. ‘I’ll be on the first available ferry tomorrow,’ he declared. ‘And you can be sure this will be my last visit.’

‘But we had a deal, Visser. We have a deal,’ she countered, shocked.

‘Not any more we don’t. I can’t take the risk of working with amateurs. We’re through.’

Now finally Leyla lost her temper. Nobody got to call her an ‘amateur’.

‘You’re actually serious? You’re going to throw away everything we’ve built, this whole operation, because of one setback?’

‘Setback?’ he laughed. ‘Don’t you see? It’s over, finished.’

He turned to leave, but she moved forward quickly, grasping him by the sleeve.

‘No, we’re not done yet, I’m not done you—’

She didn’t get any further, the back of Visser’s hand connecting sharply with her right cheek.

Surprised, wrong-footed, Leyla stumbled backwards, before righting herself, ready to spring on her attacker, to tear his eyes out.

But Visser had already reached the doorway, casting one last look back, as he concluded:

‘I’m sorry it had to end this way, Leyla. But I’m getting out. And if you have any brains, you’ll do the same.’

Turning, Visser marched away, the front door slamming shut behind him.

Leyla stared after him, her cheek throbbing, her lip bleeding, consumed by rage.

She had liked Visser, had come to rely on him, but the reality was that he was just as selfish and gutless as the rest. Like many others before him, he doubted her resolve, her strength.

But she would show him, she would show them all.

She’d achieved too much, come too far to give up at the first sign of trouble.

No, she would fight tooth and nail to defend herself, to survive, to win .

This wasn’t over yet.