Children's Crusade

Part Two

Kate gently lowered herself into the near boiling water, letting her skin adjust to the heat in tiny increments, her lips pursed with the pleasure of pain.

When she was fully submerged, only her head poking up through the bubbles, she lay there for minute or two with her eyes closed and focused on her breathing. She took long, slow, deep breaths and pictured the cares and stresses of her day dissolving out of her into the bathwater. Then, her heart rate slow, her head clear, she stretched out a languid hand for the glass of red wine perched on the windowsill above her. She took a sip and moaned softly in blissful contentment.

It had been an awful, wonderful day. Her first shift at A amp;E. She'd trained for years in preparation, and had some training yet to complete. But all that study, that sacrifice, the sleepless nights and double shifts, the practical exams and psychological probes, the stuck up consultants, insolent orderlies and endless, endless paperwork, had led her to this day; an afternoon spent dressing a huge abscess on the back of a homeless alcoholic who smelt like he slept in a supermarket skip full of rotting meat.

She was going to have to scrub herself raw to get the stench out. The smoke from her joss stick merged with the steam from the bath. It smelt the way she imagined a hookah pipe would, and it made her feel exotic and elsewhere. Plus, it masked the rank odour that still haunted her nostrils.

The flat was silent. The students upstairs, for all their exuberance, rarely partied until 4am. They were asleep, as was her flat mate Jill, a plain, bookish girl who kept herself to herself, liked early nights and slept with earplugs in. Kate liked being awake when everyone else was asleep. It made her feel secure, confident that no-one was watching or expecting anything of her.

The world was asleep, and Kate felt free as a bird.

When she heard the gentle knock at the front door, she initially thought she must be imagining it. But no, there it was again, louder this time. Her hard-won calm evaporated, but she decided to ignore the intrusive noise. It was probably just some pissed up student who'd got the wrong flat. Just ignore it, she told herself. They'll go away.

The knocking got louder and more insistent. Kate muttered: "La, la, la can't hear you." Then she heard the rattle of the letterbox and her name being whispered through it.

"Kit," said the voice. "Kit, I know you're in there. Open up."

Kate sighed. "For fuck's sake," she cursed under her breath as she lifted herself out of the foam. "What now?" She towelled herself down and pulled on her bathrobe, the moth eaten old silk one with the holes in it, and went to let in her brother, James.

"What bloody time do you…" Her half-angry diatribe died in her throat as she pulled the front door open and saw the woman.

"Thank God," said James. "Help me get her inside."

Kate's brother was not tall — about five foot seven — and the woman dwarfed him. He stood in the cold hallway, holding her up. Her head lolled on his shoulder and her feet dragged across the threshold as he and Kate manhandled the unconscious woman into the flat. James kicked the door closed behind him.

"Bedroom," said Kate.

They gently lowered the unconscious woman onto Kate's bed. Just for a moment, Kate hesitated. She looked at the woman's face in the light and was suddenly taken aback. Despite her height, this was the face of a child. Kate mentally re-categorised her — this wasn't a woman, not quite yet. If she was eighteen, it was only barely. This was a girl; a girl wearing white stilettos, stockings and suspenders, a red basque torn open to reveal her left breast, and nothing else. She had been severely beaten. Her hair was long and blonde, her cheekbones high and her lips full. Kate thought she looked Eastern European.

Her training kicked in. "Call 999," she said as she lifted the girl's eyelids and shone the bedside lamp into them, checking pupil dilation.

"I can't, Sis," said James, who fidgeted nervously at the end of the bed.

"Fine, then I will." Kate lifted the handset from its cradle on her bedside cabinet, but James scurried across and made to grab it from her before she could dial. They struggled for a moment before Kate let the phone go and returned to the girl.

"James, this girl needs a hospital," said Kate, checking the airway for obstructions. "What the hell is going on here? Who is she?"

James was hovering at her shoulder, putting her off.

"For God's sake, sit down and tell me what's going on," she barked as she took the girl's pulse.

He lingered for a moment then went to sit at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands anxiously.

"I'm in trouble, Sis. Really bad."

"Save it," snapped Kate." The girl." Check skull for evidence of blunt trauma.

"Her name's Lyudmila. She's a prostitute. Kind of."

"Not your type though." Examine limbs and ribs for signs of breakage.

"She's from where I work."

"You're a student. You don't work, you scrounge."

He didn't say anything more except: "Is she going to be okay?"

Kate focused on her patient. When she'd assured herself that the girl was in no immediate danger, she pulled the quilt over her and left her to sleep it off.

She grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, ushered James out while she dressed, then joined him in the living room. He was boiling the kettle in the kitchenette. She nipped into the bathroom, collected her wine, then returned to the cracked leather sofa, tucked her legs underneath herself and said: "Get your tea. Sit down. Start at the beginning."

James plonked himself down at the other end of the small sofa, cradling the mug and biting his lip. Kate had seen her brother up against it more than once — the time he'd been attacked on the street by gay bashers; the day he was expelled from school — but this twitchy nervous wreck was barely recognisable as her flamboyant, devil-may-care, overconfident younger sibling. As he opened his mouth to speak she had an inkling that everything in her life was about to change. She felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach.

But before James could begin, there was another, louder knock at the door.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. His face went even paler, his eyes widened with fear and he stared at Kate like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Who is it?" she asked, but he wasn't listening.

"They must have followed me. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck." He leaned across and grabbed her wrist. "Don't open it. Just stay quiet, maybe they'll go away."

The knocking came again, louder this time.

"James, it's 4am and the lights are on. They know we're here. Who is it?"

"They're looking for her." He pointed to the bedroom.

"Why? What are they going to…"

There was a sudden loud crash from the front door, which rattled on its hinges.

"Fuck!" Cried Kate, suddenly, finally, scared.

There was another crash and this time she could hear the wooden door frame begin to splinter.

The door to the second bedroom opened and Jill stood there in her sensible flannelette pjs, rubbing her eyes and digging in her right ear for her earplug.

"What the bloody hell's going on?" she asked sleepily.

Kate leapt up and reached for the phone. "Sod this," she said. "I'm calling the police."

"No, Kate, please," shouted James as he rose to his feet.

Another crash from the door. This time it flew open with a huge crack of shattering wood. All three of them turned to see an enormous man framed in the doorway.

With a square head and haircut to match, the man's shoulders were so wide he had to turn a little bit sideways and stoop to fit through the doorway. His suit was large and baggy, more like a tent, and he lumbered into the room, his eyes narrowed and threatening.

James stepped forward, putting himself in front of Kate and Jill. He hunched his shoulders like a dog that's about to be told off by a pack leader, lowered his head, held out his hands in supplication, and started to beg.

"Petar, mate, I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. Nate was out of it and Lyudmila needed help, y'know. At least I didn't go to a hospital, right? Right? I mean, I did good not to go…"

The man raised a huge, ugly paw and backslapped James across the face with such force that he flew sideways, crashing into the sideboard and collapsing to the floor in a dazed heap, the silhouette of the man's hand etched onto his face in livid red.

"Hey," shouted Kate, stepping forward and jutting out her chin defiantly. "You leave my brother alone."

He raised his other hand and gave her the same treatment. It felt like being hit in the face with a girder. It lifted her off her feet and sent her sprawling into the kitchenette, scrabbling for purchase on the lino.

It was the first time in her life that anyone had ever hit her. She sat there, stunned, so surprised and shocked that she had no idea how to react. Out of the corner of her eye she registered Jill stepping backwards into her room and closing the door. The giant ignored her, instead opening the door to Kate's room where the injured girl was still in the bed.

He looked inside, assured himself that she was in there, then turned and walked out. She heard him bark a terse order in a language she did not recognise, and then three men entered the flat. They wore similar suits to the giant, and their faces were hard and cruel, but that wasn't what made Kate cry out in fear.

All three of them were carrying guns.

Kate had never seen a gun before. Not a real one, not up close and personal. She'd seen them on telly, of course, and in news reports about gang violence. She'd been trained what to do if a gun was pulled in the hospital, but there was no panic button here, and no guaranteed minimum response time.

The sight of the small, black, stubby metal objects paralysed her. She knew exactly the damage a bullet could do. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of herself lying on the floor, bleeding out from ruptured arteries, lungs filling with blood, choking on her own fluids, twitching and convulsing as she voided her bowels, wet herself and lost control of her body, dying on a black and white lino floor in a pokey flat with the smell of a tramp in her cooling nostrils.

What the bloody hell had James got her mixed up in?

She instinctively crawled backwards into the corner, as if cramming herself between the MDF cabinets would help. One of the men went into her bedroom, another grabbed James and dragged him to his feet, the third came for her. By the time her reached down to take her arm, Kate was hysterical. She began kicking and screaming, flailing around with her fists and shaking her head wildly. She didn't see what hit her across the temple, but if she'd been able to think about it, she'd have realised it was the handle of the gun. Her head swam, her vision sparkled, she went limp with the sound of James' protests ringing in her ears.

She didn't entirely pass out, though. She remained vaguely aware as the man grabbed her wrists, spun her around and pulled her out of the flat by her ankles. Her head bounced off the doorframe with a horrible thud, scraping the back of her scalp so it bled through her hair; it was thickly matted with blood by the time they reached the lift.

She was thrown into the lift like a sack of rubbish and ended up in a foetal heap in the corner. As the doors slid shut, she finally blacked out.

In years to come, Kate would grow accustomed to waking from unconsciousness. The sharp pain in her head that revealed the site of the blow; the dry, metallic taste in her mouth; the shock of bright light; the fear that maybe this time some permanent damage had been done. The most important lesson she learnt, though, was not to panic. To take a moment to assess the damage, establish her capabilities.

The first time she awoke from such an ordeal, she didn't have this experience to draw on, so she sat bolt upright and looked left and right quickly, terrified. The sudden movement caused a spike of agony in her head, her vision blurred, and she slumped back down onto what she realised was a red leather sofa, groaning as the room span around her. She clutched her hands to her head as if that would stop the wild rotation of the room and make the pain go away. It didn't.

"Here, take these," said a voice above her. She squinted up and saw a man looking down at her. He had a glass of water in one hand and a packet of Nurofen in the other.

Slowly, she sat up and reached out for the medicine, gulping them down hungrily, and draining the glass of water. As she handed back the glass she instinctively opened her mouth to thank the man, but then realised her mistake.

"You're welcome," he said softly, with a smile. She registered an accent, but couldn't place it. Russian, maybe?

Kate wanted to run, to scream, to try and escape, but she guessed she wouldn't get five metres. She leaned back into the comfy sofa and took in her surroundings.

The lighting was low and red. She was in a large room, a hall of some kind. No windows, so possibly a cellar. There were sofas and armchairs dotted around on the thick carpet, arranged in horseshoes with glass tables at their focal points. At the far end was a bar and on either side were raised platforms with metal poles that ran to the ceiling. She was in a strip club. An upmarket one, but not one of the majors. Probably central London. Even through the headache she knew what that implied about the management.

There was one more detail, too — handcuffed to the stripper's poles, sitting on the floor with their hands behind their backs, were James and Lyudmila. The girl was out for the count, but James was conscious. She couldn't be sure in the half-light, but Kate thought he'd been beaten up.

The man in front of her sat down in an armchair. He placed his arms on the armrests very deliberately, as if arranging himself like a work of art ready for display. His movements were precise and considered, but Kate did not think it was vanity. She got a sense that he was so full of anger or violence that even the simple act of sitting in a chair required titanic effort and conscious control.

This man immediately scared her more than anything else that had happened on this bizarre, awful night.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, but his eyes were lost in shadow. He was middle aged, maybe in his forties. Short hair topped a high forehead above a long, straight nose and sensuous, amused lips. He was not overweight nor musclebound and he wore an expensive, well-tailored suit. He should have been attractive, but there was something cruel about that smile, and his body language screamed danger.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

"Kate."

"Hello Kate. People call me Spider."

Of course they do, thought Kate. Can't have a criminal mastermind with a name like Steve or Keith. She almost voiced her sarcastic thought, but didn't, possibly because she was surprised to find herself capable of levity. She wondered if maybe she had a concussion, and then mentally chided herself; of course she had a bloody concussion.

"Interesting name," she said. "Where's it from?"

His smile widened. "I am from Serbia."

"Oh."

"Have you ever been?"

Kate shook her head.

"It is the most beautiful country on Earth." He paused and Kate felt herself being appraised. "Maybe one day I will take you."

The way he said it left Kate in no doubt that the double meaning had been intentional. There was a long silence. No sound penetrated this room from outside. All she could hear was her own breathing and the soft hum of ancient aircon.

"What do you do, Kate. I mean, for a living?"

"I'm a student doctor. You?"

"Oh, I do many things. Many things."

"Is this your club?"

He nodded. "And let me say, Kate, that if you ever tire of the medical profession, I am sure we could find a place for you here."

"If Lyudmila's an example of how you treat your staff, I think I'll pass."

"Lyudmila broke the terms of her contract."

"How?"

"She spat."

It took Kate a moment to work out what he meant, but when she did she felt sick to her stomach.

Spider leaned forward, gently intertwining his fingers and placing them on his knees.

"How do you know her?" he asked.

"I don't."

Spider looked puzzled and then surprised. He swore in Serbian and despite the language barrier Kate could tell he was amazed.

"You mean James brought her to you on his own?" he asked, openly astonished.

Kate didn't know what to do. If she said yes, would that make things better or worse? Eventually she nodded.

Spider turned to look at her brother and shouted. "Have you found a spine, Booker? I did not think you ever would."

"She… she was hurt, boss," wheedled James. "And Nate…"

"That useless junkie is gone. He works for the Albanians now."

"I know that, boss. But she was hurt, she needed to be looked after. I didn't know what else to do."

"So you took her to this girl?"

"Yes."

"And how…" Spider broke off and looked sharply back at Kate, then back at James. "Ha! She is your sister. You took Lyudmila to see your sister the doctor."

James hung his head in shame and then gave one short nod.

"Sorry, Sis," he said softly.

Spider turned back to Kate and leaned back in his chair again, once more placing his arms just so.

"I apologise for the way you were treated, Kate. I can see that this situation is not your fault."

"But?"

"But I hope you see that I am now in a very difficult position. The business I run is not, entirely, legitimate. There are people who would like to see me locked up. You have seen my face. You know my name. You can identify some of the men who work for me. You are a problem. I think it would be sensible for me to kill you."

"No! Boss, please!" Yelled James.

As Spider rose from his chair, his precise movements made him seem almost robotic. He turned and walked over to James, who cowered on the floor. Spider stood above him on the stage and lashed out with his foot, kicking James hard in the face. It was a sudden, shocking action, an explosion of pent up rage. For an instant Spider's limbs were flexible, his neck was loose, his body fluent and fluid. Then, when the blow had been struck, he stood stock still and kind of settled, his body returning to repose, an act of conscious thought, re-imposing order on the chaos he worked so hard to contain within himself. His momentary loss of complete precision seemed almost not have happened.

He spun on his heels, walked back to Kate, and resumed his seat.

Kate could hear her brother sobbing quietly.

She surprised herself by consciously thinking how much she would like to kill this man.,

"Who…" Kate's mouth was too dry to form words. She rubbed the sides of her tongue across her teeth to force some saliva into her mouth, then sluiced the tiny amount of liquid to the back of her throat, swallowing. "Who was Nate?" she asked eventually.

Spider's eyes narrowed, calculating. "He was my doctor."

Even though she'd known what he was going to say, the fact of it chilled Kate to the core. This man needed a doctor on call all the time. Dear God, how many women… how many beatings?

"And he's gone now?" she asked.

Spider nodded.

"Then maybe I can help you. Take his place."

There was a long silence. When Kate had woken up this morning she'd known this would be a life-changing day. But not in her wildest dreams had she envisaged sitting in a strip club at the crack of dawn as a Serbian gangster considered whether to kill her or welcome her to a life of crime.

Spider rose again and walked over to Lyudmila. He stood over the unconscious girl, his back to Kate, for a long moment. He stood so still that you could have mistaken him for a shop window dummy. Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew something that Kate couldn't see.

The shot was deafeningly loud, totally unexpected. Kate screamed in spite of herself. Lyudmila jerked once, but other than that you'd never know that a small piece of metal had just evacuated her head. James cried out, a howl of horror and shame. Spider turned and walked over to him. His body language had changed again. Now he moved like a hunter, loose limbed and balletic.

Kate didn't have the luxury of going into shock. She leapt up from the sofa and ran over to them. Spider still had his gun in his hand, and he aimed casually at James's head. Kate flung herself between the gun and her brother.

She opened her mouth to speak, to beg for her life and James's. But she looked into Spider's eyes, able to see them properly, up close, for the first time. She instantly realised that it would be hopeless. There was neither pity nor humanity in those eyes. They were the cold, dead orbs of a predator, nothing more.

As she realised there was nothing she could do, Kate felt something inside her change. For the first time, she understood that her life lay entirely in the hands of another person, who would end it or not according to his whim. She was no longer in control of her own fate. Her life as she had known it was over. This realisation lent her a sudden, deep calm.

She looked into those eyes. She did not beg, or plead or cry. She did not try to strike a bargain or make a threat. She did not try to seduce him or attack him. All of those things would have resulted, she knew with absolute certainty, in instant death.

She just said one word, calmly, simply and without emotion.

"Please."

The barrista scooped the soy milk froth over the coffee with a long spoon, put a heart shaped flourish in the pattern then sprinkled it with chocolate.

"Two ninety-five," she said, her Polish accent impossible to miss.

Kate paid. She smiled at the young woman, lifted the two mugs and a small packet of biscuits, then walked back to the table in the corner where her broken brother sat hunched and sniffling. She placed the mug of coffee in front of him and took her seat, facing him across the small round table. Over his shoulder she could see people hurrying to and fro down Villiers Street, popping into Accessorize or Pret, enjoying the bustle and business of their daily lives. She envied their ignorance and felt as if she no longer lived entirely in their world.

Her hands were steady as she lifted the coffee mug to her lips. She was surprised by this, but reasoned that she would probably go into shock in an hour or so, when the adrenalin finally wore off. For now, she felt focused, purposeful yet slightly spaced out, as if she had just begun the long build up to a skull shattering migraine.

James, she could see, was already in shock. She'd been trained to deal with people brought into A amp;E like this; taught how to treat them while eliciting their story, gathering information to help with diagnosis.

"Start at the beginning," she said, more harshly than she'd intended. It seemed that when it came to her brother, her training didn't help

James sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and took a sip of coffee. He looked up at her and she winced again at the marks on his face. His left eye was swollen shut, his jaw bulged and bruised, and his front left canine was a gaping, bloody hole. Say what you like about his personality, James had at least always been pretty. He'd always jokingly referred to himself as the lipstick half of any relationship. Certainly his boyfriends had always tended to be square-jawed gym bunnies. Kate suspected his pretty-boy days were over.

"I got into trouble about six months ago," he said, but then he ground to a halt, staring at the table top.

"James." He did not respond. "For god's sake James, snap out of it. I need to know what you've got me into and I need to know now. Just take it slowly and tell me the whole story from the start."

James reached across and placed his hand on hers, squeezing it tightly and taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked up and smiled weakly.

"Okay. But if you tell Gran about this, I'll tell her what you did with Bobby Arnold on your fifteenth birthday."

"You bitch, you wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, toots."

They both laughed, but not for long. James opened the small packet of biscuits and offered one to her. She took one as he dunked his in his coffee.

"I dunno why you do that," she said, screwing up her face in distaste.

"What?"

"Dunking. All you end up with is soggy biscuit mush at the bottom of your coffee. It's gross."

He didn't respond and it soon became apparent that their reservoir of small talk was empty.

"I got in trouble, Sis. Big trouble. About six months ago. It was Phil. You remember Phil?"

Kate remembered Phil, all right. She'd known he was trouble the first time he turned up at the pub that Sunday night. Tall, muscled and totally in love with his own reflection, he was boorish, brash and bullying. James couldn't look at him without doing simpering puppy eyes. Kate thought that was the attraction — Phil had finally found the only person in the world who adored him almost as much as he adored himself. He didn't exactly treat James like shit, he didn't need to. It would have been redundant. James practically lay down on the ground and begged Phil to walk all over him.

Kate loved her brother, but Jesus, his taste in men was worse than hers. Nonetheless, she couldn't work out how Phil would have led her brother to Serbian strippers.

"What, he dragged you to lap dancing clubs?" she asked, incredulously.

"No, don't be daft. Phil's problem was gambling. Spider doesn't just run that strip joint. He's got a casino, super illegal, in one of the arches underneath Waterloo station. High stakes, no IOUs. You know Phil worked for that big accountancy firm, right? Well his boss took him there one night after work. He'd never have been able to get in there on his own, but once he'd been vouched for, he started going there on his own. A lot. One night he took me along. It was fun, you know? He hit a winning streak and we walked out three grand richer."

"Oh James, tell me you didn't go back on your own?"

"I figured, you know, if Phil could do it…"

"You fucking muppet." Kate shook her head in wonder. "Every time I think you can't get any stupider, you lower the bar."

James stared at the table top again. "Yeah, that's right Kit, let's have another round of 'my little brother, the big gay loser'. That's exactly what we need right now. So fucking helpful." He made to stand.

"Oh sit down," she said wearily. "Fucking drama queen."

He planted his arse on the seat again, sullen and pouting.

"How much do you owe?"

"A lot."

"How much, James?"

"Twenty-three grand."

"Holy fucking Christ."

"I know, all right. I know. About four months back they grabbed me as I was leaving and took me back to see the boss. I swear, Sis, I thought he was going to shoot me there and then. I… I kind of begged."

"And he offered you a chance to work off the debt, yeah?"

James nodded. "He's into some seriously bad shit."

"No, really?" said Kate, finally starting to feel her cool slipping away. "The guy who just beat us up and shot a girl in the head for no reason at all? You think?"

"He's got the casino and the strip club, but there's more. Lots more."

"Like what?"

"Brothels. Well, not really brothels. More like, dungeons, really."

"What, for S amp;M?"

"No. Literally prisons where he keeps these girls locked up. They're all underground; railway arches, old sub-basements, places like that. There are about six or seven of them that I've been to and I know there are more. The high rollers at the casino, and the guys at the strip club who want to spend a little more cash when the doors close, this is where they go."

Kate felt bile rising in her throat.

"You've been there?"

"That's my job. I have to look after some of the girls. Bring them food and stuff. Keep them alive."

"Lyudmila?"

James nodded. "She was new. Arrived last week. These girls, right, they think they're going to get jobs here. There's a whole chain designed to get them to the UK. Guys who go around the villages in the Ukraine and Latvia, Siberia and places like that looking for teenagers. And I mean thirteen up, right? They say they're recruiting for cleaning jobs and hotel waitresses, that kind of thing. The girls pay a fee, or their parents do, and they're shipped over here and then they just… disappear."

"These dungeons…"

"It's not just sex, Sis. And it's not exclusively teenagers. There are young kids, too. And murder rooms. And then…"

Kate had heard enough. "Okay, okay. Shut up. Let me think."

"There was this guy, Nate. He did all the doctoring for them. But he was a junkie and he wasn't reliable, so last week Spider threw him out. Sold him to another gang, like. When Lyudmila got roughed up, I didn't know what to do with Nate gone. I'm so sorry for getting you involved in this, Sis. Really."

"I said enough," Kate snapped. "I need to think. Figure out the angles."

"There aren't any, Kit. This guy, he's smart and ruthless and he's got a fucking army working for him. He even gets a whiff of betrayal and we're dead. Both of us. Just like that. No warning, no second chances. And that's if he's feeling generous. Coz if he's not, we'll end up in one of those dungeons, Sis. And no-one — no-one! — gets out of them alive."

"There's always an angle, James. Always," replied Kate. But she wasn't sure if she believed it, not in this case. The only thing she knew for certain was that her stupid, self-destructive, funny little brother, who she loved more than anything in the world in spite of his manifest flaws, was in trouble and, like she had done all his life, she was going to have to rescue him from himself.

"Get me another coffee, eh. And a chocolate muffin." Kate handed James a tenner and sat staring out of the window as he went to the bar. It took a minute or two for her to realise that she was being watched by the man sitting at the window bar in Pret directly opposite. When their eyes met he smiled and nodded slightly, then finished his coffee, left the shop and walked away.

"Oh James," she whispered. "What have you done?"

The next few days passed in a blur of A amp;E shifts and deep, dreamless sleep. Spider had said he would call when he needed her, but her phone didn't ring.

Jill moved out of the flat without warning two days after the invasion. Kate came home from a long shift and found the flat half empty. No note, nothing. Bitch hadn't even left the rent. So Kate dug out the most recent itemised phone bill and called every number she didn't recognise until she reached Jill's Dad, who was not amused to hear of his daughter's midnight flit. He promised Kate that his little girl would be at her door in an hour with the rent in full. She was too, sullen and angry and refusing to speak. She held out an envelope full of cash and the second Kate took it she turned on her heels and stalked away.

"Don't be a stranger," Kate yelled at her retreating back, laughing.

She didn't seen the man who had been watching her, but she was constantly on the lookout for him. She was convinced she'd be seeing him again.

After a week she almost convinced herself it had never happened; that it was business as usual, that she hadn't been beyond the looking glass and seen a girl murdered. But then on Friday, as she sat in her track pants and t-shirt eating pot noodle on the sofa, watching Loose Women on her day off, there was a sharp knock at the door. She considered not answering, but whoever it was would be able to hear her telly.

The giant stood in the hallway, waiting patiently.

"Boss says you got to come."

"Okay, give me a minute to…"

He reached in and grabbed her wrist.

"Now."

"Okay, Jesus, can I at least get my coat?"

But he was pulling her across the threshold. She tried to grab her keys from the hook on the coat rack before the door closed behind her, but he pulled her too firmly and the door swung shut.

"Fuck, how am I supposed to get back in without my keys, dispshit?" she yelled as he dragged her towards the lift. He stopped dead, turned and looked down at her. He didn't say a word, just stared until she said: "Okay, lead on." He turned again and started walking. Outside the air was chilled and Kate felt goosebumps rising on her bare arms as she was bundled into the back seat of a waiting car with tinted windows.

"Look at the floor," said the giant as they pulled away. Kate did so without question.

They drove for about forty-five minutes. When they pulled up the giant reached across and snapped a sleep mask across her face so she couldn't see a thing. Then she was shoved outside and led across what felt like a cobbled street and into a cold, damp space that she was willing to bet was a railway arch. She was led down steps into a narrow space with dead acoustics and dust in the air. Down a corridor, then left and right and left again, and more steps.

"Mind head," said the giant a moment after she scraped the top of her head on what felt like soft brick. She stooped as she was led down a narrow stone staircase. By now, she knew she was deep underground. Another corridor, still stooping. She felt, then heard a gentle rumble somewhere off to her left. It took a moment to realise it must be a tube train.

Kate heard a key turn in a lock followed by the squeal of old hinges, then she was shoved through a doorway and her sleep mask was ripped off.

She was in a brick-lined cellar, barrel vaulted. Narrow but long, it stretched away, its vanishing point lost in darkness. There was a pervasive smell of damp and a distant sound of running water. An oil heater blazed away by the door, so at least it wasn't cold, but in every other respect it was probably the least healthy place in London. Trying not to think about the horrors of Weil's disease or the agony of hypersensitivity pneumonitis, Kate noted the bed, table and wind up lamp, the bucket in the corner with a tea towel draped over it and, finally, the girl sitting on the chair, dead eyed and listless, sallow cheeked and pale.

Kate turned to the giant, who was bent almost double in the corridor outside.

"People pay to come down here?" she asked, incredulous.

"No," he replied. "She come up for work. Stay here rest of time."

"Okay, well that's got to change. You need to get her out of here now."

"You stop her coughing."

"I can't. Not if she stays down here."

"You stop."

"I told you, I can't. Even if I can alleviate her symptoms, they'll come back if she stays down here."

The giant considered this. "Stop cough. Only need to stop coughing for afternoon. After that…" He shrugged.

Kate sighed. "Okay, I'll need prednisone." The giant looked confused. "Give me a pen, I'll write it down."

He handed her a biro and a receipt. She briefly considered ramming the pen into his throat and trying to make an escape, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. She scribbled the name of the drug and handed him the piece of paper.

"I come back in hour." He slammed the door closed. Kate was imprisoned.

She stood there for a moment, then the girl on the chair burst into a fit of awful, hoarse coughing that went on for over five minutes. Kate held her shoulders as the spasms wracked her. There were flecks of blood on the girl's lips when she finally finished. Her breathing was ragged and rasping.

"What's your name?" asked Kate.

The girl stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Do you speak English?"

No response. Kate pointed at her chest and said "Kate" then pointed to the girl, who just stared back at her as if she were mad.

"I feel like I'm in a bad Western," muttered Kate. Another ten minutes of trying failed to illicit any response. The girl was in deep shock, nearly comatose. There was no reaching her. Kate explored the depths of the tunnel, but found only rubble and rats. In the end there was nothing to do but wait for the giant to return. The girl had moved to the bed when Kate walked back from the far end of the tunnel. Kate sat next to her and put her arms around her bony shoulders. They sat there like that for a few minutes, then the girl rested her head on Kate's shoulder until she fell asleep and slumped into her lap. Kate sat there, with the head of this sick, lost, broken, doomed girl nestled in her lap. She stroked her lank, greasy hair and cried.

As much as she had been forced to confront brutal reality on the night she met Spider, it was during that long hour in that awful place that Kate changed forever. Parts of her psyche scabbed over and hardened, unexpected resolve made itself known, and the well of her compassion was exposed as deeper than she had ever imagined.

When the giant opened the door and handed her the drugs, it was a different woman who took them from him. Harder, colder, angrier and less afraid.

Kate administered the drugs and told the giant that she had done all she could. The sleep mask was replaced, and she was led away from a girl she was sure would be dead by nightfall.

A tiny part of Kate remained behind in that cellar. The tiny piece of Jane that had been born there left in its stead.

She was driven back to her flat, back to the world she knew. But it felt different. Distant. Changed forever. She walked up to her front door and reached into her pocket for her keys.

"Oh fuck it," she cursed, remembering that she had not had time to grab them. She stood and stared at the door and then stepped back and took a running kick at it. She felt the wood give and heard the sharp crack as it splintered. She kicked it again, and again, then shoulder charged it, yelling as she did so, smashing into the door time after time, hating it, wanting to annihilate it utterly, as if it was mocking her. The facia caved and split before, after one almighty crash, it flew of its top hinge and collapsed inwards.

Kate stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched, eyes wide, her heart pounding, ignoring the pain in her shoulders and legs. She heard a slight cough to her left and turned to see the old biddy from flat four peering anxiously out of her door.

"What?" snapped Kate. The woman's head disappeared inside and the door was firmly closed.

"Didn't you just pay a lot of money to have that door fixed, Miss Booker?" said a soft voice to her right. She spun, suddenly alarmed. But whereas a week ago she might have given a tiny yelp of surprise and felt a jolt of nerves, now she didn't make a sound and stood ready to fight.

The man from the coffee shop stood there in the corridor. Short for a man, about the same height as Kate, he wore a black leather jacket, white shirt and blue jeans above waxed black Docs. He looked about forty, blonde hair slightly receding but not too much, with laugh lines around his mouth, and deep crow's feet framing his blue eyes. Kate's first thought was 'he fancies himself'.

"And who the fuck are you?" she snarled.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small leather wallet which he flipped open and held up for her to inspect.

"DI John Cooper. Metropolitan Police. Can we go inside and talk? That is, if we can get the door to close behind us."

He helped her prop the door back up in its frame and shoved a dining chair up against it to keep it in place, then sat on the sofa as she made him a cuppa.

Her mind was racing as she fumbled with mugs and teabags. She'd been considering going to the police, obviously, but Spider had been clear that James would die very slowly indeed if she did so. He had sources within the police, he said, and he'd know the instant she broke ranks. She had looked at her brother's pitiful, tear-stained face as he crouched on that stage, handcuffed to the stripper's pole, and she'd known that she had no choice. This organisation was big and complicated; there was every chance that Spider was telling the truth, that he did have some bent copper on the take. No, she'd decided that if there was a way out of her situation, she'd have to find it herself.

Nonetheless, she slowed her step ever so slightly every time she passed a Police Station, and felt a jolt of butterflies at the thought of stepping across the threshold and spilling her guts, of sharing the problem, making it someone else's.

The man on her sofa made her almost as nervous as Spider had. Her first thought was that she had made some stupid rookie mistake, given the game away without meaning too, drawn needless attention somehow. Her second thought was that he could be Spider's enforcer, sent here to warn her to keep her mouth shut.

She wasn't sure which outcome would scare her the most.

She took the two mugs through to the living room, handed one to Cooper and sat in the armchair opposite him, sipping her own. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she sat there as he studied her, waiting for him to make the first move.

"Is that brick dust in your hair? Been on a building site?" he asked, not unkindly. His accent was hard to place. He didn't have the Southern glottal stop or the rounded vowels of the North. He spoke precisely, his words chosen with care and delivered in RP, as if maybe he'd attended a posh school as a boy but had then had the edges knocked off his cut glass vowels by years living below his station.

Kate didn't reply, but she gripped her mug with tight, white knuckles.

"And you've got mould or something very like it smeared down the arm of your sweater." He cocked his head to one side and bit his lip thoughtfully. "Underground then. Maybe a railway arch or a cellar. Somewhere old, wet and crumbly, that's for sure. You smell a bit dampy, if you don't mind me saying."

Still Kate did not say a thing, unsure where he was going with this.

"Could you lead me there, or did they blindfold you?" he asked.

The question was so bluntly put that Kate answered it almost in spite of herself. It seemed he already knew everything anyway.

"Blindfold," she said, her mouth dry. She took another sip of tea.

He nodded. This was the answer he'd been expecting. He considered her carefully for a moment and seemed to come to a decision.

"You are in very deep shit, Miss Booker. These are bad, bad men your brother's got himself, and now you, involved with. I take it you know the basics of their operation?"

Kate nodded once. She thought her face must be as white as a ghost's.

"Then you know that they eat people like you up for breakfast. You'll work for them as long as you are useful, but the first time you make a mistake, or they get suspicious of you in any way, or they just decide that they want someone fresh for their evening's entertainment, you will disappear as completely as if you had never existed."

"Why…" Her mouth was dry again. She took another sip of tea. "Why don't you just arrest them then? Isn't that your job?"

"It's not that simple. This gang doesn't exist in isolation. There's a chain stretching right across Europe. This is a huge operation, involving the police of twelve countries, many of which have police forces that see bribes as a normal part of their pay packet. Plus…" He hesitated.

"Plus?"

"Plus, there's someone in our own force looking out for them. I think. Perhaps. I can't prove it." He looked up at her, momentarily suspicious, as if asking himself why he was telling her all this.

"That's why I've approached you like this, at home. Anyway," he continued. "Recently we had a bit of setback. Our… channel of information dried up."

"Nate, yeah? The doctor?"

Cooper looked shocked, as if he'd been caught out. Then he nodded, a little surprised she'd put a name to their mole so easily. "Loathsome little junkie, but easy to manipulate."

"Oh. I see. You want me to take his place."

Cooper sat back in his chair. "Where did they take you just now? What did you see?"

"Nothing useful. An old underground cellar. Damp, as you say. I could hear tube trains and, I think, a river nearby. But that could be anywhere in London, couldn't it?"

Cooper nodded thoughtfully. "And what did you do there?"

"Listen, my brother…"

"We know all about your brother."

"They told me they'd kill him, if I came to the police."

"Most likely. You too."

"Then what the fuck is with turning up at my front door? If anyone sees you… I mean, what kind of fucking amateur are you?"

Cooper smiled. Kate did not think it was particularly reassuring. "Spider doesn't have the resources to do keep you under surveillance. He relies on your fear you keep you in line. You were tailed when you went shopping yesterday, and they had someone in A amp;E two nights ago pretending to have food poisoning so they could see you at work, but they don't watch you all the time. By now they're becoming confident that you haven't gone to the police. And if you haven't gone yet, chances are you won't."

Kate sat there and suddenly felt ashamed and embarrassed. "I would have," she said. "Eventually, I would have. I've thought about it."

"But your brother."

"He's not the hardest of men. He's weak and stupid and his own worst enemy. But he's my best friend. I've had to look after him his whole life, get him out of trouble, keep him from being bullied. Jesus, the amount of times at school I had to fight his battles for him. I suppose I should have known that something like this was inevitable."

"We can keep him safe."

"Not your job, Mr Cooper. It's mine."

Cooper leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands together and holding her gaze firmly. "If you help us, Kate, you have my word no harm will come to him."

Although this figure of authority was asking for her help, Kate felt as helpless as she ever had. If she agreed to inform for the police, she'd be placing herself and her brother in terrible danger. But if she said no… she thought of that poor girl in the cellar. Where was she now? Dolled up and drugged up, washed and brushed up and delivered to some hotel room for the pleasure of a banker or drug dealer who'd use her and then hand her back to her captors, dead or alive.

She stared deep into Cooper's eyes, seeking reassurance. He smiled at her, and she felt her resistance crumble.

"Okay, okay. What do I have to do?"

They didn't call on her for another two weeks. But this time she did not allow herself to pretend that life was normal.

At Cooper's urging, Kate signed up for self defence classes. Each day after work she would spend an hour in a draughty scout hut in Camden learning how to turn an opponent's weight against them, learning simple blocks and combos designed to prevent her from coming to harm and allow her time to run.

They didn't teach her how to collapse a windpipe with a single punch, or how to twist a neck and break it, or the places on the body where the lightest blow could cause the most damage. She was a doctor; that stuff she already knew. But knowing and doing are two different things and she knew she lacked the control to throw those kind of punches. Still, she trained and practiced and worked out. The face of the girl from the cellar hovered in front of her as she pounded the treadmill and worked the punchbag.

She would look at herself in the mirror before bed and laugh humourlessly. Who did think she was, Rocky? She was a not very tall young woman, slight and delicate. All the training in the world wouldn't enable her to inflict so much as a single bruise on the giant. But nonetheless, she trained and practiced and focused.

If any of those bastards tried to make her the main attraction rather than the attending doctor, she'd let them know what a big mistake they'd made.

Then, one Sunday night as she sat vacantly watching some telly programme that passed through her eyeballs and out the back of her head without touching the sides, there was a knock at her yet-again rebuilt door.

Kate took a moment to slow her heartbeat and take a few deep breaths. She told herself she was in control as she rose and grabbed the bag she had left by the door especially for this occasion. One more deep breath and then she opened the door.

Her brother stood there with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

"Hey, Kit," he said, bashful at disturbing her.

"Oh James, not tonight, eh. I've got an early shift tomorrow."

He shuffled his feet. "Sorry, Sis. I've got no choice."

Suddenly Kate realised that, despite appearances, this was not a social call. "Right. I'll get my coat." She turned away but he put his hand on her arm.

"We don't have to be there for an hour or so. That's why…" He held up the bottle of wine.

Kate sighed, stepped back and ushered him inside. "You know where the glasses are," she told him as she closed the door and put the bag back in its place.

He made small talk at first. "How's the hospital… you met a new bloke yet… going to get another flat mate?" That kind of thing. Kate indulged him until he finally ran out things to say. At this point he'd normally reach into his seemingly endless collection of anecdotes and start telling dodgy stories about this or that night on the town and the disreputable character he'd hooked up with. It was only when the silence fell that Kate realised she'd not seen James hold court like this for months.

"I'm not much of a sister, am I?" she said.

"What?"

"I should have noticed something was wrong. I should have asked about it."

"Don't be daft. You've been up to your ears with training."

"Still." The silence that fell then seemed like it would swallow them whole, and they stared into their wine glasses.

"James, how does this end for us?"

He looked up and his face said it all.

"Why haven't you gone to the police?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Too scared. Why haven't you?"

"Don't tell him," Cooper had told her two weeks earlier. "No matter what. I know he's your brother and all, but from what I can gather he doesn't seem the kind who could keep a secret."

Kate gave James a look that said 'why do you think?' and he nodded. "Right," he said.

"I have an idea, though," she said. "Something we can do to help ourselves."

"Hit me."

"I've considered it."

She got up, grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen counter, and sat down again. "I want you to tell me everything, and I mean absolutely everything that you know about their operation. Dates, times, locations, personnel. Everything."

He looked wary. "For why?"

"Insurance."

"Oh, Sis, that's not…"

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

"Then spill."

So he did, until eventually he checked his watch and told her it was time to go.

It was a cold, clear night, cloudless and silent.

The yard was lit by sodium lights mounted high on the posts that marked out the limits of the chain link fence. Huge containers were piled high in blocks, forming a kind of maze. The fleet of articulated lorries that ferried them across Europe and beyond were lined up near the entrance, seeming naked and unwieldy without their cargo. The pungent stink of rotting vegetables and the cry of hungry seagulls betrayed the presence of a tip nearby.

Two portacabins, one on top of the other, sat at the heart of the maze. Their lights were on and Kate could see movement inside as she and James walked towards them.

James didn't knock, he pushed the door open and they stepped into a fug of warm, damp, gas-heater air that smelled of stale coffee and cigarettes.

The giant was sitting on a tatty old armchair which seemed comically small for him. His knees were up around his ears. A group of four crowded around him, sipping coffee from plastic cups and smoking. They were talking and joking in what Kate assumed was Serbian.

Kate was relieved that Spider wasn't present, even though she'd known he wouldn't be. Cooper had told her he normally ran things from Manchester.

The giant unfolded himself and rose as the siblings entered. The men fell silent, watching them with eyes that betrayed only the barest smidgin of interest. Each of them glanced briefly at James and then shifted his attention to Kate, sizing her up and finding her either adequate or wanting, depending upon their taste. One of them smiled at her, revealing crooked yellow teeth. She ignored him.

"You have the medicine?" asked the giant.

Kate held up her bag. He seemed content. He handed James a clipboard and a large manila envelope. Her brother took it without question.

"Come on," he said to Kate, and led her back outside to a set of stairs that led up to the portacabin above. A young man stood outside the door, on guard. He unlocked the door as they ascended and ushered them inside. Kate heard the door lock again once they were in.

The small room held eight women and girls. All were sitting on the floor, crowded around a gas heater, warming their hands. They wore simple, functional clothes and had obviously not washed in days. There was a pungent smell of BO.

"Hello ladies," said James, smiling. Kate was disturbed at how easily he slipped into this role. She wondered how many times he had done this before. "If I can please have your passports and travel documents."

One of the women, the oldest of the bunch, maybe twenty or so, Kate thought, translated James' request to the other, and they each reached into their pockets and produced their passports. Kate thought the meekness with which they did this spoke volumes. These girls were scared. They hadn't admitted it to themselves yet, but they knew, deep down, that something had gone wrong, that they had been fooled, that something awful was about to happen to them.

James collected the passports and visas cheerfully, placing them in the manila envelope. He turned to Kate as he did so. "Best get on with it, Kit," he said.

Kate crouched down and opened her bag. Inside were the syringe needles and ampoules that she had stolen from the hospital. Vitamin shots, wide spectrum antibiotics and, as ordered, mild sedatives. She told the girls to rollup their sleeves. Again the oldest one translated.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Nothing to worry about," Kate lied, feeling a tiny part of her die as she did so. "Just vitamins and stuff. Something to give you a boost. You've had a long trip in that lorry."

The woman was suspicious but there had been that faint air of resignation to her question which betrayed her powerlessness. Kate gave each of the trafficked women a shot.

While she did this James got each woman to stand up as he examined them, scanned a list of outstanding requirements on the clipboard, and decided which of the various distribution points they would be transferred to. The skinny one with the blonde hair was pretty enough for the high rollers, so she'd go to London. The three chubby ones were disposable but functional, they could go to Manchester. There was a special request for a young girl for extraordinary duties. James picked out the redhead, who couldn't have been more than sixteen, for this role.

Kate felt sick as she watched him do this.

James tried to present a cheery front as he consigned these women to their various fates. He knew what he was doing; choosing which ones would be raped, which would be murdered, which would vanish into the cellars, and which in the penthouses. But he didn't want them to know what was going on, so he smiled and joked, even though he knew most of them didn't understand what he was saying.

When the allocation was complete, and the injections had all been administered, James told them it was time for sleep because they would be collected early in the morning. He turned off the light as he left them to snuggle together for warmth on the floor, sunder ragged duvets.

Kate and he went back downstairs, handed the clipboard to the giant, and waited as he studied it. Eventually, he nodded.

"Good," he said. Then he allocated each of them four men a girl or two to transport. James was also given an assignment, driving to Manchester. Kate was dismissed.

The men left and went up the stairs to collect their by now unconscious cargo. James hung back, drinking coffee with the giant.

"I thought you were driving one of them?" she asked.

James stared at his feet, unable to meet her gaze.

"I am," he said. "But they'll… they'll be a while."

The giant laughed. "This is not real man. Not like girls." He laughed again, as if this was the funniest thing in the whole wide world.

Kate wanted to grind broken glass into his face.

"Can I go?" she asked.

The giant nodded. "Get more medicine. More girls next week," he said, and he waved her aside, dismissing her.

Kate stepped out into the night and walked steadily and carefully until she turned a corner and was out of sight. Then she placed her hands on her knees, bent double, and vomited until there was nothing left to come up.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, stood upright, and walked out of the yard in search of a taxi.

"You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," said Cooper, with his mouth full. Kate laughed.

"If my Gran knew I was playing host to a Detective Inspector and not feeding him, she'd have a heart attack. She feeds everyone who ever knocks on her door. Doctor, postman, Jehovah's Witness, she doesn't care. Even if I call her and say I'm stopping by after dinner at a fancy restaurant she opens the door and says 'ooh love, you're looking a little peaky, I've done your favourite, corned beef pie!' And she'll sit there and watch me eat it, no matter how full of Sunday lunch or curry I am."

"And you've inherited her compulsion?"

"It what we do oop North, DI Cooper. Just because you Southerners think hospitality begins and ends with a twist of lime in a G and T, doesn't mean we're so stingy."

"Well this pasta is great, thank you. I'm not sure what my boss would say. He might accuse me of taking bribes."

"It's not that good."

"I'm a copper, Miss Booker…"

"Kate, please."

"I live on pies, chips and coffee, Kate. You may not believe me, but I used to be lean and toned. It's only since I joined the force that I've got so flabby."

Kate didn't think he was flabby. Fancies himself, she thought again, but not unkindly. Fishing for compliments.

"What did you do before?"

"I was in the army."

"Really? I wouldn't have pegged you as the soldier type. What were you, admin or engineer?"

Cooper hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Man of mystery, huh."

"Something like that."

He finished his bowl of pasta and swilled it down with a gulp of lager. Kate collected their crockery and put the kettle on. Cooper browsed her bookcases while she made coffee. Once he'd taken it, he sat down, the informal air almost, but not entirely, banished. She sat opposite him.

"You gave the girls the injections?" he asked.

Kate nodded.

"How many?"

"Eight. Three for Manchester, two each for London and Birmingham, one for Cardiff."

"Good. We'll track them to their destinations."

"And then do nothing because you're waiting for authorisation." The bitterness in her voice was hard to disguise.

"It won't be long now, I promise." He paused and Kate could tell he was considering whether to tell her something. He put down his cutlery and leaned forward across the table intently. "We're tracking a lorry full of girls at the moment. The Ukrainians, for once, actually tipped us off when it left. So far we've managed to keep track of it all the way to Dusseldorf. If we don't lose it before it gets here, we should have the whole trail mapped out clearly. Then we can wrap it all up in one fell swoop."

"That's brilliant!" Said Kate. Cooper looked down at the table.

"But?" she asked, dreading his answer.

"They've decided the south coast ports are getting too dangerous. We think they're coming in via Grimsby and straight to Manchester."

"And that's a problem, why?"

"We don't have anyone on the inside in Manchester." He looked up at her and took a deep breath. "We don't think they have a pet doctor up there yet, though."

"Right," said Kate, not quite following his logic.

"And in the next few days he's got a massive shipment of girls arriving there, the first to go direct, bypassing London."

"Which would mean they'd send for me to help process the girls."

"We hope so, yes."

"And you'd follow me so I could lead you straight to them?"

"That's the general idea."

Kate considered this for a moment. "I'd still be in there when you stormed the place, right?"

Cooper held her gaze firmly. "It's the only way. You'll be away from home so they'll let you sleep the night there, I guess, before driving you back."

"Oh great. That's just what I want, a night stuck in a portacabin with those bastards."

"Which is why we'll take them as soon as you lead us there."

"And how exactly will I do that?"

"You'll need to carry some kind of tracking device."

Kate shook her head firmly. "They frisked me last time. They'd find something like that."

"This will be well disguised. Trust me, they'll have no idea it's there."

"Wait a minute. You'll take them as soon as I get there? You mean I'm going to be in the middle of a police raid?"

"Don't worry. I'll be there and I'll make it my first priority to get you to safety."

Kate did not feel reassured.

"So I should expect to get a phone call in the next couple of days," she said.

"Yeah."

Cooper considered her, biting his lip. "I've still not told my boss about you, you know. I'm keeping you completely off the books. With the operation nearing completion, the risk of a leak from within the Met is too great. I still don't know who Spider's got on the inside and until I do, I'm playing my cards very close to my chest."

"But surely the operation you're proposing is going to require a lot of manpower."

"Yeah. I'm bending the rules a bit there." Kate waited for him to elaborate, but "it's not exactly ethical" is all he said.

"Fuck ethics," said Kate, suddenly impassioned. "If this works, you'll be in a position to shut him down for good."

Cooper smiled. "Let's hope so. As they say in all the good movies: so now we wait."

"However shall we pass the time?"

Cooper looked surprised and Kate cursed inwardly. Too obvious. Inappropriate. Stupid. Damn.

He registered her embarrassment and smiled. "I have an idea or two," he said.

Kate lifted her face out off the blue crash mat and groaned.

"This," she said pointedly, "was not what I had in mind, Detective Inspector Cooper."

Cooper laughed as he bent down and held out a hand. She grabbed it and allowed herself to be helped to her feet.

"Again, Sanders. And stop going easy on her," he said.

"Sir," said the massive, muscled soldier who had just thrown Kate to the floor like she weighed less than a feather pillow. "Now remember what I said, Miss Booker, duck under the attack, grab, pivot and throw."

"Soldier, you're three times the size of me. I don't have to duck under your attack, I just have to stand here and let it pass over my head."

The soldier smiled and held out his great meaty hands, ready to attack once more. Kate sighed and prepared to meet his attack. She placed her feet wide apart and raised her own hands, practically doll like in comparison. "Come on then, let's…"

But he was already moving, and once again Kate didn't manage even the most rudimentary defensive manoeuvre. She was face down on the mat again before the second was out.

"Perhaps we should…"

"No," said Kate firmly as she peeled her face away from the sticky plastic. "Let's go again." She got to her feet. "You really know how to show a girl a good time, Cooper," she said. The policeman just smiled and waved from the bench at the side of the dojo.

Five more attacks, five more humiliations until finally, on the sixth go around, she managed to get a hand to his wrist and a shoulder to his stomach. She tried the lift, but it was like trying to topple a solid granite statue. After straining for a few moments, she gave up and allowed herself to be flattened once more.

"Better," said Sanders. "Anyone not trained would have been thrown by that."

Kate scowled at him. "The men I'm dealing with are ex-Serbian military, Sanders, and one of them is even bigger than you."

Sanders cast a curious glance across at Cooper, who nodded once.

"Right," said the soldier. "In which case, I think we're taking the wrong tack. Tell me, Miss Booker, have you ever fired a gun?"

"She won't be armed, Sanders," said Cooper. "Too dangerous."

"Still, they'll be carrying guns, yeah?" Sanders countered.

Again Cooper nodded.

"Then it can't hurt, can it? Come on Miss Booker, let's get you kitted up."

Sanders led Kate out of the gym and across a sparse concrete courtyard ringed with old single storey buildings. It was about midday but although Cooper had driven her here some hours before, she still had little clue where exactly here was. It was only when she saw a group of men in the distance, running into woods dressed entirely in black, carrying guns, that the penny dropped.

"Not exactly an engineer," she muttered as she entered the long building that housed one of the SAS firing ranges.

"Why did you do that?" Kate asked as they pulled out of the driveway, several hours later.

She had been thrown and chased, beaten and bruised, and taught how to shoot a variety of weapons. She had, she reluctantly admitted to herself, rather enjoyed firing guns. The power of it was exciting.

"If anything goes wrong, you could find yourself in the middle of a firefight. It's important you be ready."

"Of course I'm not ready. You think a day like that is all it takes to get me ready for a warzone?"

"No," replied Cooper quietly. "But it's all I could think to do."

Kate blushed, ashamed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So were you one of them, them, in the army?"

"If I had been, I wouldn't be able to tell you. And if I were to cash in some favours by asking old friends to give you a workover, then it would have to be a very well kept secret indeed if I wanted to avoid having my bollocks cut of and fed to me by big men in balaclavas."

Kate couldn't tell whether he was joking or not. "My lips are sealed," she said.

"Good. But remember what you learned here today. It could save your life."

"You promised me…"

"That nothing could go wrong. I know. And it shouldn't. But there are always factors that can't be foreseen."

"Cooper, can I ask you something?"

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Why is my brother really working for Spider?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's student. He's nothing special. He has no special skills or contacts. There's nothing he can do that one of Spider's normal henchmen can't. I'm a doctor, I understand why I'm useful to him. But James?"

There was a long silence as Cooper kept his eyes on the road. Eventually he said: "Spider is gay. And he likes them pretty."

Kate hadn't thought anything about this business could make her feel any more wretched. She had been wrong.

They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Cooper pulled up outside Kate's building as the clock on the nearby church struck eight.

"Home sweet home," he said.

"Want to come in for a nightcap?"

He turned and looked at her, lips pursed, appraising. "No, Kate. Best if I don't. Maybe once this is all over…"

"Right, yes, of course. I only, meant a coffee anyway. I'll see you soon, I guess."

"Definitely."

"Okay, off I go. And thanks, for today."

"You're welcome."

Four days later, Kate was sitting in the back of a Ford Focus on the M1 north. The giant was crammed into the front passenger seat and the yellow toothed man who kept smiling at her was driving. The stereo was playing some awful Euro-pop.

The rain was coming down in sheets and the windscreen wipers were barely able to cope as they weaved in and out of the traffic. She didn't envy anyone who was trying to follow them through this deluge. She resisted the urge to check the mobile phone in her pocket. The transmitter inside was working, Cooper had checked it himself yesterday. All she could achieve by fingering it was to draw attention to it, which was the last thing she wanted.

Somewhere out there in the downpour, Cooper and his team were gathering, ready for the kill. After her visit to Hereford, Kate had a suspicion that she knew what Cooper had meant by 'bending the rules'. She had seen footage of the Iranian Embassy siege. She knew what to expect and she knew what to do. She was pretty sure that she'd be seeing Sanders again by the end of the day and that thought reassured her; he inspired confidence somehow, even more so than Cooper.

Everything was going to be fine, she told herself. This has all been planned by professionals. Nothing can go wrong.

The giant turned in his seat and looked back at her. He held out his hand.

"Give me phone," he said.

"Sorry?" she asked, taken by surprise.

"Phone."

"Why?"

He didn't say anything, just kept his hand held out, impassive.

Kate gulped and reached into her pocket, removing the phone and handing it to him.

"Careful with it, eh. That's top of the range," she joked, trying not to reveal her sudden terror.

The giant wound down the window and tossed the phone out onto the motorway. The window closed with a soft buzz of internal motors.

"What the fuck was that for?" she yelled.

The giant turned again and held up a little black plastic box with a small LED that flashed red. "Boss not like bugs," he said, matter of fact. Then he turned back and returned to staring out at the lorries as they sped past, each carrying a cloud of spray behind it.

Kate sat there knowing with total certainty that she was a dead woman.

Two hours later they pulled up outside a huge Victorian warehouse in Moss Side. Kate knew where they were because the giant had not told her to look at the floor and had not bothered with the sleep mask. That they didn't take such rudimentary precautions confirmed to her that she was not going to be allowed to walk out of wherever they were taking her.

The giant unfolded himself into the street and pulled her door open, ushering her inside the warehouse through big black wooden doors. The rain was still pouring, and the air was saturated with the hoppy aroma of a nearby brewery.

The ground floor was massive and unsegregated. Racks of cheap clothing stretched away on all sides into the gloom. The giant led Kate to the stairs and they went up two storeys. The second floor was also full of cheap clothes, this time in piles on tables, being sorted by a small group of women, Kate guessed Somali but she couldn't be sure. This floor had a wall running across it, and the giant led her to a small door which, incongruously, had a keypad lock. He typed in the code and the door clicked open.

The other side of the door was a different world. Kate walked from a low rent sweatshop into a plush corridor decorated with velvet wallpaper, laid with deep red carpets and decorated with modern art prints and photographs, all soft core, nothing too obvious.

The next door led into a lobby area that felt more like a lounge or a bar. Leather sofas and armchairs dotted the room, ringing small round tables with table lamps on them, casting a soft glow. There was an unmanned bar in the far corner..

"Sit," said the giant without looking at her. She did so as he left by a small door beside the bar, going deeper into this hidden world.

Kate sat there, collecting her thoughts. The transmitter was gone, so all Cooper knew is that she had been taken. He'd have no idea where she was now unless he'd been able to physically keep the car in sight at all times. She figured the torrential rain made that unlikely.

She was on her own. There was no cavalry coming.

Worse than that, Spider would know by now that she had betrayed him. He might react in a number of ways. He could kill her outright, but she thought at the very least he'd want her to examine the new intake first. Alternatively, he could disappear her into his system, send her to some dank cellar or a dungeon somewhere to be kept on ice ready for a client who fancied a girl who'd put up a fight. That seemed most likely. After all, she was a resource he could use to turn a profit.

She told herself to stay calm and clear headed. As long as she was alive, there was a chance she could find a way to alert Cooper.

The wild card here, she knew, was her brother. What might Spider do to him?

She didn't have to wait long for an answer.

The internal door swung open and Spider entered. He was wearing a different but equally well cut suit, this time of dark purple. His face was impassive and he moved with controlled, almost robotic precision. He walked behind the bar without acknowledging her, took a glass from beneath the counter and poured himself a whisky before looking up at Kate.

"Drink?" he said.

Kate considered for a moment before nodding. "Red wine, please.

He took a wine glass down from a shelf and began to open a bottle.

"I thought we had an understanding, Miss Booker," he said as he pulled the cork out with a soft pop.

Kate thought it best to stay silent.

"I thought that you understood the consequences of betrayal," he continued, pouring the wine into the large glass.

"My lieutenant thinks I should give you to him. He thinks it would be fun to rape you while strangling you. Although he enjoys fucking them, I think he does not like women very much. He likes to cut them with the bayonet his grandfather used in the Second World War. He keeps it very sharp." The glass full, he put the bottle down, walked over to Kate and handed her the drink. "Does that sound like an appropriate punishment to you, Miss Booker?" he asked.

She took the glass and had to put it down immediately, as her hands were shaking too badly to hold it steady.

Spider remained standing, looking down on her. "I worry, though, that if I were to let him have his way with you, you would not learn your lesson."

The internal door swung open again and Kate stifled a cry of fear as she saw her brother being led into the room by the giant.

He saw her and smiled. "Hi Kit," he said. Then he registered the fear on her face and the single minded focus with which Spider was regarding her, and his step faltered.

"I think," said Spider quietly, "that a different punishment would be better." He turned to James and smiled. "Hello, Booker."

"Hi Boss," said James, giving the most unconvincing smile Kate had ever seen.

"James, how long have you been working for me?"

"Ooh, six months now, I reckon."

"Six months." Spider nodded. "You have been a good worker."

"Er, Boss," said James, trying not to let his fear show. "What's up?"

"Your sister has betrayed me to the police. She tried to bring a transmitter here with her."

Kate met James' eyes and she saw all the hope vanish in an instant, replaced by total despair. Spider reached into his jacket and pulled out a huge hunting knife, shiny and sharp. He turned and walked over to James and caressed his cheek with the sharp edge, tenderly.

"I like you, James," said Spider.

"I, I like you too, Boss," James stammered.

"You have kept me amused far longer than most lovers, but I don't think you do like me. Not really," replied Spider, who was now standing close to James, pressed up close to him. "I think you are scared of me. And that is how I like it. The one thing my lieutenant and I have in common is that we both know there is no enjoyment to be had from fucking someone who is not scared of you."

Kate found her voice at last. "Stop this. Please," she said, rising to her feet. "He's done nothing wrong. It's me you've got the problem with, Spider. There's no

reason to hurt him."

"What do you think, James?" asked the Serbian, standing behind the terrified young man, chin resting on his shoulder, knife pressed up against his temple.

James had nothing to say.

"Do you think I should kill you? Or perhaps your sister?" There was no reply. "Petar wants her. You know what he would do to her."

Tears began to stream down James' cheeks but still he stayed silent.

"You still need me to examine the new shipment of girls," said Kate, desperately.

Spider shook his head. "Once I learnt of your betrayal I diverted that container. To the bottom of a river."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know," said Kate, using the only bargaining chip she had left. "I know the policeman who's running the operation. I can lead you to him."

"Do you mean DI Cooper?" he laughed. "We know all about him. What else you got?"

Kate had nothing else.

"Thought so," said Spider.

Then he pushed the knife through the thin bone plate on the side of James head, straight into his brain.

She doesn't remember what happened next. All that survives is a sound; a low keening that goes on forever and ever. The second the knife went in, the world went black and her mind stopped creating memories.

The woman who gradually became aware of her surroundings however many hours later was a different person. Someone as yet unnamed. Someone at whose very core nestled a cold, hard knot of calm determination and resolve. Someone with only one thought in her head.

Vengeance.

The world came to the woman a piece at a time.

First it was the faint smell of burning hops. Then the sound of her own breathing. She floated in a dark void, examining the smell and the sound for a long time before her body began to send back signals that told her she was lying on a bed. Then there was a taste of stale wine and bile. Finally, she opened her eyes.

The world looked… different. The room was monochrome — black walls, white nurse's outfit hanging from the white hook on the inside of the door, shiny grey buckles on the straps that adorned the sturdy black wooden cross, white trolley with black implements strewn across it — whips, dildos, clamps and catheters. But even despite the lack of colour, the woman who awoke on that bed (and was it a waking, truly? Had she been asleep or just comatose? Had she really opened her eyes or had her optic nerves instead rebooted themselves after a long shutdown?) somehow knew that even had the room been painted in fluorescent colours they would have seemed muted.

The way she saw the world had literally changed.

The bed springs creaked as she sat up. She had been expecting a headache, but her head was clear and her senses were sharp. There were no windows in this dark place. The only illumination came from four uplighters, one in each corner of the room.

She stood up and checked the door, knowing it was locked but determined to be thorough. She then turned to assess the room, methodically cataloguing its contents in her mind searching for a means of attack or something she could use to defend herself.

She noted the absence of panic, but did not think it worthy of further examination.

The trolley offered the best hope, but there was nothing there that could be of genuine use. The cat o'nine tails lacked the sharp stones that would have rendered it really painful, and she did not think beating a man around the head with a giant black rubber cock would do anything but provoke laughter.

Perhaps if she pushed the trolley itself at whoever entered, it would unbalance them long enough to give her an opening. But when she tried to move it forwards the wheels squealed alarmingly and refused to move.

She made no further progress before she heard a key turn in the lock. She stepped away from the trolley and into the only really clear area in the centre of the room. If she was going to fight, this was all the space she would have to do it in.

The door opened and the giant stepped inside. The woman who was no longer Kate abandoned all thought of fighting.

He closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. He knew there was no way she was getting past him.

She stood there, impassive, as he removed his jacket and hung it on the hook, covering the nurse's outfit. He then removed his shirt, revealing an acreage of tattooed chest that was twice the woman's width from shoulder to shoulder. He hung the shirt over the jacket.

He stepped forward and reached out his huge right hand, wrapping the fingers around her throat and lifting her off the ground with a single outstretched arm. He brought her face close to his as she choked. She felt his warm breath on her cheek as he examined her closely. Then he relaxed his grip and she collapsed in a heap at his feet, gasping for air. He turned his back on her, stepped to the door and removed a huge bayonet from the inside of his hanging jacket.

"Stand," he said. The woman did so.

He stepped forward and inserted the bayonet under the bottom of her t-shirt. He ripped the blade upwards and the cloth parted before it like butter meeting a hot knife. The bayonet was so sharp, she thought, you probably wouldn't realise you'd been stabbed until you looked down and saw the hilt sticking out.

The blunt edge felt cold against her skin as it rushed up from her belly to her throat.

When the t-shirt had been split from waist to neck, it fell off her. She stood in her bra, facing this enormous man, knowing exactly what he intended to do to her, and still she felt no fear.

She remembered the dojo, she recalled the moves she'd been taught in a draughty hut in Camden, and she knew that all that training was useless. If he came at her with some momentum, she could perhaps have used it against him. But the room was too small; he had no need of speed. If he had been smaller, she could have tried to throw him from a standing start, but she hadn't been able to throw Sanders who, big as he was, was slight in comparison.

Her best chance, she realised, was the bayonet.

"Rush a gun, flee a knife," Sanders had told her. "If you run at a person who's trying to shoot you, you force them to fire quickly and without time to aim properly. You have a better chance that they'll miss you than if you turn and run. But a knife is different. It's only lethal in close quarters and once you've got a hand to it, it can move both ways. You'd be amazed how many stab victims are killed with their own blades."

The woman focused all her attention on the blade. This man was too strong to wrestle with, but even so she had a slim chance of turning his weapon against him. To do that she had to know exactly where it was, how it was angled, where it was pointed at all times.

He reached down and unbuckled her belt, pulling it out in one fluid movement, cracking it like a whip, and tossing it over his shoulder into the corner.

He angled the knife down, inserting the point inside the waistband of her jeans, directly below her belly button.

Then something distracted him. A distant rumble. The floor shook briefly. There was a scream somewhere far away. He glanced over his shoulder instinctively, even though the closed door and windowless walls offered no vantage.

When he turned his attention back to the woman he noticed she had taken a step backwards. He looked down and registered that she had something in her right hand. Something long and thin. Something dripping.

He took a step towards her and felt his centre of gravity shift in an unsettling way. There was a soft wet sound and he felt pressure on his foot. He looked down to see his entrails spooling out of his belly and falling to the floor like a coil of steaming, lumpy rope.

Still looking at his feet in wonder he saw a hand enter his field of vision and felt it punch him on the breast. The hand withdrew and he opened his mouth in astonishment as he realised there was a black metal handle sticking out of his chest.

How the fuck had that got there?

He reached down and grabbed the handle, pulling it and exposing the blade of his grandfather's bayonet. It emerged from his heart smoothly, without a sound. The room span and he felt something hit him on the back of the head. He wasn't conscious long enough to realise that it was the floor.

The woman reached down and took the bayonet from twitching fingers, then stepped over the giant corpse and opened the door. Somewhere in the distance she could hear gunfire.

She walked out of the room, blade in hand, spoiling for a fight.

As she moved down the corridor, she could still hear occasional bursts of gunfire somewhere below and ahead of her. She didn't know how, but Cooper and his men must have found the warehouse. This mean that time was not on her side. She had to find Spider before Cooper did.

The corridor ran the length of the building along its external back wall. Tall metal framed windows ranged to her left, a collection of doors to her right. A quick glance outside told her that it was late evening and she was at least one floor above the lobby bar.

The door at the far end of the corridor burst open and the man with the yellow teeth came running through with a sub machine gun in his hands. Without noticing the woman, he turned and entered the first door. The woman heard a girl's scream and then a burst of gunfire.

She began to run. The man stepped back out of the room, the barrel of his gun smoking. He turned to walk towards the next door and then stopped in amazement as he registered a woman in a bra running towards him with teeth bared. It took him a second to react, but he soon brought the gun to bear.

"Rush a gun, flee a knife," the woman muttered to herself as she barrelled forwards. The sound of the shots was deafening in the enclosed corridor, and she felt hot air stream across her right shoulder as the distance closed. Then there was a sharp sting in the same shoulder but she ignored it as she crashed into the gunman, flinging him to the floor. The bayonet clattered out of her hands as they fell. She wrestled with him for a moment and then, realising the madness of this, sat up, straddling him like a lover. Again he took a moment to react to this unexpected move, a moment in which she reached down, grabbed his gun, reversed it and used the butt to send the bones from his nose shrapnelling into this frontal lobe.

She leaned across him, grabbed the bayonet again then stood, blade in one hand, gun in the other. She checked the gun once, recalling Sanders' tuition, recognising the vital parts. She pointed it at the chest of Yellowteeth and squeezed the trigger. A stream of bullets thudded into him.

The woman nodded, satisfied.

She heard a door open behind her and she span around, raising the weapon. A teenaged girl peered out at her, eyes wide with fear. The woman lowered the weapon.

"You speak English?" she asked.

The girl nodded. The woman handed her the bayonet, and the girl looked at it in wonder.

"Take this," said the woman. "Stick it in any man you meet who's not wearing a uniform. Understand?"

The girl nodded.

"Good, now get everyone in these rooms into the dungeon at the far end. Lock the door. The keys are in the pocket of the dead man you'll find in there. Don't come out until the shooting stops. Can you do that?"

Again the girl nodded. "You've been shot," she whispered.

The woman looked at her shoulder and registered a small hole at the top of her arm. She fingered it, and found the exit wound. The bullet had gone straight through and missed both bones and arteries. She didn't feel any pain, though she knew that would not stay the case for long.

She turned, jumped over the corpse of Yellowteeth and ran out the door. She had wasted enough time.

She emerged onto a darkened dance floor with swing doors at the far right. She ran diagonally across it. As she reached the halfway point the doors swung open and three men ran in. All were in civvies and all carried guns.

Their eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, so by the time they realised they were not alone it was too late. The woman sprayed the doorway with bullets and the men jerked and dropped. She kept running, jumped over them and flew out the swing doors, ready to fire.

Behind her, in the corridor where she'd killed Yellowteeth, she heard shattering glass as Cooper's men came in through the windows. So now they were ahead of her and behind her. She gritted her teeth.

She had to get to Spider first.

She ran down an empty staircase keeping the gun aimed at the bottom in case anyone else came running through. There was another soft explosion on the far side of the building as she reached the bottom and turned to find herself facing another corridor and another row of rooms.

These doors were open. One, about halfway along, had a single bloodstained hand stretched across the threshold.

The woman walked down the corridor checking each room for survivors. Despite her focus, she knew she would have to help any wounded girls she found, even if that meant letting Spider escape. But Yellowteeth had been thorough. Each room held at least one dead girl, some as many as three. No-one was to be left alive who could testify against them. No witnesses, no descriptions. The woman reached the end of the corridor with something approximating relief and pushed through into the lobby bar.

A patch of darkness on the carpet was the only evidence that someone had been stabbed in the head here not so long ago.

There was a burst of gunfire from somewhere close, beyond the opposite door, then heavy footsteps on the stairs behind her. She scanned the room in desperation. Had they already captured him? Had the bastard escaped her?

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something that didn't seem right, so she turned and realised that there was another door, slightly ajar, behind the bar. It was flat and featureless, disguised as part of the wall, which is why she had not seen it earlier. She ran to it and pulled it open, squeezing through and closing it firmly behind her. Cooper and his team would probably not see the door on their first pass, especially if they were fighting still encountering resistance. If Spider had come this way, she would be the only person in pursuit for now.

The woman smiled, but it was not like any smile Kate had ever worn.

She scampered down the dark, narrow stairs. A small landing with another discreet door marked the ground floor, then the steps continued down into the cellars. The woman saw a glimmer of light ahead and slowed. He turned the corner at the bottom and found herself in a long, low featureless brick corridor, painted black. There was no light here, but she could make out a fading glow at the far end, betraying the presence of someone fleeing with a torch. She took off in pursuit, catching only vague impressions of rooms off to her left and right, each marked by a low, round arch and some brick steps going down into a chamber. The squalid cellar entrances smelt of blood, shit and fear.

The woman barrelled on through the darkness, turning the corner at the far end to find a dead end and an old metal grille in the floor. It was still open, and the glow of the receding torch seeped out of it. She did not even look down into the sewers before jumping.

She splashed into cold, lumpy water that came up to her waist. The sewer was a round tube of Victorian brick. The current was strong, swollen by the heavy rains, and the water swirled and eddied, trying to pull her feet out from under her. The floor felt slimy beneath her feet and she knew that if she lost her footing she would be in big trouble.

She held the gun high above her head and waded forward, following the fading light around the curve of the tunnel.

She had only progressed a few metres when she stepped into space, a breech in the sewer floor, like a pothole. She unbalanced and fell backwards, disappearing into the raging torrent and being carried forward at speed. She lost her grip on the gun. Flailing around in the darkness, she broke the surface once, twice, gasping for air as she hurtled along.

For the first time it occurred to her that she might die down here.

She lost all sense of orientation. Down was up, left was right. The water roared in her ears, she saw flashes behind her closed eyes and felt the dizziness of impending unconsciousness.

Then she hit something. Something soft, which fell ahead of her, and then she and this object were tumbling together in the water. Something hard hit her on the side of the head; was that the torch or her gun? Just as she thought she was dead, the water threw her out into a void and she fell, momentarily free, drawing ragged, desperate breaths.

She splashed down into a lake of some sort and fought to the surface. There was no light down here. The torch had gone. She floated there, treading water as it swirled around her, calming herself, listening intently, trying to filter out the sound of the waterfall that had deposited her in what she assumed was some sort of junction.

She had not fallen down into this pit alone. The person she had collided with must be here too, somewhere in the darkness.

"Spider," she shouted. Her voice echoed back to her a hundred times. This chamber was big and arched. "Spider!"

She waited, feeling the fatigue in her legs as they kicked against the tide.

"Miss Booker, you surprise me," came the reply at last, his too calm voice seeming to come at her from every direction.

She turned left and right, trying to get a bearing on the bastard. It was no use; he could have been anywhere.

"If I could see you, I would shoot you," he said, seeming more in control. Had he made it out of the water on to some ledge? He didn't sound like he was swimming any more. "But I suppose I will have to settle for leaving you here to drown. Goodbye, Kate."

'Kate,' thought the woman. 'Who's Kate?'

"I'll find you," she screamed. "No matter where you fucking hide, I'll find you."

"No," came the reply, fainter now, moving away. "I will find you, if you survive the day. Trust me."

"Spider?" she yelled. "Spider!"

But there was no reply, only darkness and water and white noise.

A council worker found the woman later that night, unconscious, half dead, suffering from hypothermia, washed up on a brick shore half a mile under the city. Her body was swarming with rats. When he managed to wake her, she couldn't tell him her name. Delirious, she muttered incoherently about webs as he radioed for assistance.

Two months later, a nondescript car drove through a pair of wrought iron gates and down the driveway of a minor public school in Kent. It parked behind the main building and two people, a man and a woman, got out.

He wore a smile that spoke of familiarity and nostalgia. Her face betrayed no emotion at all.

"This way," he said, and walked towards the rear doors, his feet crunching on the gravel.

She did not follow him immediately, pausing to take in her surroundings. The sports fields stretched away ahead of her, bordered on all sides by thick woods, lush green in the summer heat. The sky was blue and the air was clear and smelt of pine needles and fresh water. The only sound came from the soft rustle of the leaves in the gentle wind.

"You coming?"

She turned and trailed after the man, who pushed open the door and entered.

The building was impressive and old, but not as old as some public schools. This was a Victorian edifice, imposing and solid. The inside reflected this, with dark wood panelled walls, tiled floors and portraits of illustrious benefactors with big sideburns hanging on the whitewashed walls.

The man led her deep into the silent building, up a small back staircase once meant for servants, to a small door in the east wing. He opened the door then handed her the keys.

"Welcome home," he said.

"It's not my home, John."

"It is now," said DI Cooper. Then he added, smiling: "Matron."

The woman slapped him playfully on the arm and allowed herself the tiniest grin as she stepped over the threshold into the flat. It was pokey but cosy. An small open fireplace sat in the middle of the far wall, with a flower print sofa and chair in front of it. There was a dresser, a bathroom with an old enamelled bath, a kitchen that barely had standing room for one and a bedroom with a single bed and wardrobe. The woman sighed and walked over to the living room window. The view of the fields and woods, with the thin skein of the river glinting on the horizon, was beautiful. This was a good place; quiet and peaceful, isolated from reality. The outside world would not bother her here.

"Yeah, it'll do," she said eventually, heartened by the green and the sun. It was hard to feel too low on such a gorgeous day. But she knew that looking out of this window on a cold, grey winter's day would be a very different prospect.

She heard a click from the kitchen and the rumble as the kettle began boiling. She stayed at the window until the man tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a mug of strong hot tea. She thanked him and sat on the sofa. He sat opposite, on the armchair, sipping his own brew.

"So this is where you went to school, huh?" she said.

"Yeah. I'm on the alumni committee and everything."

"I thought places like this only turned out lawyers and bankers."

"Oh no, soldiers too. There's a cadet force here."

"Seriously?"

"Once a week they dress the boys up in uniforms and teach them to shoot things."

A flash of unease passed across the woman's face.

"Don't worry," said the man. "Matrons are exempt. You won't ever have to hold a gun again, Kate."

After a short pause she said: "It's Jane, remember? I'm supposed to be Jane now."

"Sorry, I know. But not forever. Once we catch the bastard you can go back to being Kate again."

The woman did not correct his misapprehension.

"The boys arrive tomorrow," he continued. "Then you'll be up to your elbows in Clearasil, TCP and black eyes."

"Can't wait." Another pause, and then: "Do you have any idea where he is?"

The man shook his head. "If I had to guess, Serbia."

The woman nodded.

"Were there any biscuits in there?" she asked. "I fancy dunking."

When Cooper had gone, the woman drew a bath and gently lowered herself into the near boiling water, letting her skin adjust to the heat in tiny increments, her lips pursed with the pleasure of pain.

She floated, weightless, closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She took long, slow, deep breaths and pictured the cares and stresses of her day dissolving out of her into the bathwater.

But there were no cares and stresses to disperse. It felt as if there was nothing in her at all. She was hollow.

The woman considered the emptiness dispassionately, turning it over in her mind as one would a vase or an artefact unearthed at an archaeological dig, feeling its weight and form, assessing it.

"Jane," she said out loud. "Jane Crowther. Matron."

She said the name in different ways, trying different intonations, a question, and answer, a hail, a statement.

"Jane. Jane. Jane."

It felt strange in her mouth. But it felt good on the inside.

Yes. She would be Jane now, the woman decided.

And it was right that she should be empty, she concluded, for that was what a newborn was — a vessel waiting to be filled with new experiences.

The woman who was now Jane ducked her head under the water for a moment and concentrated on the still warmth, the only sound her own heartbeat. Then she pushed her head back up to the air and took her first breath.