The Judas Sheep (18 page)

‘Thank you, kind sir.’

We had a cup of tea, then I left her to have a shower and catch up on her rest. At the door I suggested we went for a meal in the evening. As usual, she volunteered to cook something.

‘No,’ I insisted. ‘We’ll go out. There’s a new vegetarian restaurant in town. Shall we try that? Unless, of course, you have a craving for a T-bone.’

She looked surprised. ‘Vegetarian is fine by me, but what about you? Won’t you develop rickets or something if you are deprived of your daily dose of roast beef and Yorkshire pud?’

‘Mmm, possibly, but I’m fed up of eating meat. Let’s have a change. Then you can tell me all about Africa.’

The beeper on my ansaphone was going. I pressed the button and heard Eric Dobson’s recorded voice asking me to contact him at Merlin Couriers.

‘Somebody called Kevin has been after you, Charlie,’ Eric told me when I called him. ‘Wants you to give him a ring. I told him you were on the South Coast run, but that I’d try to raise you.’

‘Fantastic, well done.’

I timed the radio to a pop music station and turned the volume up high. Kevin was in.

‘I’m on my mobile,’ I yelled into the phone, over the din of the music. I said it, I really said it. I couldn’t resist saying it again: ‘It’s Charlie, I’m on my mobile. I’m just outside – er – London. What do you want?’

Kevin had watched too much TV. He said: ‘Hello, Charlie, this is control. We’ve another run for you, if you can get back in time. Friday night, OK?’

I entered into the spirit of it. ‘Message understood, control,’ I told him. ‘Will comply. Over and out.’ I was sitting on the floor, close to the radio. I clicked it off and did a backward roll, jumping to my feet and shouting, ‘Yes!’

The meal was enjoyable, but it would’ve had to be pretty awful not to be. Annabelle told me all about the poverty and deprivation she had witnessed, and the overwhelming optimism of the people. She’d taken her photographs and was looking forward to seeing the results. I’d been worried about the danger,
but she assured me that the only threat had come from a military attaché with amorous intentions, and she’d soon discouraged him. The influence of the tobacco barons was everywhere, she claimed. Their stranglehold on the countries was twofold – economic and narcotic. She was animated and enthusiastic as she related her story, and I wished I’d gone with her. Africa was obviously my chief rival for her affections, and I wasn’t happy that it was a fair contest. Maybe next time I’d have to go, for I felt sure there would be a next time.

I told her about my new cottage, and she wanted to see it. I briefly mentioned the drug smugglers, making them sound like the Famous Five, and said I would be on duty over the weekend, ‘Just on observations, on the ferry to Holland.’ I said I was working part-time. Annabelle needed to write a lengthy report, so wasn’t too disappointed that I would be away for a couple of days. I wanted to stay the night with her, but didn’t suggest it, and she didn’t invite me to.

Kevin gave me a sports bag of indeterminate make and told me to put a few things in it that I might need over the weekend. ‘Towel, sweater, that sort of thing. We’ll swap it over there for one with the goods.’ He had an identical one.

‘Where’s “over there”?’ I asked.

‘You’ll find out.’

‘What are “the goods”?’

‘Only shit, this time. It’s a practice run. Good stuff, though – Ukrainian gold, it’s called.’

‘How much are they paying us?’

‘Two hundred and fifty quid each.’

‘Two hundred and fifty lousy quid! You gotta be joking!’

He looked devastated. ‘C’mon, Charlie,’ he protested. ‘I stuck my neck out for you. It’s all arranged.’

I gave him my morose look and hooked the bag over my shoulder. ‘OK, I’ll do it this time. For you, Kevin, because I’m grateful. But I want to talk money with someone before we go again. Understood?

‘Right, Charlie. Right. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

We made our separate ways to the docks, pretending that we didn’t know each other. I suppose it lessened the risk of us both being caught, but I couldn’t see much point in it – there were plenty of men travelling in small groups, as well as the usual couples and families. This time I didn’t enjoy the meal and the airline seat was even less comfortable.

Not until we were in Rotterdam did we speak to each other again. ‘So where are we going?’ I asked.

Kevin produced a minute slip of paper from his pocket and read from it. ‘Delf-shaven. Then we find a big red barge called Orion. We ask for Villie and tell him that we had an unpleasant trip.’

I said: ‘It’s haven, not shaven. Delfshaven.’

‘Is it? Let’s find a taxi.’

‘No,’ I insisted. ‘We’ll go on the tram. It’s cheaper and doesn’t attract attention.’ He looked impressed.

I force-fed the ticket machine with coins as if I’d been doing it all my life and handed Kevin his ticket. ‘I take it you’ve been ‘ere before,’ he said. I glowered at him for a few seconds, without speaking.

Delfshaven is a smashing little place. The rows of houses look as if giant hands have compressed them together, leaving them tall and impossibly narrow. They front on to the canal, spanned by one of van Gogh’s bridges; and a magnificent windmill – the traditional type – stands guard over everything.

Kevin wandered up and down, looking for the boat. ‘You look like a bloody tourist,’ I told him. ‘Let’s walk down to the end, as if we know where we are going. Otherwise some kind Dutch policeman is going to ask you if you need any help.’

‘Yeah, see what you mean.’

It wasn’t on the first length of canal. We walked round the end of the houses and back along a parallel stretch of water. There were plenty of boats, mainly barges with sails to assist them and conserve fuel, but not the Orion. Most of them didn’t have names at all, just numbers. We crossed the main road at a bridge, and there she was.

‘Bingo!’ I exclaimed.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Kevin said. ‘I was starting to get worried.’

‘Do you want to collect the stuff now,’ I asked, ‘or
go for something to eat and come back later? Save us carrying it around.’

He looked worried. ‘I think we should get it now. I’d feel ’appier.’

‘OK, you’re probably right. Let’s go meet Villie, then.’

He was fat and dirty, wearing a fisherman’s sweater that looked as if the dog slept on it at nights. ‘I am Villie,’ he admitted. ‘Kom on board.’ We ducked into a low doorway, down some steps, and entered the living quarters of the barge. It was beautiful, all carved wood and shining brass, with fancy oil lamps – the real things – fastened to the walls. ‘Haf you had a good journey?’ he enquired.

Kevin’s mouth opened like a stranded flounder, but I beat him to it. ‘A very unpleasant trip, Villie,’ I told him. ‘Very unpleasant indeed.’

‘Very unpleasant,’ Kevin agreed.

‘Good. Vould you like a trink?’ He gestured towards a bottle on a tray, surrounded by tiny glasses.

I swung the bag off my shoulder and placed it on a bench seat. Kevin did the same. ‘Not for me,’ I said, ‘but a cup of tea would be very welcome. Or coffee.’ I sat down.

‘OK, von tea. And you, my young friend?’

‘Er, coffee, please,’ Kevin said.

Villie shouted something in Dutch – well, it was Dutch to me – and another man, skinny and much younger, appeared through a doorway. He paused,
taking his instructions, then disappeared again, taking the bags with him.

I looked round the cabin we were in. It was cosy, and the sunshine was being reflected on to the ceiling, dancing and swirling like some electronic light-show. I felt like curling up and going to sleep.

‘What do you normally carry?’ I asked.

‘Consumer goods.’

He didn’t elaborate, so I didn’t ask him where he took them from and to. The tea came.

‘So how’s business?’

‘Business eez bard.’

I nodded my agreement. ‘Same everywhere,’ I told him.

It was obvious that polite conversation wasn’t required, so I closed my eyes and dozed, with my face in a patch of light coming through one of the little windows. After about fifteen minutes I heard the door again, and opened my eyes to see another man enter, with our bags. ‘Hello, Kevin,’ he said.

Kevin looked happy for the first time since we landed. ‘Hiya, Darren,’ he greeted the newcomer. ‘You get around a bit.’ He’d have wagged his tail if he’d had one.

Darren was medium height, medium build. Lank hair, didn’t get much sunlight, needed a bath. Kevin introduced me.

‘Wotcher,’ I said.

‘Kevin reckons you’re a professional,’ he replied.

‘Me? Nah, I just like sailing.’

He put a bag similar to the one I’d brought on the bench beside me. ‘Well, don’t fuck us about, and don’t lose that. If you do, you’ll find yourself feeding the fishes. Understood?’

He terrified me, like a spider frightens a teddy bear. The arrangement was becoming clearer. The drugs were brought in by barge, possibly from somewhere in the Eastern bloc; Darren came over to pay and supervise the handover, make sure the English end wasn’t swindled; Kevin and I were the mugs who took the risks. It was a lot of trouble to take for a couple of kilos of marijuana.

I hooked the strap of the bag over my shoulder and stood up. ‘C’mon, Kevin,’ I said. ‘We’ve a boat to catch.’ Going across the little gangplank I shouted back: ‘Thanks for the tea, Villie,’ but it was wasted.

Kevin trotted after me. When he caught up he cautioned me against crossing Darren. ‘He ‘as some dangerous friends,’ he warned.

‘Who is he?’ I asked.

‘One of the gang. He usually collects the stuff off me.’

‘So who normally looks after this end?’

‘Another one of them. Bloke called Shawn. He scares the shit out of me. Darren must’ve been promoted.’

We caught the tram back into Rotterdam. The bags we carried were the same ones we’d brought, but now they were heavier. Kevin didn’t fancy a ride to the top of
the Euromast but I managed to drag him into the Imax cinema. We saw an astronaut called Book Musgrave repair the Hubble telescope, floating about like a speck of dust in a sunlit room. He had a shaved head, and could have stepped straight out of Star Trek. You felt as if you were holding his screwdrivers. When it was over and our feet were back on solid ground, I pretended to forget my bag. Kevin nearly had a cardiac arrest, so I introduced him to a warme appelbol, but he didn’t appreciate it.

I banged my holdall straight into one of the
left-luggage
lockers that the ferry owners thoughtfully provide. Kevin and I were travelling separately again, and I occasionally saw him wandering around the various bars, clutching his bag as if his life depended upon it, which was a reasonable assumption. I was sipping a lager, putting off my date with the airline seat, when I saw Darren.

He was leaning on the bar, pint glass in front of him. I guessed that he’d driven over to the continent, probably by a different route. I wandered over and whispered into his ear: ‘I want a word with you. Now!’ I walked away, out through one of the heavy doors and on to the deck. We were batting across the North Sea, guided by faith and a radio signal. I shivered as a gust of wind dashed rain and spray against the cliff-like side of the ship. Darren followed me almost immediately.

‘What the fuck at you playing at?’ he hissed.

I leant on the rail and peered into the blackness,
imaging what it must have been like when there were U-boats out there, waiting with their torpedos. There’d be no warning – just an explosion and a juddering shock, followed by pant-wetting terror.

‘Two things,’ I said, quite calmly. ‘First of all, don’t make threats on behalf of other people.’ I turned to look at him. ‘You might get hurt that way. I’ll deliver the stuff to the best of my ability, but if a third party moves in and takes it, it’s everybody’s problem, not just mine. Tell that to your masters, otherwise I’m not playing.’

‘That’s just, you know, insurance,’ he mumbled.

‘If they want insurance, tell them to see Eagle Star.’ I liked that. I felt a smile coming on, down in my stomach, but managed to strangle it before it passed my neck. ‘And I want more money. I don’t believe it’s pot we’re carrying, and I don’t like being lied to. So if they want my services again, the price is a thousand pounds. Tell ’em that.’

‘A grand! They’ll never pay you a grand!’ He sounded shocked.

‘OK, call it seven-fifty, plus expenses. That’s my final offer.’

He looked miserable, as if going back with an ultimatum would be considered failure. I said: ‘Don’t worry about it, Darren. They can afford it – prices are sky-high at the moment.’

‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

‘Want another beer?’

‘No, we’re not supposed to be seen together.’

‘Fair enough. When’s the next run likely to be – any ideas? I’ve a social life to organise.’

He considered it for a few seconds. ‘Could be a fortnight,’ he told me.

‘So I’m safe to arrange something else for next weekend?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cheers. Well, it’s too cold out here for me. I’m going back inside.’ I walked off, leaving the deck and the night to him alone.

I wanted the number of his car, but following him around was difficult, and if he’d seen me it would have made him suspicious. I abandoned the idea and went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Next time I’d take a cabin.

We disembarked dead on schedule and the old van started first try. I drove back to the cottage with the bag of dope on the front seat, beside me. I’d let Kevin get away first, hoping that I might see Darren again, but I couldn’t afford to linger too long. Kevin was waiting at his door for me.

‘Bring it in ‘ere,’ he said.

I followed him into his home. It smelt of stale food and cigarette smoke, and there was a huge poster above the fireplace of one of the supermodels proudly showing her nipples, as if nobody else in the world had a pair.

‘A good job well done,’ I declared, unzipping the bag.

‘You didn’t ought to have left it in the lockers,’ Kevin
warned. They’ll kill you if you lose the stuff.’

‘No, they won’t,’ I told him. ‘I’ve sorted it out. No more threats; seven hundred and fifty quid each; and next time we share a cabin.’ I lifted my stuff out, including a couple of decent bottles of claret from the duty-free shop, and held it in my arms. ‘Keep the bag,’ I said, and went next door.