Somehow, Josh had caught her unawares. He wasn’t so handsome that he turned heads. He wasn’t terribly intellectual, either, and whilst he was in reasonable physical shape, he was nowhere near as fit as she was. Then again, he didn’t have to work in the kinds of dangerous and tawdry places Dee encountered on a regular basis. Whilst the largest part of her time was spent in close protection work, looking after people who considered themselves to be celebrities and at risk from fans, there were more testing duties from time to time. Vastrick Security had initially specialised in extracting people from cults and deprogramming them. About half of the rescued men and women went on to lead normal lives again, but the other half would go back, find another cult or even be sectioned under the mental health act. Some of the extractions were violently opposed, with weapons being used to try to keep Dee and her colleagues away from their targets. She still found it surprising how many cults with names like ‘The Universal Congregation for Peace and Love” employed thugs to keep their members in line until the programming finally weakened their resistance.

Josh got under her skin. She was beginning to believe that she loved him, and it was difficult trying to persuade herself that this was not a sign of weakness. She was suddenly aware that Friends had finished, and she stood up just as the front door exploded against the wall.

***

Dee looked around to see three masked men rush into the flat, the third man closing the damaged door. It was this third man who spoke, as he looked her up and down, his eyes wide with obvious surprise.

“Good evening, Miss Whiplash. We are sorry we damaged the door but we forgot our key.” Dee recognised the accent immediately. Van Aart’s men, she thought to herself. She would play along for the time being, to see what developed. She put on a panicky girlish voice.

“What do you want? Who are you? I don’t have anything valuable.”

“Where is Josh Hammond?” the leader asked, his tenor suggesting he expected a helpful answer.

“Josh is out at a stag party for his friend. He won’t be back until two or three in the morning. He might not be back at all, if they drink too much,” she lied.

The leader swore under his breath, and told his colleagues to search the flat, to be sure that Josh was not around.

“And who, exactly, are you?” the man enquired.

“I’m just a friend,” she answered, genuinely not knowing whether she was anything more than that.

The heavy set man returned to the room, carrying her nightdress.

“They’re sleeping together, boss,” he said, brandishing the lingerie.

The leader took his mobile phone and pressed a speed dial button. There was a brief conversation in Dutch before he hung up. All three were now back in the lounge. The leader said something in Dutch and the two others moved towards Dee.

“What are you going to do to me?” Dee shrieked, as if terrified. The men smiled at the seemingly frightened girl, and dropped their guard, as she had hoped.

“You’re coming with us, to make sure Mr Hammond does as he’s told.”

Piet came up behind her and grabbed her upper arms, while Gregor approached from the front. Dee waited, and then made her move. She threw her head back and felt the satisfaction of her head crunching against the gristle of Piet’s nose. Piet let go with one hand and clutched his face with a howl of pain. Dee lifted her right leg, and with her high heeled boots she scraped her foot down his shin. He yelped, let go of her other arm and doubled over, as she had anticipated. Dee threw back her right elbow until it connected with Piet’s chin, and he went down. The big guy was almost on her, and so she deterred him by placing a well-aimed kick into his groin. The pointed toes of the boots did their job and she heard the wind go out of him. As he bent forward, her right knee came up to meet his chin and his head snapped back. He was teetering on his feet, and so Dee took hold of the ski mask, and a good chunk of hair, and pulled him towards her. She used his weight against him, and threw him on top of his groaning friend.

Dee was about to take out the third man when she felt a burning sensation in the middle of her back. Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably. She knew that she had trained for this eventuality, and so she forced herself to breathe so she would stay conscious, but her attacker did not stop sending the pulsing electricity down the wires in the same way the man leading her training session had done, and eventually she passed out.

Rik sniggered as his men began to lift themselves from the floor. He placed the stun gun back in his pocket. He had never had to use that much voltage to put someone down before. He just hoped she wasn’t dead.

Chapter 62

Lambeth Road, London. 7:30pm.

Lavender Fisher couldn’t remember the last time her father had been so angry, yet he was a man who had built his reputation by being angry. When she had arrived back in the UK, her dad’s head of security was waiting in the Arrivals hall to take her back to the family home in Isleworth. Declan was pleasant enough for a bodyguard. He warned her that she was in for a roasting when she got home, and he was right.

If she had been younger she would have been grounded. The worst thing about all of this was that she genuinely couldn’t remember the photos being taken, although her father was apoplectic with rage about them. She remembered the nice German boy, Conrad; she remembered going back to his flat and meeting his flatmate. She even remembered the drink and the drugs, but everything else after that was a blur. What she remembered vividly was waking up shortly before noon the next day in a scruffy flat, in a double bed where the bed linens had not been washed for weeks. The place smelled awful. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed the night before. There was no-one else in the flat and so she picked up her clothes - a pair of panties and a short black dress - and put them on before heading back to her five star hotel.

The things her father described as being on the photos sounded sordid and dirty even to Lavender. No self-respecting girl could indulge in a threesome with people she had only just met and retain a scintilla of pride. But she had, and there was photographic evidence. What was worse, the police had the photos which showed her with the remnants of cocaine between her nose and top lip. She had an appointment to go and see the police with her father next week.

At this particular moment Lavender was in the back of the Chrysler 300C and Declan was driving. They were on Lambeth Road, heading towards Elephant and Castle and the Ministry of Sound.

Lavender wouldn’t have been able to attend the reception, or the party afterwards, had she not been repatriated so urgently by the TV Company. This was a bonus for her. The fashion brand that was launching their autumn range also produced luxury goods and so the ‘Goody Bags’ would be stuffed with branded watches, bracelets, neck scarves and belts. It was not unknown for the value of such a gift bag to be worth over two thousand pounds. These freebies allowed Lavender to be extra generous to her friends on their birthdays and at Christmas.

Lavender was wearing a relatively modest mini dress with matching bondage shoes, and not a lot else. She noticed blue lights flashing behind her and turned to see a black SUV with flashing blue lights behind the radiator grille.

Declan saw the blue lights and instinctively looked at his speedometer. He had crept over the speed limit by ten miles per hour. He waited until there was a place to pull in off the busy road and then parked up in a recessed parking area. The SUV pulled in behind.

A man in jeans a tee shirt and a leather jacket approached the driver’s door. He held a warrant card against the glass; the name read ‘Detective Constable Gary Presswell’.