‘It’s all part of their strategy to keep us looking and to give them time to achieve their real aims—but what they are I don’t know yet. That little girl is just bait in the centre of an elaborate maze, and we are man oeuvred this way and that down one alley just to find it leads to another. We are part of the game. The kidnapper knows where we are, David. He knows who we are, where we’ve been and where we are going. He knows our every move.’

There was a small pause at the other end of the phone.

‘Do you think Becky is the mole?’

‘I hope not, but I’ll limit the information I give to her for a few days. I need to get some inside help with this. The White Circle have the DDS in their pay, and we all know who hires the DDS. Someone in government is making a lot of money from the trafficking. Can you try and find that mayor of yours, Fredrico?’

‘I will try my best. But I am surprised they can be so brazen.’

‘They don’t care. They are still locking kids away in jails, even though the world press has seen them do it on CNN. The Columban fathers are looking after a young lad who is willing to testify against the government. He is in hiding.’

‘Where?’

‘Here at the refuge.’

‘Probably as safe as anywhere. About the mole—I will contact Shrimp and warn him—we are all in danger.’

44

Soho, London

Shrimp took a sip of Real Ale and decided it might grow on him, but probably not. He was sitting in the history-seeped wood-panelled surrounds of the Marquis pub on the corner of Rathbone Street, watching two Albanian pimps work the pub with their troupe of scruffy-looking girls, whilst a portrait of the young Dylan Thomas looked on. Outside, in Soho, the world ambled past, looking for restaurants and company.

It was eight thirty and the person he had agreed to meet was late. She was supposed to be here at eight. If she could tell him where Amy Tang was then it would be worth it. He tried to visualise her from the call she had made to the office that afternoon. She sounded young, and she spoke English with a European accent—maybe German, he thought. Now he was waiting, a slight figure sitting just inside the entrance to the pub at a dark and cosy corner table.

The Albanian pimp decided to try his luck, looked over at Shrimp, and took a step towards him, pushing a girl before him. The girl smiled at Shrimp. He looked at her face—the thick makeup did a poor job of disguising the beating she had taken. He shook his head apologetically. As they walked away the girl looked back at him and fixed her eyes on his face. It was a look, not in recognition of his sympathy or a look of anger at his rebuttal—it was a warning signal.

He watched the two Chinese men approach him from behind the girl and the pimp. Shrimp was on his feet and out of the door before they got within arm’s reach of the table. He dodged between the groups of meandering people as he sprinted down Percy Street. He looked behind him as he quickened his pace and headed out onto Tottenham Court Road and towards the landmark thirty-two floors of Centre Point building. He knew that marked the junction with Oxford Street. He thought he’d be safe there.

He tried to hop on a passing number 19 bus as the doors were closing, but didn’t make it and bounced off its side. All he had to do was run past the fountain at Centre Point, cross over, and he’d be swallowed up by the teeming mass of Oxford Street. That was the plan, but as he reached the fountain he saw David White emerging from the Centre Point subway that led to Tottenham Court Road tube. For a second Shrimp froze. He turned and saw the men barge through the crowds waiting outside the Dominion Theatre. He looked back at David White and knew in that instant that they had all seen each other and he had no choice. David White stood transfixed for a few seconds as he tried to make out what was happening and looked back and forth from Shrimp to his pursuers. Shrimp stopped dead in his tracks, then he turned and ran back towards David White—he had no choice, he pulled him back down the subway.

They ran down the dark and dingy corridor with its two runway strips of fluorescent lighting along the ceiling that gave off a green glow. The smell of urine was ever-present. They ran past the drunk and the desperate as rough sleepers prepared to bed down for the night. The eeriness in the tunnel was permeated by the sound of running feet. Shrimp could hear them gaining. David White’s legs were slowing. Shrimp realised he had no choice but to stand and fight. With his back to the wall and David White standing behind him, he prepared for the fight of his life.

45

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-one, ma’am.’

Mamasan Mimi examined Wednesday’s hands.

‘Washer woman hands,’ she said in a derisive tone, and let them drop.

Wednesday looked at them. They were strong hands but not manicured, it was true. Wednesday always put palm oil on them before she went to sleep, to stop them drying and shrivelling, but they weren’t pretty hands.

‘Take off your clothes.’

Wednesday looked at the three doormen.

‘Go away,’ she said.

The mamasan laughed. ‘They will see all they want soon and more, but okay—if you wish…’

She shooed the men away with a wave of her hand. They pushed one another out of the door, giggling like schoolboys. Wednesday slipped out of her sundress for the mamasan’s appraisal.

‘You have had a child. I can see by the round of your stomach. Still, you have good breasts and a curvy figure, the men will like that, and you are light-skinned with a pretty face. Start tonight. In three hours. Go and get your bikini made in the tailor three doors down from here. Tell him Mamasan Mimi from Lolita’s sent you, hurry, and here…’ she gave Wednesday some change ‘…get something to eat whilst he’s making it. Come back to me in two hours, I will show you where you sleep and where you wash.’

Wednesday took the money and thanked the mamasan. She felt sick to the stomach but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more. She had brought Maya into this world and she was all the little girl had. Wednesday would find her and bring her home whatever the cost.

Tonight she would start the search for her daughter.

The tailor stopped eating and took up his tape measure. Wednesday glared at the boys who leaned on their tricycles outside.

‘Wssss…’ they called, to get her attention, and nudged each other as they eyed up the new girl in town.

The tailor measured around her waist, hips and bust. He measured the length of her crotch and his hand lingered. ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘I am hungry.’

‘I will get you something to eat and you can sit here and eat it if you like.’

Wednesday waited till his eyes met hers, as he was folding the measuring tape, then she looked deep into them and mouthed the word

No.

He shrugged and told her to come back in an hour. She went down the street to a cafe she had known as a child. The old woman serving looked twice at her.

She went to sit at the counter and waited until the old woman came shuffling over to serve her. The woman stopped and scrutinised Wednesday.

‘I recognise you. Long time ago.’

Wednesday smiled and shook her head. ‘Just arrived.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Davao.’

The woman went and returned with a bowl of rice and fish.

‘What about you? Have you been here for long?’

The old woman set the bowl in front of her and snorted.