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4 April 2022
Chad
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The men in black kicked down the door from the breakfast room to the kitchen at almost the same time they stormed in through the outside door coming from the mudroom. Chad’s head was still reeling from the flashbang, which for some reason had affected him and Amelia worse than the others, and it left him feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. He still hadn’t been able to get to his feet, though thankfully Amelia had stopped throwing up and had tossed a kitchen towel over the vomit on the floor, so he could neither see nor smell it.
Then she’d crawled over to where he sat leaned up against the basement door, having managed to move there from the oven island, as an added level of precaution to make sure it was the last place their attackers looked. Candy had taken up his old position, opposite where he sat, leaned against the oven island. Her legs, like his, were splayed in front of her.
He supposed the only good thing about how terrible he felt was that he could barely muster up a modicum of fear at the approach of the members of the assault team. The letters on the front of their Kevlar vests proclaimed them to be NCA, whatever that meant.
The first man through the door proclaimed, “In here!” and then quartered the room without putting down his assault rifle.
He was followed by two more men, all walking military style. Joe and Mali both put their hands on top of their heads of their own volition, and then were told to get on the floor and put their hands behind their backs. They were cuffed and helped to stand, though Mali swayed and had to be propped against the counter.
Amelia had her forehead resting on Chad’s thigh. None of them made any attempt to move, get up, or speak. He had no problem making it appear like he was worse off than he was, if only so as not to make this easy on them—whatever this was.
A man in shirtsleeves but also wearing a Kevlar vest came through the door from the breakfast room after his men. He pointed at Joe and Mali. “Get them in the lounge.” It was only then that he spied Chad, Candy, and Amelia, and as Chad looked up at him, the man’s jaw dropped.
“Hi,” Chad said. “What’s up?”
The man made as if to speak, changed his mind, put up his hand to stop the two agents from taking Mali and Joe from the kitchen, and finally said. “Chad Treadman.” It wasn’t a question.
Chad made a move to nod, but it hurt his head so much that he stopped halfway through the motion. “Yes.”
“This is your house?”
“Yes.”
The man rubbed his left hand over his mouth and chin.
“I gather someone may have made a mistake?” Chad said.
The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he snapped his fingers at the guards holding Mali and Joe and said, “Release them.” Then he went to Chad and crouched in front of him. “I’m D.I. Fleming of the National Crime Agency. We’ve been working on a case involving trafficking in children and women, and we thought we caught a break last night.”
Chad just looked at him. For her part, Amelia lifted her head and eased into a sitting position to Chad’s left.
Fleming tsked through his teeth. “We traced the syndicate to this house.”
A woman, also dressed in assault gear from head to foot, stepped into the kitchen. “The house is clear, sir.”
From his crouch and without turning around, Fleming said, “You’ve searched everywhere?”
“We haven’t yet cleared the outbuildings. Men are on the way to do that now. We did find this.” She held up a backpack, which had been unzipped to show Fleming the contents without him having to touch them. “A gold cup and a jeweled knife, and what looks like an old book.” She waved a hand to someone behind her, who came around holding a metal cup. “Also this.”
Fleming took the cup and looked in it before showing its contents, a cell phone doused in coffee, to Chad.
Chad waved a hand and lied. “Those belong to King David. He couldn’t take the cellphone home with him. And didn’t get a chance to take the backpack. Obviously.”
Fleming sighed and put the coffee cup on the counter. Then he indicated that the woman should give the backpack to Chad.
By now, Chad was starting to feel better, so he took the backpack and then slid himself up the door to a standing position. “I think I have the right to know why you thought illegal activity was happening at this house. It is too much of a coincidence after what happened last night.”
Fleming didn’t have to ask what Chad meant.
Chad continued, “Have you liaised with WECTU? Did you speak with anyone at MI-5?”
Fleming licked his lips. He looked to be fairly senior in his organization. Under his vest he was wearing an expensive shirt, pants, and shoes, and his hair was gray at the temples. Likely he wasn’t used to being as much in the wrong as he was this morning. “Our investigation was deemed unrelated.”
Chad snorted. “Except for the fact that you just destroyed my house.”
The woman who’d brought the backpack indicated the door at Chad’s back. “What’s behind there, sir?”
Chad instantly moved aside. “The basement.”
Fleming gestured that one of the so-far-nameless troopers should open the door, implying that he still didn’t trust Chad and thought he was hiding something. But just as the trooper moved towards it, the door itself opened outward to reveal Sophie holding a wine bottle in each hand, followed by Reg carrying an excessively large sack of rice on his right shoulder.
At the sight of the assault team with guns, Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh!” She pulled up short, holding up both bottles. “We didn’t do anything!”
Chad hadn’t known how good an actress she was—and under pressure too.
Fleming sighed again. “Stand down.” Then he looked at Chad. “I would appreciate it if you could join me in the den. I will see what I can do to get this sorted.”
They trailed after Fleming to the room adjacent to the dining room on the other side of the hallway from the lounge, with plush sofas and chairs to sit on and two giant screens on one wall. It had windows, and Amelia immediately went to pull the drapes wide.
In the advert for the house, the room had been referred to as a gaming room. That was just the kind of place Chad liked best and, even on short notice, he’d kitted it out (as the Brits said) with the appropriate quantity of computer equipment. It was here that Chad and Candy had spent the night, not together of course, but with their respective computers. An hour ago, Chad had been asleep on the couch.
Fleming gave the room a cursory inspection before nodding at his people. “This will do.”
Candy went to one of the computers and swiveled the chair around so it faced outward. When Fleming didn’t protest, Chad took the chair beside her, while the others distributed themselves around the room.
“I’ll have some of my people bring your breakfast to you.” His eyes met Chad’s. “I would rather not leave anyone to guard you. It is my hope you will be discreet about these events until I get to the bottom of them.”
“You have my word.” Chad rocked back in his chair. “For now.”
Fleming looked around at the rest of Chad’s people. Most of their expressions were hard and unforgiving. He had the authority to prevent them from using their devices. Chad would have resisted giving up his phone, of course, but that wasn’t to say he would have won. But Fleming merely pressed his lips together and left the room.
Two of Fleming’s agents brought the breakfast dishes from the sideboard, along with a stack of plates and utensils. Chad had been almost finished eating anyway and just took coffee. He wanted to stay awake and remain alert, though the all-nighter he and Candy had pulled was starting to wear on him.
Initially, he and Candy were reluctant to test Fleming’s flexibility on their use of the computers, but after the last agent was called away, a text came in from Michael on Candy’s phone, which had Chad sitting bolt upright at the sight of what was on the screen.
And as the messages continued to come in, he and Candy set to work on their respective computers. The phone belonged to Treadman Global, and it was a matter of five seconds work for Candy to have the map up and running, showing where Livia and Michael were and what they were doing.
“I’ll get the highway cameras. You see about the license plates of those following cars,” Chad said.
Fingers flying furiously, Chad didn’t care anymore if Fleming’s people came in and saw them working. Candy was focused more on the phone than her computer, responding to Michael’s texts and photographs, which she sent to Chad’s screen as they came in.
But then Candy gasped, and he didn’t wait for her to send him what Michael had written, instead leaning over to look at her phone. Chad read the text, and then looked at Candy. “Tell them—”
But Candy shook her head. “Look at the map. It’s already too late.”
Michael’s last text had left no confusion about his meaning: “We’re going. Take care of our families. Good luck.”
And the blinking dot that had been his phone vanished from Chad’s screen.
