‘… so don’t try to tell him anything.’
The ball-gag is too big, it feels like the sides of Tanya’s mouth are splitting from being forced open so wide.
She’s in a chair, in a garage somewhere, a desk at one end with computer equipment and a large screen.
On the screen, she’s been watching Jaap.
Even though part of her’s been trying to close her eyes, spare herself the horror, she’s glued to it like some moron watching a soap.
She’d fought, but Haanstra had had surprise on his side. That and a gun, which he’d shoved into her stomach, forcing her into the back of the van where he’d cable-tied her wrists and ankles. Then he’d pulled out the ball-gag.
On the journey she’d tried to follow the route in her head, keep track of where they were going, but when they’d pulled up to a stop no more than fifteen minutes later she had to admit she had no idea where in Amsterdam they were.
As he’d taken her from the van to the garage she’d managed to glance around, but nothing she saw helped, rows of garage doors on some industrial unit the only feature she could see. Inside the garage he’d dragged her to a chair, sat her in it, and secured her tight.
The fear had really started to kick in then, one of the chair legs tapping the floor as it transmitted her shaking to the ground.
And that was before Jaap had appeared on screen.
She watches as Jaap starts up the slope, heading towards Arno.