Check chapters for specific trigger warnings.
Trigger warnings: mentions paedophilia, mentions child trafficking
Having received the lead about Douglas and Stuart Kelvin, and Kelvin Distribution and Logistics Limited, the investigation escalated rapidly.
SIS hackers discretely copied company files looking for shipping routes and customers. They also delved into every aspect of the two men's personal life. Bank accounts, online activity, even social media accounts were all investigated and scrutinised. Every connection the two men had was identified, investigated and either discounted or further investigated. Anything and everything was analysed by experts attempting to identify any thread that would lead them to what they wanted.
It quickly became obvious that the operation was so simple it had completed bypassed everyone's notice. There were no clever websites or complicated codes. It was really all very basic.
Stuart or Douglas would open an account under a false name on one of the many paedophile websites available online to support people with the predilection, who, of course, would never dream of acting upon their impulses. Except, when someone was obviously affluent enough, Doug or Stuart would make a little suggestion. Nothing too overt, just a nudge that maybe they could provide, in the flesh, their correspondent's perfect plaything. At the right price of course. Private emails were exchanged, money paid into the bank account that no-one ever touched, and suddenly a shipping container was heading in to the desired location via KDL Ltd.
There was no problem with customs because KDL shipped regularly and, for a small consideration, local officials would look the other way for special deliveries assuming they contained the usual contraband. Normally the shipments were smuggled goods, small scale but lucrative, for private cutomers. Except very occasionally the cargo consisted of drugged, kidnapped children. Most of the officials were oblivious, simply earning a little extra, after all it wasn't guns or drugs so what did it matter. However, a couple of customs officials were in on the plan. It was obvious by the ridiculously high payments they received. They'd found out and were milking it for all it was worth.
KDL had a small team of delivery men who dealt with special cargoes. They were well known around freight depots across the globe. One of them, Terry Spencer, head of KDL Special Operations, and, truth be told, mastermind of the whole operation, liaised with the gangs who worked overseas, responsible for kidnapping children and exporting them from their homelands to the UK or wherever 'the merchandise' was required.
KDL's records were meticulous. Every transaction, every payment, every customer, every employee, and every contact they were paying off were all documented. It had needed an agent to break into KDL's head office to access the stand-alone server that held the records, but the information they gathered was pure gold.
When Anthea confirmed, after twenty days of hard work, that everything was in place to take the whole operation down, Mycroft leant back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "Excellent. Carry on my dear."
When the operation had been laid before him, Mycroft could not believe that such a simple scheme had gone undetected for so long. He remembered Moriarty had once goaded Sherlock with how he always looked for the complicated solution to crimes. Mycroft never thought he would agree with the criminal psychopath, but in this case it was true. Everyone had been looking for complicated networks, when in reality it was all based on a very simple smuggling operation.
-0-0-0-
It was six o'clock in the evening and the KDL head office was emptying out for the evening. The twenty-four hour switchboard had been outsourced to a call centre in India a couple of years before, leaving only the administrative operation in the head-office building. Douglas, Stuart and Terry, when he was in the UK, were well known for being amongst the last to leave each night. The staff thought them workaholics, when in reality it was the safest time to discuss their side line in sex trafficking.
Douglas was just shutting down his PC preparing to head for home. Tonight would be an early night as Terry was in Kiev supervising a shipment from Tolmachevo airport in Russia. They'd talk when he returned tomorrow. Tonight he would spend with his family. A relaxing meal, and an evening by the fire with a whisky and a Montecristo Edmundo cigar sounded perfect.
He startled when Stuart burst through his office door. "What the hell?"
"We need to get out now Doug. Terry called. The operation has been raided. I tried calling back but he's not answering. I called Meifen in Hong Kong. She's not answering either. Neither is Barry in Unakan, Bangkok. I think we're being hit. We need to take what we can and get out now."
Just then Doug's phone rang on his personal line. He stared at it then ignored it, making his way to the wall safe. The phone dropped to the answer machine; he'd never been able to get the hang of voicemail. Stuart dashed to his own office to do the same as Doug opened the safe, removing passports in various names, forged documents and bundles of cash. He also grabbed the book containing the passcodes and essential information to access the offshore bank accounts.
The standard answer machine message finished. Tipping his gym clothes onto the floor, Doug stuffed the safe contents into the holdall as his wife's hysterical voice rang round the office, his boys' terrified screams echoing in the background. "Doug, Doug. What the fuck have you done? There's armed men here. Doug, Do…" The phone call cut off abruptly. No doubt someone had got to his wife's mobile. Silly cow could fend for herself now. She'd been nothing but a money pit anyway. Good for keeping up appearances, but useless for anything else. She couldn't even cook. Doug felt a certain satisfaction that the useless woman and her hateful spawn were gone from his life.
Stuart reappeared at his door. "You ready?"
"Yeah. Best head for Ravensfield and take one of the planes from there. We can take the motorbikes. They'll be harder to track. Hopefully they won't have got to the airfield yet."
"Don't forget to leave your mobile. We don't want to be traced."
"Already done. Haven't been on a bike in years. Just like old times huh Stewie? Let's get going before the cops get here."
The two men made it to Ravensfield airfield in less than twenty minutes, but arrived only just ahead of the black SUVs that were bearing down on the logistics company's smallest, but original distribution centre.
Realising they would not get away in time they decided to hide, dumping their bikes amongst the vehicles stored by the main hanger and running past bewildered staff towards the control tower. Once out of sight, a quick turn and a two hundred yard dash brought them to the old maintenance hut. Unused by the logistics company for years and long forgotten, it covered the entrance to the WWII air raid shelter under the floor. The main door had been had been sealed decades before, but it had not taken much work to create a new entrance and convert the moderately spacious bunker into a holding room for their secret merchandise. Lifting off the man hole cover that disguised the entrance, Doug and Stuart scrambled down the ladder, drawing the cover closed before switching on the light.
"Damn, they were too fast. We'll have to hide in here until they're gone then fly out when it's all clear. How are we stocked?"
Stuart checked the supplies. The room was small but well provisioned. After all, the merchandise needed to be kept in prime condition. There was packaged food, bottled water, a small bathroom with a chemical loo. Even a computer game console and a stack of toys in the corner.
The younger brother cracked a wry smile. "Well at least we won't starve. Although we might get a bit bored, unless you like the Twilight books or Grand Theft Auto."
"We can stick it out for a few days. We've had worse in our time. Did you hear anything from Beverley before you left?"
"No. I heard Angela yelling at you though."
"Yeah, well. No change there. I hope someone shot her. She's always been one to lash out when she gets angry."
"Will you miss her, or the kids?"
"Nah, not for a minute. Might've been different if I'd had a daughter, but two boys. Not really my thing."
"I'll miss Beverley. She was a damn fine shag. And dirty with it. What she'd let me do. Christ."
"Nothing you can't get in any whore house in Hong Kong."
"True enough. We've got to get there first though."
"Best go through what we've got to play with. We can't stay here too long with no change of clothes."
"We can always pick stuff up along the way."
"True enough. Now, passports. I've got Irish, British and South African. You?"
"Same."
-0-0-0-
It took longer than they'd thought for the investigation at Ravensfield to die down. When they finally emerged, cramped and stinking five days later, the airfield was more or less deserted. KDL's operation had been closed down, the staff gone, along with every aircraft and vehicle. If they wanted to leave they would have to do so on foot.
They used the shower in the staff locker room to freshen up. They couldn't find a razor, so the week's beard growth had to remain. They managed to scrape together a change of clothes by breaking into the abandoned lockers. The vending machine provided the same junk foods they'd had to endure in their hide-out, but the coffee made a pleasant change even if it was crap instant.
Stuart turned on the TV in the break room, switching it to a news channel.
"Hey Doug, good thing we've got these beards. Our faces are plastered all over the news. Looks like we're Britain's most wanted. The bad news is they've got people at every terminal. We're going to struggle to get out unless we can call in a favour."
"Ric Blandon has a helicopter. He wouldn't want his 'interest' getting out. I'll give him a call."
"Where from? Even if the landline's still working it's probably tapped."
"I found a mobile in one of the lockers. It's not password protected. I can call on that. No-one will be any the wiser."
"You've got his number?"
Doug waved his notebook in the air. "All here little brother."
The call was placed and the phone answered, but not by Sir Cedric Blandon, nor his secretary. Doug made his apologies, claimed a wrong number, and hung up.
"I think we're on our own Stewie."
"We always have been Doug. So what do we do?"
-0-0-0-
In the end they decided to head for London. Despite the high levels of CCTV coverage, they were confident that their beards and a couple of recently purchased baseball caps would be sufficient to disguise them amongst the crowds. They also felt they stood more chance of finding a way out. With the cash at their disposal, Doug was confident that he could buy passage out of the country for them both.
They bought a used car for cash in the first small town they came to. The beaten up old Peugeot 206 got them into London OK. They didn't bother about the congestion charge, after all the car was still registered with the previous owner and they weren't going to use it for long.
Doug, with his usual air of confidence, decided that their best bet for contacting someone to help them was in Peckham. After all, everyone knew that everyone in Peckham was a villain. Unfortunately for Doug, this wisdom was based on too many episodes of 'The Sweeney' and 'Only Fools and Horses'. They'd decided to try their hand in a suitably dubious looking pub near Peckham Rye station. They spent the day sipping weak lager interspersed with pints of orange juice to pace themselves. The only food available were packets of crisps and pork scratchings. By the time a suitably dodgy looking group breezed in like they owned the place, both brothers were drunk enough to throw caution to the wind. Leaving his holdall with Stuart, Doug rose none too steadily from his stool and approached the leader of the group with an air of authority and privilege.
"Hey, you. Are you a criminal? If you are, I'll stand you and your gang a round. I need a little help with something that's not quite legal. I can make it worth your while."
Of course, the men agreed that they were in deed the worst gang of crooks and cut throats south of the river. Doug bought them all pints and doubles of whisky, paying the barman with a handful of notes produced from his holdall. The leader, called Ray, encouraged Doug and Stuart to join them in more whisky to celebrate their new criminal enterprise.
When the brothers awoke the next morning, cuddled together for warmth in a back alley, their heads aching, and their money gone, their vomiting was as much a result of the hangover as the realisation of their own stupidity.
Doug sat on the curb, his head in his hands. "How could I have been so bloody stupid?"
"It's OK. We've still got the passports and the book. We can get to the money in the offshore accounts. One big hit, just like we planned."
"Yeah, but not looking like this. We still need to get out of the country. And I've got no idea how."
It was a sign of their own desperation that they decided the way out was via the cause of their problems. That interfering detective. It was probable that their people in the flat next door would have slunk away as soon as the news broke, meaning that there would be a nice empty flat right next door with a hotline into the detective's living room. The men made their way to Baker Street. They rang the bell to 219, the door answered by a friendly looking woman in her sixties.
"We're here to visit Dave and Helen in Flat 3. We're Helen's cousins, up in town for a few days. They said we could stay with them and to ask you to let us in. I'm George by the way, and this is Michael."
The woman looked momentarily confused, but quickly brightened. "Pleasure meeting you. Dave and Helen are probably out at work at the moment. I'm Mrs Turner, their landlady. It's lovely to meet family of Helen's. She's a sweet girl. They so rarely have visitors. And they're so quiet. But you'd know that of course. Now here we are. I'm only letting you because you're family. I'm downstairs in Flat 1 if you need anything. Say hello to them for me. I haven't bumped into them in days."
Doug and Stuart smiled sweetly, keen to get the interfering old busy body away as soon as possible. Once inside the flat Stuart made a beeline for the shower while Doug rummaged through Dave's clothes in the wardrobe. It didn't register as odd that Dave hadn't packed when he ran.
He sorted out clothes that would vaguely fit himself and his brother, then busied himself raiding the kitchen. The milk in the fridge was on the turn, but good enough for coffee. He found a cafetiere in the cupboard and ground coffee in a canister in the fridge. He filled up the kettle with fresh water, setting it to boil just as Stuart emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a men's towelling bathrobe, rubbing his hair dry.
"I kept the beard. It seemed sensible until we know our escape route. Go get in the shower Doug, you'll feel better. I'll find us something to eat."
"OK. Coffee's in the kitchen and there's clothes on the bed."
"Cheers."
When Doug re-entered the kitchen some while later, pink skinned from his long soak in the bath, but clean and clothed, Stuart was just dishing up a pie and chips he'd found in the freezer.
They ate with gusto as they planned their next move.