Lone Wolf - Robert Muchamore Page 0,42

down to the basement when she noticed a narrow gap running along the wall close to a radiator in the hallway. She rapped on the wall and got a hollow sound, and when she dug a penknife blade into the gap, the radiator wobbled.

‘Bingo,’ Ning shouted, as she grabbed the radiator, which appeared not to be connected to the central heating system.

Behind the heavy panel was a half-metre-deep cavity and a row of green LEDs on the front of a safe built into the floor.

‘It’s a keypad,’ Ning shouted, as she stepped back into the living-room. ‘We’re looking for a number, not a key.’

‘Well?’ Fay said, as she eyeballed Clay.

‘It’s on a timed lock,’ Clay said. ‘Even if I wanted to open it, I can’t do it without getting the master authorisation code from my brother.’

As the words left Clay’s mouth, Ning was already typing the name and model number she’d seen on the safe into the browser on her smartphone.

‘He’s lying,’ Ning said, as she swiped down the page. ‘Tecumax 416R safe with a four- to six-digit code. There’s no mention of any timing facility.’

Fay nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve seen people come and go at all times, day and night. There’s no timed lock on that thing.’

Even with a gun aimed at his temple, Clay still acted cocky. ‘My brother’s gonna get you for this,’ he blurted. ‘He’ll pimp you out to every guy who wants you, and when you’re all beat up and nasty, he’ll slit your throats.’

Fay had done enough raids with her mother and aunt to know that a lot of guys don’t believe that a woman really has the guts to hurt them, even if they have a gun pointing at their head. She’d learned that the best way to shock a man out of this mindset was to do something unexpectedly brutal.

Keeping one eye and the Glock on Clay, Fay reached into her backpack and pulled out a disposable surgeon’s scalpel. She used her teeth to rip off the sterile packaging and flicked off a plastic safety guard with her thumb. Then she swiped the blade, making a huge gash across Clay’s cheek.

As Clay moaned in pain, Fay began a speech she’d learned from her aunt.

‘The human body contains nine litres of blood. The wound I just gave you should clot and heal before you bleed out. But if you don’t tell me the safe combination within one minute I’m going to cut you again. And again one minute after that, if you don’t tell me the combination. By the time I’ve given you three cuts, your chances of dying from blood loss are greater than fifty per cent.’

‘I’m gonna have a scar, you crazy bitch,’ Clay said, clutching his face but apparently still not prepared to believe what Fay was telling him.

‘It would be a shame to completely ruin this nice carpet,’ Fay said, as she moved the reddened blade up to Clay’s other cheek. ‘And please stop calling us bitches. It’s sexist and just as offensive as if I called you a monkey.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Clay shouted.

Fay moved in with the scalpel again. ‘The combination,’ she demanded.

‘Two four one three zero,’ Clay blurted.

Fay looked up at Ning. ‘Go tap it in.’

Ning walked into the hallway, crouched through the gap to the floor-mounted safe and tapped in five digits. The LEDs flashed as a motor drew back the bolts and the door sprang open by a couple of centimetres.

‘We’re in,’ Ning shouted.

A light came on inside as Ning lifted the heavyweight door. It revealed nine vacuum-packed one-kilo bricks of cocaine, and three knotted carrier bags filled with hundreds of mini bags, containing one gram of cocaine each. There were also several large tubs filled with mysterious white powders, which Ning guessed were used by Hagar’s people to bulk up the cocaine when it was sold on the streets.

‘Ten to twelve kilos,’ Ning said excitedly, as she came back into the living-room.

Clay was on the couch with blurry eyes and his shirt collar soaked in blood.

‘Pack all the gear up into our rucksacks,’ Fay said. ‘Then come back here. I’ll need you to make sure he doesn’t try any funny business while I tie him up.’

24. KALIFORNIA

Two days later

Kalifornia Kar Kleen was situated on the forecourt of an abandoned petrol station behind King’s Cross railway station. Eight quid got your car washed by a crew of surly East Europeans in soggy blue overalls. Twenty-five got your car cleaned inside and out, while fifty got you