Lone Wolf - Robert Muchamore Page 0,81

steer clear of Hagar’s territory.’

40. CHATHAM

Ryan wound up at St Pancras Station at 6:15 in the morning, waiting for the first train to Chatham, thirty miles east of London. He was scared he’d fall asleep and miss his stop, so he looked up his arrival time on his phone and set an alarm.

At Chatham, commuters in work clothes crammed the opposite platform as Ryan crossed a footbridge and found Clark waiting in the ticket hall.

‘Feeling strong?’ Clark asked.

‘I’m knackered,’ Ryan admitted, as he began following Clark across the station car park to a high-sided truck painted with the logo of a removals firm – Call us today for a quote. No job too large or small.

‘This’ll give you some pep,’ Clark said, handing over a dented steel flask as the pair settled into the cab.

Ryan unscrewed the lid and smelled strong black coffee. He filled two tatty plastic mugs that Clark had rested on the dashboard.

‘You like it sweet!’ Ryan said, as the heavily sugared coffee hit his tongue. It wasn’t to his taste, but he’d missed a night’s sleep, so he hoped that a caffeine and sugar rush would blow off the cobwebs.

Clark swigged his coffee in two gulps, then reversed expertly out of a cramped space.

‘Sounds like I missed all the fun and games in town last night,’ Clark said, as he turned out of the station.

They started down a semi-rural road, with station traffic queuing in the opposite direction. Ryan kept yawning as he gave Clark a rundown of the previous night’s events. He had to think carefully and leave out stuff that he’d picked up second-hand via James and Ning.

‘Hagar’s bloody temper!’ Clark laughed. ‘It’ll be the death of him.’

‘If he’s so volatile, how did he get to become top dog?’ Ryan asked.

Clark considered this for a couple of seconds. ‘Hagar’s temper means people fear him, but unlike most bosses, he hasn’t got much of an ego. He’s got a good crew around him, and he usually listens to what they say.’

‘So what are we up to?’ Ryan asked.

‘Cleaning up shit,’ was all Clark gave up. ‘In broad bloody daylight.’

‘Were we supposed to move the drugs last night?’ Ryan asked.

Clark snorted and shook his head. ‘Drugs, huh?’

Clark reached for the centre console and turned on local radio. Ryan began another question, but he got shushed.

‘Traffic report’s coming up on the hour.’

Ryan was annoyed that he’d given up all the gossip and got nothing out of Clark in return.

Twenty minutes after leaving the station, the truck pulled off-road. Everything in the cab juddered as they moved down a rutted path towards a large aluminium-sided shed. Although it looked shabby, Ryan noticed that some parts of the roof had been recently repaired.

Clark turned the truck back towards the main road, then reversed up to the building’s main door.

‘The countryside stinks,’ Clark moaned, as he flung his door open.

Ryan had his best trainers on, and was grateful that the ground was baked hard, as he walked towards the shed. Clark opened up, and Ryan stepped in and looked curiously at metal stalls, linked up with perished rubber pipes, and the odd remnant of dried-out cow shit.

‘Is this for milking?’ Ryan asked.

Clark shrugged. ‘There’s not been a cow milked here in a decade.’

Further inside, the milking stalls had been ripped out, though perished rubber tubes still dangled from the ceiling. There was an acrid burnt smell, and scorch marks across the floor. To the left and right huge mounds of black bags were lined up against the wall.

‘My eyes are watering,’ Ryan croaked.

‘You don’t want to breathe too much of this in,’ Clark said, as he pointed at the black bags. ‘All that lot needs to go in the back of the van.’

The first bag felt heavy, and as Ryan picked it up the bottom split and the contents spewed over the floor. He was surprised to see hundreds of shrivelled pieces of white plastic insulation, which had been cut in lengths of between one and two metres and the wire inside stripped out.

‘It’d make my life a lot easier if they bought decent quality bags,’ Clark explained. ‘You’ve gotta support ’em from underneath or that’ll happen every time.’

Clark showed Ryan the knack, taking three bags off the pile, cradling them in his arms and then waddling to the truck. Ryan’s arms were shorter, so he could only manage two, and he wished he had something more than a T-shirt to wear as sharp ends of plastic strips dug into