Part 18 (1/2)

I'll never know what made me do it. I'll never know why I reacted with what I can only regard now, looking back on it, as incredible swiftness. The split second that elapses between the downward sweep of the enemy club and the reflex up-flinging of your arm in defence-that was all the time it took me to react. It was automatic, instinctive, without any thought in the world-but there must have been thought behind it, an instantaneous form of reasoning below the level of awareness that didn't have time to be transmitted to the surface mind in the form of conscious thought, for I did the one thing in the world that offered the only, the slenderest, the most desperate hope of survival.

Even as the ampoule came spinning through the air and I could see there was no chance on earth of its being intercepted, my hands were reaching out for the barrel of cider on the trestle by my side, and the tinkling of the shattered ampoule was still echoing in shocked silence in that tiny little room when I smashed down the barrel with all the strength of my arms and body exactly on the spot where the gla.s.s had made contact. The staves split and shattered as if they had been made of the thinnest ply and ten gallons of cider gurgled and flooded out over the wall and floor.

”More cider,” I shouted. ”More cider. Pour it on the floor, down the side of the wall, spray it through the air above where that d.a.m.ned ampoule landed. For G.o.d's sake don't splash any cider on yourselves. Hurry! Hurry!”

”What the h.e.l.l is all this in aid of?” Hardanger demanded. His normally ruddy face was pale and set and uncomprehending, but for all that he was already carefully tipping a small vat of cider on the floor. ”What will this do?”

”It's hygroscopic,” I said quickly. ”The botulinus, I mean. Seeks out water in preference to air every time, it has a hundred times the affinity for hydrogen that it has for nitrogen. You heard the General speak of it this evening.”

”This isn't water.” Hardanger objected almost wildly. ”This is cider.”

”G.o.d help us!” I said savagely. ”Of course it's cider. We haven't got anything else here. I don't know what the effect, the affinity will be. For the first time in your life, Hardanger, you'd better start praying that an alcohol has a high water content.” I tried to lift another, smaller cask but gasped and dropped it as a sharp spear of agony struck at the right side of my chest. For one terrible second I thought the virus had struck, the next I realised I must have displaced my strapped broken ribs when I hurled that barrel through the air. I wondered vaguely whether a broken rib had pierced the pleura or even a lung, and then forgot about it: in the circ.u.mstances, it hardly mattered any more.

How long to live? If some of the botulinus virus had escaped into the atmosphere, how long before the first convulsions? What had Gregori said about the hamster when we'd been talking outside number one lab yesterday? Fifteen seconds, yes, that was it, fifteen seconds for the Satan Bug and about the same for botulinus. For a hamster, fifteen seconds. For a human being? Heaven alone knew, probably thirty seconds at the most. At the very most. I stooped and lifted the portable lamp from the floor.

”Stop pouring,” I said urgently. ”Stop it. That's enough. Stand high: if you want to live, stand high. Don't let any of that cider touch your shoes, touch any part of you, or you're dead men.” I swung the lamp round as they scrambled high to avoid the amber tide of cider already flooding rapidly across the stone floor, and as I did I could hear the police engine of the Jaguar starting up. Gregori taking off with Henriques and Mary towards the realisation of his megalomaniac's dream, secure in the knowledge that he was leaving a charnel house behind.

Thirty seconds were up. At least thirty seconds were up. No one twitching yet, far less in convulsions. More slowly this time, I played the lamp beam over each and every one of us, starting at strained staring faces and moving slowly down the feet. The beam steadied on one of the two constables whose clothes had been taken.

”Take off your right shoe,” I said sharply. ”It's been splashed. Not Not with your hand, you b.l.o.o.d.y idiot! Ease it off with the toe of the other shoe. Superintendent, the left arm of your jacket is wet.” Hardanger stood very still, not even looking at me, as I eased the jacket at the collar and slid it down carefully over arms and hands before dropping it to the floor. with your hand, you b.l.o.o.d.y idiot! Ease it off with the toe of the other shoe. Superintendent, the left arm of your jacket is wet.” Hardanger stood very still, not even looking at me, as I eased the jacket at the collar and slid it down carefully over arms and hands before dropping it to the floor.

”Are we-are we safe now, sir?” the sergeant asked nervously.

”Safe? I'd rather this d.a.m.ned place was alive with cobras and black widow spiders. No, we're not safe. Some of this h.e.l.lish toxin will escape to the atmosphere as soon as the first of those splashes on the wall or floor has dried up- there's water vapour in the air, too, you know. My guess is that as soon as any of these splashes dry up we'll all have had it inside a minute.”

”So we get out,” the General said calmly. ”Fast. Is that the idea, my boy?”

”Yes, sir.” I glanced quickly round. ”Two barrels on either side of the door. Two more in line with them and a bit back. Four men standing on those and swinging the cider-press between them. I can't do it, something's wrong with my ribs. That press must weigh three hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce. Think four of you could do it, Superintendent?”

”Think we can do it?” Hardanger growled. ”I could do it myself, with one hand, if it meant getting out of this place. Come on, for G.o.d's sake, let's hurry.”

And hurry they did. Manreuvring casks into position while having to stand on others was no easy trick, more especially as all the casks were full, but desperation and the fear that borders on overmastering panic gives men ability to perform feats of strength that they can never afterwards understand. In less than twenty seconds all four barrels were in position and, in another twenty, Hardanger, the sergeant and two constables, a pair on each side of the heavy ponderous cider-press, were starting on their back swing.

The door was made of solid oak, with heavy hinges to match and a draw-bar on the outside, but against that solid battering ram propelled by four powerful men with their lives at stake it might as well have been made of plywood: the shattered door was smashed completely off its hinges and the wine-press, released at the last moment, went cartwheeling through the doorway into the darkness beyond. Five seconds later the last of us had followed the cider-press.

”That farmhouse,” Hardanger said urgently. ”Come on. They've probably got a telephone.”

”Wait!” There was twice the urgency in my voice. ”We can't do that. We don't know that we're not carrying the virus on us. We may be bringing death to all that family. Let's give the rain time to wash off any virus that may be sticking to the outside.”

”d.a.m.n it, we can't afford to wait,” Hardanger said fiercely. ”Besides, if the virus didn't get us in there it's a certainty it won't get us now. General?”

”I'm not sure,” the General said hesitantly. ”I rather think you're right. We've no time--”

He broke off in horror as one of the unclothed constables, the one whose shoe had been splashed by the cider, screamed aloud in agony, the scream deepening to a tearing rasping coughing moan: clutching hands clawed in a maniac frenzy at a suddenly stiffened straightened neck where the tendons stood out whitely like quivering wires: then he toppled and fell heavily to the muddy ground, silent now, the nails of his fingers tried to tear his throat open. His crew-mate, the other uniformless constable, made some sort of unintelligible sound, moved forward and down to help his friend, then grunted in pain as my arm hooked around his neck.

”Don't touch him!” I shouted hoa.r.s.ely. ”Touch him and you'll die too. He must have picked up the toxin when he brushed his shoe with his hand then touched his mouth. Nothing on earth can save him now. Stand back. Keep well clear of him.”

He took twenty seconds to die, the kind of twenty seconds that will stay with a man in his nightmares till he draws his last breath on earth. I had seen many men die, but even those who had died in bullet and shrapnel-torn agony had done so peacefully and quietly compared to this man whose body, in the incredibly convulsive violence of its death throes, twisted and flung itself into the most fantastic and impossible contortions. Twice in the last shocking seconds before death he threw his racked and tortured body clear off the ground and so high in the air that I could have pa.s.sed a table beneath him. And then, as abruptly and unexpectedly as it had begun, it was all over and he was no more than a strangely small and shapeless bundle of clothes lying face downwards in the muddy earth. My mouth was kiln-dry and full of the taste of salt, the ugly taste of fear. twisted and flung itself into the most fantastic and impossible contortions. Twice in the last shocking seconds before death he threw his racked and tortured body clear off the ground and so high in the air that I could have pa.s.sed a table beneath him. And then, as abruptly and unexpectedly as it had begun, it was all over and he was no more than a strangely small and shapeless bundle of clothes lying face downwards in the muddy earth. My mouth was kiln-dry and full of the taste of salt, the ugly taste of fear.

I can't say how long we stood there in the heavy cold rain, staring at the dead man. A long time, I think. And then we looked at each other, and each one of us knew what the others were capable of thinking only one thing. Who was next? In the pale wash of light from the lamp I still held in one hand, we all stared at each other, one half of our senses and minds outgoing and screwed up to the highest pitch of intensity and perception to detect the first signs of death in another, the other half turned inwards to detect the first signs in themselves. Then, all at once, I cursed savagely, perhaps at myself, or my cowardice, or at Gregori or at the botulinus virus, I don't know, turned abruptly and headed for the byre, taking the lamp with me, leaving the others standing there round the dead man in the rain-filled pitchy darkness like darkly-petrified mourners at some age-old heathen midnight rites.

I was looking for a hose and I found one almost immediately. I carried it outside, screwed it on to a standing plug and turned the tap on full: the results in the way of volume and pressure would have done justice to any city hydrant. I clambered awkwardly on to a hay wagon that was standing nearby and said to the General, ”Come on, sir, you first.”

He came directly under the earthward-pointed nozzle and the jet of water on head and shoulders from a distance of only a few inches made him stumble and all but fall. But he stuck it gamely for all of the half-minute that I insisted he remain under the hose, and by the time I was finished he was as sodden as if he'd spent the night in the river and s.h.i.+vering so violently that I could hear his teeth chatter above the hiss of the water: but by the time he was finished I knew that any toxin that might have been clinging to face or body would have been completely washed away. The other four all submitted to it in turn and then Hardanger did the same for me. The force of the water was such that it was like being belaboured by a non-stop series of far from lightweight clubs and the water itself was ice-cold: but when I thought of the man who had died and how he had died a few bruises and the risk of pneumonia didn't even begin to be worth considering. When he had finished with me Hardanger switched off the water and said quietly, ”Sorry, Cavell. You had the right of it.”

”It was my fault,” I said. I didn't mean my voice to sound dull and lifeless but that was the way it came out, to my ears anyway. ”I should have warned him. I should have told him not to touch his mouth or nose with his hand.”

”He should have thought of that himself,” Hardanger said, his voice abnormally matter-of-fact. ”He knew the dangers as well as you-they've been published in every paper in the land to-day. Let's go and see if the farmer has a phone. Not that it'll make much difference now. Gregori knows that the police Jaguar is too hot to hang on to for a second longer than is necessary. He's won all along the line, d.a.m.n his black soul, and nothing is going to stop him now. Twelve hours he said. Twelve hours and then he would be done.”

”Twelve hours from now Gregori will be dead,” I said.

”What?” I could sense him staring at me. ”What did you say?”

”He'll be dead,” I repeated. ”Before dawn.”

”It's all right,” Hardanger said. Cavell's mind had cracked at last, but let's play it casual, let's not any of us make a song and dance about it. He took my arm and started out for the lamp-lit rectangles which showed where the house stood. ”The sooner this is over the sooner we'll all get the rest and food and sleep we need.”

”I'll rest and sleep when I've killed Gregori,” I said. ”I'm going to kill him to-night. First I get Mary back. Then I'll kill him.”

”Mary will be all right, Cavell.” Mary in that madman's hands, that was what had sent Cavell's last few remaining grey cells tottering over the brink, he thought. ”He'll let her go, he'll have no reason to do anything to her. And you had had to do what you did. You thought that if she stayed there with us in the cider house she would die. Isn't that it, Cavell?” to do what you did. You thought that if she stayed there with us in the cider house she would die. Isn't that it, Cavell?”

”I'm sure the superintendent is right, my boy.” The General was walking on my other side now, and his voice was quiet because loud voices excite the unhinged. ”She won't be harmed.”

I said rudely, to both, ”If I'm round the bend, what the h.e.l.l does that make you two?”

Hardanger stopped, tightened his grip on my arm and peered at me. He knew that those whose minds have gone off the rails never talk about it, for the simple reason that they are unshakably convinced that their minds are still on the track. He said carefully, ”I don't think I understand.”

”You don't. But you will.” I said to the General: ”You must persuade the Cabinet to go on with this evacuation of the Central London area. Continuous radio and TV broadcasts. They'll have no difficulty in persuading the people to leave, you can believe that. It shouldn't cause much trouble-that area's pretty well unlived in by night, anyway.” I turned again to Hardanger. ”Have two hundred of your best men armed. A gun for me, too-and a knife. I know exactly what Gregori intends to do to-night. I know exactly what he hopes to achieve. I know exactly how he intends to leave the country-and exactly where he will be leaving from.”

”How do you know, my boy?” The General's voice was so quiet that I could hardly hear above the drumming of the rain.

”Because Gregori talked too much. Sooner or later they all talk too much. Gregori was cagier than most, even when he was convinced that we would all be dead in a minute he still said very little. But that little was too much. And I think I've really known ever since we found MacDonald's body.”

”You must have heard things that I didn't hear,” Hardanger said sourly.

”You heard it all. You heard him say he was going to London, if he really wanted the bug set loose in London to have Mordon destroyed he'd have stayed in Mordon to see what happened and have had some stooge do the job in London. But he has no interest in seeing Mordon destroyed, he never had. There's something he has to do in London. Another of his never-ending red herrings-the Communist red herring, of course, was purely fortuitous, he'd no hand in that at all. That's the first thing. The second-that he was going to achieve some great ambition to-night to-night. The third- that he had twice saved Henriques from the electric chair. That shows what kind of a man he is-and I don't mean a criminal defence lawyer of the U.S. Bar a.s.sociation-and what kind of ambition he has in mind: I'll take long odds not only that he's on the Interpol files but also that he's an ex big-time American racketeer who has been deported to Italy-and the line of business in which he used to specialise would make very interesting reading, because the criminal leopards, even the biggest cats in the jungle, never change their spots. The fourth thing is that he expects to be clear of this country in twelve hours' time. And the fifth thing is that this is Sat.u.r.day night. Put all those things together add see what you get.”

”Suppose you tell us,” Hardanger said impatiently.

So I told them.

The rain still fell as vertically, as heavily as ever, just as heavily as when we had left that farmhouse some hours previously, where the torrential rain in conjunction with the quick evacuation of the area had robbed the botulinus toxin of all victims other than the unfortunate policeman who had died so terribly before our eyes. Now, at twenty minutes past three in the morning, the rain was ice-cold, but I didn't really feel it. All I could feel was my exhaustion, the harsh stabbing pain in my right ribs that came with every breath I took and the continuous rending worry that, in spite of the confidence I'd shown to the General and Hardanger, I might be hopelessly wrong after all and Mary lost to me for ever. And even if I were right, she might still as easily be lost to me. With a conscious and almost desperate effort of will, I turned my mind to other things.

The high-walled courtyard where I'd been standing for the past three hours was dark and deserted, as dark and deserted as the heart of London itself. Evacuation of the centre of the city, the temporarily homeless going to prepared halls, ballrooms and theatres, had begun shortly after six o'clock, just after the last of the offices, businesses and shops had closed: it had been hastened by radio broadcasts at nine o'clock saying that, according to the latest message received, the time for the release of the botulinus toxin had been advanced from four a.m. to half past two: but there had been no hurry, no panic, no despair, in fact there would have been no sense of anything unusual happening had it not been for the unusual number of people carrying suitcases: the phlegmatic Londoners who had seen the City set on fire and suffered a hundred nights of ma.s.s area bombing during the war weren't to be stampeded into anything for anybody.

Between half past nine and ten o'clock over a thousand troops had combed their methodical way through the heart of the city checking that every last man, woman and child had been moved to safety, that no one had been inadvertently overlooked. At half past eleven a darkened drifting police launch had nosed silently into the north bank of the river and put me ash.o.r.e on the Embankment, just below Hungerford Bridge. At midnight troops and police, all of them armed, had completely sealed off the entire area, including the bridges across the Thames. At one o'clock a power failure on a large scale had blacked out the better part of a square mile of the city-the square mile cordoned off by troops and police.