“Of course.”
“Our immediate aim is to estimate the size of the labyrinth. Once we know that we can work out how much gas we are going to need to destroy the inhabitants, fleas and all.”
The talking was over and it was time to examine the entrance hole on Palmer’s Green. The three of them put on protective clothing, Claire’s having been provided from one of the two army Land-Rovers standing by. MacQuillan issued a warning. “If we should come across any rats, back off, give them room. On no account come between them and their escape route.” He looked at Claire and Saracen in turn to verify that his point had been taken.
“Let’s get started,” said Saracen. He removed the wooden cover that the boy Edwards had fabricated to safe-guard his find and shone his torch inside the hole before dropping down and examining the walls. Once more his hands touched wood. This time a piece of chipboard had been wedged into the side wall. He levered it out and handed it to MacQuillan who put it to one side.
“Can you see anything?” asked Claire as Saracen bent down to peer through the opening with the aid of the torch.
Saracen grunted. He could see that he was standing on the roof of an arch that spanned a stone passage below. There was a two metre drop to the floor. He told the others.
“Can you get down?”
“I think so,” replied Saracen. “It must have been easier for the boy but here goes.” He manoeuvred backwards through the opening and lowered himself into the darkness, taking most of the strain on his arms as his feet searched for toe holds. He found two on the way down and let out a sigh of relief as his feet touched the floor of the passage. He could feel the cold and damp of the atmosphere permeate his protective suiting as he looked up to see the circle of light blotted out by Claire as she put her head into the opening.
“To your left,” Saracen advised her as he saw Claire’s foot seek out a hold.
“Got it.” Claire lowered herself gingerly and stood beside Saracen. She reached out her arms and could touch both walls. “Not much room,” she said.
MacQuillan joined them and they set off along the passage in single file with Saracen leading. “I don’t remember anything like this in the plans,” he said as the passage stretched beyond thirty metres. No one replied. “Any suggestions?” he asked as they passed fifty metres.
“It’s beginning to make sense,” said Claire behind him.
“Glad to hear it,” said Saracen dryly.
“I think this is an escape tunnel.”
“For whom?”
“For the Brothers of the abbey.”
“Why?”
“These were troubled times when violence was a way of life. Many castles, palaces, monasteries were built with secret escape tunnels that would not be marked on any plan.”
“That would explain why it’s so long,” said Saracen.
“And why it’s so narrow,” added MacQuillan. “If its only function was as a means of escape.”
Saracen reckoned that they had covered the best part of a hundred metres when the passage suddenly widened out into a circular chamber, closed off on the far side by an iron grilled gate. Tugging at the bars failed to budge it. Saracen shone the torch all round the edge but found no lock. Subsidence of the ground above them had driven the bars into the floor. He froze as a dark shape flitted quickly in and out of the torch beam. He heard Claire’s sharp intake of breath. “Was that what I thought it was?” she asked.
“‘Fraid so,” said Saracen.
“Over here,” said MacQuillan. Claire and Saracen joined him and saw that he was holding a crucifix in his hand. “I found it on the shelf here,” he said, running his torch beam along a stone lintel set in the wall.
“Can I hold it?” said Claire quietly and MacQuillan handed it to her. She took it gently in her palms and whispered, “To think that this belonged to the monks of Skelmoris.”
Saracen swept his torch beam around the floor of the chamber and paused as it picked out a red Coca Cola can. He picked it up and said, “Well, the monks never held this. I think we can be fairly certain that this was young Master Edwards’ treasure cave.”
MacQuillan looked at the way the gate was jammed and said, “He couldn’t have got past here.”
“Any idea what this chamber was for Claire?” Saracen asked.
“Hiding,” replied Claire. “They would wait here for a while before deciding whether to go back or use the tunnel.”
“And the gate would be the last line of defence in case the searchers found the entrance to the tunnel?”
“I think so,” agreed Claire.
“We are going to need help with the gate,” said MacQuillan and the others agreed. Saracen led the way back along the passage to seek the assistance of the military.
While they were waiting for the soldiers to deal with the jammed gate Claire took the crucifix to the site office to record its details. Saracen and MacQuillan took a breather and sat with their backs against one of the Land Rovers. Saracen said, “I’ve been thinking. If plague has survived in the rats for more than six centuries the rats must obviously have some kind of immunity from it.”
“That’s usually the case in sylvatic plague. Some animals are immune and others are not.”
“Is it known why?”
“No, but a healthy carrier state has been described in human beings too. A study carried out in Viet Nam showed that a number of people were carrying it in their naso-pharynx. What’s on your mind?”
“If the immunity factor could be identified it might be possible to use it.”
“But that kind of study could take years,” said MacQuillan.
“It might take years to do it scientifically and describe the immune mechanism in detail but I was thinking in more practical terms.”
“Go on.”
“If we could get blood from an immune rat and have Porton compare it with the blood of a rat that had succumbed to the disease they might be able to spot the immunity factor without having to know what it was. If they could get enough of it we could use it to treat people.”
MacQuillan thought for a moment before saying, “That, my friend is a bloody good idea.” He asked one of the soldiers to call up Beasdale on the radio. The soldier did so and handed him the handset.
Saracen listened while MacQuillan told Beasdale of the new plan. He could not hear what Beasdale was saying but it was obvious that some kind of argument was developing.
“Of course there can be no guarantee,” MacQuillan stormed. “But there is a real chance…No. I’m not stalling…Damn it man, listen to reason!” MacQuillan put down the handset and looked at the ground for a moment as if trying to compose himself before saying anything.
“Well?” asked Saracen.
“No extension to the time limit. We have forty six hours left.”
“We’d best get started then,” said Saracen. He asked the soldier for pen and paper and made out a list. “We need these things as quickly as possible,” he said to the man and the soldier snapped to it.
“What did you ask for,” asked MacQuillan.
“Sterile glassware, anticoagulants, scalpels, specimen containers and rat traps.”
The other three soldiers who had been down in the tunnel emerged and relayed their tools and equipment to the surface. “The gate’s open,” said the sergeant. “And we’ve left you better lighting.”
Saracen thanked him and dropped down into the hole again.
“One more thing sir,” said the sergeant. He handed Saracen a revolver and a box of shells. “Col Beasdale thought you’d better have this.”
“I’ve never used one of these things in my life,” said Saracen. MacQuillan said the same. The soldier took back the gun and ran through the rudiments like a schoolboy reciting a poem, the words of which he hadn’t considered. “This is a Smith and Wesson 0.38 calibre, double action weapon. It requires a trigger pressure of…”
Saracen listened politely and deduced what to squeeze and which end to point.
As they prepared to re-enter the tunnel the soldier said, “Col Beasdale is arranging for a truck with the
