Antman (63 page)

'Whoever we're dealing with appears to have moved from student to staff researcher over a ten-year period. There's little likelihood anyone would have noticed if he had bothered to change certain personal details, when he changed from being Thompsen to Deakin.'

Chris ruminated. 'Or Deakin to Thompsen.'

Tom was running for his car.

'The woman in the village gave me some directions and I ignored them. I think that's where Deakin's aunt lived.'

'Hang on,' called Chris.

'You stay here and organise your people,' said Tom. 'I'll go on ahead.'

She followed him towards the car. 'No way. I'll organise them in one minute. I don't trust you not to do something daft.' She looked towards a group of uniformed and plain clothes officers. 'Has anyone seen Chief Superintendent Bradshaw?'

Chapter 41

'It's incredible. Luis Deakin. He's so normal. No other word for it. Given all this, I find it amazing that when he applied for the post his background seemed so impeccable. Thinking back to his interview, his application form, his CV, it doesn't add up.'

'Let's have a look.'

'We can't. Personnel have all the details.'

'He'll have glossed over crucial details which could have given you clues as to his real nature. Or he'll have lied.'

'I realise he can't be exactly what he seems. But tell me this: if a person is able to hold down a highly responsible job at one level, surely that tells you something about their abilities.'

'About abilities, yes. But when that same person is living an altogether criminal existence in secrecy at the same time, it confirms the fundamental nature of the disturbance in their personality.'

'Things can only get better,' said Chris and was immediately proved wrong.

Tom jumped as though struck by a physical blow. ‘What am I thinking about? We've no time for this.' He started to run towards the large barn on the far side of the farmyard and, before she knew it, Chris was following him. Before she'd even had time to think about picking up the mobile or the radio set she'd put down a few moments before, they were entering the barn through a small side door.

'I don't believe it,' said Tom.

The greatest part of the space was taken up with a row of large aquarium tanks on either side of the gangways running the length of the barn. Most of them were filled with colonies of ants, some in single tanks, others linked together in series. There were temperature controls, lights, humidity measures and thermometers everywhere. The atmosphere was warm, overpowering, with a palpable sensation of evil emanating from millions of scurrying bodies, massed together for no good purpose.

'My equipment budget,' said Tom, half to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

They reached the door halfway along on the far side of the barn, and behind it the steps to the cellar. Chris led the way. She took a deep breath as she stepped hesitantly down each step into the darkness below. Suddenly, as she reached the foot of the steps, a small electric light flicked on above her. As they walked forward, a chain of similar lights came on and those behind turned off, creating a series of eerie shadows mirroring their progress on the walls bearing in on them on each side.

Ahead was an open door at the end of the corridor. Chris peered into the room, lit only by a dull red glow. Across the far side she could make out a shape, a disfigured outline as though a body was moving inside a sack. She shone the torch across the intervening space and saw it was a man. At first she thought he was covered in tar. She steadied the torch with both hands and made out the contours of the face, but it was the skull that held her attention. The wide bony cavity and empty eye sockets filled with a pulsating mass of ants. Every now and again, the cluster thinned in one part or another. Through the gap she caught glimpses of an enormous swollen form beneath. Right there in the location of the original brain the queen ant lay, hub of the nest and subject to the ministrations of ten thousand workers at a time.

A sound behind Chris distracted her attention. She looked round quickly and caught a glimpse of movement. The door was slowly closing, apparently propelled by a lever set into the wall. She didn't connect this at first with the mass in front of her. By the time she moved towards the door, it was too late. It clicked shut just before her shoe wedged in the remaining gap. Intuitively, she reached down for the handle, but met only the smooth surface in every direction. She looked down and saw there was no projection of any kind on the inside of the door. Somebody wanted to ensure there was no escape.

In front of her the antennation machine began to click threateningly. Although she'd never heard it, from Tom's description of the machine she had an inkling of the significance of those clicks. Already she could see a stirring on the far side of the room. The dark mass began to move.

Chris heard another sound, incredible to her in this strange prison. The first time, she couldn't believe it. A child's voice, softly spoken, reassuring someone unknown, as though grooming a pet, or –. There was another child, whimpering. Chris knew.

'Matthew, Sarah, is that you?' she called. 'I'm your father's friend, Chris, a detective from the local police.'

They were almost within arm’s length, in a small lobby to one side of her, pinioned shut by a metal grill held in place by four metal pegs through rings protruding from the wall. In a matter of seconds, Chris had the grill down. They knew her name from conversations they'd overheard at home. There was no hesitation on their part and she was suddenly cuddling two very frightened children.

Tom ran down the corridor seconds later to find the door closing in his face. He beat his clenched fists on it ineffectually, before looking round for another way in. The door was solid. In the dim light he could make out rivets round the edge of the metal surface and imagined it had been cut to fit over a heavy wooden door. There was a metal handle, but it refused to move and had been locked by some means. At waist height a sturdy horizontal metal bar was fixed across the door.

He stood back and scanned the area round the door. A small square panel above it caught his attention. A ventilation grill, perhaps. If this was in some way connected to the maintenance of ant colonies a steady supply of air was essential. He needed some way to lift himself. Summoning up skills set aside since schooldays in the gym, he put a foot on the metal bar and, grasping the door handle, levered his body up. He hoped the handle would be strong enough. He stretched his other hand and managed to secure a grip on the lower edge of the ventilation grill. He straightened up and found he could see through the metal grill into the semi-darkened chamber.

'Chris, are you there?'

Next moment, he nearly lost his balance as the three voices responded. There followed an emotional few seconds.

'Chris, have you any deodorant or scent sprays?'

It was a long shot, but in a miniature handbag she was carrying a small plastic bottle in a pocket of her jacket. He gave precise instructions.

'Stay within a small semi-circle, immediately to one side of the opening edge of the door. Keep the spray in front of you. Spray the floor in short bursts. Every time ants cross, stamp on them and spray again where they've been. It should keep you clear for long enough. Meantime, hang on, I'll be back shortly and we'll have you out.'

As he jumped down clumsily he thought at first he'd sprained his ankle as it cockled over, but he stood up, uncomfortable but not in significant pain. He ran back down the corridor, up the stairs, along the length of the barn and met the first of the officers coming towards him.

Chapter 42

Laura was distraught, almost hysterical as she drove up to the farm and saw Tom and Chris leading Matthew and Sarah across the farmyard towards the barrier and the other officers. In a moment of high emotion she screeched to a halt, leapt from the car and hugged the two children she had wondered if she would ever see again. Then she looked up, saw Chris first and then Tom.

'Mummy, this is Chris. She rescued us with Daddy,' said Sarah.

Laura didn't know what to say. The first words to occur to her tumbled out, meaningless. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

She was still in shock from Helen’s death. She couldn’t get her head round what was going on, let alone grasp whether the police or Tom even knew.
She didn't know if she was surprised or upset to see Chris. Nothing mattered now she had her arms round her children. Sometimes emotion freezes speech out.

Tom also wanted to speak but no words were powerful enough to thaw out his vocal chords.

The children were in the back of the car now. As Laura was reversing and turning, Matthew pushed his way across the rear seat, wound the window down and, clutching his Teddy, stuck his head out.

'Are you coming back to live with us, Daddy?

'I'm very busy at work,' Tom managed to say.

'You can be busy and still stay with us in between.'

'It's difficult, Matthew.'

'Not difficult for me,' said Matthew.

Sarah crawled over and leaned across Matthew’s shoulder. 'Nor me,' she said tearfully.

'I can't come home. Sometimes mummies and daddies can't live together.'

'Sometimes they're stupid and fight all the time.'

'It would be bad if I came back and we argued all the time.'

'I wouldn't mind you fighting if you'd just come home,' said Sarah.

'Me too,' said Matthew.

Laura shuffled nervously, not knowing how to close the situation off. She felt as though a bad ending was inevitable. She turned round and put her hand on Matthew's head. 'It's all right, darling. Daddy's got a job to do, but you'll still see him lots.' She looked at Tom. ‘Won’t they, Tom?'

'Mum's right, Matt. Be good for Mum. Daddy will be away some time. But I'll be back to see you – so don't be naughty.'

Matthew stretched his arm out of the open window, tears running down his cheeks. Tom stooped and gripped his son's shoulder through the window. 'You promise to be good while I'm away. Promise?'

'Yes.'

'Good chap.'

He leaned forward and kissed his son. He walked round to the other side of the car, opened the door and gave Sarah a hug and a kiss.

'I love you both. Bye.'

Laura revved up the engine. Neither child was able to look as he stood back. Tom's heart felt like a stone as he watched the car disappear down the lane.

*  *  *

Gusts of wind tossed the branches of surrounding trees back and forth, like the long arms of prisoners trying to break free. Tom glanced anxiously towards the dark clouds advancing. 'It's time we had a word with Mr Regel. A few things need straightening out.'

He walked across towards Regel, who still sat in the back seat of the car, staring sightlessly ahead. He opened the car door. The most striking feature of Regel's pose was his hands. They contorted and writhed, grasping and loosening each other like two intertwined serpents in their death throes. Chris stood behind Tom while he stooped down and faced Regel, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'There's more, isn't there, Mr Regel?'

Regel nodded, tears coursing down his face.

'Will you tell me?' Tom produced a tissue and Regel took it, nodding slowly.

'Graver isn't Dr Blatt's missing son, is he?'

Regel shook his head.

'He's your son.'

Regel sobbed silently, his face now buried in his hands.

‘
What's his name?'

'Gravek.' Regel's voice was no more than a whisper. 'I had a nickname for him, Graver.'

'You recognised your own son in my office at the University.'

Regel nodded.

Tom spoke to Chris. 'Mr Regel isn't quite the person we thought.'

'Very true,' said Chris. 'Morrison's been doing some family history research. It's a very popular pastime in England, Herr Regel. You were trying to protect your son's identity when you killed Brandt last year. Am I right?'