Big Boy Did It and Ran Away (53 page)

‘Who’s gonna do that? They’re up top, an’ they know we’re comin’ now. They could pick us off one by one.’

‘There’s only two of them. We could …’

Simon drew his pistol and held it tightly in both hands, pointing the barrel between May’s eyes. ‘Blow the fucking dam.’

May shook his head, staring with a defiance that had gone well beyond insolence and into the mockingly smug.

‘You’re forgetting about that question you asked me, back at the bridge. You can’t do this without me.’

‘All I have to do is dial a number.’

‘Yeah, but what number, Freddie?’

Simon shot him twice in the head, then unclipped the mobile phone from May’s belt. Like the predictable idiot wouldn’t have tested the receiver while he was topside.

‘The one on your last‐
number redial, Brian.’

Lexy could feel himself starting to cry again. He wanted to hold it back and yet at the same time he wanted to let it out. The result was a choked snuffle and a tight closing of his eyes, which squeezed out tears from both.

‘Whit’s wrang, Lexy?’

‘Sorry, Murph. That guy. I just cannae get ower it. I kill’t somebody, Murph.’

‘Don’t be stupit, man. You were a fuckin’ hero. D’ye ’hink he’d be sittin’ there feelin’ bad aboot it if he’d kill’t us? Aye, that will be chocolate.’

‘I know, but it was just so horrible.’

‘He’d probly have died anyway, even afore you shot him. Did you see what his ain gun did tae him? An’ it coulda been me that jammed that wan, couldn’t it? So it was a joint effort. But you were the man on the spot. You finished him off afore he could dae anythin’ else. That took some guts, man.’

‘Dunno how. I was pure paralysed. I thought that was us when he fired. I mean, we’d nae way o’ knowin’ if it was wan o’ the guns we’d knackered, or whit effect it would have.’

‘Well it wasnae gaunny have an optimisin’ effect, was it? I mean, in the manual, it’s no’ gauuny say: to get the most from your weapon, be sure to jam a big daud of metal down the barrel.’ Murph put on a posh English accent, forcing Lexy to laugh.

‘Thanks, Murph,’ he said.

‘Whit fur?’

‘Gettin’ us through this.’

‘The gettin’ us through it? You’re the brainy wan.’

‘Am I fuck.’ Lexy felt his hackles rise. Even after everything they had faced over the past few days, there was still nothing scarier than being accused of being brainy. If they survived to go back to school, he might be wishing Gap Man had finished him off.

‘Aye you are. It’s awright. I’ll no’ let on.’

They had taken refuge in yet another tunnel, a dry one this time. After hiding the body, they had crawled back into the drain themselves and headed in the opposite direction, beneath the turbine access decks. The drain ended – or rather began – at Turbine One, the furthest along, and hearing no activity on their radios, they decided to chance coming up. There on the lowest access deck, they had found a knee‐
high hatch, and opened it to reveal a short crawl‐
space and the top of a ladder. The crawlspace had to be negotiated backwards, even by them, in order to get on to the ladder, which led a couple of metres down into a tunnel flanked by huge cables on either wall.

‘What’s the time?’ Lexy asked.

Murph’s torch lit up. ‘It’s just comin’ up for …’

Suddenly the whole tunnel shook, cable brackets pinging from the walls like they were drawing pins, amid a rumbling, crashing sound they could feel as well as hear.

‘Whit the fuck was that?’ they asked in unison.

The shaking continued for a few seconds, both of them crouching into balls on the floor of the tunnel as more brackets dropped and the sagging cables swung and thumped against the walls.

‘Earthquake,’ Wee Murph ventured.

‘Bomb mair like. Those explosives.’

‘Oh fuck, aye.’

The shaking and rumbling finally ceased, though there seemed to be another sound in the air, like a continuous presence. Maybe it was just the after‐
effect in his ears, like when he had his headphones up too loud. They stayed still and quiet for a while, anticipating another shake, not daring to believe it was all over. None came, but the other sound got stronger, and it definitely wasn’t just in his head.

‘I think we should make a move,’ Murph said.

‘But the bad guys—’

‘Think aboot it, Lexy. That was a bomb, as you says. So whatever they were here tae dae, I ’hink they’ve done it. They’re gaunny be off their marks, in’t they? Probly away awready.’

‘Just a wee while longer. To be sure there’s nae mair blasts.’

‘Two minutes, then, awright?’

‘Awright.’

Lexy was counting by elephants in his head so that Murph couldn’t cheat. He’d reached thirty‐
three when they both felt water running around their feet.

‘Oh fuck.’

‘I don’t know much aboot hydro‐
electric stations, Lexy, but I know there’s no’ meant tae be water in a tunnel full o’ cables.’

‘It’s awright. They’re insulated.’

‘Aye, so we’re aboot a quarter ay an inch o’ rubber away fae gettin’ deep fried. Let’s get tae fuck oota here.’

Lexy offered no argument. The water had risen to his knees in a matter of seconds, and the speed at which it was rising seemed to be on the increase too. By the time they had both got up the ladder and out of the crawlspace, it was seeping out of the hatch behind them. The floor outside was already wet from water flowing up out of the drain that had been their escape route.

‘Good job we never stayed doon there,’ said Murph.

‘Tryin’ no’ tae think aboot it.’

They made their way quickly up through the turbine access levels, employing only a cursory minimum of checking out each stairway and corridor, as the rising threat at their backs was more pressing than any potential danger up ahead. On the second‐
lowest deck, they passed through the first of two open balconies – the other directly above – from where they could see up into the main hall, as well as along the sides of the other turbines. The two in the centre, Three and Four, looked like ginger cans somebody had toe‐
ended, and their corresponding balconies were a crippled mess of concrete and steel. Above them, the railings guarding the gantry on the cavern’s ground‐
floor level were mangled, and there were fragments of metal embedded in the facing rock. Water was spraying out of cracks and holes in both turbines, but it had to be coming from elsewhere too, as the entire excavation was filling up below the balconies. Silence was no longer going to be a consideration, as it took a firm voice to be heard above the sound of the deluge.

‘This place is fucked, man,’ Wee Murph observed.

This time Lexy did allow himself the indulgence of going ‘Lmmmm‐
mmmm.’

It was marginally quieter when they reached the main‐
floor level, only because they were on the other side of the turbines from the excavated area; the sound of rushing and pouring was still echoing off every wall. They waited just below the top of the stairway, now scoping very carefully for bad guys. There was another stairway ahead and to the left, leading to the Control Room, according to a sign. It was housed in a building shaped like two Lego blocks sitting on top of three, running the length of the machine hall. At its centre was a bay window affair, flanked on the left‐
hand side by another observation gantry. Lexy was sure he could see a figure up there, but when he looked again there was nothing.

To the right of the stairway, there was a slope, the concrete leading down out of sight behind a railing to something dug further back into the cavern than the end of the turbine pit; or turbine pool, as it could now more accurately be described. Hard left, past the jutting tops of the turbines and a perilously exposed area of open cavern, was the entrance tunnel.

‘Bollocks,’ Lexy said. ‘Cannae see anybody.’

‘Zat no’ a good thing?’

‘Don’t think so. I can still see two cars an’ two motorboats. I don’t think they’re away yet.’

‘Shhh,’ warned Murph.

‘Whit?’

‘Listen. You no’ hear it?’

Lexy listened, though he didn’t know what for. All he could hear was water.

‘Cannae hear anythin’.’

‘There it’s again now. Shhh.’

This time he did hear it: a thumping, low and dense, with a metallic edge to it.

‘It’s comin’ fae doon the slope,’ Murph said. ‘Somebody’s there. Stuck, mibbe.’

‘Whit if it’s the folk that work here? We havenae seen any o’ them.’

‘They could be locked up, aye. Let’s check it oot.’

‘It could be the baddies, but.’

‘Well if they’re stuck, they’ll be easier tae shoot,’ Murph reasoned.

‘Awright for you to say. You’ve no’ shot wan yet. Nothin’ easy aboot it.’

‘You know whit I mean. Come on.’

They scrambled, crouching, across the gap to the top of the slope, then ran down it full tilt, the fact that they were charging towards a dead end hitting Lexy only once he was in full flight. On the left at the bottom there was a heavy steel door with a handle like a cog. The thumping resumed again as they reached it, and there was no question it was coming from inside.

‘Who’s there?’ Murph asked. There was no reply, only more thumping.

‘Who’s there?’ he repeated, to the same response, accompanied by a muffled human voice.

‘Just open it, Murph,’ Lexy said, levelling his machine gun. ‘I’ll be ready.’

Murph looked at Lexy then nodded. ‘Okay. After three,’ he said, gripping the handle. ‘Wan … oh fuck.’

Murph pulled the door open and immediately dived inside. Lexy looked round, spotting a man at the top of the slope, machine gun in hands. He dived into the gap behind Murph, who slammed the door closed a micro‐
second before bullets began thumping into the steel, leaving a streak of rounded indents, like boils.

Lexy found himself lying face‐
down on the floor next to two guys on their backs, ankles and hands tied, mouths gagged. Around the room there had to be about thirty more of them, but these two had shuffled their way to the door and kicked it to try and attract attention; something the overpowering smell of pish should have managed on its own.

Murph was facing the door, his machine gun trained on it, finger on the trigger. ‘Come in here an’ we’ll blow you away, ya bastart,’ he shouted, his voice maybe a little too squeaky to strike much terror into the gunman’s heart.

Whether it did or not, the gunman didn’t bother coming in, but instead merely locked the door and walked away.

Lexy peeled the tape from the nearest hostage’s mouth and began doing the same for his other bonds.

‘Polis are gettin’ awfy young these days,’ the man said.

‘We’re no’ polis.’

‘I know. We heard the explosion, thought they must have done their business and been off. That’s why we were bangin’ the door.’

‘We thought the same. Nae luck. I take it there’s nae way oota here?’

‘Bloody storage chamber. Reinforced steel door, another remnant of our facility’s glorious Cold War history.’

‘Is that a no, then?’ Murph asked, untying another hostage.

‘No,’ said the newly ungagged bloke. ‘There’s a drainage channel here. We couldnae get doon it because we were all trussed up.’

‘Magic,’ said Murph wearily. ‘Another drain. Where is it?’

Two more of the hostages began shuffling on the floor in the centre of the room, clearing a space and revealing the grate.

‘Right,’ said Lexy. ‘Let’s get everybody untied. I’ll watch the door. Murph, you lead the way. An’ I’ll bet you’re glad we saved the power on thae torches noo.’

Murph stood over the drain, facing down and frowning. ‘No’ really,’ he said. ‘Look.’

Lexy took a step nearer, his view having been obscured by two of the hostages. Water was starting to bubble out of the grate and flow across the floor of the chamber.

‘Aw, shite.’

Ray had been scrambling down inside the aqueduct when the charges were detonated. The blast shook the tube and threw him from the inset stairs to the centre, where he began rolling, sliding and tumbling towards a rippling pool at the bottom, which he sincerely hoped was a good few feet deep. Striplights whizzed past his head at all angles as he fell, creating an effect reminiscent of a flume he’d ridden on the Costa del Sol. The steep, rapid and unflinchingly straight descent, however, was more like the kamikaze chute, standard fixture of all such water parks, designed to subject the rider to five seconds of naked terror before ramming his trunks up his arse and garroting his testicles.

The memory served to remind him of the suggested survival technique, which was to lie straight back and cross one foot over the other. Ray did this, and soon began aquaplaning over the damp tunnel floor, the wetsuit saving him from being flayed alive in the process. He splashed deep into the water at the bottom, shooting maybe ten feet under, probably mere inches from the twin turbine intakes at the base of the shaft. If they had been on, he’d have been liquidised; but then again, if they’d been on, he wouldn’t have been able to access the aqueduct in the first place.

He surfaced with a gasp and looked upwards for a door. He remembered from the cut‐
away diagram on the tourist leaflet that there was access to the aqueducts from the machine hall and from the turbine sub‐
levels, as well as up top at the dam. There was a door visible about ten feet up the pipe from where he was treading water. Unfortunately, also visible was a foaming white mass rushing down the tunnel to meet him.

The water’s initial impact plunged him back under and threatened to keep him there until he found less resistance and even something of an up‐
current closer to the wall. He surfaced again and spat out a mouthful, shaking his hair from his eyes with a flick of the head. The rising level was lifting him closer to the door, but he knew he had to get there before the water did, or else it would automatically seal.

Ray pushed his way around the wall until he was at the stairs, where it took a few flailing attempts to climb beyond the water level, especially with hundreds of gallons more pouring down around him. After a couple of heart‐
stopping slips which threatened to plonk him back whence he came, he reached the door and bundled through it on all fours. He found himself on his knees in an airlock chamber, facing a second door, which he lunged for and barged open before remembering that he should perhaps have closed the other one first. Water flooded into the chamber from behind and washed him out into a narrow corridor, where it proceeded to rapidly cover the floor and climb the walls.