The Jonah (25 page)

Foxcroft, the analyst, had been doubtful and suspicious: it would take some time to discover the information she needed unless she gave him some firm indication of what to look for, and why
wasn’t she using the normal channels anyway? It had taken considerable charm and a veiled promise that their relationship might be allowed to blossom once more if he did her this one favour.
Foxcroft had nearly fallen through the floor when she told him she would need the analysis later that evening. She had been forced to tell him that she suspected the animal had died of LSD
poisoning and his protests had calmed. The vole looked as though it had been dead for just two, maybe three, days so he should be able to find some traces still in the kidney or liver. A urine test
would have been easiest, but obviously it was too late for that. He still wasn’t sure if he could carry out the analysis in such a short time, but he would do his best – it really was a
hell
of a rush. Ellie kissed his cheek for encouragement and said she would return later that night.

Out of loyalty to Kelso, and against her own better judgement, Ellie had refrained from telling her senior officer of their findings and suspicions; she had not even mentioned that she had
brought the dead vole in for tests. She felt guilty about her own deviousness, but she had made a promise, one which she intended to keep. Her excuse for returning to London was that she had wanted
to find out how the overall investigation was progressing, which was something that could not be discussed over the telephone, and her senior officer, Gifford, thought it a reasonable course of
action. He informed her that much of the pressure had been taken off the operation when it was learned that the US pilot had suffered a family tragedy the year before – his wife and two young
sons had been killed in a road accident – and the plane crash had been deliberate suicide. A letter stating his suicide intention had turned up at his parents’ address in California
dated on the same day he had taken up the A-10 for the last time. How regular medical and psychological tests that all pilots were obliged to undergo had not revealed his condition, nobody knew or
was ready to accept responsibility for; the mind could deliberately delay a severe shock for its own protection, but the pressure would always build to a breaking point, and no one could predict
just when that point would be reached. Although the pilot had suffered acute grief at the sudden loss of his family, he had appeared to recuperate steadily over the months that followed. How much
of a part drugs had played in his recovery no one could be sure, but it was generally agreed among the medics on the base that drugs – probably of the softer variety at first – had
helped to overcome the mental anguish. Heads were going to roll, that was for sure, and the USAF commanding officer would eventually find himself working at a desk closer to Washington, but at
least the authorities had some relief in the knowledge that the pilot’s lunacy was not part of some devious Russian plot. However, it did not explain how such drugs had become available to
the pilot, so the investigation still had top priority, although the urgency had diminished. So far, Gifford told Ellie with some frustration, no inside drugs ring had been uncovered. There were a
couple of leads, but these only involved service men picking up marijuana while on leave in London. Such offences meant instant court martial, so, obviously, no one was willing to give out
information voluntarily.

When the senior officer remarked that she, herself, might only be allowed a minimum of time on her area of investigation unless there were some positive results, Ellie nearly blurted out what
she and Kelso had turned up so far. Instead, she assured Gifford that she felt they were close to something but, as yet, were only following up loose theories. Fortunately, her superior had
sufficient confidence in her investigative abilities not to press the issue. But, he told her firmly, the minute anything concrete turned up, he wanted to know. He didn’t want the Drugs Squad
moving in without them.

From the Customs and Excise headquarters, Ellie went to her flat just off Wigmore Street, and after cooking herself a meal, packed some more clothes for her stay in Adleton. She happily hummed
to herself when she tucked away some of her more flimsy underwear. It shouldn’t be happening, she mock-scolded herself. He was a professional, she was a professional, and they were involved
in a serious, and probably dangerous, investigation. Making love was a distraction that shouldn’t have been indulged in. She stared at herself in the dressing-table mirror.
Falling in
love
was a distraction that shouldn’t have been indulged in.

She sat on the bed, wary of her own emotions, feeling both happy yet afraid. But why should there be any fear? What was it about him that caused such a reaction? For some reason, Ellie began to
weep, but the tears were not the kind that racked the body, that came in short, anguished gasps, but tears that seeped singularly from the corners of the eyes and fell slowly down her cheeks. Ellie
rested her head against a pillow and soon she was asleep.

She returned to the government laboratory later that evening, having stopped to make a small purchase on the way. The analyst had not yet begun his autopsy on the vole and he insisted that she
leave him alone to work in peace. They agreed to meet later in the bar of the nearby National Theatre and Ellie strolled along the Embankment for a while, her collar turned up and hands tucked into
her pockets against the dampness of the air. It was bitterly cold for April, the kind of weather that was depressing because winter had overstayed its time and warm sunshine was hard to remember.
She wanted desperately to make contact with Kelso, but there was no way it could be done. She looked north across the river and saw the rainclouds resting low on the horizon. There was something
ominous in their heavy blackness, a pressing darkness that made her shiver inwardly.

The bar in the National Theatre was almost empty by the time Foxcroft arrived, the various intermissions of each play performed in the huge, grey-slabbed theatre complex long since over. He had
a curious look on his face when Ellie bought him a gin and tonic at the bar, but he refrained from asking any questions until they were seated at one of the white round tables which littered the
vast lounge area.

He
had
found traces of LSD in the vole and was curious to know just how the creature had come into contact with the drug. Classified information, she told him. He looked disgruntled.
Again, why had there been no formal documentation with her request? No time, she explained, and she was working purely on a hunch. She had squeezed his hand and left him there with a dissatisfied
and slightly miffed expression on his face. Her promise to return the favour some time failed to elevate his mood.

The drive back to Suffolk was both tedious and frustrating. Heavy rainfall lashed at the windscreen as soon as she was through the outskirts of London, and oncoming headlights did their best to
dazzle her off the road.

It was only as she had approached the minor roads leading towards the coastal town that the rain eased off, and now, as she reached the first few houses of Adleton, her apprehension inexplicably
began to grow. She had slowed down earlier as the car passed the narrow road which led down to Eshley Hall, an eerie feeling drawing her gaze in the direction of the manor house. She had forced
herself to ignore the peculiar sensation, pressing her foot down hard on the accelerator pedal to speed on by, but the unease had persisted.

She was determined now to convince Kelso to call in the troops; the dead vole was definite proof that there was LSD coming out of Eshley Hall and an authorized raid would confirm it. It was much
too dangerous for them to continue on their own; the incident with the bulldozer proved that. Jinx or not, Jim was going to listen to reason this time.

The Escort was descending the hill leading down to the town centre and Ellie gently applied the brakes. At the T-junction at the bottom of the hill, she turned left and drove towards the caravan
site. It was hard to believe there were other people on earth, the streets were so quiet, no lights shining in the houses on either side of the road. Still, it could hardly be described as a lively
town even in daylight hours, so what could she expect in the middle of the night – or early hours of the morning to be more precise?

The car bumped over the rough track inside the site and the caravans stood like cardboard cutouts in the glare of its headlights. Steering through the ranks towards Kelso’s trailer, Ellie
kept a wary eye out for any lurking figures; she saw none, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any there. She brought the Escort to a halt beside the right caravan and switched off the
lights, instantly regretting her hastiness in doing so, for the quarter-moon was hidden behind rolling clouds, and the night outside was a dense black. For a moment, she considered tooting the horn
to get Kelso to come to the door, but then grew angry at herself for acting like a nervous schoolgirl. She grabbed the shoulder-bag and her hold-all filled with fresh clothing and stepped out of
the car. It wasn’t so dark once her eyes had become adjusted, but nevertheless, she hurried over to the caravan’s door.

She cursed herself for not having taken out the spare doorkey Kelso had given her while still in the car but, knowing his habit of leaving the door unlocked anyway, she reached for the handle.
Idiot! He’d done it again. The door was open.

Ellie pushed it wide and called out his name as she mounted the steps. Even though she could not see, Ellie knew that the hands that reached out for her in the darkness did not belong to
Kelso.

They had taken him across the river, bound, gagged, completely wrapped up in coarse material. He knew they had dragged him back along the underground passageway and onto the
boat; he knew he had lain below on a narrow bench or bunk while they journeyed across, moving upstream towards the old mill. But reality had rapidly slipped away.

Kelso was aware of what was happening, but the awareness was becoming too acute, too unreal. His skin began to glow where the rough material touched it and, although he knew they had covered him
in sacking, the cloth felt like huge boulders joined together. And he could see through the cracks, could almost slide through them, could almost absorb the rocks into his own pores. The unreality
had become the true reality.

Yet his senses had remained on a conscious level, he had not forgotten his plight, had not forgotten that the men around him meant him harm.

When they had taken him from the boat, carrying him as if he were nothing more than a loose bundle, raindrops, each one a separate cascading waterfall, had drenched the sacking material, falling
between the chasms to soak his skin and enter him so he himself had become a reservoir, a lake that contained living creatures, his own cells joining with the micro-organisms which danced in the
raindrops. He almost panicked, for his breathing seemed restricted, too shallow.

Then he was inside the huge cavern that was the mill and they had pulled the sacking from him so that he felt he was falling into the very vastness of the building itself, into a universe of
rusted red steel girders and cobwebs that hung from the rafters like dusty lace drapes. There were three men around him, the same two who had brought him up from the cellar earlier, and Henson,
whose face loomed before him like a huge inflated balloon, every vein, every pore, visible even in the gloom of the poorly lit building. The balloon came even closer and Kelso nearly panicked,
feeling he would be swamped by it, suffocated in its softness. The eyes, brilliantly blue, no longer belonged to Henson’s face. They swam out on their own and they were full of crystals that
dazzled Kelso like diamonds sparkling in a shaft of light. But still part of his consciousness remained on the level of normal human concepts.

‘You’re lucky,’ a voice boomed out, filling his head and bouncing from wall to wall inside his skull. Henson’s distorted mouth was moving and he was afraid of the huge
chasm that opened and closed. The words were not in synchronization with the blood-red lips, though; sometimes they lagged behind, sometimes they were said before they were physically formed.
‘If Bannen had brought you here, he would have killed you, orders or not. You’ve hurt him twice too often. It’s lucky his burns need treatment.’

Kelso’s hands were still tied behind his back and he tried to scream through the gag that the ropes were cutting into him, that they were becoming tighter, searing his flesh, melting away
the bones in the wrists. The three men paid him no heed. He was pulled across the floor, white dust rising like a snow blizzard, each particle clear and beautifully shaped.

They moved through into another part of the building, Henson switching on lights as they went, and the structure around them seemed to change shape. The girders were no longer straight, but bent
inwards as though trying to reach one another; even more disturbing, they were no longer solid – they seemed to be made of a pliable substance, not plastic, but liquid. Kelso began to panic,
sure that the building was collapsing around them, but the three men did not seem to be aware of what was happening. The ceiling was lower in this part of the building and he could see the rotted
wood above them, and he tried to sink to his knees, certain that the ceiling was slowly descending on them.

‘He’s fuckin gone with it already,’ a voice boomed.

‘It’s hardly surprising with the dose he’s had. He’ll be in a lot worse state soon.’ It could have been Henson’s voice replying, but sounds were becoming
indistinct, for every part of the building was making its own noise and the sagging floorboards above them were loudest of all. Even the dust particles seemed to
click
as they struck each
other.

‘Look, Kelly.’ Fingers sank into his face and became part of him. His head was swung towards a tower-like construction that narrowed into a funnel towards ground level. A metal shaft
led away from its base through the wall of the building. ‘That’s a pulverizer. That’s where everything is mixed into a fine powder.’ Henson picked up white dust from the
floor and threw it into Kelso’s face. The particles were suspended in space, a galaxy of fiery stars. He closed his eyes and the stars shattered around him.