The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) (27 page)

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Davenport said quietly.

Sarah gasped, grabbing Guy’s arm for support as she almost fell.

The hand clenched and unclenched. Slowly the wrist and forearm emerged from the heap of fallen debris. Another hand punched through beside it. Rock and earth fell away as the Ubermensch forced its way out.

She couldn’t have been twenty yet. Hoffman watched her draw, staring into space, her life suddenly somewhere else. Her blonde hair was matted and dark with sweat, falling over her shoulders. The loose hospital smock clung to her body, damp with perspiration.

Another sheet finished and pushed aside. Hoffman picked it up and examined it. One of the figures was definitely in uniform. A British sergeant’s stripes on the shoulder – but that didn’t mean the Ubermensch was in Britain. There were allied troops across the world. Even now, the British Empire still covered more territory than Hitler had managed to acquire.

The next sheet was shaded grey again. Possibly some texture, but no detail. A single white strip left down one side. Light shining round a door, perhaps.

Then another figure – seen from above. The Ubermensch looking down at a man sprawled on the floor. He didn’t seem to be in uniform, but the detail was vague.

A closer view. The man’s face. The clearest image so far. Hoffman watched fascinated as the features were shaded in – a round face, with bushy eyebrows and dark eyes, hair slicked back. Early middle-aged, if Hoffman had to guess. He took the drawing as soon as Number Seventeen had finished it.

‘The Reichsfuhrer is on his way,’ Kruger announced breathlessly as he entered the room. ‘He will be here directly.’

Number Seventeen was drawing again – shading the page completely. Total blackness.

Kruger stared down at the paper. Hoffman turned away slightly, masking his actions. He folded the sheet he was holding, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

THE GROTESQUE FIGURE
forced its way out of the earth and rubble. Its robes were torn and muddy. Soil trickled from the hollow eye sockets like black tears. It took a lurching step forwards, dragging itself free of the fallen debris.

‘Shoot it!’ Davenport yelled.

‘I’ve tried that!’ Guy was acutely aware he had only one shot left. There had to be a way to make it count.

Green stepped in front of the Ubermensch, swinging the pickaxe he’d used to bring down the roof. The creature brought up a hand to parry the blow. But the heavy metal head of the tool knocked the hand aside. The end of the pickaxe slammed into the creature’s emaciated body, biting deep.

The Ubermensch staggered back, pulling the tool from Green’s grasp. It stood for a moment, staring down at the pickaxe sticking out of its chest. Then it gripped the metal blade, and dragged it out. Thin tendrils licked out of the wound, twisting and rippling like grass in a breeze. The Ubermensch threw the pickaxe aside and advanced on Green.

‘How do we stop that thing?’ Sarah demanded, her voice taut with fear.

‘Only one way,’ Green said as he retreated. ‘Fire. Like at Shingle Bay.’ He was back with the rest of them now. Together they were backing away as the Ubermensch walked slowly towards them.

‘Back down the tunnel?’ Sarah said. ‘Maybe we can seal the end of it.’

‘He’d just dig his way out,’ Guy said. He took another step backwards, and his foot collided with a tin mug, sending it skittering away.

‘Offer it a cup of tea,’ Davenport suggested.

Guy stumbled slightly as he trod on a billy can. He was standing right where the soldiers had been brewing up on the primus stove. ‘Actually…’

‘What is it, sir?’ Green asked.

‘We need him in a confined space. Back into the chamber.’

Green grabbed the nearby spade. ‘Right you are.’

‘You got a plan?’ Sarah said.

‘Of sorts,’ Guy admitted. He had an idea – or rather, half an idea… ‘Just keep him back, buy me a little time.’

Davenport grabbed another shovel. He and Green both charged at the Ubermensch. They crashed into it – knocking the creature backwards. It staggered away.

‘Again!’ Green ordered.

They caught the Ubermensch still off balance, and knocked it back further. It stumbled onto the edge of the fallen roof. The creature’s shrivelled lips parted and it let out an unearthly cry of rage. Green jabbed with his shovel and the Ubermensch took another step back – up the slope, towards the half-blocked entrance to the burial chamber. It bent forward, arms stretched out towards its attackers, and roared again.

‘Doesn’t look like he wants to go back home,’ Davenport said, breathless.

‘Good enough,’ Guy said. ‘So long as he’s well clear of us. When I say, you two get back over here pronto.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Sarah said. Her face was deathly pale in the unforgiving light from above.

Guy held the small primus stove. As Davenport and Green drove back the Ubermensch, he had been pumping up the pressure inside. He hoped there was enough paraffin. He hefted the weight of the brass in his left hand. It was about seven inches in diameter, and could probably hold about two
pints of fuel. With his other hand he drew his revolver.

‘Right – now!’ he yelled.

Davenport and Green ran back.

Guy stepped forwards. Just one shot… He lobbed the primus stove towards the figure standing halfway up the pile of rubble, and took aim.

The sound of the shot echoed off the walls. A split second later, the bullet tore into the primus just as it hit the Ubermensch in the chest. The pressurised metal container exploded, spraying paraffin across the monstrous creature. It ignited in an instant, transforming the figure into a mass of flame as dry robes and brittle flesh caught fire.

The Ubermensch was hurled backwards by the blast, falling down the pile of rubble into the burial chamber. Guy ran forwards, gun raised even though it was now useless. He was in time to see the Ubermensch stagger back to its feet. Its eyes were dark pits amidst the flames, staring malevolently. Fire dripped from its body and choking black smoke filled the air.

Guy thought the creature was about to come back at him. But the nearest of the material draped round the walls caught a spark and exploded into flame. Guy felt the heat on his face as the fire leaped from one wall hanging to the next. In seconds, the whole chamber was a mass of flame. Somewhere in the midst of it a figure of fire, engulfed in smoke and heat, toppled forwards and crashed burning to the ground.

The picture of four indistinct figures was pushed aside. The next image was very different. Number Seventeen was scribbling in circles, a mass of dark pencil like thick black clouds. A faint reddening discoloured her cheek, like she’d been slapped.

Himmler examined the previous sheet, peering at it curiously through the small round lenses of his spectacles.

‘Do we know who these people are?’

‘No, Reichsfuhrer,’ Kruger admitted.

‘Or where the Ubermensch is located?’

‘Possibly underground,’ Hoffman said. ‘Perhaps another tomb.’

Number Seventeen dropped the pencil. It clattered to the desk top, then rolled on to the floor. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her eyes widened and she fell backwards, across the bed. She had flinched before, cried out soundlessly when she drew the men with shovels and pickaxe, just before her cheek went red. But this was more extreme.

‘She has lost the connection,’ Kruger said. He felt for her pulse.

‘Then she is no longer of any use,’ Himmler said. ‘Get rid of her.’

Hoffman glanced at the girl. She was staring up at the ceiling, calm now. She might be asleep – so young, so peaceful. He cleared his throat.

Himmler glanced at him. ‘Yes, Sturmbannfuhrer?’

‘The… subject connected without a bracelet. She may have lost this connection, but we don’t know what has happened to the Ubermensch.’

‘With a full connection, the physical experiences of the Ubermensch are also relayed,’ Kruger said. ‘If they are damaged, so is the watcher.’

‘But that might not happen with a weaker connection like this,’ Hoffman pointed out. ‘And she might connect again, either to this Ubermensch or to another.’

Himmler stared back at Hoffman unblinking, devoid of expression. Eventually, he gave a curt nod. ‘Very well. You will keep me informed.’

‘Of course.’

Himmler turned and walked briskly from the room. Hoffman helped Kruger turn the girl so she was lying lengthways along the bed. As Kruger turned away, Hoffman placed his hand gently against the girl’s cheek. It was smooth and warm, damp with sweat. But there was something else too… He looked up as Kruger turned back.

‘Her hair smells of smoke,’ Hoffman said.

They waited another twenty-four hours after the smoke stopped billowing out of the tunnel entrance to be sure the fire had burned itself out. Elizabeth Archer came down from London to supervise the removal of any artefacts that had survived the blaze.

‘I should have been here in the first place,’ she complained.

‘And faced the walking corpse?’ Sarah asked.

She sniffed. ‘I’ve seen enough of those in my time.’ She didn’t sound like she was joking.

Lady Grenchard was certainly not joking. She was appalled when she came to investigate the smoke, and spent the best part of twenty minutes railing at Davenport without pause for breath. Elizabeth, however, seemed to be able to charm her into submission. Perhaps the fact they were more similar ages helped, Sarah thought. Or maybe she’d claimed to be Howard Carter’s mother.

The tomb was almost entirely burned out. The air was heavy with the residue of smoke. The floor of the burial chamber was littered with the charred remains of wall hangings, pottery, and other detritus. Close to the stone casket, there was a blackened shape, the silhouette of a man burned into the stone floor. All that remained of the Ubermensch.

‘Like he was trying to get back inside,’ Davenport said.

The stone lid of the casket lay in shattered pieces where it had fallen nearby.

Sarah showed them the second chamber. But the glass jars were twisted and broken. The remaining fluid had escaped or evaporated in the heat, and whatever had been inside was charred beyond recognition. She reached out a tentative finger to prod at what looked like the last remnants of a gnarled tentacle sticking out of one jar, the surface like the burned bark of an ancient tree. It crumbled to black dust when she touched it.

‘There were bracelets, or something,’ she told Elizabeth.

‘Not any more.’

Where bracelets had been, there were now fused lumps of carbonised metal. Shapeless and welded to the stone shelf.

Elizabeth sighed. ‘I’m afraid we’ve learned nothing. Well,’ she conceded, ‘almost nothing. You and the others need to describe exactly what you saw, everything you can remember. We’ll get one of the Museum’s draughtsmen to draw it up as best he can. And I’ll ask Penelope to arrange to photograph everything that’s left before it’s moved.’ She meant Miss Manners, Sarah realised.

They were halfway back to the promise of daylight and fresh air when Sarah remembered. She shrugged off the satchel that held her gas mask. Holding her breath, hoping she was right, she opened it and felt inside.

‘We do have something,’ she said, taking out the bracelet she had stuffed in the bag earlier, before the Ubermensch had woken.

Carefully, Elizabeth lifted the bracelet from Sarah’s hand.

‘It’s heavy.’ She weighed it in her palm.

‘Is it important?’

‘I have no idea. But it’s better than nothing. It might take a while, but I’m sure this will tell us something.’ She smiled and nodded. ‘Well done. At least someone kept their wits about them.’

IT WAS SEVERAL
weeks before the bracelet revealed any of its secrets. While Elizabeth Archer painstakingly catalogued what had been salvaged from the burial mound, the rest of Station Z continued as usual. For Guy Pentecross and Sarah Diamond that meant going through more reports and accounts.

‘It would help if we knew what we were looking for,’ Guy said as they started another day of searching through files.

Sarah leaned over his shoulder to see the cover page of the file he had just opened. ‘That could be worth looking at.’

Guy was aware how close they were, her head almost touching his own as Sarah pointed to a line in the contents listing.

‘You’re not even interested,’ she said when he didn’t answer.

‘Oh, I’m interested,’ he said quickly.

Sarah straightened up, glancing at him before going back to her own pile of papers and reports. ‘Really?’

He was tempted to tell her just how interested he was. But she was already at work, going through the file in front of her with what he knew would be meticulous care.

He felt he ought to say something, though. ‘It’s just that everything seems to be moving away from us, does that make sense? Not just us, but the whole country.’

Sarah looked up. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. The focus
of the war has shifted. I guess we shouldn’t complain there are fewer air raids. The Germans are concentrating on Russia.’

‘And the convoys. They’re taking a pounding. But we’ll make it.’

‘What about Russia?’ Sarah asked. ‘You think the Nazis will defeat Stalin as quickly as they did Poland and France?’

‘I don’t know,’ Guy confessed. ‘They’ve laid siege to Leningrad and they’re getting closer to Moscow. But Russia is a huge country, and the winter will be cruel when it arrives. As Napoleon found out to his cost.’

Davenport entered in time to hear this last remark. ‘Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope Herr Hitler is not an historian.’

Davenport had taken it upon himself to indulge his interest in archaeology and look further back in history – not just British and European history but the myths and legends and stories of other lands and cultures too. He came up with some fascinating tales of gods from the heavens, or who lived in fiery chariots in the sky. But all of them, he was forced to admit, were at best tenuously linked to UDTs and the Ubermensch, and probably simply fictitious.

There were bursts of activity and excitement whenever a report of a UDT came in. Sarah found herself hoping it would be from somewhere distant enough to mean they had to fly to interview any witnesses. Brinkman had commandeered a rather rackety Avro Anson and, while Sarah objected loudly and frequently at having to drive her colleagues round the Home Counties, she never complained about acting as their pilot.