The Tunnel Rats (48 page)

'Fuck you,' said Hammack. He stepped forward, his knife raised.

'Bernie, no!' hissed Wright. 'He's just trying to rile you'

'Man's succeeded,' said Hammack, but he lowered his knife.

'Always like to see a nigger kept in his place,' said Bamber.

Hammack roared and lashed out at Bamber. Bamber moved quickly, stepping to the side and drawing his knife across Hammack's chest in a fluid motion. Hammack yelled, but Wright couldn't tell if it was from anger or pain. The black man stabbed at Bamber but Bamber was too quick for him and he spun around like a matador goading a bull before slashing out again, this time to Hammack's upper arm. Blood spurted in a crimson stream and Hammack's knife dropped from his nerveless fingers. Blood was flowing down Hammack's T-shirt in a jagged red curtain and he sank to his knees, a look of despair on his face. Bamber raised his knife once more.

Wright could see that Bamber was going to slash Hammack's throat. He yelled 'No!' and threw his flashlight as hard as he could. It smashed into Bamber's arm and the light winked out. Hammack pitched forward and fell on to the pile of parachute silk, one hand clutching the wound on his chest. Doc dashed forward but Bamber struck out with his knife, hacking at Doc's stomach. Doc moved back.

Bamber bent down and picked up Hammack's flashlight, switched it off and tucked it into his belt. He backed up, his bloodstained knife moving in a lazy figure of eight, alternating between Doc and Wright.

'We can take him, Doc,' said Wright.

'Sure you can, Nick,' said Bamber. 'You can't even handle your own wife, how do you think you're going to be able to stop me?'

Wright didn't reply. He held his arms out to the side, fingers splayed, looking for an opportunity to grab the knife.

'I mean, how much of a man can you be, letting another guy screw your wife in your own bed? You've taken being pussy-whipped to a whole new level.'

Wright felt a surge of anger, but he fought to stay calm. He looked at Doc. Doc made a small gesture with his chin and the two men moved further apart so that Bamber had to turn his head to keep them both in vision.

'Screwed him with your boy in the next room, hey? Do you think he heard them? Rutting like pigs? What if she screamed out his name? How do you think little Sean would feel? His mother screwing another man? And you letting her?'

Hammack groaned. Blood trickled from between his fingers, staining the parachute silk.

Wright's pulse pounded in his ears and he took a step forward.

'Nick . . .' said Doc.

Wright smiled tightly. 'I know, Doc, don't worry.' He glared at Bamber. 'It's not going to work,' he said. 'Sticks and stones.'

A look of uncertainty flashed across Bamber's face, but he quickly regained his composure. 'Remember what it was like when you found your father, Nick? Remember what it was like when you were locked in with his body, in the dark? How alone you felt? How vulnerable?' He grinned evilly. 'Time for a flashback,' he whispered. He switched off the flashlight and the chamber was instantly plunged into darkness.

Wright stepped back, then dropped into a crouch. He heard Bamber move, but couldn't tell in which direction. He had visions of Bamber slashing his knife from side to side like a scythe and his stomach tensed. He took another step back and his foot caught on the pile of parachute silks, sending him tumbling backwards. He gasped as he hit the ground, and immediately rolled over, knowing that Bamber would be able to pinpoint the sound. He kept on rolling, then realised that if he wasn't careful he'd end up in the shallow grave with the skeleton. He stopped moving and listened intently.

'Nick?' hissed Doc. 'You okay?'

'Don't talk,' snapped Wright. He got up but kept low, and -j took several steps back, skirting the parachute silk. Wright heard a footfall to his right, and he froze. Hammack moaned and the * silk rustled as he shifted his position.

; i Wright's brain, starved of visual stimulation, began to manu j facture its own images. He saw whirling circles and multicoloured grids, strange shapes that disappeared when he tried to focus on them but reappeared as soon as he looked away. It was as if he j was floating in a universe of computer-generated shapes, and he ; swayed on his feet as his sense of balance began to desert him.

^ He blinked several times and shook his head, but then felt as if he was falling, so he dropped down into a crouch and put his hands on the floor.

Wright heard more footsteps, fainter this time, then a scraping sound. He waited several seconds, but heard nothing else. 'Doc?' � he said hesitantly.

'Yeah, I think he's gone.'

'Where's your flashlight?' Wright asked. v 'In the tunnel. I dropped it when the. scorpions fell on j me.' Hammack groaned in pain again. 'Bernie, are you okay?'

I asked Doc.

�< Hammack muttered something unintelligible.

I 'Bernie?'

J 'I'm bleeding bad, Doc'

fa 'Hang on, we'll get to you.'

"i 'Your Zippo, Doc,' said Wright. 'Where is it?'

'On the floor, where I was sitting.' 'Let's see if we can find it.'

Wright tried to picture the chamber, but he couldn't even recall j which direction he was facing. He got down on his hands and . knees and groped around. His hand touched the pile of parachute silk torn from the walls. He moved to his left, feeling with his fingertips.

His hands brushed against a mat, then the damp floor. He crept forward. There was a scraping noise from the opposite side of the chamber. Wright knew it was Doc, but he couldn't stop himself thinking of snakes and scorpions and spiders. He crawled slowly, patting the ground with his right hand.

|

Hammack moaned again. 'Doc . . .' he gasped.

'We're coming, Bernie,' said Doc.

The ground in front of Wright disappeared and he pitched forward, his head slamming into the wooden sides of the trapdoor. He cursed.

'What's wrong?' asked Doc.'

'Damn near fell in the hatch,' said Wright, pushing himself up. He touched his head. His hand came away wet with blood.

'You okay?'

'Yeah.'

Doc had been sitting about six feet from the hatch, so at least Wright now had his bearings. He crawled away from the trapdoor, brushing the ground with his fingertips. He touched something soft and picked it up. It was the Marlboro pack. He put it down and patted the area around his knees. His left hand fell on something metallic. The lighter. He picked it up, pulled open the top and flicked the wheel. There was a shower of sparks and a flickering yellow light.

Wright held up the Zippo. Doc was on his hands and knees, close to the chamber wall. He got to his feet, picked up his rucksack, and ran over to Hammack.

Hammack was lying on his back, his hands clutched to his chest, his eyes closed tight. Doc took his medical kit out and slapped a j dressing on Hammack's chest. 'Nick, hold this for me. Keep the pressure on,' he said.

Wright held the burning Zippo in his left hand and clamped the dressing to Hammack's wound with his right. Doc pulled a second dressing out and wrapped it around Hammack's bleeding arm.

'How bad is it?' Hammack asked through gritted teeth.

'Not too bad,' said Doc. He shook four white tablets out of a plastic bottle and held them up to Hammack's mouth. 'Swallow these,' he said. 'They'll help with the pain.' *

Hammack opened his mouth and swallowed the tablets one by j one. 1 The Zippo got hotter and hotter until Wright couldn't hold it any longer. He cursed as it fell from his fingers, plunging the chamber into darkness once more. 'Sorry,' he said. He grabbed for the Zippo but it was still too hot to touch. He tossed it from i I THE TUNNEL RATS 357 hand to hand and blew on it, then flicked it into life again. Doc handed him another dressing.

'Wrap this around it,' said Doc. 'It'll act as insulation.'

Wright held the Zippo up in the air and watched as Doc applied sticking plaster to the wound on Hammack's arm.

Doc nodded at Wright, who took his hand away. Doc tossed aside the soiled dressing, inspected the wound, then smeared antiseptic ointment across the bloody flesh. He placed a fresh dressing over it and applied strips of sticking plaster to keep it in place.

'Is he going to be okay?' Wright asked.

'Yeah, Doc, will I be able to play the piano again?'

Doc grinned at Wright. 'I think that answers your question, Nick,' he said. 'If he can make jokes, he can walk out of here.' He helped Hammack to sit up.

'Where'd the crazy guy go?' asked Hammack.

Doc gestured at the antechamber. 'Back up to the third level. Who is he, Nick?'

'He's an FBI agent, investigating the two murders.'

'Like hell,' said Doc. 'He's the killer, I'm sure of it.'

'Couldn't be,' said Wright. 'He didn't kill Ramirez. And I know for a fact that he was in the UK when Horvitz was murdered.'

Doc put an arm around Hammack to support him. Hammack was weak, but he could stand.

'He killed Dennis, though. And he would've killed the three of us, given a chance.'

'So that means what? Two killers?'

Doc shrugged. 'I can't think of any other explanation.'

Despite the dressing around the Zippo, Wright could feel the lighter getting uncomfortably hot. 'What are we going to do about a light?' he said. 'This isn't going to last much longer.'

'What about your flashlight?'

'The bulb went when I threw it at Bamber.'

Doc pointed at his rucksack. 'I've got spares in there. See if they'll fit.'

Wright picked up the broken flashlight and went over to the rucksack. He put the burning Zippo on the ground and in its flickering light found and fitted one of the bulbs. To 358 STEPHEN LEATHER his immense relief, it worked. He flipped the Zippo shut and pocketed the lighter.

'Have you got any weapons?' Wright asked Doc.

'Knives. I've got one, so does Bernie.'

'I don't think I'm gonna be winning any knife fights,' said Hammack.'

Wright went over and retrieved Hammack's knife. He stuck it into his belt, then crouched down next to his knapsack. He pulled out the goggles.

'What the hell are those?' asked Doc.

'Infra-red goggles.'

'They work?'

'I bloody well hope so. We're not going to get anywhere with one flashlight between three of us.'

May sat with her ear pressed against the clay wall, listening intently. She'd heard angry voices, then there had been silence, then a man had left the command centre and moved up to the third level. She knew where he was, about three hundred feet west of her position. The three other men were still in the command centre, talking in hushed voices, so she couldn't make out what they were saying.

The chamber she was in had once functioned as a dormitory area for families. There were still sleeping mats on the floor and in one corner stood two large earthenware pots that had once stored water for drinking and washing. So far as May was concerned, the main advantage of the chamber was that it had four exits. From where she was she could easily reach the second level, and get quickly to most parts of the tunnel complex.

She went over to one of the pots. It came up almost to her waist and she leaned into it and pulled out a case. She sat cross-legged on the floor as she opened it. Inside was a crossbow and six bolts. She assembled the weapon with practised ease, then slotted the bolts into a plastic clip that attached to the bottom of the crossbow. May hoped she wouldn't have to use the weapon. She wanted THE TUNNEL RATS 359 to get close enough to use her knife, to look into their eyes as they died.

Hha could be up there,' whispered Doc, looking up at the latch. Ramirez's blood was still wet on the wooden sides a of the hatchway.

'I'll go,' said Wright, fastening the straps on his goggles.

'No!' said Doc sharply. 'I'm leading.'

Wright shook his head. 'You're going to have to take care of Bernie,' he said. He tapped the goggles. 'Besides, I've got these. It's better I go first.'

1 'You know which way to go?'

I 'I think so. If I have a problem, I'll shout back to you. Bernie,

are you okay?'

Hammack forced a smile. 'I'll make it,' he said.

| 'Keep your distance,' said Wright. 'There's no telling what's up there now. Don't get too close in case . . .' He left the sentence hanging.

Doc squeezed Wright's shoulder. 'Good luck.'

Wright had a last look around the tunnel, took Hammack's knife from his belt, then edged slowly through the hatch, turning his head from side to side, ready to duck back at the first sign of a threat. Except for Ramirez's corpse, the tunnel above was clear. He pushed himself up, using his elbows for leverage.

He backed away from the hatch, then helped Hammack through. The big man was clearly in pain but fighting not to show it. He was weak, too, and Wright realised there was no way Hammack would have been able to get up without his and Doc's help.

Doc crawled over to Ramirez and felt for a pulse in the man's neck.

'He's dead, Doc,' said Wright quietly, but Doc threw him a warning look. Wright nodded, acknowledging that the two men had a friendship going back more than a quarter of a century and that Doc had the right to check for himself. 360 STEPHEN LEATHER Doc made the sign of a cross over Ramirez, and closed his eyes for a few seconds as if in prayer.

Wright looked down the tunnel, wondering where Bamber was, and what he was doing. He could think of no reason why the FBI agent had acted in the way that he had. Whatever Bamber's motives, his actions suggested that Doc had been right, that Bamber had taken the map from O'Leary. If he'd taken the map, he'd probably killed O'Leary, too. But why? And why had Bamber been so determined to come down the tunnels?

Kruse took the infra-red goggles out of his Snoopy knapsack and slipped them on, adjusting the straps so that they stayed firmly in place. He switched them on. Within seconds they'd warmed up and he turned off his flashlight. He put the flashlight back in the knapsack and eased it over his shoulders.

He was looking forward to the hunt, relishing the opportunity to use his killing skills. For too long he'd been limited by the environment in which he'd operated, where every killing had to be made to look like an accident. Deep underground, there were no restrictions. No limits.