Famine (4 page)

Soon, they were flying over open fields. The silver ribbon of the Thames weaved and turned among the massed green and among the red and grey and yellow of roofs. Very quickly, they came within sight of the spire of Salisbury Cathedral, skirting the lighted cross that stood out as a warning to all aircraft.

“Where are we going?” Palfrey asked Baretta.

“To a pub called the Goose Inn.” Baretta answered in English so natural and colloquial it was hard to believe he had been born in Genoa. “A message has just come over the radio, Sap – from Joyce.”

“Ahhh,” Palfrey sighed, and the sigh was touched with fear. “More reports from overseas?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered Baretta. “A warehouse in Leningrad has been eaten empty of wheat. Scores of rabbits reported to be in the vicinity. Rice fields in Southern India have been invaded by animals believed to be rabbits, the entire crop stripped, as if locusts had devoured the lot. Have you any idea what's going on?”

“Not yet,” Palfrey said, and the apprehension was in his eyes as well as in his voice. “But I already know how much I dislike it. Can you sight this Goose Inn?”

Baretta pointed downwards.

On the folds of Salisbury Plain, in the midst of a flat expanse of green and yellow, gold and brown, was a solitary building, stark and unlovely, with one road sweeping past it, and two lanes converging on to it. Dotted about the fields of wheat and barley, grass and clover, were clusters of cottages, and an occasional farmhouse surrounded with the usual outbuildings. Near the Goose Inn itself were three cars, one of them carrying a sign and a spotlight.

“That's it all right,” Palfrey said. “I wonder how long—”

He broke off, with a catch in his breath, and Baretta exclaimed aloud. Some distance from the Goose Inn, in a field where a huge tree stood heavy with foliage, a cloud appeared to rise out of the earth, and to spread and spread. As the helicopter moved towards it, the cloud moved in turn, across the fields towards the city of Salisbury and the cathedral's majestic spire.

 

 

Baretta, his voice edged with alarm, said: “What is it?”

“It looks like a smokescreen,” Palfrey answered. He switched on the radio, already tuned in to the headquarters of Z5. “This is Palfrey,” he announced, and the operator, deep beneath Mayfair, responded. “There is a cloud which could be smoke or gas, between Salisbury and the Goose Inn. It looks as if it might be intended to cover movement of some kind. It wants tracking from the air and along the ground. Alert Army and Air Force to help in keeping it in sight.”

The operator said mechanically. “Message received.”

“Thanks.” Palfrey rang off. He glanced about him and saw another helicopter close by, identical with his own. He timed in to it. “Z5-X can you hear me.?”

“Z5-X, hearing you loud and clear.”

“Do you see the patch of smoke?”

“We can see it.”

“Keep flying above and behind it,” Palfrey ordered. “You'll get help soon. Understood?”

“Fully understood.”

Palfrey switched off, still staring at the moving patch of smoke. He had seen similar phenomena before; it was remarkable how often a smokescreen proved the best kind of concealment; one of the earliest of his investigations, into the
Mists of Fear,
had revealed that a mist, something like electoplasm, had concealed creatures no one had suspected of existing.

“Where now?” Baretta asked.

“Goose Inn.”

“That smoke gives me the creeps.”

“I fully sympathise.”

Palfrey made himself look away from the cloud, towards the oak tree, and the fields where it had first appeared. An old machine, rather like a combine-harvester, looked as if it had fallen into some kind of earth subsidence, and he believed that the smoke had come from that very place. He scanned the field with powerful glasses, saw more evidence of the subsidence, and had a strange impression: that he could see the bodies of a dozen babies, lying side by side, close to the spot where the earth had given way.

Babies.

Then he saw a man lying on his face, strangely desolate, in the lane which led to the inn. Palfrey took it for granted, without knowing why, that the man was dead. Was that Anderson? Or was there another victim? He must find out quickly.

He saw soldiers, in twos, at various places, as if the area had been cordoned off; if it had, that was good.

Soon, the helicopter was directly over the Goose Inn. A dozen people stood about the three cars, including two uniformed policemen. Moving along the road was a white ambulance; that would be for Anderson. The years had taught Palfrey to accept the sudden death of agents as inevitable, but each one brought its own sorrow and its own crop of memories. He and Anderson had once survived deadly danger together.

Baretta landed the helicopter lightly as a feather. One of the policemen came across the field towards them, a sergeant in dark blue. He watched Palfrey closely, and waited for him to speak.

“I'm Palfrey,” Palfrey said. “Have you had any more trouble?”

“I'm Sergeant Cooper, sir. Not as far as I know, sir.”

Sergeant Cooper was an astute man, careful not to commit himself.

“Is an Army detail on the way?” Palfrey asked.

“Yes, sir. I've just been informed of that by radio.” The statement was flat and factual, but Cooper was obviously puzzled and wary. “I've kept everyone away from the place where the man was attacked, waiting for expert opinion, sir. Mrs. Fordham whose husband is still near the spot, is very anxious to go and find if he's all right.”

Palfrey thought of the body he had seen.

“You don't think it's straightforward murder, sir, do you?”

Surely that was a fool question.

“By rabbits?” Palfrey asked.

Cooper was a lean man, only a little above average height, with a leathery face deeply tanned, clear eyes, a long nose with a high bridge and pinched-in nostrils.

“Mrs. Fordham saw the man attacked. She was very frightened, sir.”

“Ah. Hallucination, you think?”

“It's possible.”

“No doubt it is,” Palfrey said. “Cooper.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We might be involved in a very peculiar business indeed. A great number of people might see the same hallucinations, and if they do, rumour will spread quickly. I would rather it didn't for the time being. I don't mind the mystery of a murder, but I don't think it would be wise to say too much about rabbits. Is Mrs. Fordham likely to let her tongue run away with her?”

“I don't know her well enough to say, sir, but generally speaking she's very level-headed.”

“How is she now?”

“Just getting over the shock, sir, and talking to Jacob Gosling, the innkeeper. I'm afraid there's no way of stopping wild talk about rabbits though. Several people heard her story.”

“Pity,” Palfrey said. “Great pity.”

He approached the front of the Goose Inn, heavy hearted. Cooper would know the situation, and it had to be faced. A rumour that a man had been attacked and killed by two rabbits would now spread, but of course no one would believe it – they would assume that some creatures other than rabbits had been involved. Wildcats? Foxes? What he needed was a story which would satisfy the local people and the newspapers, but he doubted if that was possible. Man kills rabbit, no news story. Rabbit kills man, and the story would be flashed around the globe. Until he knew much more, he did not want this spread about. Were the creatures rabbits? Were
all
of them deadly? Until he knew, until he found it impossible to avoid, he did not want terror to spread.

The ambulance pulled up.

“Which is Mrs. Fordham ?” asked Palfrey.

“The heavy woman with the green jumper,” said Cooper.

‘Heavy' was not a good description. Plump, perhaps, but there was a comeliness about her; a wholesomeness.

“Introduce me, please,” Palfrey said.

The thing which most surprised him about Mrs. Fordham was the brightness of her eyes. Here was an intelligent woman, and he did not for one moment believe that she had imagined what she had seen. He had to take a chance on her goodwill.

“Mrs. Fordham,” he said, “I am an Intelligence officer, and I'm intensely interested in your story. Will you say as little as possible about it until we've been able to talk?”

There was a hint of apprehension in the clear blue eyes.

“Perhaps I've already said too much.”

“Let's hope not,” Palfrey said. “It's a very serious matter indeed.”

Her apprehension faded into a kind of wary appraisal, as if she could not quite make this man out; he had a very good impression of her composure.

“Have you talked to the newspapers, yet?” he asked.

“No one's been here from the Press, as far as I know,” answered Mrs. Fordham.

“Good. I want to go along to the spot where you saw these rabbits,” Palfrey said. “If you'll come with me, we can talk on the way. Will you?”

“I've been trying to get someone to take me there, or allow me to go,” she said. “My husband will wonder what's happened to me.” Again, Palfrey had a mental picture of the man lying near the big oak tree.

“Then let's go,” he said.

“So you don't write me off as subject to hysteria,” Mrs. Fordham remarked.

“I do not.”

Mrs. Fordham gave a little shiver.

“Will you want to use my car? That's the old Hillman.”

“May we?”

“I'll go and wait in it,” she said. “I don't mind admitting I don't feel too good.” She nodded and went off, and he felt sure she was concealing her anxiety for her husband.

The body of Neil Anderson was lifted from the ground and carried to the ambulance. Palfrey climbed inside, pulled back the covering blanket, and studied the face of his friend. He saw the incisions on the neck that had pierced the carotid artery. It might well prove that Neil had bled to death. He would soon know.

“Take him to the morgue in Salisbury,” he ordered. “Mr. Gampson is on his way from London to do the autopsy.”

“Very good, sir.”

Palfrey left the ambulance, fully aware that everyone was watching him. Probably Cooper and the other policeman, a taller, younger man, were disappointed, for his reputation was greater than his apparent vagueness and indecision seemed to warrant. In a way, it was so. There was so much to do, in so short a time, and he alone was aware of the growing danger. One false, or ill-considered, move and the situation would be out of hand. His fear was that some vital thing would be overlooked.

Baretta was standing with the two policemen when Palfrey joined them.

“Two or three things,” he said, much more briskly than before. “I'm going to the scene of the attack with Mrs. Fordham, I'd like two men within a very short distance, covering us. Sergeant, don't forget we want to play the rabbit story down. Your way's the best – let it out that you think Mrs. Fordham was overwrought. We'll have an Army detail here soon. Send it to the field by the big oak tree. Have the field surrounded, and the men at the ready. Keep in touch with our helicopters for news of the smoke – we think we saw a smokescreen, and we want to find out what movement it was intended to conceal.” He turned to Cooper, with a smile. “It all sounds crazy, and that's what it may prove to be, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.”

His cliché fell on fruitful ground.

“You can rely on us, sir.”

“I'm sure I can,” Palfrey said.

“There's just one thing, sir.” Cooper was earnest.

“What's that?”

“Is there anything we can say which might explain what's on, and what all the mystery is about?” asked Cooper.

He was most astute, the kind of man Z5 could put to good use. Palfrey knew that he should have thought of this already, it should have been obvious to him, although not obvious to Cooper, who waited as if for an oracle to speak. The other people, staring, hardly seemed to move as the ambulance slid by to the noise of approaching lorries, bringing the first contingent of troops.

“Yes,” Palfrey said suddenly. “Good thought – thanks. Say we're worried about a new breed of rat, which has done a lot of damage to food supplies, and might carry disease. Say it's been known in other countries and we want to make sure it doesn't spread here.”

Cooper gave an appreciative smile.

“That will scare them off, sir!”

“I hope so. Jim – you deal with the military side.” Baretta nodded, and Palfrey turned to Mrs. Fordham, who was sitting solidly at the wheel of her station wagon. Palfrey got in beside her, and twisted round to see the brownish message on the window written in blood. As she drove off Mrs. Fordham said abruptly: “Do you think I'm callous?”

“Farming folk are used to blood and life and death.”

“Thank you, Dr. Palfrey,” she said, her voice carefully held in control.

“Tell me exactly what happened, please.”

She told him in surprisingly vivid detail, and Palfrey could almost see the lane and Anderson walking so warily. He was aware that Mrs. Fordham was keeping a sharp look-out; and so indeed was he, fully alive to the fact that the next yard of hedge, the next hillock, the next crop of nettles or wild parsley, could hide a watching rabbit. Every nerve was strung to breaking-point, although he tried to tell himself that such excess was ridiculous.

They turned a bend in the lane and found the oak tree straight ahead of them sturdy and strong, offering a kind of sanctuary, one side gilded by the sun, the other in deepest shadow.

Mrs. Fordham caught her breath. Palfrey glanced at her, and saw that her whole expression had changed. She had seen something which appalled her. She was staring along the lane near the gate, and he looked in the same direction. He saw the man, lying on his stomach, arms crumpled beneath him. He was a big man, wearing blue jeans which had faded almost to white, and a yellow shirt. He had reddish hair, very curly. This was the man he had seen from the helicopter, of course; whom he had kept on remembering. He had had no idea Mrs. Fordham's car would pass so close.

Now, the woman by Palfrey's side slowed down, stopped, and applied the hand brake with controlled deliberation. She said with the unnatural precision of the greatly shocked: “That's my husband. They attacked him, too. Oh God, what has come upon us?”

She began to open the door and climb out. Palfrey, too, slid out on his side, watching not only the woman but the hedgerows, even the low branches of the tree.

He looked for ‘rabbits'.

And he put his hand, protectively, to his neck.