Scratch Deeper (39 page)

‘Because?'

‘They hit load-bearing rock much sooner than anticipated. So they did away with the deepest pilings and just sat the building directly on it.'

‘Would that have been sandstone?'

‘Very good,' he said, sounding impressed at her knowledge.

At the bottom of the stairs, Walter pushed through another door and into a starkly lit passageway. ‘That way into the car park,' he said, setting off in the opposite direction. ‘And this is us.'

He stopped at a stainless-steel door marked, No Access. Below that was a black and yellow graphic of a man being speared by a jagged line. Electricity. Danger of Death. From beyond it came a low humming noise, like a small aircraft preparing for take-off. The same type of tape she'd seen in the visitor centre in the Great Northern Warehouse had been stretched across the door and surrounding frame.

‘No one's been inside,' he said, running his forefinger across it. ‘See? They were down here inspecting it again first thing this morning.'

‘What will we see on the other side?' Iona asked quietly. Her head felt light and a tingling sensation was going through her legs.

‘A lot of machinery.'

‘Including the air conditioning?'

‘No. Boilers first. Air-con units are housed inside a smaller room at the other end.'

‘Will it be locked?'

‘No, shouldn't be.'

‘OK. We need to check inside.'

‘You'll vouch for me breaking this tape?'

‘Yes. Please hurry.' She turned to the pair of officers. ‘You got CS spray?'

They nodded, both removing small canisters from the pouches on their utility belts.

‘What is this about?' the one called Stewart asked.

‘We're after two male suspects. Shorter one could be a handful. Possibly armed.'

Next to her, Walter was peeling the tape off the door.

‘Armed with what?' Marcus asked uneasily.

‘Knife.'

‘Hang on,' Stewart said, ‘if they've got weapons, we should call for armed response, shouldn't we?'

‘If there was time,' Iona shot back.

‘Bloody hell.'

He closed up the zip of his stab-proof vest before removing his telescopic truncheon and extending it out. His colleague did the same.

‘Quick as you can, Walter,' Iona whispered.

He slid a thick key into the lock, turned it through three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, took it out and stood back. ‘It's open.'

Entire sections of the wooden door at the end of the narrow passage had rotted away. Aware he didn't have much time, Jim turned the torch off and stared at the gaps. The darkness beyond was absolute. He flicked the torch on again and swung the door back on its warped and rusted hinges.

Voices carried down from the storage room he'd just left behind. ‘Tony? Tony? Shit, mate, what . . .'

‘Where is he? He took my fucking gun!'

A small step down and then damp earth. Multiple sets of footprints led off to the side. He lifted the torch beam and a wide tunnel with an arched roof jumped into view. The ceiling was furred with thousands of stubby white stalactites. He shone the torch off to the right and, across the mounds of earth rising up from the floor, he could just make out a brick wall blocking off the tunnel. It was about thirty metres away.

He looked back. Shadows were moving in the storage room at the other end of the passageway. A voice called out.

‘You are fucked, mate? You hear me?' It was Tony, shouting. ‘I will fucking fill you in, you mad fuck! You hear me?'

Satisfied they weren't coming after him, Jim turned and started to follow the tracks, quickly becoming aware of the temperature. It was like being in a giant fridge. He'd got to within ten metres of the tunnel's end when he spotted smashed bricks scattered round an opening at one side. The footprints led straight to it.

Marcus put a hand on Iona's shoulder. ‘I think we'd better go first, don't you?'

‘Why?' she replied, irked by the tone in his voice.

‘For a start, we're armed. And I don't think you've got body armour on under that fleece.'

Begrudgingly, she stepped aside.

As he pushed the handle down it squeaked slightly. Bringing up his truncheon, he pushed the door open. A concrete floor and a forest of pipes wrapped in foil. The thrum of electrical equipment picked up and a wave of heat washed over them. White metal panelling encased a row of six machines that were far taller than Iona. Fat pipes rose up from their tops and went straight through the ceiling.

‘Air-con units are the other end,' Walter whispered behind them.

The uniformed officers looked round at Iona, eyebrows raised.

‘You sure about this?' Marcus sounded uncertain.

‘I'll go first, if you want,' she murmured back.

A glance bounced between the two men and they stepped through the door. The room was about thirty feet long and a shade less in width. The ceiling was made to feel even lower by the intricate arrangement of pipes running across it. To their right, squat metal objects resembling fire hydrants lined the floor, each one with solid-looking pipes running off them. Gas or water, Iona guessed, shadowing the officers as they moved down the aisle towards a wooden door at the far end.

A triple beep sounded somewhere off to their side and the hum coming from one of the white machines dropped away. A second set of beeps and another machine fell slowly silent. From behind the door at the end of the room, they heard a metallic clink as something dropped on the floor. A blurred and indistinct voice spoke inside.

Marcus held up a hand with three fingers outstretched. His colleague nodded, canister of CS spray ready. Marcus flexed his shoulders then dropped his fingers one by one to form a fist. He raised up a boot and kicked at the spot just below the door handle.

It flew open and Iona glimpsed Vassen and Ranjit kneeling before a grey cabinet set against the side wall. The controls for the air conditioning, she thought. Next to the pair was a jagged hole in the concrete floor. Both men were covered in reddish dust and pale fragments of stone. There was a bang as the door hit the wall. It swung back, cutting off their view.

‘It's them! Go, go, go!' Iona yelled.

Suddenly coming to life, the two officers barged through the door, both shouting. ‘Police! Police! Get down! Police! Down!'

Vassen scrabbled backwards, arms raised in surrender.

Ranjit jumped into a crouch, one hand flat on the floor. His eyes darted about.

‘Get on your front!' Marcus roared, raising his baton up. ‘Now! On your stomach, now!'

Vassen fell into a prone position, arms out at his sides. He appeared to be crying.

Stewart was moving to the side, can of CS spray held towards Ranjit, whose entire body was rigid. Like a cornered animal, Iona thought, registering the briefcase on the floor. Inside was a row of powder-filled vials and a pair of face masks. The casing below the controls for air conditioning had been removed.

Marcus advanced another step closer to Ranjit. ‘Do as I say! On your front!'

The only parts of Ranjit that moved were his eyes: they skittered about, settling on Iona for a moment before moving on once more.

He's going to do something, she thought, wishing for some kind of weapon.

‘Spray him,' Marcus ordered his colleague. ‘Give him a face-full, the fucker isn't listening.'

But then Ranjit went down on his knees. Slowly he bent forward, and placed both hands on the ground. As Stewart started unhooking the quick-cuffs from his belt, Iona spotted a slight movement of Ranjit's head. She realized he was looking at the hole in the floor.

With amazing speed, he moved sideways. One moment he was above the opening, the next he was dropping into it. Iona leaped forward, trying to catch hold of him as he vanished from sight. She peered into the dark hole and then up at the nonplussed officers. ‘We've got to go after him!'

Marcus took a step forward and looked in. ‘You're joking.'

Shaking his head, Stewart continued to restrain Vassen. ‘What does it join? Get him at the other end.'

‘It's a network,' Iona stated. ‘If no one follows, we'll lose him!'

Stewart was kneeling beside Vassen. ‘You think either of us could fit into that? Listen, whatever they were planning, it's—'

Iona had turned to Marcus. ‘Then give me your belt.'

‘What?'

‘Your utility belt, come on, quick.'

‘You're seriously going after him?' Looking bewildered, he started undoing it.

‘Someone has to,' she said, pulling it out of his hands.

‘That's a really bad move,' Stewart muttered, removing his knee from the small of Vassen's back.

After securing the belt round her waist, she unclipped the small torch and looked into the dark hole once again. Do not think about this, she said to herself. Just do it. Don't pause. If you pause, you'll back out. She shone the torch into the small opening. The layer of concrete had been chipped away and, below it, she could see reddish stone. A smooth, narrow tunnel branched off at ninety degrees.

Sitting down, she dangled her legs into the opening, part of her expecting a pair of hands to grab her by the ankles and drag her in. Come on, Iona. Come on, Iona.

‘You're really doing this? Stewart asked.

Vassen, now handcuffed shook his head, as if warning her not to.

‘Don't touch that suitcase. I think that's ricin in the vials.' She began to lower herself down.

Emerging on the other side of the opening knocked through the partition wall, Jim found another section of tunnel. His forearms were covered in reddish brick dust and he raised the Glock to blow the coating from its metallic surface.

The tunnel in front was almost completely blocked by a massive pile of mortar chunks welded together by concrete. He could see cloth sacking in the rubble at its edges and, shining the torch up, he saw the mound rose up to plug a hole in the ceiling. No doubt where workmen on a building site above had accidentally broken through.

Following the footprints, he skirted round the obstruction and splashed through a shallow expanse of black water on the other side.

The tunnel ended at another partition comprised of bricks that were uniform in size and shape. Manufactured, he realized, in a modern kiln. He swept the torch back and forth, looking for tell-tale debris. The wall was intact.

Directing the beam straight down, he searched for footprints. The earth all around him seemed to be undisturbed. That couldn't be right. He walked slowly along the partition, examining the mortar for any that had been chipped away. Every brick was cemented firmly in place. The trail of footprints had vanished.

Totally confused, he shone the torch behind him, light catching on the ripples he'd created just before. A feeling of utter desolation hit him as he realized he'd been wrong. The two brothers had explored this section of tunnel, he was sure of that. But they'd given up on it. The implications of his mistake started to reverberate in his head. He looked at the Glock in his hand. What was I thinking? They'll lock me up for this. Iona. He closed his eyes. I failed her. She's up there somewhere. And so are the Bhujuns, free to launch their attack.

He stepped into the freezing water, oblivious to it sloshing over his feet as he began the slow trudge back.

H
er toes made contact with the tunnel when the floor of the plant room was level with her face. Sucking in air as if she was about to go under water, she dropped to her knees and looked along the thin passage.

A light was bobbling about, no more than twelve metres in front. Ranjit. Iona started crawling after him. The dark stone of the tunnel seemed to suck away what little light the torch threw out. To her sides, she could see the grooves and ruts where the soft stone had been dug out. The light ahead winked and then disappeared.

Now all she could see was its faint glow and that was quickly getting weaker. She tried to speed up, jarring the top of her head against some kind of protrusion in the tunnel's roof. The pain seemed trivial, dulled by the adrenaline coursing through her. Every time she lifted the hand holding the torch, the tunnel felt like it was lurching from side to side. Her breathing and the scrape of her jeans against stone were the only sounds.

Just as her resolve begin to waver, she felt brick beneath her hands. A ledge. She poked her head out into what seemed like a cavern. The torch picked out walls, curving inward to form a roof some eight feet above that was thick with pale and spindly stalactites. Deansgate tunnel, she thought. This must be the Deansgate tunnel. Just wide enough for a horse and carriage, like Hidden Shadow had said.

The bobble of light was off to her right and the sound of Ranjit's heavy breathing filled the dank, cold space. Iona swung her legs and was about to jump down when she registered how the floor beneath her glimmered and shifted. A puddle, she said to herself. Just a puddle. Keeping one elbow hooked on the ledge, she slid down into ice-cold, ankle-deep water. She splashed her way out of it, aware Ranjit's light had disappeared from view once again. The water ended and she found herself stumbling over an earthy surface made bumpy by deposits of silt. A mound of broken bricks and red chunks of stone at her side. What they must have removed when they burrowed out in the direction of the Beetham Tower. Next to them, she glimpsed some tools – crowbars, short-handled spades, a stack of empty water bottles. Rucksacks.

The floor was rising, white fragments of broken stalactites strewn across it. Her foot went into a dip and she staggered to the right. Stalactites snapped against her head and fell to the ground. Lifting the torch, she realized the two men had cleared a corridor of them from the ceiling: an upside-down path revealing their route. She started forward once more and by the time a bricked-off section loomed ahead, she was bent almost double.

Spotting an opening in the partition, she looked into it. Ranjit's light on the other side allowed her to gauge the thickness of the wall. Two metres, maximum. She clambered through and into the next section of tunnel. How far, she wondered, have I now come? Thirty, forty metres?