The Rats (13 page)

‘It’s worth the risk, isn’t it?’

More silence.

Then Foskins said: ‘You know, it might just work.’

The young researcher beamed a smile of gratitude.

‘Yes, it might,’ one of the scientists leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘They’re too bloody clever to be baited with poison–or they’re immune to it. But if we could infect them... ‘

‘Not with rats though,’ said another, the idea, perhaps out of desperation, beginning to catch fire. ‘Too much of a risk with other rats. Too unpredictable.’

‘All right, dogs then. Pups, to make it easier for the rats.’

Harris’s mind rebelled at the idea of feeding young pups to vermin.

‘Why not just infect raw meat?’ he suggested.

‘No, the virus would have to exist on living flesh.’

‘But how do we know what virus? We haven’t got a live giant rat in captivity. How do we know which virus would kill it?’ asked Foskins.

‘I have a pretty good idea already,’ said a bio-chemist.

‘We can test it on the normal Black rat–and hope it will work on its larger brother.’

The debate continued, arguments flared, solutions found.

Harris felt quite flattered to be involved in the centre of the operation, but his mind still nagged him about something forgotten.

‘Very well,’ Foskins finally drew the discussion to its noisy conclusion. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a few days to find the right virus. Although it must be tested thoroughly – I needn’t stress how thoroughly–we should be ready to put the plan into action by the middle of next week. In the meantime, Mr Harris and I, together with the Borough surveyor will work to find the most suitable locations for deploying the infected dogs. Mr Harris was brought up in this area, I might add, so I presume knows most of the likely places the rats might use as lairs. You will all carry on with your usual activities of laying poisons, using gas or anything else you may think of, and we’ll assemble every morning at eight-thirty to see how things are going. Are there any questions? No? Good. Let’s get on with it then.’

He turned to Harris, and said quietly, ‘Join me for a drink,

Mr Harris.’

They crossed the road from the Town Hall and entered a pub just opening its doors for the early evening rush. Their eyes adjusted to the gloom reluctantly after the bright sun-shine of late afternoon. ‘What will you have?’ Foskins asked, reaching for his wallet.’ Keg.’

‘Pint of Keg and a gin and tonic, please.’

They found a quiet comer and relaxed into imitation leather seats.

‘Cheers,’ said Foskins.

‘Good health,’ replied Harris.

They drank in silence for a few moments, ‘I’m surprised,’ said Harris.

‘At what?’

‘That you’re still running things.’

‘Ah, that: As I explained over the telephone, Mr Harris, the public wanted somebody’s head, I was in charge, I was the only choice.’ He smiled thinly, his eyes examining the rim of his glass. ‘A scapegoat always has to be found–it’s the way things are.’ He quickly shrugged off his dejected mood, and smiled at the teacher. ‘But I’m too good at the job for them to do without me andthey the indefinable they are well aware of it. You see, the only mistake I made last fume was in underestimating the foe. A bad mistake, I grant you. It certainly had serious consequences. But under the circumstances, it was a natural error, don’t you agree? I mean, it’s not the sort of thing that happens every day, is it?’

‘I suppose not.’ Harris took a long drink, feeling Foskins eyes on him.

‘You were rather harsh on me yourself, last time we met,’

Foskins said.

It suddenly dawned on Harris why he had become involved in the operation. He wasn’t really that necessary he’d hardly call his help invaluable. Foskins had been mistreated by the public. Mistreated and unappreciated. They’d yelled for his blood and his superiors had given it to them.

On the surface, anyway. And he himself had scorned him.

So Harris, in a symbolic way, represented the public. He was Foskins’ actual contact with the people who had derided him. And now he was going to prove them wrong. Through him. Showing he was still in command, and very, very able. Good luck! thought Harris.

‘Well, it seems we’ve had quite a breakthrough today.’

Foskins settled back in his seat, a broad smile on his face.

‘Don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. Like another drink?’

‘Let me,’ said Harris, draining his glass and rising to his feet. ‘Same again?’

He brought the drinks back to the table, catching the other man deep in thought. Foskins looked up at him, almost as though he were a stranger.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Well, I think we’ve cracked it now, don’t you? Yes, things will soon be back to normal. You’ll be back at your school, I’ll be re-instated–not publicly, of course, or perhaps moved to another department. Not dishonourably though.’ He sipped his gin. ‘Tell me, what makes you teach in the East End? There are more pleasant places aren’t there?’

‘Home ground.’

‘Oh, so you live here still?’

‘No, I’ve got a flat near King’s Cross.’

‘Married? Must be.’

‘No, not really.’

‘I see. I used to be.’

Foskins took a large gulp from his drink, his mind drifting away again. Harris began to get slightly irritated by the melancholy turn the conversation kept taking.

‘Do you think they’ll come up with the right virus in time?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Oh, yes. No problem. Those boys could come up with a way to make fleas catch German Measles .

Time is the breed. Five to eight times a year. And their offspring can breed within three months. You’re a teacher, you work it out; if we don’t kill the bloody things soon, they’ll over-run the whole city. Have another drink?’

‘No, I’ve got to go,’ said Harris. ‘Someone waiting.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Dejected once again. ‘Well, see you bright and early tomorrow then, eh?’ More brightly.

‘You want me to come along then?’

‘Why, yes. You’re involved now, old chap. Don’t worry about your people. I’ll clear it with them. As a matter of fact, I already have. Sure you won’t have another? Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Harris left the pub with relief. He wasn’t quite sure why he disliked Foskins–perhaps it was his unpredictable moods. One minute bright, hearty, efficient, the next–well, ‘hang-dog’ was the only expression that sprang readily to mind. Harris couldn’t wait to get home to Judy.

Foskins stared moodily into his glass. Mustn’t stay here too long, I suppose, he thought to himself .

Wouldn’t do to have any of his staff pop in from across the road and catch him drinking by himself.

Wouldn’t look good, especially just now.

He wondered about the young teacher. Probably living with a girl–didn’t look queer. Sure of himself, self-contained. Young. Might be useful in this exercise, though,

Not essential of course, but at least the teacher would learn just how difficult it was to organise a project like this. The experience would do him a lot of good–only wish more people had some idea of the difficulties involved, then perhaps they wouldn’t be so ready to cry for blood at the first crisis. They’ll soon see I’m not ready for the shelf just yet,

He ordered another drink–just a quick one, he told himself–and returned to his seat.

Funny how things turn out, he brooded. Always having to prove yourself to others. To some it comes easy, they’re born with the gift, but for the others it requires constant, hard work, not relaxing for a minute, never revealing your weakness to those who’d be only too pleased to turn it to their own advantage. That’s how it’s always been with me.

Work, leadership–they’ve never come easily. Always the struggle a well-guarded secret. If only they knew of the night hours spent in sheer slog, sheer tedious grind, to keep up with the work output. Not just keep up, but to be ahead of.

But Rosemary had found out. She had to of course – she was my wife. Any other woman would have offered consolation, but not Rosemary. She grew bored with the nights spent plodding through paperwork. And when she discovered that prowess in bed was also a task that didn’t come naturally to me–well, the disillusionment was too great. If we’d had children I suppose she’d have had something to occupy her, but she even blamed me for that. Nevertheless, it lasted for fifteen years so she must have felt some love for me. Even though I knew she was having the odd affair, it didn’t really matter as long as she was discreet Even her jibes in front of friends, and. colleagues, I could have survived by ridiculing her in return in that false-hearty way.

But when her affairs became much more frequent and much less discreet–and worst of all, much less discriminating, then it had to be brought to an end. But she jumped the gun by ending it first, walking out, running off with a bloody travel agent! A travel agent! Did my best to hush things up, but word always gets around, so there was nothing left but to work even harder, to become more successful, anything to cover the shame of being left high and dry by an unfaithful wife. And the double-shame of having been cuckolded by her and a damn travel agent! How could you retain your dimity after that? But I managed it, worked myself up into this position. Yes, there was the affair of the rats that had done some damage to my esteem, but my superiors wouldn’t let me go, would they? No they know my true worth.

Public be damned. And when this little episode is over, they’ll all acknowledge my worth. The fact of the matter is, the more power you have, the easier it is to find solutions to any problems. You merely surround yourself with the right people, the right brains–they come up with the answers and you take the glory. The hard part was to gain that position of authority, but once you had it, the rest was easy. I’ll just have one more drink and then perhaps I’ll go along to the club, tell the boys all is going well, drop a few hints about our idea, not too much, in case it doesn’t work, but enough to let them know old Foskins has done it again.

Feel better now, no point in going home to an empty house just yet. The boys’ll be pleased to see me, I should think.

He drained his glass and walked out into the still bright sunshine.

Harris reported at eight-thirty every morning to the daily Town Hall meetings. He worked out with Foskins and the Borough surveyors ten key locations that they considered to be likely rat-infested spots.

By the end of the week, the bio-chemists had come up with the correct virus.

They laughed at the teacher’s admiration for their speed.

‘That wasn’t the problem,’ they told him. ‘You see, we’ve had the virus itself for many years. In fact, we inherited it from the Germans after the war. They’d been working on a way of killing off all our livestock by infection without harming the population and they had actually come up with the answer. Fortunately, for us, the war ended before they had time to use it and it’s been a well-kept secret, along with a few other nasty little items, ever since. The hard part–and this has taken the time–was to find an antidote to contain it. We don’t relish the idea of wiping out all animal life in the country. Well, we’ve found the antitoxin and it will be a simple matter to introduce it into our animals, either by injection or mixing it with their food or water. It’s already being produced in bulk, and, just as a safeguard, we’re working on another serum in case the first fails. As a safeguard, we must stress. We see absolutely no reason for the first to let us down.’

Foskins congratulated them on then’ fine work and they set a time to put the plan into action.

‘Very well, gentlemen,’ concluded the minister. ‘On Tuesday morning, at six, we’ll plant the first infected puppies.

We’ll go on to nine other locations throughout the morning, all key points, and leave the unfortunate but expendable animals to their fate. Any questions?’

‘Yes,’ said Harris, raising his hand but quickly dropping it realising he was emulating his absent pupils.

‘What happens, when we’re planting the pups, if we become the victims of the rats?’

‘Everyone is to wear protective clothing, Mr Harris. It’s standard procedure on any operation like this. I think you’ll find the suits adequate even if uncomfortable.’ Foskins looked around at the faces. ‘Any more questions?’

‘Yes,’ said Harris.

‘Mr Harris?’

‘What if it doesn’t work.’

‘If what doesn’t work?’

‘The idea.’

‘Then God help us, Mr Harris.”

The grey dawn cast a mist over the old canal. Not even a bird disturbed the chill morning silence. The dirty waters stirred occasionally in the slight dawn breeze, sending small ripples lapping lazily at the stone sides of the man-made river.

The silence was broken by a tiny yelp. Along the bank came five men looking like visitors from another planet.

They were covered from head to foot in a heavy, plastic like material and wearing helmets with large glass visors. Two of the men carried a large basket. The lid bounced now and again as if the occupants of the container were striving to get free. One of the men motioned towards a spot by the side of the canal and the basket was placed on the ground, ‘This should do for the first lot,’ said Harris, sweating inside his heavy suit. He lifted the glass visor so the others could hear him more clearly.

‘This is where we saw the rats last time. They were swimming along the canal up to this point. Then they climbed out and disappeared through that hole over there.’ He pointed towards the other bank.

The basket was opened and three small dogs were lifted out. Harris fondled one of them affectionately.

Poor little bleeder, he thought.

The young researcher, introduced to the teacher after their first meeting at the Town Hall as Stephen Howard, lifted his visor and wiped his brow with a gloved hand. ‘Well, let’s chain two down and let the other wander,’ he said. ‘That way, the rats are bound to get them.’

Harris watched as a metal stake was driven into the hard path that ran alongside the muddy canal and two of the pups were chained to it.

‘All right, little’n, off you go .’ He placed the pup he was holding on the ground and gave it a gentle shove, but it pushed back against his hand, licking it and looking up at him.