Donor (27 page)

‘A key?’

‘We’ll call it that if it works.’

‘Did you make it?’

‘Let’s say an acquaintance did. I persuaded him to take time off from giving the Bank of Scotland a hard time to manufacture it for me.’

‘Won’t there be a code number attached to the lock as well?’ asked Dunbar.

Douglas nodded. ‘The code is entered on tone buttons. I recorded the tones when one of the guards went into the building. I know the number.’

‘And if the key doesn’t work?’

‘Then it’s up to you. We could take out the guards and use their passkey.’

‘No violence,’ said Dunbar.

‘Please yourself.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight, if you’re up for it.’

Dunbar nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘When and where?’

Douglas looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Have you done anything like this before?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I have,’ replied Dunbar. He didn’t volunteer anything else and Douglas didn’t ask. He simply nodded and gave directions on how to get to the yard of a disused suburban railway station on the north side of the city. He could leave his car there and they would go on to Vane Farm in Douglas’s Land-Rover.

‘Just in case we have to rough it across country later,’ said Douglas. ‘Do you need clothing?’

‘I’ve got dark stuff,’ replied Dunbar. ‘I could use a balaclava, though.’

‘No problem. Gloves?’

‘I’ve got gloves.’

‘One o’clock, then.’

Dunbar returned to his hotel room and turned on the television while he looked out the clothing he was going to wear later and laid it on the bed. He needed some noise as a distraction from thinking about the repercussions if something should go wrong. Scottish Television was showing an episode of
Taggart
. A body was being pulled from the Clyde to the accompaniment of glum faces and bad jokes. This was not the sort of distraction he needed; he switched off the television and turned the radio on instead, tuning it to Classic FM. Mozart’s
Horn Concerto
would do.

At half-past midnight Dunbar checked his pockets for the last time, then left his room and walked quietly along to the lift. Adrenalin was starting to flow. He handed his key to the night clerk, who acknowledged it with a nod before returning to his paperback. Dunbar was pleased at his lack of interest.

The directions Douglas had given him were excellent; concise and to the point. He had no difficulty in finding the station yard; it was seven minutes to one when he turned into it. The traffic at that time of night had been negligible. He drove slowly round the yard, his lights illuminating the undergrowth that was encroaching on the pot-holed tarmac. He backed into a secluded corner where he could watch the entrance, and turned out his lights.

The moon slid out from behind a thin cloud curtain to light up the ribbon of road leading uphill from the car park and out into the country. It was nearly full tonight. The last time he’d watched the moon like this had been in the Iraqi desert. He and the others had been waiting for it to disappear before moving off. He was trying to recall the names of his companions that night when he heard the sound of a car approaching. At first he thought the vehicle was going to pass by, but at the last moment it slowed and turned into the car park. Dunbar was momentarily blinded by its headlights as it swung round, then turned slightly to the side. He switched on his own lights and saw that it was a darkgreen Land-Rover. He got out, locked his car and hurried over to join Douglas.

‘Found it all right, then?’ asked Douglas.

‘No problem.’

They drove in silence until Douglas said, ‘That’s it coming up on our left. We’ll drive past. There’s a farm turn-off about three hundred yards ahead. We’ll leave the Land-Rover there.’

Dunbar saw the headlights pick out the sign ‘Vane Farm Animal Welfare Institute’ as they passed. He smiled wryly.

‘That is the place?’ asked Douglas, sounding a little worried.

‘Oh yes, that’s the place. I was just taken with the name, that’s all.’

‘They’re all doing it these days,’ said Douglas, catching on. ‘I suppose it would be asking for trouble to call it Vivisection House or the Institute for Cutting up Wee Furry Things for No Good Reason.’

‘Quite so.’

‘What do they work on there?’

‘Pigs.’

‘Not quite as appealing as bunny rabbits in the emotional stakes, but I guess it doesn’t matter too much to the nutters.’

‘Has there been much trouble with animal activists up here?’ asked Dunbar.

‘A fair bit. They burned down a lab over in Edinburgh a few months ago and a couple of researchers got parcel bombs sent to them. They’re going to kill somebody soon.’

Douglas turned the Land-Rover off the road and parked it a little way down the farm track. He turned out the lights and said, ‘Time to go to work.’ He reached behind him and lifted over a small rucksack and two black balaclavas. He handed one to Dunbar and both men put them on.

‘We’ll go back by the field, hugging the hedgerow until we reach the farm perimeter, then head north along the wire to the northeast corner and go through the wire there. Okay?’

‘Understood.’

Douglas handed Dunbar a pair of wire-cutters and said, ‘I’ll bridge the circuit. You cut the wire.’

They locked the vehicle and slipped quickly off the track down a slight embankment and into the field, where they courted the shadow of the roadside hedge as they made their way back to Vane Farm. Douglas, who led the way, held up his hand and both men dropped to their knees. Dunbar could see the farm gate-house. Through the large, well-lit windows he could see two men. They appeared to be reading.

Douglas gestured to his right and Dunbar followed him as they made their way to the furthest corner of the fence. When they reached the corner-post Douglas removed his rucksack and took out a pair of cables, each with a large crocodile clip on either end. He connected them both in the form of big loops to the fence and Dunbar cut the wire at two places inside the loops so that the electrical circuit was not broken. They separated the severed wires and crawled through the gap, Douglas first, followed by Dunbar after he had re-packed the wire-cutters and passed Douglas’s rucksack through to him.

Douglas signed that they crawl on their bellies from here on. Dunbar felt this was being a bit over-cautious but he was happy to have a companion who was inclined this way rather than the other. He complied without comment. They crawled side by side up to the main building, using their elbows to propel them over the rough ground.

From their position just short of the main door they could see the gate-house. One of the guards was sitting reading a newspaper, facing in their direction. If he looked up while they were unlocking the door, he would see them. Douglas looked at his watch and whispered, ‘Let’s wait a bit. See if he moves.’

Minutes passed and the guard showed no sign of becoming bored with his paper. Douglas and Dunbar exchanged grimaces but steeled themselves to continue the wait. Another ten minutes had gone by before the guard made a play of folding up his paper and picking up a kettle. He got up from his chair and disappeared from view.

‘Let’s do it!’ said Douglas, getting to his feet and running up to the door to insert his card. He punched in the number code while Dunbar looked anxiously towards the gate-house, fearing the imminent return of the guard. The lock stayed shut.

‘C’mon, c’mon!’ muttered Douglas as he re-inserted the card and tried again. Still nothing happened.

‘We’re running out of time!’ hissed Dunbar through his teeth.

Douglas tried once more with the same result just as Dunbar said, ‘He’s back!’

Both men dived headlong to the ground and looked towards the gate-house to see if they had been spotted. The guard opened his paper and sat down.

‘What do we do now?’ whispered Dunbar.

Douglas looked towards the gate-house and said, ‘We could take them?’

Dunbar shook his head. ‘Let’s take a look round the building. There might be another way in.’

‘No windows, no other doors,’ said Douglas. ‘I reccied it, remember?’

‘Humour me,’ said Dunbar. He led the way round to the back of the building, where they were out of sight of the gate-house. They crawled along the back wall, which was featureless apart from a large, square pipe about halfway along.

‘What do you suppose that is?’ Dunbar asked.

‘Some kind of waste pipe?’

They continued along the back wall, still without finding any means of access. The same applied to the end wall. They backed off to see as much of the roof as possible. There were no skylights or unshielded ventilation shafts.

‘I told you,’ said Douglas.

‘Let’s take a closer look at the waste pipe,’ said Dunbar.

The pipe comprised riveted metal sections and was about two feet square. Scraping away the earth round its base, Dunbar uncovered two metal drain covers. Douglas saw what he was about and gave him a hand to raise one of them. The smell that emanated made them both gag.

‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Douglas.

‘Pig slurry,’ said Dunbar. ‘Let’s have the torch.’

Douglas handed him a long rubber-shielded torch and he inspected the pit. The end of the pipe was clear of the slurry. He reached down to check that there was no grille over the end. It was clear. He straightened up and said, ‘I think we could get up the inside of that pipe.’

Douglas screwed up his face at the thought but had to agree it was possible and there appeared to be no other option. He looked down at the slurry pit and asked, ‘How deep do you think it is?’

‘Only one way to find out.’ Dunbar eased himself over the edge of the pit and lowered his legs into the foul morass. It had just covered his knees when he said, ‘I’ve touched bottom.’

‘I’ll have to stash this,’ said Douglas, taking off his rucksack.

Dunbar squatted down so that he could get into the end of the pipe. The smell threatened to overpower him in the confined space as he entered, arms first, then his head and shoulders. He straightened up and tried to find hand-holds on the slimy interior walls. It was difficult, but he found that there was enough space for his fingers to curl over the inner portion of the box joints. If he could pull himself up another three feet, he’d be into the horizontal section of the pipe and could crawl up to the end.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Douglas.

‘So far.’

Dunbar pulled himself agonizingly upwards, using only the tips of his fingers, then managed to scramble in ungainly fashion into the flat section. He crawled slowly along to the far end and found himself up against a wire grille; but he was inside the building. He pushed hard against the grid and it sprang off, enabling him to crawl out into a wide, shallow metal basin. The noises all around him said that he had pigs for company. He turned round to encourage Douglas, who emerged a few moments later, seemingly using a curse for each foot of the way.

‘This is where they keep the pigs,’ said Dunbar.

‘You don’t say,’ replied Douglas sourly.

Douglas turned on his torch. They were standing in the sluice for pig waste. There were two large taps on the wall beside the pipe exit. Dunbar turned one on and started to wash himself down, then waited while Douglas did the same.

‘We’ll probably die of pneumonia now,’ said Douglas, wringing out as much water as he could. ‘But it’s better than smelling like that.’

The two men made their way out of the pig-house and into the main corridor of the building. The lack of windows meant they could use the torch freely, although they didn’t risk turning on any of the main lights. There were several small laboratories, one large one and finally what Dunbar was looking for, an office equipped with computer facilities. He turned on a desk light and started looking for useful information. There were several letters on the desk addressed to James Ross, so he knew he was in the right place. He searched the desk drawers that were unlocked, but there were no disk storage boxes there. The bottom drawer was locked. He asked Douglas for help.

Douglas knelt down to examine the lock and smiled. He brought out what looked like a series of metal spikes and selected one. He looked up at Dunbar as he twisted and turned the spike, all the time feeling for what was going on inside the lock.

‘And … Abra … cadabra!’ he announced as the lock turned and clicked.

Dunbar pulled open the drawer and found a plastic computer disk box. Each disk was meticulously labelled, something he put down to Ross’s nature and something he was extremely grateful for. He put to one side those concerned with accounting and record-keeping and kept the ones marked ‘Experimental Data’ with relevant dates. He turned on the computer.

‘How long are you going to be?’ asked Douglas, anxiety in his voice.

Dunbar reached inside his jerkin and brought out a plastic bag containing several blank disks. ‘Not long,’ he replied. ‘I just have to copy these.’

‘I’ll take a look around,’ said Douglas.

‘Don’t move anything,’ cautioned Dunbar. ‘We don’t want anyone to know Santa’s been.’

Dunbar made copies of the three data disks, switched off the computer and put everything back as he’d found it. ‘That’s it,’ he said when Douglas had returned. ‘Can you lock the drawer again?’

Douglas looked at him as if it was the strangest request he’d ever heard, but complied. He had slightly more trouble locking the drawer than he’d had unlocking it, but it eventually clicked and everything was as it had been.

‘Let’s go,’ said Dunbar.

As they left the office and started to make their way back down to the pig house, Douglas said, ‘Do you notice anything strange?’

‘What?’

‘Take a good look, then think back to how the building looked from the outside.’

Dunbar did as he was bid, shining the torch all over the walls. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘Part of the building is missing. I twigged it while I was having a nose around. Look at the length of the place.’ Douglas swung the torch to and fro. ‘Now think about the length from outside.’

‘You’re right,’ said Dunbar. He pointed the beam straight ahead. ‘That must be a false wall.’

‘If there’s no access from the outside, there has to be a door in here.’