Red Crystal (57 page)

Nick rang off and thought: I wonder.

Now – Victoria.

He hurried across the drive and into the house. The loud whine of an electric saw sounded from the dining-room. Major Phipps was crouching by the cellar door, talking urgently. He was not looking happy with the conversation. As Nick approached, the major flung him an imploring glance.

‘It’s very difficult to be certain,’ he was saying. ‘I’d have to know how much explosive there was. But if it’s a tiny quantity like you say, then it’s
very
unlikely.’ He added hastily. ‘Look, I’ve got to dash now. But Sergeant Ryder’s here. I know he wants to have a word with you.’

He stood up and whispered to Nick, ‘She’s asking all sorts of questions about the devices. Seems to be worried about one setting off the other. Anyway – I’ve reassured her as best I can.’ He indicated the dining-room. ‘Got to get back. That floor’s made of ship’s timbers with enormous cross-beams. It’s taking longer than I thought to get through.’ He strode off, looking immensely relieved to be returning to the job in hand.

Nick sat down and put his mouth to the door. ‘Hello, Victoria.’

‘Hello. I’m glad you’re here.’ Her tone was brisk. ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Promise to tell me the truth?’

Nick hesitated. He didn’t want to be put in an awkward corner. He murmured reluctantly, ‘I’ll try.’

‘Tell me why they’re not coming through the door.’

So that was it. He couldn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t know. It couldn’t make things any worse, and the uncertainty was obviously bothering her.

‘A note was found. Saying the door was booby-trapped.’

‘But it
isn’t
. I would have seen.’

‘Well – it isn’t that we don’t believe you. It’s just – we don’t want to take any chances with your safety.’

There was a silence.

‘They’ll be through the ceiling in no time. It’s safer this way. You
do
see?’

‘Yes.’

‘How’s Sir Henry?’

‘He’s all right. I spoke to him a moment ago.’

Now for the awkward bit. ‘Victoria, something’s come up. The terrorists have asked for a plane to be laid on at the airport. And – I have to go.’

A pause. ‘I understand.’ Her voice was so low he could barely hear it.

‘Believe me, I would stay if I could. I’m sorry.’

He could imagine her, sitting there on the step, feeling alone. He had promised to stay, and now he was breaking his word.

‘I’ll come back and see you just as soon as I can. The minute the airport business is over. And that’s a definite promise. You’ll be out of here by then.’ He struggled on, wishing she would reply and ease the moment along. ‘And then I’ll make sure you’re looked after. I promise.’

‘That’s all right.’ Her voice was ragged and uneven. ‘I’ll see you later. When you get back.’

He sighed. He felt a bit of a heel.

‘Goodbye then, Victoria. Remember, I’ll be thinking of you.’

‘Tell me, have you got fair wavy hair? Longish?’

Her question took him by surprise. ‘Yes.’

‘I remember you then. I remember what you look like.’

He laughed, ‘You’ll know who to be angry with then.’ Looking at his watch, he said a last goodbye and hurried away.

Henry wondered if it wasn’t better to be without hope. Then at least you knew where you were. But he dismissed the thought almost immediately: better to live with the uncertainties of hope than to die alone and in despair.

The hum of the saws was getting louder by the minute. They should be through very soon now. Then—

Then, he reminded himself, it could still end in disaster. The only difference was that other people would die with him. That worried him. It was unnecessary.

At the same time, the hope that everything would end well had grown steadily in his mind. He had resisted it at first, but now he let it lift and sustain him. It could do no harm. It took his mind off the fact that he was exceedingly thirsty and that the pins and needles which had plagued his right leg for some hours had given way to a dull aching numbness. No: hope could do no harm … Better to pass the time thinking of a future with Caroline than to brood about having no future at all.

He imagined himself and Caroline sitting on a beach. The baby was playing in the sand nearby. He noted that the beach was nowhere near Venice. Venice didn’t seem important any more.

The three of them were bathed in a glow of warm yellow light. The light of happiness. He had always doubted that people’s hearts could swell with love, but he felt it happen to him now.

He pulled himself up. He was getting dangerously sentimental. It wouldn’t do to be in an emotional state.

There was an especially loud noise.

Were they through?

If only he could see into the main cellar. But he must be patient.

‘
Henry?
’ Victoria’s voice was hardly audible above the noise.

He drew breath to reply but the sound grew louder and the effort was too great.

The next moment there was a crumbling sound and the patter of falling plaster.

Suddenly the patter grew to a deep rumble and a great whoosh of air blew across the box, bringing a dense cloud of fine white dust in its wake.

Henry coughed and tried to turn his head away, but the dust was everywhere, filling his nose and lungs.

He coughed more violently, but with each gasp he sucked in more of the dense, choking dust. He couldn’t
breathe
. As he fought desperately for the air that wasn’t there he felt the beginnings of a cold remorseless panic.

Victoria raised her head from her chest. The fine white dust hung suspended in the air like a cloud. Coughing violently, she peered down into the cellar. It was almost impossible to see.

‘Henry?
Henry?
’

She called until she was hoarse but there was no reply. In exasperation she turned to the door and shouted for help. Why wasn’t anybody
there
?

At last someone replied. She recognized the voice of the army man.

She cried, ‘Quick –
quick
– you must help.’ She could hear herself babbling. ‘Henry – I think something’s happened to him. Please –
help
.’

‘We’re not quite through yet.’ The man was using the tone that adults use to placate small children. ‘In fact, I’m afraid there may be a lot more dust. We can’t quite see – but it looks as though the entire ceiling may come down. It’s obviously a bit dicky. Can you hold on in there?’

She coughed harshly, trying to clear her lungs. Regaining her breath, she begged, ‘
Please
– why don’t you come in through the door?’

‘Er – well, we might end up doing that. But we’re going to press on with the ceiling. Just for the moment.’ He spoke with finality.

She shook her head. It was a nightmare. A sort of Mad Hatter’s tea party where, for no apparent reason, everyone did the opposite of what they should. Through the depths of her tiredness she couldn’t work out why.

She called to Henry again.
Nothing
.

The hearty voice was still there. ‘Just hold on, won’t you!’ it said, full of forced optimism. ‘All right?’

‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘Ah. Don’t you worry yourself about that. Plenty of time yet. Got to go and see how the lads are doing. Back in a mo.’

Victoria knew then.
Of course
. He hadn’t dared tell her. That there wasn’t much time at all. How long? Half an hour. Ten minutes.
Less
?

There was still no sound from Henry. She couldn’t bear it. He
had
to be all right. That was the whole
point
of everything … The reason for making all this effort: this keeping going for hour after hour, this good behaviour, this talking through the door as if everything was normal. She couldn’t
bear
it if all that had been for nothing. Henry
had
to be all right. Without him, nothing would ever be the slightest bit right again.

Her own future tightened round her like a band. She could feel it encircling her head. In time it would crush her. There would be no escape from what she had done. No forgiveness. People would always remember: she didn’t blame them. The shame would be with her always. Unbearable. And lonely. And she
would
be alone. Alone and lonely. She was fat and ugly, she could see that now. Men might be kind, like that police sergeant, but no one would ever want her. Not really. No. She could see that now.

She felt ashamed to think about such things. What mattered was the poor young policeman lying in the pool of blood, appallingly dead because of her, and Henry suffocating in that dreadful box.

A sudden vision of Giorgio came into her mind. She saw herself swinging the metal bar like a mad animal, the blows crushing his head. Then in some extraordinary way he was all right again and getting up and coming towards her, smiling secretly, knowing he could make her do it all over
again
.

The thought was loathsome because it was
true
. Or was it? What was true? She couldn’t think. It was all getting very strange. Nothing was quite real any more. A deep weariness pulled at her, confusing her thoughts. And yet one idea remained vividly clear.

Someone
must
get to Henry. If anything happened, she would never forgive herself.

Tears slipped down her round cheeks. She knew what she must do.

It should be safe, the army man had said so. The small brick cellar was far enough away …

She gave herself a moment to let the intolerable pressure of thoughts subside. Then she grasped at two simple, comforting ideas. That she would soon be released from the burden of what she had done. And that Henry would be all right.

Then it was easy.

She screwed up her eyes and, uttering a loud cry, stood up.

Nick cried, ‘
Pull over!
’

The driver beside him didn’t need any encouragement. He was white as a sheet. Finding a lay-by, he swerved in and braked to a halt.

The four of them sat in silence, listening to the flat monotonal voice on the radio.

‘… The second subject is okay. The army is through and working on him now. Over.’

The mike lay forgotten in Nick’s hand. The driver took it from him and acknowledged.

Nick put his head in his hands.

One of the detectives in the back said, ‘Thank God for that. Only the girl. I thought for a moment—’

‘Yeah,’ said another. ‘Lucky they didn’t both go up. At least there’s a chance now. For
him
.’

‘I wonder what happened,’ murmured the driver. ‘Think it was on a timer?’

‘No. She probably panicked and thought she could run away from it.’

Nick flung open the door and, walking a few yards away, drew in some deep draughts of cool fresh air.

‘T
HANK YOU, SIR.
That seems to give me the picture.’ Captain Edwin Harris, Royal Engineers, specialist in bomb disposal for more than twenty years, spoke cheerfully, not only because he wanted to reassure the pale tense figure lying in the box, but because he
was
quite cheerful. This was going to be a challenge, and if one didn’t like the idea of meeting challenges then one had no business being in bomb disposal.

He sat in thought for a moment, going over what Sir Henry had told him, trying to picture the form that the infernal device – as it was known in the trade – might take. Possibly a time-delay fuse, if Sir Henry had overheard the terrorists correctly. Four or five sticks of explosive, nine or ten inches long. Possibly this mixture of TNT and ammonium nitrate called Nitramite 19C, if the terrorists were using the same stuff as before. Not that the exact make was vital. All explosives went bang.

The exact make and type of detonator didn’t matter that much either. What really counted was the initiator. If it was a delayed-action fuse, as the terrorists had suggested, then the delaying mechanism might be electrical or chemical. If electrical, there must be a timing device, and a sophisticated one at that – not an ordinary clock and certainly not an egg-timer – since it had been set over twelve hours before. A chemical delay was unlikely but not impossible. The method favoured by anarchists involved filling a rubber contraceptive with acid which slowly burnt its way through on to a highly combustible substance. But it was unreliable, since one could never be sure how long the process would take.

No. If it was a delayed-action fuse, then he was pretty sure it must be electrical. First thing, then, was to have a good listen. From his box of tricks he took out a device not unlike a doctor’s stethoscope, except it was powered by batteries which amplified sounds up to five times. He listened for a good three minutes, moving the sensor from place to place on the surface of the box. He was listening for any sort of ticking, or the click of an electrical timer. Around the stomach area, where the device was apparently located, all he could hear was Sir Henry’s laboured breathing. It was possible that a faint sound could be lost behind it.

So – it could still be anything. At this stage it was important not to rule anything out. He must keep his mind open to every possibility.

One possibility – and quite a strong one, he believed – was that it wasn’t a delayed-action fuse at all, but a mechanical initiator that would be triggered by the opening of the box or the handling of the device itself.