The Night of the Triffids (45 page)

    As I took my turn on guard at the barricade Sam ambled along, a cup of coffee in his hand. After gazing for a moment at the silent elevators he rubbed his now-stubbled jaw. 'You know,' he said, 'I'm beginning to take the view that our people didn't succeed in capturing the building. They'd have contacted us by now, surely.'

    'But then, we haven't heard from Torrence's men, either.'

    'That's true… that's very true.' Thoughtfully he ran his finger along the bridge of his nose. 'But we do hold what Torrence now considers his most valuable assets.'

    'Christina.'

    'And yourself, don't forget. You, David, are Torrence's key to the Isle of Wight and that machine of yours that turns triffid sap into gasoline. Both are of huge value to him. And both, if they were in his hands, would enable him to continue building his empire until…' Sam stretched out his arms as if encompassing the whole globe. 'Well… I don't think Torrence has set a limit on his ambitions, do you?'

    'So you think it's unlikely that Torrence will send his Guardsmen in here firing off machine guns and hurling grenades?'

    'Not yet.'

    'So it's a case of sit tight and see what he does first.'

    'Or do you think we should take the war to him?'

    I shrugged. 'I'm just uneasy about giving him time to cook up some plan.'

    'But sitting up here on the ninetieth floor leaves us with no place to go.'

    'I agree. Maybe we should consider trying to find out what's happening on the ground. After all, there is a third possibility.'

    'And that is?'

    'That maybe Torrence has lost the battle too. What if the triffids have taken control of the place?'

    'I guess you might be right about that.' He pondered. 'Mmm. You know, I think I'll ask Gabe if he'll take a little walk downstairs - if his leg's up to it.'

    Gabriel Deeds was keen for some action. He snatched up the machine gun.

    'No heroics, Gabe,' Sam told him. 'Just see if you can find out what's happening down there, then get back here as fast you can. OK?'

    'OK.' He picked up a couple of grenades in one huge hand. 'But I might lay a couple of these eggs on the way.'

    I followed Gabriel to the stairwell. He still limped along, using the broom as a crutch, but he wasn't going to let a little thing like a bullet wound slow him down. Reaching the stairs, he took the first step down. Quickly I stopped him descending further, then put my finger to my lips, because faintly, hardly more than a faint echo, I'd heard a stealthy footstep.

    I eased back the hammer of my revolver. Then, leaning forward a little, I called down the stairwell, 'Sacramento!'

    My voice went echoing downward. There followed a long pause.

    I called again, 'Sacramento!'

    Then came an echoing answer: 'California!'

    My shot in answer to that went ricocheting down the stairwell.

    Clearly Gabriel wouldn't be making his descent along
that
route. For the next ten minutes he and I hauled desks from a nearby office before shoving them down the stairs. By the time we'd finished anyone making a dash up the steps would have to climb over a messy tangle of furniture. Of course, that left the staircase ascending to the next level. I noticed that a gate could be drawn fully across it. Without a padlock we made do with lengths of electric-light flex, until the gate was firmly tied in place. I added the finishing touch with a hand grenade taped to a table leg, the pin attached by a cord to the gate. Anyone managing to open the gate would encounter a rather nasty as well as a very noisy surprise.

    We reported back to Sam.

    'I guess now we know,' he said in a low voice. 'Torrence must have beaten our people. His Guardsmen are in charge of the building.'

    It wasn't long after that that a telephone rang. Sam looked at it for a moment, then commented, 'I guess someone wants to parley.'

    That someone was Torrence himself. He confirmed that his men held the building. That the triffid invasion had been thwarted and that his cohorts had their tight grip on the throat of Manhattan once more. He demanded our immediate and unconditional surrender.

    Sam suggested that Torrence might like to take a trip to hell. Then he put the phone down.

    When Torrence rang back again he (through gritted teeth, I imagine) offered more moderate terms. A safe passage out of New York in return for Christina Schofield. Magnanimously, he even said that I could walk free too.

    Sam said he'd think about it. Then he put the phone down again.

    'Of course I don't trust the guy one inch,' Sam told us. 'He'll double-cross us the moment we walk out of here.'

    'That doesn't give us a lot of options,' Gabriel said. 'So what now?'

    'Well, how I see it, we either sit tight, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't dare risk injuring Christina in an all-out attack. Or we surrender. Or we find some alternative way out of this place.' His blue eyes were grave as he looked at each of us each in turn. 'So, ladies and gentlemen… do you have any ideas?'

    

    

    

    SAM Dymes pointed out that now wasn't the time to rush into making a decision. Torrence wouldn't hurry to take us by force up there on the ninetieth floor. He too could bide his time until our resolve crumbled bit by bit. Equally, we could not wait here for ever. So when Torrence telephoned again Sam began to negotiate. This went on until late afternoon.

    At a little after six that evening Kerris held up her hand. 'Wait: does anyone hear that?'

    'That's shooting.' Sam said.

    'But who's shooting whom?' Gabriel went to the elevator doors, gun at the ready.

    I joined him at the elevator. By pressing my good ear to the doors I could hear the sound of gunfire echoing up the shaft. Initially, the gunfire rattled continuously. Then, at last, it subsided to sporadic single shots. Moments later there was silence.

    Sam stood, his head cocked to one side, listening for more sounds. At last he said, 'Well, what the hell happened down there?'

    We moved back behind the barrier of office furniture. As we did so I heard a buzzing sound. I hunted for the source of the noise until I came across a small wooden box on which were a series of switches.

    'It's the intercom,' Kerris said. 'Someone's trying to get in touch with us on the internal system.'

    Sam looked at it suspiciously for a moment. 'Why don't they use the phone like they did before?'

    'Maybe the telephone system is down?'

    'OK.' Sam picked up the wooden box. It was attached to a cable that snaked away to the wall. 'Now, how do you switch this thing on?'

    'Here, let me.' Kerris flicked a switch on the box.

    Sam didn't say anything. He just listened. A faint hiss of static came from the speaker. Then, tentatively, 'Hello?'

    A male voice came over the speaker. 'Sacramento.'

    A flicker of hope lit Sam's eyes. Giving the answering code word, he asked, 'Who's this?'

    'Sergeant Gregory Campbell, Foresters' Marines, C division, sir.'

    'Is Lieutenant Truscott there?'

    'Sorry, he was killed just a moment ago, sir. There's been a hell of a battle down here.'

    'What's the position?'

    'We regrouped with other elements of the force, sir. Then we launched another attack on the building around half an hour ago.'

    'You're holding it now, Campbell?'

    'Yes, sir, but we can't hold it for long. Respectfully, sir, you've got to get the hell down to the lobby so we can get away. Enemy tanks will be here any minute.'

    'Thank you, Campbell. We'll be right down.'

    Sam looked at us. 'It looks as if we've just got our ticket out of here.'

    Here the elevators were automatic. Gabriel pressed the call button and within moments the elevator duly arrived.

    As the doors closed on us for the long descent Sam said, 'Keep bunched tight around Christina when we get out in the lobby. Keep your guns ready, too.' His troubled eyes locked on the descending hand of the floor indicator. 'After all, we don't know what we're going to find down there, do we?'

    I glanced at Kerris. She gave me a reassuring smile and I felt her hand rest against my forearm.

    What we did find came as a surprise. The lobby was empty. I looked round, noticing blackened smears on the marble floor where grenades had exploded, along with the rust-coloured marks of dried bloodstains, too. As I stepped out of the elevator with my companions I saw the ruined furniture had been cleared away. Strangely, despite the sounds of battle we'd heard earlier, there wasn't a single spent cartridge to be seen.

    In the doorway at the entrance of the building stood a lone Foresters' Marine armed with a rifle, the characteristic green bandanna around his neck.

    'This way, sir,' he called. 'Please hurry.'

    Even from this distance I saw that his face burned a bright red colour. Suddenly I realized he was blushing with embarrassment - or with shame.

    We were halfway across the vast expanse of marble floor when I heard Gabriel mutter, 'I don't like the look of this… something isn't right.'

    Another five paces - and then something strange happened to the lone Marine. He suddenly shot backwards. As he flew back through the doorway he gave a strangled cry. 'I'm sorry! I didn't want-'

    As he disappeared through the doorway a dozen black-uniformed figures took his place. Without any fuss they pointed machine guns at us.

    We aimed our own weapons back at them.

    Stepping between the Guardsmen came a man I'd seen before. It was Rory Masterfield, the sharp-faced man I'd met on the steamship that first brought me to New York. Dressed in trousers and an open-necked shirt he held out his arms to show he was unarmed.

    'Kerris. Ask your friends to put down their guns.'

    'No.'

    '
Tell them
,' Masterfield insisted. 'There's no point in you all dying over this.'

    'We're walking out of here,' Kerris shouted. 'Tell your men to clear the way.'

    'You know you'll not get through the doorway. There are hundreds of our soldiers out in the road.'

    'You won't shoot.'

    'Won't we?'

    'No. Because you won't risk injuring Christina. Torrence values what she has too much for that.'

    'Then we've reached an impasse, haven't we?'

    As he said the words he stepped back. Then he put both arms straight up, above his head.

    I interpreted that as a signal to someone. I glanced round for hidden snipers. Above my head electricians had made a start on rigging temporary lighting to replace the chandeliers smashed during yesterday's firefight.

    Only no light bulbs hung down from the cables. Instead there were long thin wires from which objects that looked like candles dangled.

    Sam noticed them, too. He pulled a grenade from his belt. I raised the muzzle of my gun. Seeing that blue-black gun barrel come up to bear on the Guardsmen in the doorway was the last thing I remembered with any clarity for a while.

    For right then it felt as if the entire building had crashed down upon my head.

    The first perception after that to make any sense to me was my recollection of looking up and seeing that wire-festooned ceiling. Hanging down from the wires, like a strange kind of fruit, had been sticks of dynamite.

    I never did hear the actual detonation. (At least, I had no
memory
of having heard it - one of the effects of the concussion. I guess.) But I felt its effects, all right. When I opened my eyes all I could see were blurred pairs of boots hurrying around my head. At that moment I could still hear nothing. In fact, it felt as if my ears were stuffed with cotton wool. However, I could feel a distinct pins-and-needles sensation in my face.

    For the moment I was content to lie there on the floor, because the world had taken to lurching dizzily around me. But even as I decided that standing upright wasn't really for me, hands seized my clothing to hoist me roughly to me feet. I blinked and my blurred vision improved. To my right stood Gabriel Deeds. Blood streamed from his nose while one eye was closed by an almighty swelling.

    I looked to my left. Kerris stood there, her face as white as paper. My hearing came back in a rush accompanied by ringing sounds that, I guessed, came from somewhere inside my blast-addled head. Behind me was Sam Dymes, his face blackened by the effects of the explosion. And there was the rest of our dishevelled team: Christina, Marni, the Marine and two undercover operatives.

    While milling all around us in a state of high excitement were dozens of Guardsmen. I saw Rory Masterfield watching me with an expression on his face that could only be described as smug.

    I winced as the smarting around my eyes intensified. Being a little taller than average I figured I was paying the price for my face being nearer the explosion. Flash burns were beginning to make their stinging presence felt.

    Hands grasped my arms as I was searched for any weapon that I might still have concealed up a sleeve or down a boot. Presently the Guardsmen were satisfied. One of them shouted back towards the entrance, 'Prisoners secured!'

    The line of black uniforms parted in front of me.

    A tall figure strolled forward. And once more I found myself looking into that resolute face with its one green and one yellow eye. Torrence looked pleased with himself. He regarded my face closely, as if I were some much-sought-after antique. 'Yes,' he said at length. 'You do look remarkably like your father, Masen.' He smiled at me. 'Now, in a little while, I'll be able to repay Bill Masen for this.' He pointed at his egg-yolk eye. 'Believe me, I will be paying him. back with interest. And how
is
your mother, Josella Playton?'