Storm Crow

by Jeff Gulvin

  15

  WHEN THEY HAD BUILT the glass-panelled room, Huella relaxed for nearly a month. He did nothing but sit in the house and read books: Tolstoy and Chekhov—the short stories rather than the plays. He did not watch TV, did not go out, but he exercised in his bedroom, countless numbers of press-ups and stomach crunches. Gravitz got bored. He hated English TV. There was no satellite dish, so he couldn’t get any American sport and he could not stand soccer. He could not understand why they did not just get on with it. When he asked, Huella looked at him sadly.

  ‘Timing, Richard.’

  ‘What d’you mean—timing? We’re paying for this.’

  ‘You are. And you’re getting your money’s worth. There is planning here, an immense amount of planning. There’s a certain way of doing things.’

  ‘Why don’t we just go boom bang and get on with it?’

  ‘Like you did in Oklahoma?’ Huella sneered at him. ‘McVeigh was caught within eighty minutes, wasn’t he.’

  Two weeks into October, Huella made a phone call. He spoke for only a few minutes and then hung up. The following night, a car drove up from the main road with no lights. Gravitz was watching television and did not hear it. Huella heard it from the kitchen and stiffened. He waited, the front door open a fraction, and listened as it drove along the main road at the top of the track. The driver stopped and sat idling for almost a minute before turning into the farm itself. Huella went through to the living room, where Gravitz sat with one leg draped across the arm of a chair.

  ‘We have a visitor,’ he said. ‘He’ll be hungry.’

  Gravitz looked up at him.

  ‘Go and make him some food.’

  The car pulled up outside and a man got out. From the boot, he took two dark-coloured bundles and carried them under his arms. Huella opened the door quickly and he stepped inside. Tal-Salem, no beard and cropped hair like a skinhead. He looked through the kitchen doorway at Gravitz.

  ‘That the one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tal-Salem’s lips parted in a thin smile and he handed Huella the bundles.

  Huella took them, plastic sealed suits in green, with rubber overboots and inner and outer gloves. Two waist bags with straps and, inside, two respirators.

  ‘That one is yours,’ Tal-Salem told him and patted one of the bags. Huella nodded and lifted the other one. He took out the black mask with the twin eye goggles in rubber and unscrewed the metal casing on the respirator. One glance told him all he needed to know and he rescrewed it again.

  ‘Have you got everything else?’ Tal-Salem asked him.

  ‘The crystals came in copper.’

  ‘Is it as good as we’re told?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. But we will.’

  Tal-Salem nodded. ‘You will need this,’ he said, and from his pocket he fished a tiny bottle of pentyl acetate. Huella took it quickly and slipped it into his own pocket. ‘And this.’ Tal-Salem handed him another bottle and Huella put that into a separate pocket. Tal-Salem went through to the kitchen then and sat down. He did not speak to Gravitz, just ate his food, smoked a cigarette and left.

  In the morning Huella was up at six. He knocked on Gravitz’s door and told him this was the day he had been waiting for. By seven o’clock they were in the cellar. Huella had laid out the suits. ‘You’ve done this before?’

  Gravitz looked at him. ‘I was in the service.’

  ‘Then I’ll dress you first. You’re more used to being in the suit than I am.’ Huella smiled at him and broke the seal on the nuclear, biological and chemical warfare suit. It came in two pieces, the trousers with tie-up braces and a jacket with plenty of pockets and a hood. Army olive green and lined with charcoal. He had to prise the legs of the trousers apart and then Gravitz leaned against him while he pressed his feet through. Huella wrapped the ties over Gravitz’s shoulders, then fastened them at the waist. Next, he pulled the smock-style jacket over his head and tied the strap at the bottom. There was Velcro on the bottoms of the trousers and on the sleeves. Huella helped him into his overboots and fastened the laces for him. Then he sealed the trouser legs with the Velcro fasteners. Gravitz pulled on the white cotton inner gloves and Huella fastened the Velcro on the sleeves. The rubber gloves were awkward. Huella made Gravitz stand side-on with one foot facing forwards and held open the gloves while Gravitz worked his hands into them. Huella flattened the joints between the fingers for maximum dexterity. He wrapped the tops above the wrists in reams of black DPM tape to ensure that nothing could get inside. Then he picked up Gravitz’s respirator bag and took out the rubber mask. Gravitz pulled it on and pressed it into his face.

  ‘Can you breathe?’ Huella asked him.

  Gravitz nodded. Huella made him bend forwards and he pulled the hood up, pressing the elasticated edges round the rim of the mask.

  ‘OK?’

  Gravitz gave him the thumbs up and Huella handed him a plastic bottle of Fuller’s Earth. ‘If you touch or spill anything, use this straight away.’

  Gravitz nodded.

  Finally, Huella took the second bottle that Tal-Salem had given him and unscrewed the lid.

  ‘Acetate?’ Gravitz asked him.

  Huella nodded and waved it under his nose. ‘Can you smell anything?’

  Gravitz shook his head.

  ‘Good. Now do me.’

  When Huella was suited, he took the other bottle of pentyl acetate and checked his respirator. He could smell nothing. They were ready. He led the way into the passage from the cellar, the door of which he had also fitted with the sealing foam. The outside door to the final workshop was locked and sealed with mastic. The same had been done to the small window at the back.

  They closed the doors behind them as they went, passage door to the cellar, trap door to the first workshop and the two adjoining doors after that. The glass room was ready, the door they had fashioned standing open. Inside was the bench with the heating apparatus and the bottles of nitric and hydrochloric acid. The sealed copper tube was still wrapped in oil cloth on the other bench. Huella picked it up with gloved hands and they both stepped into the eight by four ‘dirty room’. On the shelf under the bench lay a short length of scaffolding pipe.

  The workbench was three feet wide and two feet deep. The heating apparatus and the glass bottles were set at the far end. Huella placed the copper tube into the fixed vice and tightened it. Gravitz picked up a small hacksaw they had laid out in readiness and started to saw off the top of the tube. It took him a few minutes and when it fell off, he stepped back. Huella had laid a sheet of white paper on the bench next to the vice. He held the tube in one hand while slowly loosening the pressure of the vice. He lifted the tube clear and poured the contents very carefully on to the paper. Gravitz bent low, aware of the rasp of his breathing through the respirator, and studied the crystals scattered now on the paper. Blue-white metal, already they were beginning to oxidize, turning a browny black at the edges. Huella lifted the paper from each side and the crystals slid into the furrow. He poured half of them into the bulbous glass jar, set at an angle of forty-five degrees over the burner.

  Gravitz unscrewed the lid on the bottle of nitric acid. He poured it over the top of the crystals, which immediately fizzed and began to dissolve. As soon as he had finished, Huella fixed the vaporizing tube fitted with a thermometer over the top of the jar. It was now a sealed unit, the pouring spout blocked by a rubber bung. He turned on the gas, lit the burner and moved away from the bench.

  He held the copper tube while Gravitz poured the remaining crystals back. Then Huella took a separate rubber bung from the bench and secured the sawn end. They both moved out of the dirty room and Huella laid the tube on the other workbench. He leaned his head close to Gravitz. ‘Get the charge.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, now. I want to shape it. Don’t worry, without a detonator it’s harmless.’

  Huella watched the rising temperature carefully through the secure glass panel. It had to heat to 120 degrees
and remain at that temperature for exactly four minutes. Any longer and it could explode. He could feel the tendrils of sweat on his brow, the mask pinching his face. He was suddenly aware of his breathing, consciously taking in each gasp of restricted air. Gravitz came back with the Semtex and laid it out on the other bench.

  ‘Watch the temperature gauge and the clock,’ Huella told him.

  Gravitz took over from him, face close to the wall of glass, and Huella set about making a conical-shaped charge from the Semtex, less than two ounces, but more than enough for his requirements. When it was ready, he left it on the bench. Gravitz looked over at him and nodded. They both went back into the dirty room and Huella cut the gas supply to the burner. The blue flame died and the vapour in the jar began to settle. They watched as it cooled and began to re-form as a yellow-coloured liquid, like bad mescal or urine.

  ‘What’s the crystal derivative?’ Gravitz said. ‘I thought we’d have to do a lot more than this.’

  Huella shook his head. ‘That part was done months ago. All it needed was heat and acid.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you really want to know? If you knew, you could tell someone.’ Huella felt the sweat in his eyes now. When the solution was cool, they had to pour it. He looked at Gravitz.

  ‘You OK?’ His voice was muffled and Gravitz cocked his head to hear him. ‘Are you OK?’ Huella repeated.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good. Get the water.’

  Gravitz picked up the larger jar, which contained half a gallon of water, and set it down by the burner. Huella uncoupled the sealed jar from the bracket. He looked sideways at Gravitz. ‘You pour it. I’ve got to put the charge in the pipe.’ They swapped places and Huella lifted the scaffolding pipe from underneath the bench. Gravitz picked up the jar.

  ‘Take the bung out and wait for thirty seconds before you pour.’ Huella indicated the clock on the wall. ‘It has to oxidize for exactly thirty seconds before dilution.’

  Gravitz nodded and Huella stepped outside the door and eased it to with his heel.

  He carried the pipe to the bench where he had prepared the shaped Semtex charge and then looked round. Gravitz had the bung out of the neck of the spout, his eyes fixed on the second hand of the clock. All at once he jolted, almost dropping the bottle. Huella moved to the glass. Gravitz looked at him and Huella could see his eyes were balling inside the mask. He put the jar on the bench and coughed, body buckling over. He stumbled, got to the door and pushed it open. Huella stepped aside and let him past, then quickly he replaced the bung in the jar.

  Gravitz was choking. Huella could hear him and he stepped out of the dirty room. Gravitz looked at him again and then retched. He vomited into his mask and hauled it over his head. His lips were blue and the blood vessels had burst in his eyes. He felt his bowels go and excrement slip down the backs of his legs. He tried to get to Huella, but he moved aside. Gravitz fell against the bench, his fingers gripped the scaffolding pipe and locked. He spasmed, then crashed to the floor and rolled on to his back, still holding the pipe. His body went rigid and his eyes rolled. He started to blabber incoherently and then the muscles in his face locked up.

  Huella had seen enough. He left Gravitz lying on the floor with his eyes beginning to push against their sockets and went through into the second workshop. From there, he made his way to the cellar and climbed the steps to the hall. The door directly across was a shower room. He moved quickly over to it, knowing he was taking a chance, and then stepped into the shower, still dressed in the suit. The water was freezing and he stood under it for nearly twenty minutes. When he was finished, he patted the suit down with paper towels and then stripped it off and dumped it in the plastic bin liner lying on the floor. He had not touched Gravitz and he had only touched the bung and jar with his gloves. These he washed and rewashed before he took them off.

  When he was naked, he climbed the stairs to the other bathroom. Here, he showered and soaped himself for a further fifteen minutes, then he dried and dressed. Hurriedly now he packed his things, being careful to leave nothing behind. Outside was the car that Gravitz had bought and registered. Huella fastened his bag and then went through to Gravitz’s room. He took all evidence of his ID and most of the money from his wallet. Then he went outside, leaving the farmhouse door open. He resisted the temptation to walk across the yard and peek through the window to see if Gravitz was dead yet. He should be. Huella must have watched him for about two minutes. He would lie in a state of paraesthesia for three minutes more and then his heart would stop.

  He drove south and on through Stanhope, where he passed the police station housed in the old building on the corner. He carried on south until he got to Eggleston, then he pulled over at a phone box and dialled 999.

  ‘Which service, please?’ the operator asked him.

  ‘Police. I want to report a burglary.’

  ‘What’s your name, sir?’

  ‘Learning. Colin Learning.’

  ‘And your address?’

  ‘Never mind that. I think the burglars are still there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Healey Hall Farm.’ He put the phone down and got back in the car. It was low on fuel and he stopped at a Texaco station on the A68. From there, he drove back to the A1 and then south. When he got to the first Leeds exit he stopped at the service station, got out of the car and walked to the red Lancia that was waiting. Tal-Salem, sitting behind the wheel, leaned across to open the passenger door. ‘Just the one of you, then.’ Huella looked through the windscreen and smiled.

  Harrison went to church. Jakob Salvesen was preaching in Passover that night and Harrison told Lisa he was going. October, Sunday, and still quite warm. Five of them were nigger-fishing out at Magic Reservoir: Harrison and Lisa, Chief now more than ensconced with Belinda again, and Danny Dugger still on his own, but with hope; three poles between them, lying back on the beach, with a cooler full of beer.

  ‘Church, Harrison,’ Lisa said when he told her. ‘When did you ever go to church?’

  ‘Never,’ Harrison said. ‘But my grandma’s sick and she’s the only family I got.’

  ‘So, you’re going to go to church?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Jake Salvesen’s church.’

  ‘What other church is there?’

  ‘Goddamn, Harrison. I never figured you for religion.’

  ‘Neither did I, Guffy. But I’m forty-eight years old and I haven’t tried church yet. I don’t mean to make a habit of it, but I’ll give it a shot one time.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in the bar when you come out.’

  Jesse Tate was there and so were Bill Slusher, Drake and his wife and kids, Wingo and a whole bunch of townspeople from Passover. They were singing the first hymn when Harrison slipped inside and quietly took a seat at the back. He scraped the faded baseball hat from his head, but he didn’t sing. He hadn’t come here for the singing, he’d come to listen to what Salvesen was going to say to his flock. As usual the address would be broadcast nationwide and Harrison imagined the likes of BobCat Reece and his friends glued to their radio sets.

  He had to sit through two more hymns and the people got a little louder, hands started being raised and people were swaying in the aisles. Harrison felt more than a little uncomfortable. The things I do for this job, he thought to himself. At last, though, the congregation settled down and Salvesen got up in the pulpit, resting his hands on the lectern. If he spotted Harrison hunched in his seat at the back, he did not show it.

  ‘Daniel, chapter seven,’ he was saying, ‘has been considered—right from the earliest Hebrew scholars to modern-day evangelicals like myself—the most important chapter in the whole of the Bible. I’ll read you some and then maybe discuss it a little bit.’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon Daniel had a dream and visions of his head upon his bed: then he wrote the dream, and told the sum of the matters.

  Daniel spake
and said, I saw in my vision by night, and, behold, the four winds of the heaven strove upon the great sea.

  And four great beasts came up from the sea, diverse one from another.

  The first was like a lion, and had eagle’s wings: I beheld it till the wings thereof were plucked, and it was lifted up from the earth, and made to stand upon the feet as a man, and a man’s heart was given to it.

  And behold another beast, a second, like to a bear, and it raised up itself on one side, and it had three ribs in the mouth of it between the teeth of it: and they said thus unto it, Arise, and devour much flesh.

  After this I beheld, and lo another, like a leopard, which had upon the back of it four wings of a fowl; the beast had also four heads; and dominion was given to it.

  After this I saw in the night visions, and behold a fourth beast, dreadful and terrible, and strong exceedingly; and it had great iron teeth: it devoured and brake in pieces, and stamped the residue with the feet of it: and it was diverse from all the beasts that were before it; and it had ten horns.’

  Salvesen stopped talking for a moment and looked at the written word in front of him. Then he looked up at his audience and his eyes were tight, pitted almost in the reddened flesh of his face. ‘Those four beasts, my friends, were four empires, kingdoms if you like, that would “bear rule”, so the Bible tells us, which literally means have authority over all the known world at the time.’ He paused and scratched the side of his nose with a fleshy finger. ‘Now, when we look at chapter two, you’ll recall the dream of King Nebuchadnezzar. He saw a beast divided in gold, silver and bronze; feet and toes of clay and iron.’ He inhaled audibly. ‘The interpretation that the angel of the Lord gave to Daniel in both cases is the same—four kingdoms which would hold dominion over the earth.