by Ellis, Tim
‘Good, because I have the feeling that this is going to be anything but straightforward.’
‘Where are Herbert and Doll?’
He ignored the question.
It didn’t take them long to reach the cavern where the tunnel split into three.
‘Okay, left or right?’ Caesar asked. He knelt down to examine the ground and the railway track at the entrance to each tunnel, but it didn’t help him to reach a decision. It was down to a roll of the dice. Or . . . He began counting under his breath:
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch a piggy by the toe.
If he squeals, let him go,
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
‘Right tunnel,’ he said, pleased with himself that he had reached a decision.
‘Sir?’
‘What is it, Bouette?’
‘Up there.’
They all looked up.
‘Fucking Jesus,’ Nagpal said crossing himself.
Blood dripped onto the cavern floor.
‘Is it an animal?’ Thompson asked, squinting to see.
‘It’s Annie, Sarge,’ Bouette said.
Thompson moved round to get a better look. ‘God almighty. What’s this about, Sir? What have those bastards sent us into?’
‘I don’t know, Sergeant. My briefing didn’t include anything about this.’
Doll was hanging upside down with her entrails falling out
‘Did Herbert end up like this as well?
He didn’t see any point in lying to Thompson. ‘Yes.’
‘What type of animal would do something like that?’ Nagpal said.
Bouette shook her head. ‘If it was an animal, it was a human animal. Animals don’t string their prey up and butcher them.’
‘We’re not down here to debate the nature of man,’ Caesar said. ‘We have a mission to complete. Nagpal, take point. Bouette . . .’
‘What about Annie, Sir?’
‘We’ll come back for her. The mission comes first. Bring up the rear, but stay very close.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
They entered the right-hand tunnel.
***
‘Do I get a coffee?’ Perkins asked.
‘Where do you think you are – a cafe? Just tell me about the DNA and stop procrastinating, I have somewhere else to be.’
‘Anna Lambert . . .’
‘Who?’
Cheal gave Perkins a drinking signal.
Perkins nodded and held up two fingers.
‘Will you two stop blowing kisses to each other. If someone’s making another coffee you know how I like mine.’
‘The computer specialist I had interrogating the database . . .’
Quigg’s brow creased up. ‘What’s she got to do with the DNA?’
‘Do you want me to tell you everything?’
‘Didn’t I say that?’
‘Then you might want to listen and stop interrupting me . . . Sir,’ he said as an afterthought.
‘Well, stop beating about the bush then.’
Perkins rolled his eyes. ‘She found out who deleted the original DNA records from the database.’
‘And?’
‘Abbey Hand.’
‘How does that help us?’
‘Well . . . I don’t suppose it does really.’
‘What else?’
‘We found Cora Jiggins from 1903, which means . . .’
‘Look Perkins, let me tell you what’s going on here, then you’ll be able to mould your waffle to what I need to know.’ He told Perkins about DI Caesar and his team, and about the Chief’s response.
‘You asked for an armed support team. You got an armed support team. What’s your problem?’
‘An armed support team comes under my command on arrival, but this DI Caesar . . .’
‘. . . Is using his initiative?’
‘No Perkins. There’s no room for initiative in the police force. Initiative can get you killed. He’s here for another reason.’
Perkins’ eyes opened wide. ‘The DNA?’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘But nobody knows that we’ve acquired more samples of the DNA.’
‘Okay, let’s for a moment suppose that you’re right, how did the DNA get into Room 13?’
‘Well, the killer . . .’
‘Who is?’
‘We don’t know.’
Simcox placed a steaming mug in front of each of them.
Quigg put a finger through the handle of his mug and moved it closer. ‘Let’s go back to the DNA. You said you were looking more closely at the unknown material . . .’
‘You’re not going to laugh, are you?’
He took a sip of his coffee. ‘I can assure you, I’m in no mood for laughing.’
‘We think it’s alien DNA.’
‘We?’
‘Debbie Chan and myself.’
‘Is she still here?’
‘She’s a good forensic scientist, and I want to keep her.’
‘Mmmm. So, you’ve come to the conclusion that . . . ?’
‘I know it sounds crazy . . .’
‘Crazy? You’re meant to be a scientist, Perkins.’
‘I know, I know, but even Sherlock Holmes knew that if you’ve eliminated all other possibilities whatever remains must be the truth.’
‘I hate to tell you this, but he’s a fictional detective.’
‘All right, then why do you think Abby Hand deleted the database records? Why did those two men come in and remove all the physical evidence? And why is DI Caesar here?’
He had no answers to any of those questions. Maybe the biological material did belong to an alien, but he wasn’t going to think about that. To be honest he wasn’t particularly bothered if there were a whole batch of aliens somewhere, he had more pressing earthly problems. Perkins had hit the nail on the head though. Why was DI Caesar here? It certainly wasn’t to help him find the killer. Or was it? Who was the killer? And where had the unknown material come from?
A random thought jumped into his mind. ‘You haven’t heard anything of what Perkins has been saying, Cheal.’
‘I didn’t even realise Dr Perkins was talking, Sir.’
‘Keep it that way. The same goes for you other two as well.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ they said in harmony as if they were a duo practising for the Eurovision contest.
He stared at Perkins. ‘Don’t repeat what you’ve just told me to anyone else.’
‘I’m not stupid, Sir.’
‘We can discuss that at another time. For now, let’s surmise that Caesar is here to tidy up.’
‘Tidy up what?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’
‘And the DNA.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that, Sir.’
‘I think we have a leak here. They know you’ve recovered the DNA samples. Also, let’s for arguments sake say that some of those samples are extra terrestrial . . . What are you going to do with it?’
‘Well, I’ll tell everybody. I’ll . . .’
‘Do you think that the government are going to be happy with your worldwide communication strategy?’
‘Well . . . Ah, I see where you’re going. You think DI Caesar is working for the government . . .’
‘We all work for the government.’
‘Yes, but some people work to maintain secrets. We’ve already had experience of that with Abby Hand and the two men from the security services. Now, they’ve sent in DI Caesar.’
Quigg checked his watch. He was conscious of time slipping away from him. It was quarter to one. ‘We’ll call that a working hypothesis. What do you think he’s here to do?’
‘What you said before. He’s here to get rid of the evidence.’
‘People have already tried that, and it didn’t work.’
Perkins’ face went whiter than it already was. ‘You don’t think he’s going to kill us, do you?’
‘I don’t think he’ll line us up and execute us, but
accidents happen. It concerns me that Caesar has arrived, found out what he needed to and then moved on. It’s as if . . .’
‘Where?’
‘Well, he’s not come here to try out the rides. The only other thing of interest is the killer. This is no random killer – someone knows who it is.’
‘Someone in the government knows who this maniac is?’
‘How did the unknown biological material get here?’
Perkins rubbed the stubble on his chin. They were all beginning to look like tramps. It had been a long week.
‘Somebody brought it with them . . . Oh God, Sir! Where do the government keep their aliens?’
‘If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t.’
‘There are a few secret establishments that they could keep it at . . .’
‘Okay, enough speculation.’ He stood up. ‘I know your people aren’t trained for such, but I’d like you to ask them to check these trucks . . .’
‘Check them? What for?’
‘Things that don’t form part of the vehicles.’
‘Oh God, you mean bombs?’
‘I don’t mean anything. As I said before, I’m concerned that Caesar and his team aren’t here. This is where the evidence is. It’s as if he’s solved this problem and moved on.’
‘And Room 13.’
‘Check that as well. From what Cheal has said Caesar was particularly interested in the mine. He probably went through Room 13 and then into the tunnel system.’
‘But he’s a copper like you and the others, Sir.’
‘If you’re right about some of the biological material being extra-terrestrial, then the only thing that matters is keeping the secret. We’re what the Americans call collateral damage.’
‘I’ll get my people onto it right away.’
‘The sooner the better. If I’m right, the bombs could go off at any time. Cheal, I suggest you make sure he didn’t leave anything strange in here, and then take the other two outside to contemplate the nature of the universe.
Cheal nodded, and began packing up.
‘Perkins, you might want to empty your trucks of people and evidence as well.’
‘What if we find something?’ Perkins asked.
‘Have you been trained to disarm explosive devices?’
‘No.’
‘There’s your answer then. Create a perimeter. Get everyone beyond it.’
‘Including the hotel staff and guests?’
‘What do you think? You might also phone the Chief. Tell him what you’ve found and that you need a Bomb Disposal Unit.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ Perkins said, shaking his head as he left the command truck.
‘What are you going to do, Sir?’ Simcox asked.
‘I’m going with two security guards to a disused attraction called Slaughterhouse 8. I’m hoping to get some answers at last.’
‘Be careful, Sir,’ Cheal said.
‘I know about the chart, Cheal.’
‘Ah! . . . Well, just because you’re the worst boss in the world doesn’t mean that we want you dead.’
‘In the world? I feel even worse now. If I had time, I’d put forward a proper defence, but I have to get going.’
***
She ran into Slaughterhouse 8. Her breathing came in short gasps.
The guards were still following her.
Inside was a railway track and a train with cars designed like animals going to slaughter. She ran along the concrete standing to the front of the train and jumped onto the track.
It was really dark in the tunnel. She could hardly see a thing.
The security guards were catching up.
They had high-powered torches.
‘There she is,’ one of them shouted to the other as he caught her in the beam of his torch. They speeded up.
She ran quicker, but she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. If it had been in the morning, she could have run all day, but it was at night. She’d already been running all day, and now she was tired out and ready for her coffin.
Where were Dunkin and Wingnut?
She had to stop, but if she did they’d catch her. Then what would they do to her? They could torture her, make her tell them everything. She had no rights. She was a runaway, a squatter, a thief. They could make her disappear and no one would be any the wiser.
Dunkin and Wingnut thought she wasn’t coming in here. Sanchez would think she’d had enough, and joined a travelling circus or something. In a month, they’d have forgotten all about her. Dunkin might suffer with a broken heart for a couple of days, but then he’d find someone else to keep his coffin warm.
As she ran she caught glimpses of slaughterers holding meat cleavers and dressed in long white aprons drenched in blood and white hats. She knew they were anatomical dummies that simply needed power to begin frightening paying customers, but they were still scary.
There were large hooks with all manner of carcasses hanging from the roof. With power, blood would ooze out of the carcasses into the stainless steel channels beneath, which would recycle round and round.
She knew though that Slaughterhouse 8 wasn’t a place for butchering animals, it was for disposing of humans. That was why it had been included as an attraction at Grisly Park. A series of grisly murders had taken place in the real Slaughterhouse 8.
Out of the corner of her left eye she saw a door. It had “Maintenance Staff Only” written on it. She stopped and tried the handle – it was open. She knew she couldn’t go any further, so she slipped inside. She left the door open a tiny crack to peer through and waited. The security guards wouldn’t be long in coming after her. She just hoped they didn’t see the door.
Then she heard them clattering up the tunnel with their torch beams bouncing around like searchlights at a prison.
‘This time we’ve got her,’ one of them said.
‘Aye, the little bitch. We’ll tie her hands and feet up like they do with cattle on the range. That’ll stop her running.’
The other one laughed. ‘What do you know about cattle on the range, Wilkins?’
‘I’ve watched my fair share of Westerns. In fact, I reckon I could ride a horse and throw a lasso no problem at all.’
‘If you could do everything you say you could do, you’d be the richest man in the world.’
‘What makes you think I ain’t?’
‘You’re here with me.’
They came into view.
Then something moved so fast between them that they were thrown against the walls of the tunnel.
One of the men had been sliced open and his insides were spilling out.
Goldie hadn’t seen anything except a blur. She put her hand over her mouth and press down hard to stop herself from screaming.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! That was all that tumbled into her mind over and over again.
‘Jesus fucking wept, Wilkins,’ the other man said.
It was the last thing he uttered before he was gutted in the same way as Wilkins.
She didn’t want to see any more, and moved back further into the darkness of the room. Her hand was still pressed tight over her mouth and she couldn’t feel her lips.
As she stepped backwards, something touched the back of her leg and made a metallic clanging sound as it fell.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
Even though there was a tornado battering the inside of her ribcage, and she was sure her heart was going to burst any second, she stood perfectly still.
Maybe the monster didn’t hear it.
Maybe the monster wasn’t interested in killing little girls.
Maybe . . .
The door began to open.
She screamed.
‘What’s wrong with you, Goldie?’ Dunkin said.
Wingnut grunted. ‘We thought you weren’t coming, anyway.’
She burst into tears and ran into Dunkin’s arms.
***
‘What is that, Sergeant Thompson?’
They could hear singing or something similar emanating from a tunnel to their right.
‘Sounds like chanting.’
‘Chanting? About what?’
‘I don’t know. Do you want to take a look, Sir?’
He was searching for the rogue scientist, and from what he’d managed to glean from PC Cheal . . . He checked his watch. No, she was still in the land of the living . . . the scientist could be anywhere down here. He’d come to the conclusion a while ago that Plan A had been replaced by Plan B. They were never going to get out of here by two a.m. So yes, they should take a look, because Plan B was a bit more flexible.
‘Lead on, Sergeant.’
They moved along the corridor and found themselves on a ledge high up in a cavern overlooking . . .
‘It’s a Satanic Mass, Sir,’ Constable Bouette whispered.
‘How would you know something like that?’
‘I was involved in a . . .’
‘Never mind. I probably don’t want to know.’
They peered over the ledge and watched the worshippers dancing around naked, except for strange masks over their faces and chanting in what seemed to be an ancient language:
Bagabi laca bachabe
Lamac cahi achbabe
Karrelyos
Lamac lamec bachalyas
Cabahagy sabalyos
Baryolos
Lagoz atha cabyolas
Samahac et famyolas
Harrahya
‘Seeing as you seem to know so much Bouette, what in hell’s name does that rubbish mean?’ Caesar asked her.
‘It’s an invocation to conjure Satan from the infernal abyss.’
‘Preposterous,’ Caesar said. What would Julius Caesar do? He recalled that his ancestor had to contend with the pagan practices and rituals of the Gauls. And how the druids had believed in human sacrifice to appease the immortal gods.
Constable Nagpal was gyrating his hips and had a strange look on his face.
‘What the hell are you doing, Nagpal?’
‘Oh! Sorry, Sir. I got carried away for a moment.’
‘Who’s that woman on the altar, Bouette?’ Thompson asked. ‘And more to the point, what are they going to do to her?’