“It seems to be a fair working hypothesis,” said Pauline. “The question is the same old question, what do we do now?”
“We have to turn the computer off,” said Bob.
Mandy sat down close to Eddie as if to support him. “How do we do that?”
“Didn’t twenty-first-century man mention a cut-off switch for the whole system?” said Eddie. “Where is it?”
“In the basement.” Caroline was drying her eyes and trying to stay calm. “He said it was in the basement.”
Eddie closed his eyes and looked very tired. “How in the name of God do we get to the basement? We can’t even reach the ground floor.”
“We’ll just have to...” Bob paused. There was a loud popping sound from the floor below. “Damn!”
Chapter Nineteen
There were more popping sounds from below, one after another, like fireworks going off. Paula grabbed Bob’s arm. “What does it mean?”
“He’s exploding the monitors on the floor below. He’s trying to start a fire on the floor below.”
Bob heard the sound of a monitor exploding nearby.
“And on this floor too,” said Eddie.
Bob stepped to the door which led downstairs, still firmly shut against them. The lights were on. If the doors stayed shut they should hold the fire back for a while. Then he saw a thin plume of smoke drift into the stairwell. The Anzac controlled the doors and he had opened them. A sliding hiss to his left made him start.
The doors through to the other call centre were open too. The popping of monitors inside could be heard more loudly. The stench of smoking wire drifted out into the corridor.
“What now?” said Mandy.
“Up.” Bob turned and ran back up the stairs down which they had so arduously fought their way. There was one door they had not smashed, the one that had broken his ankle. If it was closed against them they would have to smash it now, given time. “Bring the table!” he shouted over his shoulder.
The door lay invitingly open. They paused before it.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Is he being nice, or is he trying to herd us upstairs?”
“Or is he hoping we’ll fall for the same trick twice. I’m not taking any chances.” Bob took hold of the table and slid it between the open doors. He crawled underneath. The doors did not move to attack.
The others crawled under it too and still, the doors did not move. “Maybe the Indian is holding it open? Maybe he’s helping us?” said Nancy hopefully.
Bob shook his head. “I think it’s the Anzac herding us up. Since we have no choice we’ll have to go.”
They ran up the next set of stairs and were back to their own level. The doors to NHS Direct were still closed but had already been smashed. The doors up to the fourth level were invitingly open.
“Do we go up?” said Eddie.
“Not more than we have to,” Bob replied. “We still have to get down somehow, you know. Let’s see what we can do from here.” He led the way into their own call centre. All the shutters were down on the windows, a change since they had left it. Smoke was drifting up the stairs behind them. There was still the occasional pop of a monitor exploding downstairs. They stood about looking helpless.
“Let’s dial 999,” said Eddie.
Nancy gave him a withering look. Mandy gave him a hug. Paula said, “It’s worth a try,” and put on a set of headphones, stabbed at the telephone buttons. Her frustration showed on her face. She lifted her hands up to remove the headphones and paused. Her eyes opened wide. She slowly took them off.
“What did you hear?” asked Bob.
“A voice. It said, ‘I will try to help you.’”
“Raja Ram wotsit,” said Eddie. “But what can he do?”
As if in answer the shutter at the nearest window slid up. They could see stars and the lights of the city outside.
Bob grabbed the nearest table. “Give me a hand to clear this off, Pauline. We must get smashing again.”
Pauline took hold of a monitor. Then she released it and stepped back, well back. She looked white and trembled. “Bob, he can explode these.”
“He hasn’t yet on this floor, but he might.” Bob raised his voice. “Stand clear of the monitors everyone.” Then he grabbed one end of the table and yanked it up swiftly. The monitors and computer bases slid down the slope created and crashed onto the floor. Bob could almost sense Nancy pursing her lips behind him but she said nothing.
With Pauline’s help, he rammed the table at the window. He was weak. The window did not crack. They tried again. Still no joy.”
Eddie said, “You may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, Pauline, but you have the heart of Queen Elizabeth. The first, I mean.”
They had another go. Pauline thrust with renewed vigour and the window cracked at this blow. At the next one, it broke into four pieces. At the third, the pieces fell out into the night.
“Look out below!” shouted Bob. He turned to Eddie and grinned. “Nice bit of motivational psychology there Eddie. Now the other girls will hold you down while Paula kicks you to death.”
“Later,” she said. “I like dancing and it will give me great pleasure to dance on his head. Everyone ready to jump?”
“No.” Nancy was looking forlornly at the distance to the ground. “We’re still three floors up, about thirty feet. I can’t jump that far.”
Smoke drifted from the corridor outside into the call centre. They could hear the crackle of flames below.
“You’re going to get a powerful incentive to try,” said Eddie.
Caroline said, “I’m not sure I can jump either. Can we make a rope out of something?”
“What have we got?” Bob looked around the call centre. There were cables attached to computers but none of them was very long, nor did they have any means of cutting them.
“Our clothes,” said Pauline.
“It’s cold,” said Nancy.
“It’ll get very warm soon.” Eddie took off his jersey with one swift motion. Come on, girls, get your kit off. This is where I find out if Mandy is a real blonde!”
Mandy gave a tiny smile and took off her own jersey. “We won’t be stripping quite that much,” she said.
They put coyness aside, even Nancy, and took off their clothes. Bob reflected that nurses are nothing if not pragmatic. In five minutes they were down to their underwear and had assembled all the strongest clothes into a pile of coats, sweaters, trousers and skirts.
“It is bloody cold,” said Eddie. “Anyone good with knots? Mine always come apart.”
“I was a girl guide,” said Nancy, and began fastening the stuff together. Pauline helped. Bob shivered. He went to the window and leaned out into the cold night air.
“Careful of that shutter!” shouted Mandy.
Bob looked up. The metal shutter was still up. He wondered how long the Raja could hold it for them. “Is that rope ready yet?”
“Just done.” Pauline handed him one end. “We must fasten this to something solid. She tied one end to a large table. Bob threw the other end of the makeshift rope through the window and watched as it straightened out with gravity. He peered into the darkness.
“It isn’t long enough. There will be a drop at the end.”
“It will have to do,” said Eddie.
“Ladies first.” Bob took Nancy’s hand gently and prepared to help her get her leg over the window ledge. Just as she was raising it the shutter slammed down.
She screamed and fell on the floor. The shutter had shut and re-opened. It had not touched her, nor had its blunt edge cut their rope. Bob looked up. The shutter moved down an inch, slid back up. It seemed to tremble in eager anticipation of its next victim.
“Expletive deleted,” said Eddie.
Chapter Twenty
“The Raja wasn’t much help,” said Caroline bitterly.
Bob looked at her. She was leaning against a pillar with her arms wrapped around her shoulders in a futile attempt to keep warm. She did not s
eem particularly conscious of being half-naked, but then, any girl on a beach in a bikini was as exposed. Nancy looked very self-conscious. Paula was matter of fact about it. Mandy retained the poise of a flirty blonde.
“I think he is trying to help. Give me the rope.”
Eddie handed it to him. He gripped it firmly and took up a position about ten feet back from the window. The shutter was still moving up and down a couple of inches in a jerky motion as if in the pull of two contending forces, which it probably was. Would the force contending on their side be able to hold it open, that was the question? Bob sniffed the air. The fire was raging more fiercely now, smoke coming up the stairs in quantities.
“Give me your mobile, please Mandy.” She handed it over, regarding him solemnly.
“Good luck,” she whispered. She reached an arm around his neck and gave him a warm kiss.
He looked at Caroline. She looked silently back. He retreated another step from the window and crouched slightly, preparing to run.
“Bob don’t!” shouted Pauline.
He nodded at the smoke now drifting into the room. “Not much choice is there.”
“Hang on a second.” Eddie picked up the rope halfway along its length. “Give me a hand here Pauline.” He looked at Bob. “If you’re planning to jump you don’t want to drop the whole length of the rope. It would probably break as it snapped straight. We’ll hold it here and take the strain, try to make it less jerky.” Pauline had taken up position by Eddie and was gripping the rope solidly, a determined expression on her face.
“You’ve got one broken arm.”
“I’ve got one good arm too. Get on with it.”
Bob nodded. “Try to get up to the fourth floor after I’m down. It’s getting hot in here.”
The shutter slammed down, rose again. Bob stopped. Were he to be under it at the wrong moment he would get his ribs crushed or be pinned down. It slammed down again, re-opened. And again.
There seemed to be a gap of about ten seconds between each closure. Obviously, that was the best the Raja could do. The window was not very wide. He would have to go through sideways keeping his legs well pulled in and fly out into the night air. He pulled the rope dubiously. A knotted collection of everyday clothing, it was not the best tool for the job. Again, he had no choice.
He started his run as the shutter slammed down. As it rose he arrived at the window and flipped himself through. His good foot clipped the metal window frame but not enough to stop him. He gripped the clothes rope frantically as he felt himself in free fall, doing a half turn, the lights of Bristol moving dizzily past his eyes. His heart was in his throat. It seemed like he hung there for minutes but he knew it must only have been seconds. Then he dropped.
That was worse. Bob yelled in fear as the rope went slack and he swung in towards the red brick exterior of the call centre. He tried to twist himself so he could take the impact on his feet and failed. He banged his shoulder painfully and scraped his knuckles on the bricks, nearly letting go of the rope.
Pauline and Eddie didn’t. He was dangling halfway up the building, his legs level with the windows on the second floor.
“Are you okay?” Eddie shouted.
Bob took a gulp of air and shouted back. “Fine. Lower me down.”
He descended as they let the rope pass through their hands. It was an awkward feeling but the ground came steadily closer. He was about fifteen feet from it when the descent stopped. He looked up but was too close to the brickwork to see clearly above. He pressed his feet against the face of the building and kicked out, looking desperately up at the same time and shouting, “Eddie!”
There was no reply but he had seen enough. The shutter was down now, pinning the rope. There was no way they could feed him more. He would have to jump from this height. He thought of his shattered ankle and winced.
Damned Anzac!
Again he braced his legs against the brickwork and pushed out. At the end of the swing, which wasn’t very far, he let go of the rope and dropped.
Like most office buildings in the modern age, The Arnos Vale centre was surrounded by some rather nice shrubbery, maintained by a private contractor. Bob landed between two shrubs then screamed in agony as his bad ankle hit the floor. He fell sideways into the thornier of the two plants. The pain almost made him black out and he lay there for a minute blinking and collecting his wits. With a softer landing place he might have passed out in that few seconds but the thorns jabbing into his naked flesh prevented this. He cursed loudly as he extricated himself from their pointy embrace.
Somehow he had kept hold of the mobile phone. But would it work?
He flipped it open and turned it on. He dialled 999. A pleasant, non-committal female voice asked him which service he required. “Fire,” he said. He reported that there was a fire at the Arnos Vale Centre and they should send many engines. The whole building was ablaze and his colleagues were trapped inside. The conversation felt eerily normal after the events of the night. He did not say watch out for a mad Australian ghost who may try to hinder operations. It wouldn’t have fitted in somehow.
Bob closed the phone and tucked it into a hiding place under a plant for later recovery. He looked at the building and saw that the shutters on the second floor were buckling under the heat. He looked higher. Eddie and the girls would head up to the top floor if they could.
The shutters on the top floor were down as well. He knew there was no access to the roof. With the shutters down the firemen could not rescue them. He had to get to the cut-off switch in the basement and raise the shutters.
He limped away from the bushes with a loud frustrated cry.
“Damn the Anzac!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bob ran around the building to the back where, in that utilitarian area all buildings have, tucked away from the site of important visitors, the steps to the basement lay. He would normally have felt silly running around in his underpants or limping rather, on a chilly November night but right now his mind was otherwise occupied.
Bob was glad to see that over the basement doors there was one of those square functional halogen lights that turn themselves on at one’s approach. He was not so pleased to see that the basement doors were of a heavy, solid wooden construction. There was no way he could break them down with his bare hands.
He scanned the nearby area. There were two large wheeled bins, plastic and empty, which would have been useless as battering rams even if full. A tarpaulin covered something he could not see, a long narrow heap of something. He wrenched back one corner of the green canvas and found a collection of scaffold poles and fittings underneath. The building had only recently been completed and the builders had not yet taken everything away, either that or the scaffolding contractor was using it as a free storage space until he had need of this equipment. Probably the latter, for by such sly practices do entrepreneurs save pounds.
Bob grabbed a short scaffold pole and returned to the basement doors. His hands were still sore and his ankle was a source of permanent pain. He was freezing. His careers as Post Office counter clerk and call handler had not equipped him with a strong body and he partook of no sporting activities in his leisure time to make up this deficit. While a certain natural agility facilitated such tasks as leaping through windows and his low body mass ensured that fragile makeshift ropes could take the strain he put upon them, this stage of the endeavour, it seemed to him, required a type more like Eddie; or Arnold Schwarzenegger.
In another man, these thoughts might have engendered a feeling of helplessness and led to surrender but Bob was not so constructed. He got mad. He was enraged by his own physical incapability, by the danger to his friends and colleagues, by tiredness; by the unfairness of the long nights suffering he had endured. Bob had not built a call centre on a site that – he admitted – should have been held in more respect. He just worked there to make a buck. The Anzac had reason to be angry, no doubt, but the wrong people were paying for it. He should have haunted the
town planners who approved the plan, the architects who designed the place and, perhaps most of all, the rascal who had bought the cemetery for a song with the clear aim of property speculation. He should not have haunted Bob.
The scaffold pole slammed into the solid double doors at the crack where they met, at the height of the solid lock. Rage and frustration propelled it more than muscle. The first blow did not have much effect but the next produced a slight warping. As the pole hit the door it slid through Bob’s hands slightly. The pole had some traces of cement still on it, rough patches, long hardened, that some labourer should have cleaned off. They scraped the palms of his hands, the insides of his fingers. He continued slamming the pole at the doors, not heeding pain in hands or ankle, drugged into insensitivity by a huge rush of adrenaline and unaware that he was shouting in rage.
The doors began bending inwards. He could see the bar of the lock now. A few more blows should open the gap enough that the bar would come loose from the slot it fit into and he could enter.
There was a flash of light. The Anzac was suddenly there in front of the doors. Bob was in mid-lunge and the scaffold pole plunged into the Anzac’s milky white fluorescent midriff and hit the doors behind him. He was insubstantial.
Yet he was still terrible and fierce, glaring at Bob with his one eye, the empty socket next to it yawning black like the pit. His bloody wounds still dripped and the tattered uniform of whatever Australian army corps he had belonged to still hung in shreds from his emaciated body. For a second even the adrenaline turned chill in Bob’s blood and he stared wide-eyed.
“Go away, boy!” roared the Anzac, in a voice loud but cracked, as if coming through bad speakers. “Go away!”
Bob vented a shout of rage and fear and charged the doors. The scaffold pole hit hard and they popped open. He found himself stood in the doorway looking into the darkened room. The Anzac was not to be seen.
Arnos Hell Page 10