“Do you have any advice?” he said.
“What is the situation?” asked Sparke.
The fireman raised his arm and pointed to the tunnel.
“We have toxic materials on fire at this end of the tunnel. The eastern exit is blocked with three vehicles. There is no fire there, but a large spill of fuel. There is one driver in the wreckage who may be alive, but we cannot send medics onto a site with such a danger of explosion. We cannot move the wreckage when there is a person trapped in the wreckage who might still be alive. There is one vehicle in the tunnel; a tourist coach. The firemen who tried to enter the tunnel report seeing several people on board.”
“Are there emergency exits?”
“One, but is cannot be opened. Possibly the coach is blocking it, but we cannot tell.”
“The fire is tarmac?” Sparke said.
“Tarmac?” repeated the fireman, unfamiliar with the term.
“Hot bitumen for road working.”
“Yes, road repair materials. It is burning, but slowly. The high volatiles burned off quickly.”
The fireman offered Sparke the vision-enhancing binoculars. Sparke took them and walked to the tunnel entrance and laid on the ground trying to bring the coach into focus.
Sitting in the Range Rover, Tilly was watching Sparke, now sunk in deep discussion with some of the fire crew. Sparke's mobile phone was being passed back and forth repeatedly as various people took turns talking with whomever Sparke had first called. The helicopter she had heard earlier buzzed by again and, when she looked back, Sparke and the group had disappeared. A few moments later, she saw him step out of the back of a truck, now wearing a high-visibility vest and a radio headset. Whatever Sparke was doing it didn't look much like being a simple observer.
The group talking with Sparke broke up, with men heading off towards various emergency vehicles or to talk with other crew members.
The road was now choked with red or yellow vehicles, many still with their blue flashing lights spinning. Tilly gradually noticed that many of them were ambulances. Why would there be so many ambulances when there only seemed to be one injured man?
She smiled uncertainly as she saw Sparke walk towards the car, but he didn't smile back. He opened the driver's door and looked at Tilly with an expression of professional intensity.
"There is a bit of a situation," he said.
"Yes, I can see that, what's going on?"
"Could you shift over into the driving seat? I think they are going to need this car moved in a minute."
"You can't move it?" said Tilly.
"I'm a bit involved with these people. They've never had to deal with a fire like this before. Burning bitumen in a tunnel is not something you really expect."
"Have you ever dealt with something like this?"
"Things like this. Mine fires, coal dust, oil waste, things like that. Almost everything a fire team can do is no use in a situation like this, or even makes the problem worse. If they put water onto that fire it will basically explode into a cloud of toxic steam. Not an option. Foam won’t work either."
"But you know how to put it out?"
"Yes, but so do they. But there's a problem, a complication. The other side of the tunnel is also blocked. Looks like that crash was the cause of everything else that has happened here."
"What do you mean?"
Tilly was watching Sparke closely. There was something about him that looked different. He seemed strangely energized, focused. He even held himself in a different way, as though he was more relaxed than she had seen him before.
Sparke looked directly at Tilly.
"Here's the situation," he said. "In between this blockage and the far end of the tunnel there is another vehicle. It looks like a bus. We used an infrared heat imager and it's highly probable that there are people on board the bus. They've done the right thing by staying put. Every other option is worse for them. There's a problem."
"A problem? I thought that was the problem."
"The problem is that there is a time constraint. The fire is giving off clouds of smoke that could choke them, but more importantly it's burning up the oxygen in the tunnel."
"So what are they going to do?"
"If they do nothing, the bus passengers might suffocate, but if they try to move the blockage at the far end, or put the fire out at this end, it could make the situation much worse."
"Can they send firemen into the tunnel to reach the bus?"
"No, there's no way professional rescue people are allowed to put themselves into a situation which they can't assess for risk. Besides, sending firemen in won't do anything to get the passengers out."
Sparke opened the car's glove compartment and began to empty his pockets. Tilly watched him as he dropped his wallet and loose change into the car and then patted his pockets down. He reached towards his left wrist with his right hand.
"Why are you taking your watch off?" she asked.
Sparke dropped his watch onto the car seat.
“Here is the plan,” he said. “The only way to put the fire out at this end, and neutralize the risk from the crash at the other end, is to remove all the oxygen. No oxygen, no fire. But the only way to do that is to flood the tunnel with inert gas, argon to be precise. That will kill the fire without any risk of explosion. Argon is heavier than air, so it will smother the blaze. Once the fire is secure the emergency services can reach the bus.”
“But the passengers inside?” said Tilly.
“We found some traffic camera footage that showed the bus just before it drove into the tunnel. It’s a very modern vehicle, a Volvo, and so long as it is still in one piece, it will be almost airtight. The plan is to get enough oxygen to the bus so that the passenger can keep breathing for the time it takes to put the fire out.”
“How long will that take?”
“We can’t say for sure, but based on the mine fires I have seen it will be around twenty minutes.”
“So, will you send a pipe or something down with oxygen for them?”
“Not an option, unfortunately. If we run a pipe of oxygen into a hot tunnel there is too great a risk of causing an explosion. But two large tanks should be enough to fill the bus for at least thirty minutes while the argon gas puts out the fire. They’re bringing the oxygen and the argon up by chopper now.”
“What has this all got to do with you taking your watch off?” said Tilly.
“The local fire service can’t send their people into a situation they have no training for. This is basically mine rescue and the closest mine rescue team is over five hundred miles away in France.”
“I still don’t see why you are taking your watch off.”
“Tilly, they can’t send their own people in. There is no one else trained in anything like this in the region.”
“Don’t say it,” said Tilly. “Don’t tell me that you’re going to go into that tunnel and fight the fire? You’re a crisis manager, not a bloody fireman.”
“I’m not going to be touching the blaze. That’s for the firemen to worry about. All I’m doing is taking in the oxygen for the passengers and checking to make sure that everything is all right while the experts deal with the fire.”
“You cannot be serious?”
“I’m trained in mine rescue and I am qualified to use an entry suit.”
“Entry suit?”
“Big silver suit that keeps you safe when you’re near a fire. I had to wear one when we had a coal mine fire in Poland a few years ago.”
“You’re going to put on a fireproof suit and carry a big bottle of oxygen in a burning tunnel? I’m this getting right?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’m qualified and they’re not. It’s not a long walk and I will be well within the safety limits of the suit. I’ll be in radio contact the whole time and if things were to get hairy, they’ll flood the place with argon and hope for the best.”
“Peter, this is the most stupid thing I ever heard.”
�
�Not stupid, just a well-managed risk. Everyone knows what they’re doing and we have all the right equipment on the way.”
As he spoke, the sound of the helicopter returning filled the air. Sparke looked over as the chopper landed, then looked back at Tilly.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said. “I should be out in forty minutes tops.”
He turned and walked over to the helicopter as firemen hauled tanks of gas and bags of equipment out of its cargo hold. The senior foreman and Sparke were obviously shouting over the noise of the blades as the equipment was assembled.
Sparke was led away by one of the men who had arrived on the helicopter to a spot near the mouth of the tunnel. Tilly could still just make him out in the group of men as he took his shoes of and began the laborious process of donning the entry suit.
It looked, to Tilly, like someone dressing a toddler. Sparke stood with his arms slightly outstretched as they placed his feet, one at a time, into the legs of the suit, then hauled the rest of the garment up and around his body. Just before the body of the outfit covered him up, the leader of the fire team stepped forward and gave something to Sparke. She could see Sparke look at the thing he had been handed, turn to the fireman and both of them laugh.
A man stepped forward and placed a large headset over his eyes, then the hood was lifted over his head and he disappeared under the bulky costume. For some minutes the team fussed around Sparke, then one of the men stood back and raised two thumbs to him. Sparke lifted both hands in front of him, turning the huge thumbs of the gauntlets he was wearing upwards.
Next, the men went behind Sparke and lifted what looked like an immensely heavy backpack onto his shoulders and covered this with a shroud of the same silvery material. He took a few steps forward, turned, and walked back. The men removed the covering of the backpack and made some sort of adjustment, then stepped back as Sparke walked a few more steps. He raised his hands again with his thumbs up.
Then the leader of the fire crew stood right in front of Sparke and spoke into the microphone of his headset. As this was happening, the fire team had been placing the other heavy gas tanks from the helicopter near the mouth of the tunnel. One of the team then turned and raised his hands towards Sparke and the fire leader, who looked at Sparke through his face visor for a second, then waved his arm at the tunnel crew who crouched around the canisters.
Sparke took a few steps towards the tunnel, then stopped. He turned slowly towards the car where Tilly was sitting and raised his right arm stiffly as far as it would go. She realized that he was waving at her. She jumped out of the car, ignoring a shouting policeman, and waved back wildly until she was pushed back inside.
Marriage
“Your new husband will tell you anything which he sees fit.”
Mellissa swayed, unsteady on her feet as she listened to her mother. She had stood in this room a thousand times, but now, everything was unfamiliar, distant, as though she was looking through a piece of dark glass. Barely a week had gone past since her brother had been wounded and his death was still something she felt with every breath. Her world was changed forever. Her father and mother had closed themselves in the main Hall immediately after the Bishop’s parley and soon after she emerged, her mother had summoned her to tell her how her life had been decided.
“What is to happen?” Mellissa said.
“The Bishop, your father and Lord Radda have agreed terms. Our families have nothing to gain from fighting, so you will marry Rosso, the families will be joined and peace will come back.”
“When?”
“It is a great thing to be married by a Bishop and he is not often here. There is nothing to be gained by delay, so tomorrow has been agreed upon.”
Mellissa was already too numb to respond to the news that she would be a married woman before tomorrow night.
“And Salvatore?”
“Do you choose not to listen to me? The family of Radda knows they have done wrong and know that they must share in loss as we have. The boy Salvatore will leave and will not return. The lands of both Radda and Gaiole are closed to him forever.”
Hearing this, a flash of anger swept through Mellissa. She knew that Salvatore had long dreamed of life in one of the northern cities, playing with his games and numbers and talking all day with Godless philosophers. Her own brother was dead. She was doomed to marriage with the ape that killed him and Salvatore was to be rewarded by being sent to live the life he most desired.
“That is no punishment for him,” she said. “Is father happy with this?”
“I did not ask your father. It is not my place and it is not yours. When men decide, it is the duty of women to be still. Men take comfort in our silence and we find happiness in obedience.”
“I’ll talk to father. He won’t sell me for a stupid Watch Tower and a few handfuls of tax coins.”
“You will not. You will do what is required and you will be happy for the family.”
Mellissa felt the wetness of her own face and realized that she was crying. “Mother…” she said.
“Sit down and stop showing off,” her mother said. “I’m afraid that your father and I have not given you the discipline you need. It is my fault, but I will not let you bring mockery to the family by your childishness. I was over a year married when I was your age. You have done nothing but take from this house since you were born and this is your chance to repay.”
“But, what will I do?”
“Do? You will be a wife. You will be the Lady of both Radda and Gaiole, and will be happy, but I see no gratitude from you for what your father and I have done for you. Sit down.”
Her mother pointed to the low stool Mellissa used when she practiced her needlework. Mellissa sat down and looked, through tear-stained eyes, out of the window to the courtyard below. She could see the carriage horses being led from the stables and realized with shock that their manes were already partly dressed as though for a fair or for the feast of Fra Muratore. The horses were being readied for her wedding.
“You will sit here until you learn how to be grateful and how to welcome your duty,” said her mother. “Take your eyes off the window. Contemplate your good fortune and that of the family.”
Mellissa dragged her eyes away from the courtyard and fixed her eyes on the floor. Her mother pushed the sewing frame she had been working on away. She folded her hands on her lap and composed herself into a picture of stillness. It was morning, not long after first prayers and the winter sun shone directly into the room from low on the horizon. There was nowhere Mellissa could imagine going to, and nothing she could imagine doing, so she sat, looking at the shaft of sunlight that lit up a small square of wall.
The low stool had never been comfortable, but it was only when she was forced to sit, immobile, that Mellissa realized how painful it could be. Normally she would be sewing when she sat here and the constant moving and bending towards the frame that stitching required now seemed like a blessing. She had sat down with her left leg tucked under the stool, and she could feel it becoming numb. Slowly, she began to straighten her leg.
“Will you do nothing to obey me?” said her mother, quietly. “Do you think so little of me that you will not even sit still when I ask?”
“Mother…”
“Now you argue with me?” Her mother’s voice was rising, not loud, but cold with anger. Mellissa winced as she pushed her leg back under the stool. She focused again on the patch of light, which had now moved slightly down the wall towards the floor. Silence enveloped the two women again. Unable to move or speak, Mellissa focused on the sounds from the courtyard. Voices drifted up to the room. She heard the sound of horses. After an hour, she could make out the sounds coming from the kitchen. She heard the sound of a water bucket falling to the floor and the laughter of servants which was silenced by the shouting of the cook. Still, she remained unmoving.
The patch of sunlight moved across the floor with agonizing slowness and Mellissa forced herself to stop looking at it. Instead
, she turned her mind to the growing pain in her left leg. She tried to move her toes, but either they could not move, or she had no sensation left there. She flexed the muscle in her calf and immediately snapped forward as the agony of cramp shot through her leg. Her mother did not flinch as Mellissa gasped. The cramp was not a single flash, but a constant, lasting storm of pain and her leg felt as though it was being crushed. Mellissa dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand, fighting the urge to cry out as waves of pain rolled through her. She bit the inside of her lip until her mouth was full of the taste of her own blood. Eventually, the pulsing pain subsided, leaving Mellissa with only a dull ache which extended from her foot up to her back.
She glanced at her mother who had shown no sign of having noticed anything, then looked again at the square of sunshine. It had moved, perhaps a hand’s width, since the cramp. A lifetime passed until the small bell from the church began to toll for midday prayers, but even before Mellissa could move, her mother spoke.
“We can pray here today, alone.”
Mellissa bowed her head slightly, but said nothing. Time disappeared. Mellissa ignored the sunlight, paid no attention to the small sounds from the courtyard and became unaware of even her mother’s presence.
Late in the afternoon, as the patch of sun grew smaller on the wall of the room, Mellissa heard her mother’s voice as though it came from far away.
“Go and prepare yourself for evening prayer, and this evening you will pray for the gift of stillness. It is the one great gift we can give to the world.”
Knowing her old life was over and having nothing but fear and hatred for the life that awaited her, she stood and bowed towards her mother, barely stopping herself from collapsing as blood flowed back into her leg.
Smoke
The sound of his own breathing filled the helmet of the suit as Sparke walked heavily into the tunnel. The night vision goggles he wore were very uncomfortable, but there was no way to rearrange them under the hood. Along the walls, Sparke could see that the emergency lighting was still working, but the smoke obliterated almost everything.
The Templar Tower: Peter Sparke Book Five Page 8