The Tunnel Rats

by Stephen Leather

  H unter turned over the page. There were half a dozen colour photographs, three per page, of the ten-year-old May playing in the back garden. May on a red swing. May with a doting Emily Hampshire. May throwing a ball to Peter Hampshire. May sitting on the grass reading a picture book. In none of the photographs was the little girl smiling.

  'That was during the first few months,' said Mr Hampshire. 'She was like a little robot. She did as she was told, she played when we asked her to play, ate when we gave her food, slept when we put her to bed. But she never smiled, never looked at us, never showed any emotion at all.’

  'Perhaps she didn't speak English,' said Hunter.

  'No, she understood. And she was a very quick learner. Very bright.’

  Hunter remembered that May had graduated with first-class Honours. He told Mr Hampshire, who smiled proudly. 'I was the one who got her interested in computers,' he said. 'I was cataloguing my stamp collection and putting it all on disc. She used to sit and watch me.’

  Hunter turned the page. More photographs. A slightly older May. Occasional smiles. May riding a pony. May holding a bow and arrow. 'She won prizes for archery,' said Mr Hampshire. 'We used to have her trophies in here, but Emily . . .' He looked away, the sentence unfinished. The bow she was holding was almost as tall as she was. In another picture she was taking aim at a distant target, the bow at full stretch.

  Hunter looked closely at the photograph. There was something around her neck. A necklace with two oblong objects hanging from it. Hunter frowned. He flicked back several pages and looked at another photograph, May in her school uniform, a brown leather satchel on her back. There was something in her right hand. It looked like the same necklace. He looked across at another of the pictures. May balancing on a bicycle. She was holding something in that picture, too. Hunter flicked back to the previous page. Whatever it was, the girl was holding it in all the photographs.

  'What is that?' he asked, pointing at the picture of May throwing a ball. 'In her right hand? She's wearing it in some of the later pictures.’

  Mr Hampshire finished polishing his spectacles and put them back on. 'They're dogtags,' he said. 'It was the funniest thing. She had them in her right hand when they flew her out of Saigon, and she never once let go of them. All the time she was in the orphanage in Vietnam, all the time she was on the plane, when she was in hospital in the UK, she wouldn't let go of them. The doctors tried but she screamed and screamed until they decided it was better to let her have them. She had the end of the chain wrapped around her wrist and her ringers were clenched as if she was scared that she'd lose them. For the first year she was with us, she never unclasped that hand, even when she was asleep. Eventually she wore them around her neck, and as far as I know she never once took them off. When she was older, we asked her who they belonged to, but she never told us. Emily and I thought that maybe they belonged to an American soldier who'd saved her life, that maybe he'd died and she kept them as a reminder.’

  Hunter put his face closer to the photograph. 'Do you have a magnifying glass?' Hunter asked.

  'Of course,' said Mr Hampshire. He scurried over to the sideboard and returned with a magnifying glass like an eagertoplease puppy carrying his master's slippers. 'I use them for my stamps.’

  Hunter focused the glass on the dogtags. He could just about make out the letters and numbers. The soldier's date of birth. His religion. His blood group. His name. Hunter froze. He felt as if a block of ice was being drawn slowly up his spine. The name on the dogtags was Eckhardt, M.

  T he three Americans stared at the bony fingers of the skeleton's hand. 'They're not there,' said Hammack.

  'Maybe the other hand,' said Ramirez. 'Maybe he was left handed.’

  Doc prised open the fingers of the skeleton's left hand. It too was empty. He stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers, and took a step back from the open grave.

  For several seconds the only sound in the chamber was that of their breathing, then Doc spoke. 'Someone else was here,' he said quietly. 'Someone saw what we did.’

  He backed away from the skeleton, his hands twitching. He kept on moving until his shoulders were up against the wall.

  'Impossible,' said Ramirez. 'There's only the one way in, through the antechamber, and Eric was standing there. If anyone had been watching, Eric would have seen them.’

  Doc turned around and grabbed a piece of the parachute silk that lined the chamber. He ripped it down, revealing the damp clay wall behind it. Dozens of tiny centipedes scuttled away from the flashlight beams.

  'What are you doing?' asked Hammack.

  Doc ignored him. He reached for another piece of green silk and pulled it away from the wall. At the base of the wall was an arched hole, cut into the clay, just big enough for a man to hide in if he crouched down.

  'Shit,' said Ramirez.

  'So now we know,' said Doc quietly.

  Wright opened his mouth wide and took deep breaths. He squatted back on his knees, his face inches from the damp tunnel floor. The air seemed thick, almost like liquid, and each lungful was an effort.

  Ahead of him, Bamber was finding the going equally tough. He was panting and moving one limb at a time. The tunnel had narrowed considerably and Wright couldn't see beyond Bamber's feet and backside. Wright was in almost complete darkness and several times he'd come close to telling the FBI agent that he wanted to put on the infra-red goggles. The only thing that stopped him was the realisation that even with the goggles on he wouldn't be able to see any further forward.

  Wright couldn't imagine how the Viet Cong had managed to live underground for years at a time. Even allowing for the fact that they'd have been able to go up for fresh air at night, they'd still have had to cope with the dirt and the bad air, the snakes and insects, and the constant pressure of knowing that at any moment they could be buried alive.

  Sweat poured off Wright and his clothes were dripping wet. 'Jim!' he called. 'I've got to have a drink.’

  Bamber stopped. 'Okay.’

  Wright struggled to remove his knapsack. He had to lean forward and wriggle his shoulders to get the straps off, then push himself against the tunnel wall to drag the bag between his legs.

  He took out one of the plastic bottles. The water was hot but he gulped it down. 'How much further?' he asked Bamber.

  'Five minutes, at this rate,' said Bamber.

  'Do you want some water?’

  'Yeah,' said Bamber. He reached back for the bottle and Wright passed it to him. There were only a couple of mouthfuls in the bottle and Bamber emptied it. He tossed it to the side.

  Wright had no idea in which direction they were heading, or how deep they were. Bamber had the compass, and Wright had only glanced briefly at the map.

  'Ready to move on?' asked Bamber. His flashlight flickered and he slapped it against his palm. The beam intensified.

  'Yeah,' said Wright.

  'Not long now, Nick,' said Bamber confidently. 'It'll soon be over.’

  Doc, Ramirez and Hammack crouched together under the hatch. Doc wiped his hands on his trousers.

  'Who could it be, Doc?' asked Hammack. 'Who could have been there?’

  'Let's talk about it when we're up top, Bernie,' said Doc. 'There's nothing we can do down here.’

  Hammack nodded. He played his flashlight around the hatchway. 'Yeah, you're right,' he said. 'We can talk it through over a few beers at the Rex. Maybe it won't seem so bad then.’

  'Don't count on it,' said Ramirez. He took a drink from his canteen but it only contained one mouthful. He shook his second canteen but that too was empty. 'You got any water?’

  Hammack shook his head. Doc handed one of his canteens to Ramirez. 'That's the last of mine,' he said.

  'Save it,' said Ramirez.

  'Take it,' said Doc. 'Three hours and we'll be back on the surface.' He looked up at the hatch. 'I'll go first.’

  Ramirez drained the canteen and handed it back to Doc. 'It's my turn, Doc,' he said.

  Doc was
about to argue but Ramirez had already got to his feet. Ramirez checked his flashlight and took his knife out of its scabbard. He winked at Doc, then eased himself up through the hatch. 'Last one out's a sissy,' said Ramirez, his voice muffled by the sides of the tunnel.

  Doc clipped the empty canteen to his webbing belt. 'Okay, you go next, Bernie,' he said. 'I'll bring up the rear.’

  Hammack nodded grimly. He was obviously still troubled by what they'd found in the chamber, but Doc was determined not to discuss it while they were down in the tunnels. Doc put a hand on Hammack's shoulder, just as Ramirez's legs began to kick and judder.

  'Stop messing about, Sergio!' Doc shouted.

  One of Ramirez's feet smacked into Hammack's head.

  'Cut it out, you wop bastard!' shouted Hammack. 'It's not funny!’

  Suddenly Ramirez's legs stopped kicking. Doc shone his flashlight up at the hatch. Blood was dripping down between. Ramirez's waist and the hatchway. Red spots peppered the lens of Doc's flashlight, turning the beam pink and casting a macabre glow around the tunnel.

  Hammack shuffled away from the feet, his eyes wide. Blood plopped down on the tunnel floor.

  'Oh Christ,' gasped Hammack. 'What the fuck's happening?’

  'Bernie, help me get him down,' said Doc. He grabbed Ramirez's feet and pulled while Hammack took hold of the man's knees. 'Harder,' said Doc. 'Pull harder.’

  The two men tugged on Ramirez's legs but they couldn't shift him.

  'Something's holding him,' said Hammack.

  Rivulets of blood trickled down from the hatchway and smeared Hammack's face. Hammack let go of Ramirez's knees and wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt.

  Doc put his hand up between Ramirez's legs and felt for a pulse in the man's groin. He couldn't find one.

  'I didn't hear anything, did you?' asked Hammack. 'No gunshot, no explosion, nothing. He didn't make a sound.’

  Doc shrugged but said nothing.

  'It wasn't a booby trap, was it?' said Hammack, his voice a hoarse whisper. 'If it was a booby trap we'd have seen it coming in. Somebody killed him, Doc. Somebody up there killed Sergio, just like they killed Jumbo.’

  'I know,' said Doc, staring up at the blocked hatchway. He shook his head. 'I should have gone first,' he said quietly.

  'The killer's down here with us, Doc,' said Hammack, holding his flashlight in front of him as if it were a knife. 'What are we going to do?’

  Doc sat back on his heels and stared at the lower half of the lifeless body. 'We're going to have to find another way out,' he said as his flashlight began to flicker. He opened his rucksack, took out three spare batteries, and slotted them in.

  'What about Sergio?’

  'We can't pull him down. If we can get up to the third level and double back, we'll be able to pull him up.’

  Doc got on to his hands and knees and began to crawl back to the main chamber.

  'Doc?’

  Doc turned to look at Hammack.

  'What if there isn't another way up?’

  Gerry Hunter could sense Emily Hampshire staring at him through the net curtains so he didn't look around. He drove away from the Hampshires' house, fumbling for the mobile phone in his inside pocket. He'd stored the BTP incident room number on autodial and it was already ringing as he turned the corner and pulled in at the side of the road. Tommy Reid answered.

  'Tommy, it's Gerry. Have you heard from Nick yet?' I need to talk to him. About May Eckhardt.' Hunter explained about May Eckhardt's adopted parents, and what he'd seen in the photographs. It was obvious from Reid's silence that the BTP detective hadn't grasped the significance of the discovery.

  'A ten-year-old girl is rescued from Vietnam clutching the dog-tags of an American soldier she marries almost twenty years later,' said Hunter. 'Two years after they marry, he's murdered. This isn't a love story, Tommy. It's revenge. I don't know why, but she killed him, I'm sure of it. And now she's bolted.’

  'Jesus Christ.’

  'Do you know if Nick's uncovered anything about Horvitz over there?’

  'Oh Jesus,' said Reid. 'I was supposed to pass the details on to you. Apparently Eckhardt and Horvitz served together in Vietnam in an outfit called the Tunnel Rats. Something happened out there that they're desperate to keep a secret. Jim Bamber's out there with him.’

  'Bamber's there? Shit, I need to talk to Nick,' said Hunter. 'Do you know what hotel he's staying at? This is important.' 'You can try his mobile. I got him a few days ago. It's a GSM so it works out there, assuming it's switched on.’

  Reid gave Hunter the number and he keyed it in, read it back to Reid, then cut the connection. He pressed the 'send' button and waited impatiently for it to ring, hoping that the BTP detective hadn't got himself into trouble.

  B amber stopped crawling. Wright thought he was about to consult his map again so he waited, concentrating on the FBI agent's back and breathing slowly so as not to hyperventilate in the damp, sour air. Wright had to keep fighting off images of collapsing tunnels: the walls were damp and each time he rubbed against them small avalanches of red dirt spilled on to the floor. Bamber made no move to open his map case.

  'What's wrong?' Wright asked.

  'We've got a problem,' said Bamber.

  'What?’

  Bamber rolled to the side and pressed himself against the wall of the tunnel, allowing Wright to see ahead. The beam of Bamber's flashlight illuminated the head and chest of Sergio Ramirez, his eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent scream. A bamboo spear was impaled through his stomach and blood seeped through his mud-stained T-shirt. One end of the spear had been thrust into the tunnel wall, locking the body into position. He had a flashlight in one hand and a knife lay on the floor in front of him.

  'Was it a booby trap?' asked Wright.

  'No. Somebody did that to him,' said Bamber. He crawled forward and took something that was poking out from Ramirez's T-shirt. He handed it to Wright. It was a playing card, smeared with blood. An ace of spades.

  Wright stared at it. 'Oh Christ,' he whispered. 'The killer's down here with us.’

  Bamber bared his teeth. 'Of course he is, Nick. What did you expect?’

  Wright stared at the FBI agent in horror. 'You knew?’

  'What did you think all this was about?' He pulled the playing card from Wright's hand. 'Why do you think he left the cards on the bodies? So that they'd know that he knew their secret. He wanted them to come back here, he wanted them down the tunnels so that he could kill them.’

  'Why?' asked Wright. 'Why does he want them dead?’

  Bamber threw the card on the ground. 'Come on,' he said, 'we have to get him out of there. It's the only way down.’

  'Down? We're going down?’

  'We have to follow this through to the end. Doc and Hammack are down there, and the killer will be after them.’

  Wright pointed at Ramirez. 'Jim, whoever killed Ramirez is still up here, in the third level.' He felt a presence behind him and jerked around, but there was nobody there.

  'You're jumping at shadows,' said Bamber. 'And you're wrong, Nick. My map only shows one way down to the fourth level, but there are bound to be others.' He crawled forward and grabbed Ramirez by the shoulders. He pulled but the bamboo spear that was wedged into the damp clay, preventing him from moving the body. He twisted the stick savagely to the side, ripping open the wound in Ramirez's stomach. Greasy grey intestines spilled out.

  'Oh Jesus,' whispered Wright, turning his head away.

  'He's dead, Nick.’

  'I know he's dead,' said Wright. 'That doesn't make it any more pleasant.' Intestinal gas bubbled out of the wound, making Wright gag.

  'You're going to have to help me,' said Bamber. 'I can't move him myself.' He yanked at the spear and it snapped.

  Wright crawled over to Bamber. Together they heaved Ramirez's body out of the hatchway. Wright prised the flashlight out of the dead man's hand. He reached for the knife but Bamber beat him to it.

  'I'll go first,' sai
d Bamber, nodding at the hatch. There was a gleam in his eyes that was almost manic in its intensity. He looked as if he relished the opportunity of meeting the killer face to face.

  'Okay,' said Wright. He gripped the flashlight tightly and looked away as Bamber crawled over the body, his knee digging into the stomach wound with a sickening squelching sound.

  Bamber put his head down the hatch and slithered down, opening his legs wide and pressing them against the tunnel walls for leverage. The hairs on the back of Wright's neck stood on end and he whirled around, his flashlight held high like a club. There was nobody there. He forced himself to relax.

  Bamber pulled himself back into the tunnel 'It's clear,' he said. 'Wait till I call you.' He slid his feet through the hatchway and dropped down.

  Wright edged towards Ramirez. Slippery grey tubes slid snake-like out of the gaping belly wound and pooled in a steaming mass on the damp clay floor. Wright kept as close to the tunnel wall as possible but he couldn't avoid contact with the entrails. He'd seen more than his fair share of bodies and had sat in on several post mortems, but seeing was one thing, physical contact with a corpse was another. He closed his eyes and crawled over it, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

  'Okay, Nick,' Bamber called from below.

  Wright squatted over the hatch and lowered himself down.

  Doc and Hammack ripped the sheets of parachute silk from the walls of the chamber, gathered them up in their arms and dumped them on the floor. 'Come on, there has to be another way out,' muttered Doc.

  Hammack tossed a rolled-up piece of silk into the middle of the chamber. 'What if there isn't?' he said.

  'This was the command centre,' said Doc.''They'd have been crazy not to have had an escape route.' He pulled a large sheet away from the wall, revealing damp clay underneath. Three of the walls were now bare. Other than the hiding place, the walls were perfectly flat.

  Hammack wiped his forehead with his arm. Suddenly he looked up. 'Did you hear that?' he asked.

  Doc stopped peeling away a piece of silk. 'What?’

  Hammack held up his hand. 'Listen,' he said.

  The two men stood in silence. 'I don't hear anything,' said Doc eventually.