The biggest problem had been to select the right location. At Link Lane underground station the emergency services were still working to rescue any survivors, but the decision had already been taken to seal the tunnels; anyone still alive on those platforms would have no chance. In any case, the special difficulties ruled out Link Lane for this operation. As for the places attacked during the night, a fire had destroyed one, while others abutted on to neighbouring buildings into which — in several instances at least — the beetles and bloodworms had already begun to move.
That left Worth Hall — set in its own grounds, well distanced from any other structures; guarded too, as he remembered from his own experience that morning; and untouched since the previous night.
At last he reached the cash desk, where he paid for his tea, though it was probably cold by now. Back at the table, he found that Derek had abandoned the attempt to eat his steak and was thumbing through a folder of completed report forms.
‘Odd thing here,’ he commented, looking up as Guy rejoined them. ‘Three different officers — two constables and one fireman who later made a statement — all tell of having seen giant bloodworms while they were involved in rescue attempts, but when they returned only seconds later the bloodworms had gone.’
‘Slithered away,’ Evan said. ‘Under the floorboards, into drains, anywhere.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Derek argued, frowning. ‘From these reports it doesn’t sound like that.’
‘All in the same place, were they?’ Guy asked. ‘Different incidents. A mile or two apart.’
The loudspeaker interrupted them, calling Detective-Sergeant Evans to the telephone. ‘This is probably it,’ Evan informed them, getting up slowly. ‘Soon know, anyhow. Decisive man, our super. Keen cutting edge. Favourite expression of his, keen cutting edge. Still not sure what it means.’
Guy watched him as he ambled through the canteen to the phone extension near the door. In this past twenty-four hours his Welsh accent had become more marked than usual. He was nervous, Guy realised — who the hell wasn’t? No one in his right mind would deliberately plan to walk into a nest of bloodworms. Volunteer for it, even.
‘We’re on, we can go ahead,’ Evan informed them soberly when he came back. ‘With Macchiavelli’s blessing, for what it’s worth. So let’s get moving.’
Between them, the police and the fire brigade provided the safety clothing which Guy himself had specified. It consisted of boots, heavy-duty overalls, gauntlet gloves which could be strapped tightly over their sleeves, gas masks and dirt-track riders’ helmets with rubber face pieces which buckled under their chins. Not an inch of flesh was left unprotected.
They drove the short distance to Worth Hall in an unmarked police van which also contained the rest of their equipment. It stopped briefly by the gate where Guy had been held up that morning, then went through it up the driveway to a spot approximately fifty yards from the main entrance. This was the door they had decided to use, though after much argument; in some ways the rear door might have been wiser, but it was narrow and they might have to get out in a hurry carrying the metal bin between them.
Standing briefly on the step at the back of the van, Guy took a quick look around him.The police and firemen were standing well back, though hoses had already been run out and were fixed to their tenders. A separate group of firemen clad in full hazardous chemical gear waited to one side, and these were obviously the men who had volunteered to follow them in.
Beyond the trees the journalists had been corralled behind crowd-control barriers. Guy wondered if Tessa Brownley was among them, licking her thin lips with pleasure at having stumbled on such a major story on her own patch. No doubt that was what they were up to as they lurked behind their telephoto lenses, salivating at the thought that something might go wrong: what wouldn’t they pay to photograph a giant bloodworm in action against human victims?
They hadn’t been told the real reason why the authorities had waited until mid-afternoon before tackling the infestation at Worth Hall instead of going in earlier. The leader of the borough council and the police superintendent had agreed — though for different reasons — to suppress the news that the firemen had called an immediate strike when they heard about the bloodworms and the number of policemen killed. It had taken several hours of negotiation before they had consented to enter the building.
Overhead a police helicopter circled, surveying the hall from above.
‘No visible activity,’ came the voice in Guy’s earpiece, a tiny gadget like a hearing aid, which fitted snugly in his ear under the helmet and had a thin wire leading to the miniature receiver attached to his respirator strap, i’ll go round once again just to make sure.’
Guy and Evan stood at either side of the double doors, waiting for the right moment to go in. Derek, carrying a small garden spray for immediate self-protection, waited next to Evan. He had rejected the idea of using insecticide as being too slow-acting; instead, he had filled the spray with ethyl acetate. ‘Far more effective,’ he’d explained to Guy.
‘Clear of all visible activity,’ the observer in the helicopter said again.
Guy signalled to the other two, then inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed open one wing of the double doors, stepping aside again smartly. Derek faced the opening, his spray ready. A moment later he too raised a hand to indicate that they could go in. No sign of any danger.
The entrance hall looked as though a bomb had hit it. Dust and rubble covered most of the floor, heavy beams had smashed through the reception desk, the display screens were broken, an empty gap and a pile of splintered timber indicated where the staircase had once stood, and it seemed nothing had escaped destruction, with the sole exception of the old print of Worth Hali in the eighteenth century, which still hung on the wall where he had last seen it, though slighdy awry.
A muffled exclamation came from behind Evan’s gas mask and he pointed to where the bodies of the dead police officers lay. Their faces were unrecognisable, the flesh gone; beetles swarmed over them as though they were only so much carrion.
Nearby, emerging from beneath some fallen panelling, a large bloodworm came pushing itself towards them.
Guy had designed his own snake-catching equipment. Nothing very originaclass="underline" simply a deep-sea fishing rod which he’d bought from the Worth Road sports shop, replacing the nylon line with a reel of insulated wire with a noose at one end instead of a hook. His sole chance of success lay in his own skill at manoeuvring the noose over the slobbering head of the bloodworm.
The beetles had noticed them and began scurrying over to investigate, but he had no time even to think of defending himself. That task he had entrusted to Derek, leaving himself free to concentrate on the bloodworm, while Evan — who was lumbered with the galvanised metal bin — had to receive it at exactly the right moment.
It was a crazy venture, a small quiet voice in the back of his mind informed him as he stepped forward… then sideways a little… adjusting the position of the noose with each movement of the bloodworm. Vaguely he was aware of Derek scattering balls of cotton wool around their feet; he’d soaked them too in ethyl acetate in the hope that the fumes would at least last long enough to stun the beetles, if not kill them.
Again the bloodworm shifted over the rubble, then — like a spitting cobra — it reared up to confront him.
‘Got it!’ Guy yelled as the noose slipped easily over its head. With his gloved hand he tugged the wire tight. Nylon, he’d reckoned, might cut through the bloodworm if it struggled, whereas this was thick enough to hold it at least until the metal bin was in place. Evan was already there at his shoulder, ready and waiting.