Gail Honeywell yanked the rucksack from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Turning on her heel, she was driven by a primal fear, horror welling up in her throat. She ran as fast as she could back towards the path beside the mill. It was almost enough to save her. But the Acolyte's reactions were faster. In the time that it had taken Gail to realise what was happening and to shrug off the heavy rucksack, the Acolyte had almost covered the ten yards between them.
Gail made it to the bridge. Drawing in huge breaths, she ran faster than she had ever run before in her life. Adrenalin pumped through her veins. She leaped onto the bridge, grabbing for the rail to steady herself. But the wooden slats of the structure were soaked with rainwater. Halfway across, her right foot landed on a patch of mud and she slid along the planks. She almost managed to retain her balance, but just as she thought she would make it to the grass on the far side her legs gave way. She crashed down onto her back and felt a shudder of pain rip through her as she collided with the railings.
The Acolyte was on her in seconds. He grabbed her wrists as she kicked and struggled. Gail managed to bite his arm, but her teeth met only resistant plastic. He pinned her to the floor with his knee. She tried to scream, but she couldn't gather her breath. A raw animal grunt came from the pit of her stomach. Rifling through his oversuit pocket, the
Acolyte pulled out a roll of thick tape. With practised fingers, he wound the tape roughly around the girl's wrists and slapped a strip across her mouth. With his knee still pushing down hard on her chest, he wrapped more tape around her ankles.
Standing up, the Acolyte looked down at Gail Honeywell, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. At this close range she could just see it through the visor. Then he looked at his watch. It was 6.31. He had to wait forty-three minutes before he could begin the procedure, which meant that the girl could be allowed to live a little longer. He felt a thrill of excitement shoot up his spine. 'Time enough to have some fun,' he said under his breath.
Chapter 37
Oxford: 30 March, 9.15 p.m.
Laura and Philip could see thin shards of a dark purple sky behind the terraced houses of Botley as they drove along Oxpens Road. Both were lost in their own thoughts. Philip contemplated the task ahead of them with a growing sense of dread, while Laura couldn't dismiss the knowledge that somewhere not far from where they were now, another girl was lying dead, her gall bladder removed.
Turning off the main road, Philip pulled into a free parking space close to Littlegate to the southwest of the city centre. This was about twenty yards from the less conspicuous of the two entrances to the Trill Mill Stream, at the edge of a small patch of lawn close to a modern office building. From there the stream ran east underground for almost a mile, following a path some thirty feet under Oxford until it emerged in the grounds of Christ Church College close to a walled path called Deadman's Walk.
Stepping out of the car, Philip pulled a large canvas bag from the boot and handed it to Laura. He then took out a rucksack which he shouldered before shutting the boot. It was quiet, not a soul in sight as they made their way along the street and through a gate onto the lawned area. A row of bushes screened the entrance to the stream from the road.
Parts of the Trill Mill Stream had once been an open sewer and consequently a health hazard. But during the middle of the nineteenth century the sections above ground had been covered over and built upon. It had been something of an attraction for intrepid explorers until the 1960s when Oxford City Council had closed it off to the public and blocked both ends with heavy metal grilles.
There was a small gate in the grille that was used to gain access for inspections and maintenance work. A heavy-duty chain and padlock were draped around the bars. The tunnel was about ten feet wide and perhaps five high. The walls were slimy and wet. The water was no more than eighteen inches deep, and as it trickled from the opening it flowed into a large metal pipe that ran into the ground at a slight angle before disappearing under the grass.
Laura threw down the canvas bag and Philip eased his rucksack onto the grass.
Laura made a face.
'I can't say I relish the idea of going in there myself,' Philip said. 'But we don't have any choice.' Then he pulled open the top flap of the rucksack.
Laura squatted down beside him.
'Two torches, plus spare battery packs. Matches. Our mobiles plus spare batteries — although I'm not sure that we'll get any signal once we're through the Guardians' entrance. A length of rope, a Swiss Army knife, water, biscuits, two spare sweaters.'
'And two pairs of waders and the all-important bolt-cutters,' Laura said, unzipping the canvas bag.
Philip picked up the bolt-cutters and strode over to the grille. Laura looked around, suddenly anxious. Within a few seconds, the chain had been sliced in two. Philip swung open the gate, then returned to where Laura was pulling on her waders. He yanked on his own pair and tucked their boots inside the rucksack.
Between the grille and the tunnel opening stood a small caged area which allowed them to stand upright for what would be the last time until they found the entrance to the Guardians' tunnel. Even then they could not be sure what they might find behind the concealed opening. Laura positioned the ends of the broken chain to make it look untouched and they concealed the canvas bag just inside the shadow of the entrance, placing a couple of bricks and a length of metal pipe over it.
'Ready?' Philip asked.
'I guess.' Laura could feel her heart beginning to pound.
Philip switched on the torch and took a few tentative steps into the tunnel. Bent almost double, his head was just a few inches below the curved roof. Laura looked out at the haze of city lights and took a deep breath. 'Au revoir,' she said quietly and followed Philip into the darkness.
After the first sharp bend, the only light came from their torches. Laura had never experienced claustrophobia before, but now she was beginning to feel the dank walls closing in on her. According to Charlie's map, access to the Guardians' tunnel should be on the left, sixty-three paces from the entrance to the Trill Mill Stream. But paces were a rather inaccurate way of measuring, so they would have to keep their eyes peeled.
After a few minutes, their backs were aching and the smell was almost overpowering. The walls were covered in mould and slime. The tunnel widened suddenly, but its ceiling was still bearing down oppressively.
'Can't be far now,' Laura announced.
Philip stopped for a moment and leaned back against the slimy wall, lowering himself a little to relieve the strain on his back. He was breathing heavily. 'Yeah, you're right. I made it fifty-five, but my strides are longer than yours. I suggest we shuffle along with our backs against this wall. We'll have to move forward slowly and scan the far wall with our torches.'
Arching their backs against the wall offered some relief, but not for long: its surface was jagged, and sharp edges dug into them. They took it as slowly as they could, searching the far wall. But after ten paces their torches had failed to reveal any abnormality in the ancient wall.
'This is no good,' Philip muttered. 'Damn. We must have missed it.'
'I feel like Quasimodo,' Laura replied. 'OK. I'll lead the way'
Shuffling slowly back towards the open air, Laura saw something. 'What's that?' she said, her voice echoing along the tunnel. In the torch's beam they could see a red smudge the size of an apple, placed about a foot above the water. Training both their torches on it, they searched around the mark for any other anomalies. Something glistened inside the red circle. Philip waded nearer. Close to the centre of the circle was a fleck of silver.