Omega

'Sure.' Philip presented his card which not only identified him by name and photograph (a pity) but also gave his status of Senior Ventilation Officer (thank heaven). 'Hadn't the heart to get one of the lads up. They'd only just come off.'

'Thank you, sir.' The Security man gave him back his card and strolled on along the corridor to the other trapdoor. To Philip's horror, he stuck his head inside and pointed his torch about. After a few seconds he pulled his head out again, said chattily 'Never seen inside the ventilation – big, isn't it?', and moved away round the next corner.

Hardly believing their luck, Philip lowered the trap cover to the floor and hurried back to the first trap. When the Security man's footsteps were sufficiently faint, he called softly along the shaft: 'Betty? OK. Hurry.'

She slithered along the duct and joined him. He pointed to the second trap, and without a word she sprinted to it and disappeared.

When both trap-doors were back in place and he was beside her inside the duct, he whispered: 'How come he didn't see you?'

'Because I heard you talking and got back round the bend, stupid.' 'I love you,' he said, fervently.

Danger point number two passed without incident; nobody came near, and they were out and in again quickly. There followed a long and tiring climb, with several more filters to dismantle and replace, and a nerve-racking squeeze past a whirling fan whose bypass door was not really supposed to be opened unless the fan was switched off at the control room. Philip hoped the duty man was not awake enough to notice the temporary drop in air pressure which must be registering on one of his dials.

At last, a mere hundred metres from Surface, they reached danger point number three, the last and worst.

'Now let's recap the drill,' Philip whispered before he began unfastening the door. 'There's a good half-minute walk between this and the other door, so we can't do it like the first two. We have to play this for real, with you as my assistant. Out of this trap and re-close it; then walk naturally to the other one and open it, together. OK?'

'OK.'

He unfastened the trap and climbed out; no one in sight, no footsteps to be heard. He beckoned to Betty and she jumped down beside him. She was very quick with her fingers and working together they had the trap-door re-fastened in seconds.

'Now,' he said, 'Quick but not too quick.'

The first corner; no one. The second corner; no one. They reached the trap-door and started to release the fastenings, two on each side. Philip had both his open while Betty was still struggling with the second.

'This one's jammed, Phil.'

'Hell!'

He took over and found she was right. It took him a spanner and three minutes' effort to get it free. Hastily, they lowered the cover to the floor – so absorbed that they were unaware of the woman's presence till she spoke.

'Treasure-hunting, this time of night?'

They both spun round and Philip knew at once that in their surprise they had over-reacted. He managed a grin, and said: 'God, you made me jump, creeping up on us like that… No, blockage-hunting…' He repeated the story he had told the Security man, hoping he sounded natural. Betty was behind him, so he could not see her, but he had more faith in her acting ability than in his own.

He had an uncomfortable feeling he had seen this woman before. She wore the shoulder-flashes of the Press Corps; looked, and in her single remark had sounded, American; about thirty-five, short strong fair hair, shrewd grey eyes that watched him. He finished his story, hesitated and then turned to Betty.

'Well, we'd better get in there, if we're ever going to find it.'

Betty moved towards the trap, picking up her maintenance kit and respirator haversack. 'Find what?' the American asked, too casually. 'Surface?' 'I told you…'

'And I didn't believe a word of it.' She had picked up the shopping bag before Betty could reach it and pulled out the obviously civilian sweater. 'To coin a phrase – that's no maintenance lady, that's your wife. I've seen you both in the Mess.'

Philip would never have dreamed Betty could move so fast. She was on the American woman like lightning, the edge of her hand slashing at her neck. But the woman was fast, too; she dodged just in time and they grappled. The American was saying 'Hold it, hold it!' as she defended herself, and it was only the fact that she did not shout that made Philip hesitate to use the spanner that was still in his hand. The hesitation was only momentary – he would have to use it – but it was long enough for the American to gasp 'For Chrissake – I'm on your side!'

Betty jumped back, watching the other warily.

'In here – quick,' the American said, and threw open a cubicle door across the corridor. For some reason they did as she said and found themselves in what was obviously her own room. She turned and faced them. 'Tonia Lynd, Associated Press correspondent. I know you' – to Betty -'you're the one they've been calling witch-lover. My job to keep my ear to the ground. So you want out. Me too but my Chief won't give me an exit pass. My Press card will do once I am out. So can I come with you up that chimney? Because that's sure as hell where you're going and sure as hell I’m not going to snitch on you.'

Betty said 'Yes' while Philip was still gathering his wits. 'I'd feel safer not leaving you behind, just in case you're lying. Get your respirator, money, anything else you need that'll go in your pocket. But no luggage. Come on, then -there's no time to hang around.'

Philip could hardly remember, afterwards, the rest of the climb. All that remained vividly in his mind was the three of them – himself, his wife, and the American stranger -standing at last beside the concealed air intake on the roof of a Stoke Newington factory, breathing the fresh air and gazing out dumbly at the London dawn.

14

'Why are there no buses – or queues at the stops?' Philip wondered when they had made their way out into the main road. 'There should be, even this early.'

'Don't you know?' Tonia replied. 'They called a strike, late last night. They're demanding Dust respirators for all bus crews.'

Philip halted in his tracks and stared at her. 'Dust respirators? But how did they know?'

'Holy Moses! Didn't you get the Prime Minister's TV statement?'

'We didn't watch TV at all last night, or turn on the radio. We were too busy getting ready.'

'I guess you would be, yes… Eight-thirty, it was. He gave a warning about this Dust that might come up out of the ground if there were any more tremors. Said you could protect yourself against it by breathing through gauze soaked in vinegar… Walter Jennings, the TUC man, spoke after him. He called on the unions to cooperate -several factories are going over to producing proper respirators on a crash programme. Meanwhile there's enough to equip the essential services… That's what the bus strike's all about. They found they weren't on the essential services list.'

They started walking again, towards the Walthamstow Marshes. The Summers' home lay in Leyton, on the other side, and they planned to pick up and stock their car before getting out of London. Tonia, planless after her unpremeditated escape from Beehive, asked if she could go along along with them till she had thought out what to do next.

'Stick with us till you're out of London anyway,' Philip advised her. 'You don't want to be caught in town if there is a Dust outbreak… Did the Premier say what the Dust did?'

'Only that it was poisonous.'

'That's putting it mildly. I think I'm one of the few hundred who do know, because of my job… Get the Dust in your lungs and it drives you incurably insane.'

'Jesus!'

'Thank God they have given the warning. At least people can get their hands on vinegar and gauze now… If there'd been a Dust outbreak before that, in somewhere like London – within three days, it'd be a city of homicidal maniacs… The Government's known about the vinegar-mask thing for a couple of months. I never could understand why they sat on it.'