‘This man. Professor William Bartlett Schiller - zoologist.
He’d spent several years inNew Guineaand the surrounding islands apparently investigating reports of mutant animals seen by the locals. It seems quite feasible, for an island in that area had been used for a nuclear test and some of the inhabitants had been affected by radiation. Of course, it was all hushed up, but somehow Schiller got wind of it and decided to do some investigating.’
‘All right,’ said Howard impatiently. ‘But what makes you think this professor has anything to do with the rats?’
‘Well obviously the fact that he’d been inNew Guineaand he’d been involved in the study of abnormalities in animals.’ In his irritation, Foskin almost became the man he’d once been - been in public anyway.
‘Added to that,’ he continued, ‘he took up residence in
London. Near the docks. In a house by a canal.’
‘The Canal!’ Harris exclaimed. ‘Of course I’ve been trying to remember. In the beginning, that’s where the rats were seen. Keogh saw them. I saw them! Near the old lockkeeper’s house. I used to play there when I was a kid but they closed the canal down and the lock-keeper moved on.
I bet it was his house the professor took over.’
‘This is the address,’ said Foskins, thrusting the piece of paper at him, ‘That’s it.’
‘Oh, come now,’ broke in Howard. ‘What does it matter how? So this lunatic professor smuggled in one of his mutant species and took it to his home to study... “And allowed it to breed...’ ‘Yes, allowed it to breed. But that knowledge doesn’t help matters now; the operation goes on as planned. Maybe later we can investigate...”But why not now?’
‘Because, Mr Foskins, there are too many more important things to contend with today. Or haven’t you heard of
“Operation Extirpate”?’
‘Yes, of course I have, but if you’re going to root them out..’
‘I’ve got no more time for this sort of discussion, Mr
Foskins, so ff you’ll excuse me...’
‘You bloody fool! You soon sink into the background when your last idea didn’t work.’
‘Huh! You were busy taking all the credit for it - I didn’t see why you shouldn’t take all the blame.’
Foskins paled and then his whole body seemed to lose its tautness.
‘Y-yes, you’re quite right. I accept the blame - but I implore you, learn by my mistakes,’
‘It isn’t important just now, don’t you understand? Good
God, man, we can make all the investigations we like after, don’t you see, but today, we’re going to wipe them out.’ He turned towards Harris, who had failingly tried to keep from sympathising with the ex-Under-Secretary. ‘Are you coming, Harris? We’ve plenty to do.’
’Right.’ He touched Foskins’ arm. ‘It’ll be looked into, don’t worry.’ And I’ll make sure he at least gets some credit for it, he thought.
They strode off towards the big operations room, leaving
Judy standing alone with the distressed man.
All thoughts of Foskins were pushed from their minds as they entered the bustling operations room. In the centre was a huge map ofLondon, with shaded green areas illustrating the parks and dead red lights indicating the positions of the transmitters. When they came into operation, the red lights would come on.
The position of the helicopters was shown by yellow arrows and the troop vehicles by blue. The room was crowded with people, most of them having a function, but many were there as onlookers. Harris noticed the Prime Minister discussing last-minute details with the Chief of Staff. One side of the room was devoted to radio and television equipment; the transmitters would be operated from here, instructions sent out to the troops and helicopters, everything is monitored by cameras aboard the helicopters and those set up in the streets. The whole event was to be televised nationwide, and relayed by satellite to other countries. The P.M. felt his presence was vital, not to the operation itself, but to his political career. To be seen at the head of such a vast life-saving exercise such as this – and seen all over the world - was a bonus few other leaders had shared. He disappeared into the adjoining room to be interviewed by the television networks.
Harris had barely begun to study the vast glass map when he saw Judy at the door talking excitedly to an army sergeant whose job it was to prevent intruders, pointing towards him. He went over.
‘What’s the matter, Jude?’
‘Foskins. He’s gone off to that house by himself.’
‘To do what?’
‘I don’t know. He just said he had to do something, something that would make amends - maybe he could find the nest.’
‘Oh, Christ. He’ll get himself killed!’ He went out into the hall, taking Judy by the arm.
‘What axe you going to do?’ she asked anxiously, suspecting what he had in mind.
‘I’ll have to go after him.”
‘No. No, please don’t, Harris.’
‘Don’t worry, Jude. I’ll beat him to the house - he’ll have to find his way there, I can go straight to it. At least I can stop him going in.’
‘But the sound-beams - they’re due to start any minute now.’
‘That’s all right. It’ll make it safer. The rats will just head straight for the parks.’
‘You don’t know, they might attack you.’
‘I’ll be safe in the car. I’ve got a gas-mask and a protective suit, remember - standard equipment. Please don’t.’
He held her to him. ‘I love you, Jude.’ He kissed her fore- head. ‘But I’m going.’
Chapter Seventeen
Harris drove recklessly, knowing there was no chance of meeting other traffic. He was stopped once by an army scout car and had to waste valuable minutes showing his pass and explaining his mission. The officer in charge regretted not being able to accompany him but he had his own duties to carry out. He wished him luck and waved him on.
As he drove through the city, the office blocks towering over him on either side, the feeling of being utterly alone became almost overpowering. He wanted to turn back, to be amongst people again, to feel the security of numbers, but he forced himself to go on, knowing he had to prevent Foskins from entering the house.
As he reached Aldgate he saw the first of the rodents.
They were running along the side of the road, a heavy black stream of bristling bodies. They were joined by others from buildings, flowing into the main stream, jostling and climbing over each others backs.
He turned his head sharply at the sound of crashing glass and saw the front window of a J’.Lyonsrestaurant cave in as -rats poured through it. They were all headed in the same direction and Harris guessed it was towards the park near theTowerofLondonwhere one of the transmitters was located. On he went, aware of the gradual build-up in the numbers of the creatures, but all mercifully ignoring the speeding car. As he turned intoCommercial Roadhe brought the car to a screeching halt. It seemed as though there was a huge moving carpet stretching before him - the broad road was wholly filled with black vermin, creating an undulating cover over the road.
His heart froze at the sight. They were coming mostly from a side street and disappearing into another on the opposite side of the main road. The whole dark mass seemed to be about fifty yards wide, without a single break in its length. Should he turn back, find another route? Or would other roads be similarly filled? And how much time would it cost him to find another way around? Should he drive straight through them? What if the car stalled and he was trapped in the middle of the flow? If they attacked, his protective suit would hardly withstand their onslaught. His instinct told him to turn around, to get back to the protection of the military, but as he looked through his rear window he saw other streams of rats, pouring from streets and buildings, like molten lava pouring from a volcano, forming tributaries around obstacles and joining again to form major streams. He realised the way back would be just as hazardous.