chapter thirty-six, Tuesday:5thnovember2013 the dark
Illuminated by the torchlight, I see a switch on the wall with the words ‘GENERATOR’ stencilled above in faded lettering. English eh? Is that right? My brain begins a refreshed hum. Grabbing the bar and pulling it down hard with a reassuringly loud clunk, we all wait in anticipation. Nothing happens for a while then we hear a knock and whirr from off in the darkness, and a series of spluttering clicks as a motor hums’ to life, beginning a low glow of sulphur yellow lighting gradually getting brighter.
We stand in a large artificial cave with a tall roof. Rusty thick chains dangle with old bulkhead lamps hanging from the ceiling, not a great amount of light but enough to see what is in the space. ...and lights...that work, after all this time, someone's been paying attention here, but say nothing.
I see the huge dirty generator sitting on the floor at the far side. That's not nearly dirty enough either, its starter button has been used recently, it's smeared with grease but not nearly dusty enough.
Hmm. I smell spilled fuel and burned oil too, all is not quite what it seems is it? My 'Spidey' senses are alert again.
I don't sense danger so I snap my band and carry on.
We are looking down into a massive round vertical tunnel at least fifteen metres wide. Our banister of iron has been carefully joined to the rock I shake it to test and even in this damp rusty environment it doesn't budge. Straight across from where we emerged is what looks like a tiny scruffy little office space, blasted out of the rock, there's another door and the cables that follow us down from the house seem to divide and splice into this little room. My mind noiselessly reaches out to Daniel. "Let's have a look then." Daniel says, answering my question without me even vocalising it.
"I’ll lead," Stan says pulling his gun out of the leather holster at his side, we don't argue, Stan is in mode, his senses attuned to every sound and every movement. Since we all know exactly how many times Stan has checked the piece, we are all certain that whatever befalls us now will not be due to weapon malfunction. Of course he may have worn the thing down! We follow him around the balcony to the door, it's a smaller version of the huge iron door behind us, but this one has no lock. Stencilled on the door a little faded with decay is the word 'OFFICE'. I'm not sure what the Peruvian for 'office' is, or the Spanish either, but this doesn't feel right. Though planes have all their dials labelled in English don't they? Maybe it's a situation like that? I am fairly happy with this new explanation, but a little bored.
Suddenly I find myself hoping there's tea making facilities in the office.
Stan pushes the door, it resists at first, then manages to comply with a screechy yell of hinges and rust. We peer around Stan, our torches forward all looking into the dimly lit room beyond, oddly, there's a faint light on in there, that's unexpected surely? It doesn't look very interesting to me.
It's like that part in the story that's tense and spooky because there might be something evil lurking in the dark room as the creaky door slowly opens. The drums of the music getting heavier and heavier, the feverish violins screeching in the darkness. Everyone holding their breaths and grabbing the person their sitting with. Moving too slowly into the unknown, and the lights either don't work or no one thinks to switch them on. Just torches and heavy breathing, the drums stop suddenly, but it's an anti-climax, there's either no-one there or an old lady knitting keeping rhythm to the music in her rocking chair. Well, my heart rate is normal bordering on slow, so my disquisitive side tells me, there's nothing to worry about. There's a slight breeze suggesting there's another exit, perhaps a shaft for the rail tracks for the removal of any collected ore?
My recharged phone vibrates for attention. Signal? Weird.
Swiping the screen, anxiously waiting for any news of home, and receive a text from Jinni telling me everything at home us fine. I am trailing behind the group attention on my handset, oblivious to anything but the handy little hand-held PA and life manager. Then, wondering who added a wireless aerial down here for phones, a happy feeling blossoming through me, my creatures are OK, and quite suddenly I really don't care how, just happy that it is so.
JG: “Boys and cats all fine” thank goodness, she is brilliant at updating me just when I need to hear it the most, must be a gift.
TC: “Thanks, you’re a star” I mean it too, I don’t let just anyone near my animals.
JG: “Any idea when you’re coming home?” Oh, forgot to think about that.
TC: “Few days, hopefully” I’d really like to leave this place and get back home.
JG: “No probs, let me know, I'll need to get some more cat food” she must like my boys, and cats too.
TC: “I will thanks, kisses to the creatures, and thanks Tx” they’re mine and don’t forget it!
Sliding my finger over the glossy surface I close the text screen, decide I’m in a staying in touch type of mood, I text Pete too, hoping she’s having a nice time with James.
TC: “Babes, how’s your new Missoni bikini working out for you?” Bait.
PF: “Still packed up, but the Burberry dress got the desired reaction” bingo!
TC: “Where are you?” Sitting by a pool with a Martini in your hand and Tom Ford sunglasses on?
PF: “A remote retreat I was promised, sounds great? But what that actually means is make your own cocktails! Do I look like the kind of girl who mixes her own drinks?” James does not know who he’s dealing with.
TC: “And while you’re mixing drinks what is James doing?” Give the bear a poke.
PF: “He’s doing me from behind!” So proud of her.
TC: “Nice” so jealous right now, and I hate Martinis.
PF: “Don’t you hate Martinis?” Clever.
TC: “Have a great time, enjoy your distractionless self” she’ll hate it.
PF: “See you soon honey” can’t wait.
By the time I’ve finished I stand alone on the balcony, an animated conversation resumes in the office and a smell I can't recall to memory reaches me. There's a cold and eerie feeling here, dark and damp but something else, my 'Spidey' senses are tingling, a new cologne too. I feel a sudden chill along my neck, I turn suddenly and see a face I don't quite recognise standing not more than a metre away from where I’m pinned to the spot scared, is it fear? I’m not quite sure.
A torch lights the face alone like a bodiless head, my own head is sending warnings of danger pinging around my cranium like a pinball with endless momentum. But the more we stare at each other the slower the ball bounces, I can hear it slowing to a stop, spin around at the bottom and still finally. Something about this face is familiar, many of the features belong to Daniel, the hair to Kurt.
"Mr Pearse?" My voice sounds quite shaky, but I’m sure now, "Graham Pearse?" I ask him and his face lights up with a huge smile that reaches his eyes. A familiar warmth in his expression.
"That's me,” he tells me softly, “Now who are you? And what's a smart girl like you doing down in this dark and dirty pit of a mine?" A friendly question.
“I’m Tharie, Graham.” I look down at my phone, “just connecting with the real world.”
“This is the only spot where you can get a signal.” He tells me in a friendly tone, “took the engineers ages to get it working too.” He laughs, a casual, easy laugh. He reaches for a switch on the wall I couldn't see before and a few more bulbs pop to life one by one.
"You're alive?" Not quite a question. "Daniel...he thought you were dead." I tell him, not sure what question to ask first.
"Danny? You know my Danny is he OK?" He approaches me frantic with his hands on my shoulders I sense no malice from this man, just sincerity, I am not scared.
"He's here Mr Pearce." I look at his face, "and Kurt too." Any tenseness on his face noticeably fades and relaxes, he takes a deep breath, smiling warmly, a smile just like Daniels. "Daniel," I call a little too loudly, "here baby." Graham’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, but no questions follow, he just accepts it for now.
"Tharie, you wouldn't believe what we found in there....." Walking but not really looking forward, he stops dead when he sees who I’m talking to. "Dad?" And he just stares in disbelief for a moment. For another second they both stand motionless staring, then the spell breaks, and I have to step aside swiftly, Daniel runs over and they hug each other never letting go for what seems like ages.
"What happened?" Daniel looks at his Dads face taking it all in. "Never mind, stories can wait." He looks around for the others, "let’s get them out of here," he looks back at his Dad, “I need tea.”
I don't need to ask, I walk to the office doorway following a surprising familiar whiff of Chanel no.5, and there I see a well groomed, slim, middle aged woman. She's sitting in what is a basic but well-appointed kitchen, a huge cream tin wartime enamelled teapot, with green edging, standing on the table, and an equally huge copper kettle on the stove whistling away. She looks up at me past everyone else she’s clearly met already "tea dear?"
"Definitely." I say to Daniels Mum.
She is smaller than I’d imagined, a petite frame, wearing ironed authentic jeans (oh god, I try not to think about it), and little deck pumps. A blue and white stripped Bretton, and a gold rope chain around her neck. She has Daniels eyes and smile. Wearing Chanel diamond earrings which looks perfect down here in this hole in the earth, I immediately like her style, but there’s something about her. Something ugly. Something in her smile that's not real, I begin to feel the first prickle of a rash and I need tea now. An edge. That's it, a hard edge.
"I thought you were in Florida?" I hear Kurt ask coming back into the room with his strong arm wrapped firmly across his Dads shoulders.
"That's code dear,” she tells him like a child, “we haven't had family living there in twenty years.” She rolls her eyes, “boys, they just never listen, which as it turns out works well for us.” She looks over at her husband, and they all giggle about that. Clearly she’s told them hundreds of times. She returns my gaze, tilts her head a little, forces a smile and doesn't blink once. I feel like she's just taken a stroll inside my head, found nothing at all of interest, complained it needs dusting with a swipe of a finger over a surface, and left in a huff. Where's that tea?
“My name's Barbara by the way.” She finally tells me. You know mine, I'm thinking, it's written on the door that says 'keep out' up in my head.
The room is sparse, a fold down bed at one end, a few lights, a fridge and sink some clothes hang in a little cupboard with no door. "We heard a spot of trouble might be coming, we have a friend at local police station and…” She notices the look on my face, “They’re not all bad down there.” She explains impatiently. I won’t take her word for that naturally. “He told us we should probably keep our holiday short, so we came down here.” She gestures around the room with bony tanned fingers, very large rings spin loosely around on them, the heavy stones clink together as she moves, in a demonstration of extreme wealth. “It's got everything we need for a few days but then we start running out of fresh water and start having to boil it."
Graham makes a face, "boiled water is nasty except if you’re making tea!"
I have to agree.
“Or we drink wine!” She adds, smiling at her husband.
"I’d need a large glass of red, full bodied, to get me into that rusty old makeshift lift.” Offers Kurt, pulling Liza close, so his Mum can clearly see to back off.
“Is that what it is?” Liza asks alarmed.
“Looks dodgy to me." Says Nigel. I have to agree with the professor about that, and if I wore spectacles, I'd be tempted to clean them right about now.
"It's the only way back out if we can't get through the house." Says Daniels Mum. My blood sinks to my feet at hearing this.
"Babs, let’s go honey," Graham offers a hand to his wife she stands and he gives her a peck in the cheek.
"Let's drink our tea first my love, it’s all ready." So that's exactly what we do, in china cups with saucers little fingers extended in mock amusement. The tea tastes incredible like the cup you relish having been in LA for a few days, where you can't get a good cup anywhere for love nor money! And the ginger nuts were being passed around too. Like a family camping trip, nobody asking questions just a hushed sense that despite what has happened everyone important is here and OK. We all just accept the situation and carry on in true British style.
"I’d like to watch the sunrise," I say, "anyone with me?" Cheers all round.
"I like her," Barbara tells Daniel, knowing I can hear, “she’s not like…” looking at me up and down, is that rude? “Like your usual…type.” Is that a criticism? “She’s….outdoorsy and very loud.”
Moi?
Message received, I’m not good enough and likely money grabbing too, or is that too cliché?
“I like it,” he tells her looking lovingly at me.
“I can tell dear.” She brushes some hair from his face in an overly motherly way, and he flinches away, “does she ever….” And in a whisper…”Brush her hair?” What! Mothers!
Bloodygoddamit! What is it about hair with them? But she continues, “but, expect that can be remedied…a trip to Martha's salon…perhaps?” She is now thinking out loud, does she know I can hear her? “And some lipstick too surely.”
Merde!
“But, I er…like her.” Her tone is one of distaste, Daniel doesn’t notice it, or if he does, he's ignoring it for my sake.
He pauses wondering whether, like everyone who has a Mum, he should say something? Decides it’s not the time, like we all do, and lets her think it's OK. “Me too," he whispers, and I hear that too.
Bon. Pomme frites and mange tout. And that my friends, is all the French I know, my map reading is better.
We grab our things and I lead us up the steps, because I only have one speed, like Harry, its go or stop, so off I go. We stop several times on the way up to rest, we all have different levels of fitness but no one gets left behind and we start singing some Barbara Streisand songs to help us on our way, and the acoustics, I’d have to agree, are great.
Nearing the summit there’s a welcoming feint glow of light, I can hear someone in the house. I stop and raise a flat hand so Stan who's behind me can get his gun out. I saw this little move watching crime drama, and that genre has proved very useful on this trip, I'm sure you'd agree? I mean, where would we be now if I watched cake baking programmes?
Passing me in the threshold of the anteroom off the kitchen he steps out through the wedged door just as two figures come into the kitchen. We hear voices, he has told us to stay behind in the dark so if there's any trouble he will be alone. He peers around to check them out and his hand comes off his gun and it remains holstered. "Come up its OK." He tells us, his frame collapses in a relaxed stance, and he exhales.
As we climb the last steps and come out thankfully into air and the gleaming dark blue of before dawn. What we see is a complete surprise, (really?), and what we smell makes our hungry mouths water. “Martini? Shaken or stirred?” Asks Pete smiling, as she expertly skewers olives and tiny onions on cocktail sticks. Standing at the counter in the kitchen, wearing a Missoni bikini and J brand jeans. Her huge Tom Ford sunglasses on top of her head, he hair in a shiny brushed pony. I am so happy to see her.
“What?” Is all I can manage, I’m a woman of many words clearly.
James is making tea and breakfast, Pete doesn’t cook of course, she has a maid at home for that, and there are two police officers sitting comfortably in the living room sipping tea. “They've been whispering to themselves.” She tells us conspiratorially, “in Spanish, thinking we can't hear and hoping we don't understand.”
“And?” I ask her.
“They're expecting company, to meet them here.” Sounds like it's going to be another long day. Pete translates their dialogue, wincing at the language, and sending me a warning glance into the bargain. Apparently they like skinny women! Nothing would surprise me now, and I hug my friend, so glad she is here. And whilst we chat about her surprise few days retreat away with a hot boy, screams of laughter emanate from behind us as James is reunited with his parents, deep joy all round. Pete pulls on a hoodie in response to further lewd comments from the other room, and passes me a glass of dark red wine, it's just the ticket.
“Pete, what are you doing here?” I hug her tiny frame again, happy to smell civilisation in her perfume. She passes me a plate with some sour cream filled grilled potato skins and houloumi sticks with breadcrumbs. As I chew, I’m so happy with a link to real life, and of course it's the taste of civilisation, I increase the intensity of my interrogation, with a crooked eyebrow raising and a stern look.
“Jimmy and I fancied a weekend away as you well know, and….well…I couldn’t say no to the promised mystery tour could I?” She winks at James and he returns the gesture, such happiness in his face. She whispers close to my ear, “My knees can't take much more!” Happy for you?
James grabs her around the waist and pulls her close, “we fancied a few days in the sun, and heard it was a family affair.”
He glances conspiratorially at Stan, he has engineered this little get together? He kisses Pete on the head, she’s clearly smitten by him, it’s great to see her happy. “Of course I didn’t realise just what kind of ‘family’ vacation it would turn out to be, Mum and Dad, blimey.”
Indeed.
“And your company having breakfast in there?” He nods his head to the living room, “there's something off about those two Tharie.” Their uniforms aren't ironed, I’d have to agree.
"They found three undesirables wandering out in the dessert,” James tells us, “they've been looking for two of them for days regarding a theft of an artefact and a diary from an old lady's house,” old ladies eh? Don't these people draw a line? “Picked them up, locked them up,” James tells us casually like this is just another day in paradise. We go into the front room to join the guests, James continues his tale, “they told an incredible story about being kept prisoner and being tied up.” He laughs, sipping his whiskey. You have no idea.
One of the officers takes over the story, “but we know Pearce's and we know that must be the lie so after we put them the jail we come to check on here.” He eyes us leerily, and an uncomfortable atmosphere begins to bloom. His broken accent easier to follow than my Spanish, “best cup of tea in region.” He salutes the room full of gawping faces with his cup, and saucer. They chat in Spanish to each other under their breaths, Pete listens intently, her expression changing, she shoots a look at James, he picks up on her silent warning. “Hey Mr Graham, Bab's, how you doin”? The older officer asks, clearly he watches too much American TV, like we all do.
"We're fine Carlos, just having the family over for the weekend." Says Graham and smiles a wide friendly smile as best he can. Daniel has a smile like it, he uses it when he's trying to converse with someone fit for a straitjacket.
“Play ‘trivial pursuit’.” Barbara adds, “drink some wine, you know?” The atmosphere of a feeling of discomfort spreads through the air like smoke, we can all smell it now, my own heckles are up. He stands and hands his cup to Pete with a lecherous wink, she puts it down immediately, she doesn’t clear up after anyone, including herself, she has a maid for that too.
”Well, storms brewin' so best getin' back to town,” says Carlos, clearly another fan of old cowboy movies his Spanish accent makes it sound funny, “come on boy, your turn to drive.” The boy looks instantly happy about that, clearly, he's not usually allowed behind the wheel, he's missed a button on his shirt, he really shouldn't be allowed to drive should he? Grabbing his hat with sweat stained band, they head out, does nobody here bathe or do any laundry? They wave goodbye over their shoulders, Carlos lights a cigarette pausing briefly to shade the flame from the wind, glancing over his shoulder at the house behind him. They get in the dirty car and they drive off in a puff of exhaust or badly burned oil. It’s to do with the colour of the smoke, but I can’t recall...
“We're in trouble,” Pete says with a grim look on her face. I know that look, it's when someone's got the same shoes as her at a 'do'.
“Yes, let’s get out of here,” from Liza, she understood too of course, and she’s a serious as a travers form C to E into a counter canter...which if you don’t' know dressage, is serious, quite serious indeed.
Nigel has decided his glasses are already clean and don't need any further attention. Graham looks over at Barbara nodding, “grab provisions everyone, we've got to get out of here.”
The wind outside is speeding rapidly and loose dry leaves and twigs are being tossed and swirled around. A hurricane? Well used to packing our backpacks we go into survival mode, the tea is fresh so I fill flasks again. I grab fruit and bread, bottles of water, chocolate fingers and KitKats. I share the weight by distributing the water between all of us, grab even more chocolate bars and stuff them in my pack.
“The weather, it will get worse?” Adds Liza, but it’s not the brewing storm she’s talking about. She motions to the fast retreating cloud of dust, “they’re expecting company” she says, and suddenly not moving away from us any-more, the cloud of rapidly increasing dust grows closer, they're coming. As I look out of the front windows, a fast moving convoy of three trucks heads back our direction, surrounded by a swirling mass of disturbed dust. Carlos and the boy in the lead vehicle, teeth exposed in an unfriendly expression, the binoculars in my hand, and now I’m suddenly hoping I’ve packed enough tea.
“They're back, come now!! Into the cave,” says Graham, Stan tosses him the spare gun from Emilio, fully loaded and checked of course, and Graham stuffs it into his waistband like it’s nothing unusual to handle a weapon. I shudder, because this can only mean one thing, back down there… Stan takes up the rear and shuts the kitchen door firmly behind us, the dim light fails to make connections with the mirrors to light the space “they don't know about this entrance I hope?” He asks.
“Where did they think we'd come from when we appeared just now, the garden?” I ask. Bloody hell, I’m glad evil is also stupid, in this case.
“They didn’t ask, I didn’t say,” James answers, “we used to play together as kids round here, me and Carlos's son Bobby.” He's wafting Pete along gently with a firm hand on her back, “trying to find the legendary mine, we never did of course.” Said James, herding Pete into the basement, she'd be happier having a bikini wax, but we can't always have what we want can we?
“Shush,” hisses Stan, “they're in the house already.” Bloody hell again.
Quietly but quickly we make our way down the steps, once more my legs are still recovering from the climb up and feel a little weak. Above us we can hear angry voices, furniture crashing about and a couple of shots fired. “They’re pissed off.” I whisper to Daniel. He nods at me looking strangely amused, what am I whispering for? They're making a racket up there.
“Just keep moving, they might be able to guess where we went.” Stan caches us up a little out of breath, and answering an unspoken question for all of us. He says “I was locking the metal bulkhead door.” Naturally. “There's a slider on our side, like it was built to keep intruders out, I was just making sure it would.” Stan gathers his momentum and we travel down together.
“Clank!!!” We all hear it, metal on metal loud bash from above, “they found the door and they're trying to get through it.” Says Barbara, “it's a sturdy door, salvaged from the submarine 'Enterprise', it should keep them occupied for a while.” She seems amused by the story, expect it’s her way of coping, also she spins her lose diamond rings around her fingers in agitation. Down, down we go, our torches still glowing strongly but were not sightseeing this time, we journey down with a purpose, to save ourselves. Gripping tightly to the stiff rope handrail where we can, it too is slippery from the damp and dripping water.
“Tharie?” Daniel grabs my arm and looks at me, “you OK?” His voice is tender and sincere.
“Too much to process to be scared Daniel, far too much noise.” I jab my head with my finger wincing, Daniel kisses me softly on the lips, we're holding up the entire line since we're in front, but he either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. I instantly feel better, refreshed even like I’ve been given quick release energy, because his lips pure unrefined sugar in that single moment.
I am quiet, and taking his hand gratefully I lead him down, “come on, not far now.” I say.
And patting the flask sitting on the top of my bag, I continue on.
Bloody hell, did I say that already?
Chapter thirty-six, Tuesday:5thnovember2013 the journey
Unnoticed the first time, a rivulet of dripping water runs close to the side of the cavern we stand in, and disappears through the rock where it's cracked in the far corner. It’s like a white noise and the theme tune to this section of our journey. It gets in my head, it has a tone and rhythm, my headache is building. I am gripping Daniels arm quite hard, I ask to stop for a drink, we rest a while and I sip noisily from my flask, trying to stem the source of the pain that’s building there.
“Headache babes?” Pete strokes my hair, it helps, I’m selfishly glad she’s here, of course I’d rather we were all at home sipping tea and safe from rampaging hoards of thugs, but you can't always have it your own way, can you? Above and behind us we hear faint and muffled noises, the top of the stairs is alive with banging and shouting, it doesn’t help. I drink greedily from my supply, they are still trying to get through. Bang! I jump up and spin round, Daniel catches me in his arms, warm and tight around my frame, I feel safe.
He kisses my hair as he hums a tune, what is that? Placebo I think, I turn and kiss him gently on the lips, soft and inviting, suddenly I feel better, He knows what I need. He whispers “thank you” to Pete, they’re working together to make me feel safe, I love them both for that.
We hear several rounds of gunfire and a very loud scream, frustration or injury we neither know nor care. “What do they want?” Nigel asks as if asking a class to solve a puzzle, then being slow to respond he answers himself. “Of course, the gold, can there be that much left?” He is wiping his lenses on a hanky and holding them up in Liza's torchlight, repeating the process until he’s happy they are clean, returns them to his face, folds and stashes the cloth in his pocket. Stan is checking his gun, Barbara and Graham are whispering together in the corner, Pete and James are holding hands and Liza and Kurt are kissing, tongues and all. It's disgusting. I like it.
“Gold?” I ask finally, “this is all about the gold?” I am perched on an uncomfortable rock I may not be able to achieve a perfect sitting trot in the next week if I remain here much longer. I fidget, but it doesn’t help, so I stand.
“Millions of dollars’ worth.” replies Graham drinking tea and joining the conversation, I get the feeling Daniels Father doesn’t say much. His wife does the talking, it was much the same in my own family home.
“We have left it to the villagers in our will, to build a community,” interrupts Barbara, She on the other hand, always seems to have lots to say. “Schools, libraries, a hospital,” there’s no stopping her once she’s started either, that'll get tedious after a time. “Waiting until Graham was dead, well…, we thought would dispel the myth that there was gold here at all.” She opens her mouth to continue but Graham interrupts, perhaps to prevent her saying too much, I find that strange.
“But clearly they guessed.” Graham finished, looking furtively at his wife.
“Because your family started appearing, out of the blue, they assumed there was treasure here?” I offer.
“Doesn’t take much to assume that, no one ever comes here except Bab's and Stan.” Says Graham, too quickly to stop his words in time.
Stan, he knew.
“Stan?” Asked Daniel, “you knew all along?” He shakes his head in amusement, treachery in the ranks. “You have been looking after me all these years and never once said anything Stan?” He points his KitKat at Stan, well, the man can only take so much and he cracks under the immense pressure Daniel has put him under. KitKat torture, he’ll break sooner or later. Daniel snaps the fingers apart as if to demonstrate that very point, and we all jump in the darkness of our confinement. Yes, anyone would break under that kind of action.
“OK, Daniel, it’s true,” gasps Stan “I wanted to tell you,” he is sorry it’s clear. He looks at the end of the KitKat Daniel still points at him, tell us or else. “Once I met Tharie,” I hear my name and hope my hip-flask isn't too buried in my bag. “I knew your life would change Daniel,” he continues. “You began smiling for the first time.” Stan's tone is one of pride and protector, “you seemed to be interested in something other than work,” he cares for Daniel, and I feel better knowing this man is on our side. Daniel just looks at him, and I notice Barbara looking at Daniel. What is it? Jealousy? Yes. Likely wondering why he doesn't feel the same way about his Mother, I wonder why not?
Suddenly there's a massive explosion from upstairs we stand, knocked suddenly out of our reverie, small pieces of rock and debris are shaken onto us from the ceiling high above. We smell cordite again, this time more pungent than before. “Well done Stan, got any of them do you think?” Asks Nigel, checking his gun is loaded, gun! When did he get that?
“I set two charges” he says pointing, “didn’t want to waste the stuff.” OK, and what!
He pats his sack, “one at head level, and one at groin with a delay.” Ouch! “So the first man gets his head mashed and the second, who'll undoubtedly storm past thinking that’s all there is, and in his greed comes through the door will get his groin trashed.”
There's always someone worse off than yourself.
Stan looks satisfied, as we hear cries a shouts from above, “mashed and trashed.” He smiles. That sounds friendlier than it actually is, I don't want any more details. “An explosion!” Nigel explains pushing his glasses back up his nose, “great idea.” He shuffles forward to perch on a rock we all glance at each other.
“He's a strange old bugger isn’t he?” Asks James in my ear, he smells of Pete's perfume.
“Don’t judge a man by the cover, eh Nigel?” Says Stan.
“Just like the old days eh Stan?” Chuckles the professor.
“You two know each other?” I ask incredulously.
Liza stands slowly, a look of confusion overcomes her. “So, you’re not a Professor?” Speaks Liza clearly stunned, trying to keep up, to make sense of everything.
“Oh yes I am,” Nigel replies, “I am a real Professor with all the qualifications accounted to my name, real as I stand here.” His spectacles in one hand a handkerchief in the other, “my cover needed to be convincing.” Cover? This is brilliant!
“Cover?” Asks Daniel, bloody hell, this is awesome.
“That's a clever disguise, I didn't see that coming.” Which for me is a feeling I’m not altogether used to, and this is my story!
“A disguise yes, but like all the most believable lies, it's shrouded in truth.” He wipes his glasses again. “To get into some of the most hostile and uninhabitable countries in the world, nobody looks twice at a fuddy old Professor, I get my permissions and visas in the usual way for an archaeologist, and can slink around unnoticed by any authorities, it's great for meeting women too!” he returns his handkerchief to his pocket. He winks, having cleaned his glasses again and returning them to his nose.
“The perfect cover!” He now seems far more animated than before too, I am seriously impressed.
“Indeed,” he stands up this time less bent and aged looking, and looking much taller. Or is it just my imagination?
“Shall we proceed? That little trick will only hold them back for a short while, I counted twelve chaps up there, assuming the two blown up can’t follow we're still talking about ten men coming down those stairs soon. We need a plan.”
“Ambush.” Stan says.
”Agree.” snaps Nigel.
“They won't come down together, they'll be in small groups, if they're smart, and they won’t want to run into a trap again.” Replies Graham. And with that, the three 'commando's' group together and in low whispered voices make their plan.
“Ex-army buddies, did you know about this?” I ask Daniel in a hushed tone, I can be secretive too, army indeed.
“I knew Stan is ex SAS, he has a services tattoo, and he's told me a few stories that only now am I beginning to believe,” his hands fly into the air gesticulating, “I knew he and my Dad were acquainted, but not that they served together.”
“And the Prof. Nigel? Where does he fit in?” Liza adds, “ I work with this man every day, for over five years I’ve known him, and I just thought he was a weird science geek,” Nigel chuckles loudly at that.
“Good hearing too eh?” Whispers Kurt.
“I’m a real Professor, I swapped a sniper rifle for a trowel, it’ still dirty work” he winks.
“Let’s get moving before those upstairs start their descent into the dark depths of 'Devil's Pit'.” He says, “And, let’s have a cup of tea as soon as we can too eh?” Everyone agrees. This gives us two goals to work toward, survive and drink tea, the maths works for me, I pat my bag, happy, the KitKats are there, check. Behind us Stan is unravelling what looks like wire from a reel out of his bag, 'buzz, bzzz' he has a small rechargeable drill in there too with a handy little torch on the top, I thought only brownies had to be prepared.
With eyelets attached each side of the stair steps, the thin almost transparent wire is fixed each end and one end has a small grey box where the ends of the wire have gone. He has a small torch between his teeth to work in the dark, 'click, snip' Stan has spliced the ends of the wires and crimped them to the connectors in the grey box. He switches it on and a tiny led red light appears, and it shuttered from immediately above by a cowling, so coming down nobody will see it. Nigel has arranged some rocks around the box and has thrown a handful of smaller rocks over the bottom three stone steps, their teamwork is surprising and reassuring.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
“That'll trip the buggers up, and hopefully get a few at once.” Graham says almost to himself. Barbara looks pale, but she clearly trusts her husband, she gives him a peck on the cheek, “never got that treatment in the Gulf eh?” Was that golf or gulf, I didn't quite hear?
We take a nod from Stan as a silent indication to carry on, and as before we follow the water as it drips further into the darkness, damper and colder than I remember. We cross the cave toward the huge iron door, with giant rivets holding its layers in place, a frame, a front cover and massive hinges too. “Let’s go.” Says Stan, and he pulls the old padlock from his cargo pocket where he put it before, I am amazed at the degree of preparation. We all pile through into the darkness filled huge cavity beyond, we can hear how big the space is, then the lights buzz and pop to half-life as before as Kurt yanks the crusty lever down to 'ON'.
Swinging back and forth on long rusty heavy chains, a similar gauge to my Landrover recovery chains, with a winch I’d guess, are the mesh protected bulkhead lamps. Some flicker, some fade and come back on but there’s enough light to see the tubular iron curved railing all around the pit below, the empty great darkness, still and quiet, I wonder how deep it is, stop thinking about it. I snap the band at my wrist, fine for now. Pete takes my hand, she knows I don’t like this, “you can do this honey, I know you can.” I hope she’s right.
Another explosion breaks through the dark and still air, louder this time, shouting, our booby trap has worked, (such a friendly sounding name for such a diabolical trap: booby), and now I wonder how many are left following us, I try hard to stop wondering. There’s no time and even less inclination to feel remorse for the injuries we inflict on these killers, we are running for our lives and only our cunning will get is out of this bloody and dark place. Once we are all through Nigel slides down a heavy diagonal metal strap across the back of the door, riveted to an upright that allows it to pivot, and fixes it in place with the padlock, using aligned eyelets designed for this purpose.
Be prepared, Brownies rock!
Safely inside the pit mouth, we decide the metal door behind us will cause sufficient problems for our pursuers as to afford us a little time for a quick cup of tea. I decide it'll be nicer to make it in the office kitchen, plus I recall there’s ginger nuts there too. In the little kitchen I find everything I need to make tea for our posse, larger in number than before, some people will have to use plastic cups. Yuk, but needs must. We sit drinking our tea and passing round the biscuits, like we're at camp waiting for the cross-country to begin.
Barbara has placed the biscuits on a plate, she won't eat them from the packet, I bet she frowns at those who cut a bread roll at the table too or use the wrong knife. She wouldn't have survived Pony Club camp that's for sure. When we hear angry voices from beyond the door, shouting and screaming, and what sounds like the butt of a gun, metal on metal bashing hard at the surface of the door. The voices are loud and echoey reflecting around this cavernous empty space with a roof far above us, muffled through a very thick bulkhead door, but we still feel the anger in its tone. Someone outside that door is cross he can't get through. A chill runs down my spine, even though we can’t actually hear the words. Whoever is left outside that door, they won’t want a game of scrabble and a chocolate biscuit with whoever they catch. That reminds me, where are the chocolate biscuits?
Who are these people?
I am looking with horror at the huge metal bucket that is to take us to the bottom of the pit, and I try to gather some strength to ask how deep it is. “It'll take about twenty minutes to get to the floor below,” Barbara tells me over her teacup still sipping the dark brew, though not as dark as I’d have liked it we need to ration the bags now. She is staring at me, and that's just rude.
Once we've all finished Graham explains the safety features of the bucket lift: “There are no safety features of this bucket lift.” He begins to say, “don't lean out, don't move around once seated, stay still or it'll twist and yaw like a boat on choppy water.” He explains, “That said it’s scary as hell down there but fun too, there's no light on the way down all we'll have are the torches, let’s go.” Strange I think, that none of us appear nervous, perhaps we’ve had an adventure full of incidents that now every turn is another part of the tale, we’ve reached the point where nothing is surprising.
On the diagonal, 5 flying changes every second stride, that'll do it, silence, yes.
I pat my flask of Jack Daniels, check.