by John Creasey
Old men and old women, naked to the waist, slaving, digging, tunnelling, handling the picks, handling the pneumatic drills; with a man with a whip standing over them.
“You see, what we’re doing here is a development of jet-propulsion,” the young man named Mick said. He spoke breathlessly, as if he were still trying to cover up his “error”. “Speed’s relative, of course. These midget aeroplanes can travel at a thousand miles an hour. They’re not really ‘planes , as you know them down below – more like engines with a light framework or fuselage. The aero-suits we’ve developed for people dispense with the need for fuselage as it’s known down there.
“We use these machines regularly,” he went on. “Klim’s travelled in one this time. They seat two, even three at a pinch. By flying very high, they don’t make any recognisable sound down below. People there think it’s freak thunder. The beauty is their range – they can fly round the world without stopping, yet can land on a postage stamp. Well, more or less!” Mick laughed – and it sounded like a nervous laugh. “Nottley was one of the great back-room boys of jet propulsion. Came here three years ago—”
Banister could almost see the headline in the newspapers now:
SCIENTIST DISAPPEARS
Jet-propulsion Pioneer
Search for Professor Julian Nottley
“I thought you’d recognise him,” Mick said. “Well, he’s one of many who have—er volunteered to come and help us.”
There was no mistaking his emphasis on the word volunteered – “you and you and you”. Banister recalled the Army chestnut, knew that Mick was really saying: “Nottley didn’t volunteer, he was forced to come here.” Mick’s round, grey eyes were bright, in that moment, and the hint of nervousness disappeared.
It soon came back.
“Down below, they’ve only just started to cope with the problems of space and distance. But we’re really making progress. Still, we have nearly all the best brains, and one volunteer’s worth ten conscripts. I’m sure you agree.” He went off jerkily again. “We tackle both the stratosphere and the deep oceans. In many ways ocean travel is more secure than air travel – got its limitations, of course. Thing we’re looking for, my particular baby, is one that can both fly and travel fast under water. Haven’t quite got there yet. I—”
A television screen flickered.
“Is Miss Rita there?” a girl asked. “If she could come to the office as soon as possible, please.”
Rita touched the adjacent switch.
“I’m coming—I’m in Project Ninety-seven at the moment.”
“Thank you, Miss Rita.”
The screen went dead.
“Neil—”
“Sorry you can’t stay longer,” said the man named Mick. “See you some time. Skiing, perhaps – winter sports all the year round.”
He grinned.
He mouthed at Banister: “Two o’clock today.”
Rita led the way outside, down the lift, along the street to her room. They didn’t speak. She knew what Banister had seen, and would realise that he would never accept it as part of goodness. But for one thing, he would have been in a fury of agitation.
What had Mick been trying to tell him?
“Two o’clock today – skiing – volunteers who were nothing of the kind . . .”
Two people were waiting to see Rita. Neil went into his own room, and looked up at the blank television screen. It could glow at any moment, and he was aware that from the moment it glowed, he could be seen by whoever was looking in; seen and overheard. There wasn’t a moment when they were really secure from everyone else, and yet Mick had talked.
The door opened.
“Neil,” Rita said abruptly, “don’t tell a soul what you saw. Put it right out of your mind. If they thought you’d seen that, you wouldn’t have a chance.”
Banister said heavily: “I can understand that. What I can’t understand is you.”
“Never mind that,” she said. “Just forget it.”
“I’m suffocated in here,” Banister growled. “I can’t breathe properly. The whole place is driving me mad. I feel as if the walls are going to fall in on me, if I don’t get out I will go mad.”
“It’s often like that when you first come,” Rita said desperately. “It’s a kind of claustrophobia, but it soon goes. You’ll be all right.”
“I’ve got to get out,” Banister growled. “I’ve got to breathe some fresh air. Seeing that out of the window this morning did it, I hadn’t realised how much I was missing.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange for you to go out,” Rita promised.
She did not say from whom permission came; but it came.
At two o’clock Banister went out of the mountain city, into the brittle sunlight of the mountains. He wore fur-lined clothes, and found that he could move more freely than when he had first arrived. The sun was warm. A few other people were about, and most of them waved to him. He carried skis over his shoulder as he went towards the run – probably the one which he had seen from the window.
He came within sight of the chalet.
Mick was there with a young woman in a red beret, and with two small children, a boy and a girl. They were just beginning to ski, and Mick and the woman had chosen a gentle slope. The boy had a chubby face and round eyes, which marked him as Mick’s son beyond doubt. He was starting down on his own, obviously for the first time. The girl clung tightly to the woman’s hand.
“Don’t be scared,” Mick said to the boy, “do it the way I showed you.”
The child began to lever himself forward, then gradually moved of his own volition. A spark of fear showed in his blue eyes; then that faded. As he kept his balance, confidence came, and with confidence the excitement of success. He slid downwards thirty or forty feet before he toppled over. Mick ran towards him and picked him up. The boy was laughing delightedly; the girl began to laugh.
“You try with Meg,” called Mick to the woman.
He glanced up and saw Neil, nodded, and then turned back to the boy.
Neil went to the top of a run, where a dozen people were standing. A few were already on the way downwards, graceful figures, swinging this way or that as they swerved past outcrops of rock and stunted trees and great mounds of snow. It was a year since he had been on skis.
He felt the first rush of wind, of exhilaration, of excitement.
He started a run.
It was good. It was even good to be alive. The nightmare figures that he had seen seemed to fade. There was speed and the rush of the wind past his cheeks, of the wind-pressure against his body. He felt as if he were on top of the world, as if nothing could go wrong.
At last, he came to a standstill. No one seemed to be near in this great sloping field of virgin white. He turned and looked up at the peaks towering above him. One was near, and others were in the distance, a world of mountain-tops and snow and bright-blue sky. Crags overhung the valley. A few skiers were coming down, one tumbled suddenly and disappeared in a flurry of snow.
Banister started the long climb back.
The quickest way, he thought, was to cut behind some outcrops which were overhung with snow on one side. That cut him off from sight of the people up near the chalet; but they were so far away that they could only see him clearly with glasses, anyhow.
He reached the outcrop.
He saw a movement where the snow seemed to heave as if under some great convulsion, but it wasn’t that, it was a man who appeared from the depths of the snow, a drift which had looked impenetrable.
“Hallo,” said the man named Mick.
“Next time, why don’t you frighten me to death?” Banister managed to say.
Mick grinned.
“Don’t want you dead! Listen. I’ve only four or five minutes. I came down through a shaft we’ve driven from behind the ch
alet. Only a few of us know about it—I hope! This is probably the one place in High Peak where we can talk without being seen or heard.” He drew a deep breath. “You are a Palfrey man, aren’t you?”
Banister said abruptly: “Yes.”
“Brought here by force?”
“Yes.” Banister sensed the need for urgency, also sensed the kind of thing that Mick wanted to know. There was urgent fear in the back of his mind; that this might be a trick to encourage him to think that there were rebels at High Peak. He had to make a decision swiftly, and this one didn’t take long. “I’m a neophyte, for conversion – they hope.”
“Any luck?”
“I’m not impressed.”
“All right,” Mick said. “I’m taking my life in my hands in trusting you. Heard you were a Palfrey man, never known one of those who couldn’t be trusted. There are about twenty of us, planning a break.”
“When?”
“As soon as we can. This year—next year. Never mind when.”
“It matters.”
“Why the urgency?”
“They’re killing too freely.”
“Tell me.”
“Death on contact with the hand, arm, anything – they’ve wiped out several villages. They’re using it as a form of blackmail.”
“That’s Anak,” Mick said. His eyes looked hard, his mouth set for a moment; he appeared to forget that time was precious; he seemed suddenly to be much older than he was. “He’s deadly. I can’t help it, yet. We might manage it next month, but it might take longer.”
“Where are we?”
“Antarctica.”
“Sure?”
“Positive. Listen. We’re assembling Project Ninety-one – that’s a faster-than-sound aircraft that can carry three – in the secret shaft. We sneak a piece out at a time, with a little fuel. Trouble will come when we start to leave – we’ll have to be out of reach of Klim, Anak, of anyone. I won’t go into details. Take it from me, we’re all getting ready to go.”
“Why all?”
“You crazy?” Mick asked, sharply.
“No.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Three could get away, but the others should stay – they’d become a useful fifth column later,” Banister said.
“It might work. I’ll see.” Mick was very earnest. After a pause, he went on: “We can’t talk much longer. Anak is the king-pin – you’ll soon meet him. Klim’s only in charge at High Peak. Try to fool Anak, make him believe you’re falling for the idiocy. If you can fool him you might get a chance to do something really worthwhile.”
Mick spoke very quickly, his round face solemn – anxious.
“Time’s up,” he added. “I won’t name anyone else. We’ll identify ourselves when necessary.” He gave a twisted smile. “I hope we can trust you!”
Banister didn’t speak.
“Those men you saw today making the new shafts,” Mick said. “Old and not so old. They’re what Klim and Anak call traitors. People who have been press-ganged to come here, and refuse to work. Or men who were to be converted and to go and spread the gospel down below. Or men like me, who realised that it’s all a hideous sham. If this is perfection, give me good, wholesome corruption! Neil—”
“Yes?”
“Be careful of Rita. Very careful. The serpent in the new Eden. Sometimes I think she has good impulses, but Klim and Anak overcome them for her. Don’t trust her with a word. And Neil – if I get caught, you, any one of us, the horror of punishment would make Belsen seem a pleasure.” His grin was very taut. “Last thing – they’re very interested in you as a naturally immune subject. They know that Palfrey might have discovered a way to make you immune, of course – and they’ll want to find out whether he has or whether you’re a natural. Watch your step – if Anak believes you’ve been insulated, you’ll be in bad. Now – off you go. Hurry – they’ll know you’ve been a long time. They’ll soon send scouts down for you. You’re watched all the time.”
“I know.”
“Another last thing,” Mick said. “I made a deadly mistake when I opened that wrong door. Intentionally.” He didn’t smile now. “I hoped Rita wouldn’t see what I’d done. If she reports it to Klim or Anak, then I’ve had it. Don’t be surprised if I just disappear.”
Banister felt constriction at his throat.
“All—right.”
“Off with you,” Mick said.
He turned and walked between two rocks, and disappeared. The snow closed behind him. Where he had been there was only the crystal clear air with the blue sky above, and the brilliance of the snow dimming with the setting of the sun.
Banister hurried up the slope.
As he passed the outcrop and came within sight of the chalet again, he saw two men speeding down towards him.
Chapter 15
Banister made his way slowly towards the skiers. He did not recognise either of them. He tried to stop his heart from thumping with wild fear, but could not. It was as if death were winging towards him on the air.
They drew level, passed, and swung round, swerving skilfully and breaking their downward plunge. Next moment they were plodding along on either side of him. He did not recognise them. Both were youngish men, bright-eyed, with all the outward excellence of men who lived here.
“We thought you’d got lost,” one said.
“I was tired.”
“Dangerous thing, to rest out here on your own.”
“I know. I tried a short cut. I won’t again – it was too steep.” “Snow’s too deep, too. I certainly shouldn’t do it again.” They plodded on, in silence; then: “Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“No one at all?”
The man made the question sound like a threat; he seemed to be saying: “You’re lying, we know you’re lying, now tell the truth.”
Perhaps Mick was wrong; perhaps there was an all-seeing eye.
“No – the others swerved off to the right,” Banister said. “Is that the best run?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t ask any more questions; it might have been because they were breathless. So was he. At the top of the run, he felt as if he could collapse. He went into the chalet. There was no sign outside of Mick’s wife or the two children; but they were inside, sitting at a table where a dozen other children and two or three women appeared to be giving a party.
Then Mick appeared, in one of the ordinary khaki-drill suits of the city itself; smiling; apparently untroubled. Banister didn’t ask himself how he had contrived to get back so quickly; didn’t ask or answer any unspoken question; but he understood the look in Mick’s eyes.
Mick wanted to know if all was well.
Did he?
If he were genuine, would he have taken such a chance of confiding in a man known to be a close associate of Rita?
How Mick hated Rita – if he could be taken at his word.
“Enjoy it?” Rita asked, when Banister was back.
“Very much.”
“Feel better?”
“I think so.”
“You must,” Rita said. “Klim and Anak are coming back tonight. They’ll want to see you. There’s been some trouble, I don’t quite know what it is. Be reasonable with them.”
“I’ll try! Who is Anak?”
If he didn’t ask, she might wonder how he knew the name. “Our leader,” she answered.
“I thought Klim—”
“He is in command here at High Peak. Anak is the leader everywhere.” She glanced at the dull, silent television screen. “Anak wants to send a message to Palfrey, and I think he will choose you as messenger. Don’t do anything that might antagonise him. He’s—”
She hesitated.
The televis
ion screen flickered.
“He’s coming tonight,” she said, and changed the subject smoothly. It was a consolation to know that they could always tell when they were being watched; a dead or dull screen meant reasonable safety. “Enjoy it in the snow?”
“Very much.”
The screen went dull, a little later. Rita spoke as if there had been no interruption in their original conversation.
“Anak is sometimes both domineering and impatient.”
“Der Führer?”
“You might think so. He’s—he is the brain behind it all. The perfect man.” She said that almost as if she were in a coma. She repeated it, looking towards the screen – and it began to flicker: “The perfect man, Neil. You must come to believe that, to realise the good we’re doing.”
The screen became dull again, five minutes later.
She said: “I told you down below – I’m in love with you. So deeply.” Her voice seemed to tell him that it was true; yet he saw Mick’s face and heard Mick’s warning again. “I dread to think that anything might happen to you. Be careful – don’t upset Anak, don’t annoy him.”
Banister said: “I’ll try not to.”
The television screen flickered, and this time it went very bright. It was not simply that someone was looking and listening-in; someone was getting in touch with Rita.
“Hallo, Rita.” That was Klim.
“Hallo, Klim.”
The man’s face appeared on the screen suddenly; and there was another beside him. Banister found himself looking into the face of a man who seemed to dominate the screen; who made Klim look a weakling. The face itself was so regular, strong, aggressive; if an Epstein were to carve a composite face of all men of good looks, it would be like this – hard, rugged, handsome, with a dominating nose, thick black eyebrows, compelling eyes.
Banister felt the fingers of fear again . . .
“Take Banister to Hall Three,” Klim said.
“Now?”
“Yes. Anak wants to see him.”
The other man was Anak, of course, but he didn’t speak.
