by John Creasey
“Any idea where it’s coming from?”
“No, sir. Sparks says that it’s a weak local station, calls itself World Wide.”
“Sounds right,” said Palfrey. “How far are we from Lauriston?”
“Three miles, sir.”
“Main road?”
“Yes, sir, but there’s another road, takes us further round, leads to the railway station, and Wide World Plant is built with railway sidings. There’s a private road from the station into the plant. If it comes to that, we could go along the railway track itself, they wouldn’t be expecting us that way.”
“Do that,” Palfrey said.
Pollitt gave the driver instructions; the other cars would follow this one. Palfrey leaned back against the side, with his head bumping against the roof of the armoured truck all the time, eyes half closed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He seemed free from tension. He wasn’t dozing, just relaxing while he could.
He took an automatic pistol from a case by his side and handed it to Matt.
“Special army issue,” he said, and pointed to a box. “Spare ammo there.”
“Thanks.” Matt felt a kind of security as he put the gun into his pocket, and saw Palfrey pocket one.
After a while Matt said very slowly and quietly:
“Sap.”
Palfrey didn’t even turn his head.
“Yes?”
“Think there’s any hope that it’s true?”
“The cure?”
“Yes.”
“Whoever is behind this can’t want to massacre a nation,” said Palfrey. “Whatever they plan, they’ll want men and women to work. Yes, I think there’s a cure, but whether there’s enough to stop disaster if the plague spreads too far—”
He didn’t finish.
Lance-Corporal Pollitt said quietly: “We’re turning into the road near the station, sir, and the lights of the Wide World plants are just ahead. See the lights, sir?”
Palfrey said: “Yes, I can see.”
As he finished, the driver jammed on his brakes, while men shouted at them from the railway and the road, and a shot rang out, sharp and clear.
Chapter Twenty-Three
RONDIVALLO
Pollitt was on his feet almost before the sound of the shot had died away, and two men were already jumping down from the back of the armoured truck. Palfrey heard two more shots and then a sharp explosion; the truck seemed to sway. Pollitt dropped over the back as the car came to a standstill. The driver said:
“All right to stop, sir?”
“Get on,” Palfrey said. “We want to get into the heart of the plant.”
“Right, sir.”
Pollitt shouldn’t have gone.
He was clambering back.
“Ran into a patrol of three men, sir, that’s three of the devils less. How many d’you think there are?”
“We’d better assume there’s a whole army, probably most of the workers here. They’d only call in men they thought they could trust for a shift tonight.”
“Special instructions of any kind, sir?”
“We’ve got to get through,” said Palfrey simply. He bent his head to peer through the windscreen. Ahead lay the brightly lit plant, and he believed that he could hear engines roaring, probably those of aircraft preparing to take off. Cars were moving in the distance. The light from the big sheds of the plant looked almost like daylight. He could see a high fence on one side, and just ahead was a platform, with great piles of packing cases on it. Nearby, men were loading wagons in the light of powerful floodlights which showed them as dark silhouettes. One or two of them turned to look at the truck. The driver bumped the wheels over the track, drove past the loading platform and the working men, and turned into the grounds of the plant. Most of the great buildings were ablaze with light. The plant was built round a great courtyard, and in the middle was a huge building with many of its windows in darkness, although it was floodlit. One word showed up clearly over the doorway:
Offices
Two or three men came hurrying from the entrances to the other buildings, and one carried a rifle. The truck came to a standstill.
“Leave this to me, sir,” Pollitt said.
He jumped out, flinging back the net which draped over his face. The other three soldiers with Palfrey and Matt Stone were crouching at the ready, and keeping their leader covered. There was a sharp exchange of words, then Pollitt moved towards the man with the rifle like a terrier at a rat. Palfrey saw the victim stagger and then fall, saw Pollitt wrench the rifle away from him, swing round, and crack it on the head of one of the other two men. One of the soldiers jumped down, tommy-gun at the ready, covering the third man, who backed away.
But others came hurrying from entrances of the different plants, and there was the sharp crack of a shot.
“Keep them back!” roared Pollitt.
The men at the back of the truck began to fire, sweeping their guns round, bullets pecking the concrete courtyard just in front of the advancing men. Others came running, from doorways and from corners, and were met by the withering fire. Men began to fall. Others began to fire back, but spasmodically, as yet they had no automatic weapons.
“We’ll make a run for it,” Palfrey said, as quietly as if he was talking of dodging a shower of rain. “All set, Matt?”
“Ready.”
“Make for the office entrance,” said Palfrey, “and give Pollitt a chance to cover us.” He swung down, and Matt was close on his heels. They ran towards the office block entrance, while bullets began to hum. Matt felt a sharp pain at his right shoulder, but it didn’t last long and wasn’t enough to stop him. Palfrey reached the open doorway a yard ahead, and as he did so, two men lunged at him from inside.
Matt’s heart seemed to jump into his throat and choke him. If these were armed—
They were not.
Palfrey shot one of them in the chest, Matt the other in the throat. They fell away. Palfrey swung round as die shooting slackened outside. There came a clatter of footsteps, and Pollitt and two of his men came running, with hand grenades swinging from their belts. The two men had tommy guns, Pollitt a rifle.
“One of you keep ’em out,” he said to the men, “the other follow us. Which floor, sir, d’you know?”
“No.”
“I’ll find out.” Pollitt swung round to one of the men on the floor. It was bright in here, and everything in the wounded man’s expression and in Pollitt’s was clearly visible; just then Pollitt was the most ruthless man in the world.
“We want Rondivallo and the redhead,” Palfrey said thinly. “Where are they?”
The wounded man’s lips twisted.
“We want Rondivallo and the redhead, and if you don’t tell us where they are I’ll make you think that bullet just kissed you. Where are they?”
“The—third floor,” the man gasped. “Third floor.”
It was strangely quiet up here.
The lift had stopped at a wide landing, with a door on either side. One was marked: Directors. Pollitt, the one private, Matt and Palfrey went towards it, and Palfrey said:
“Leave your man here, will you?”
“Yes, sir. Dicky, keep everyone out, even if it means blowing yourself up. Understand?”
“Okay, Polly.”
“I’ll Polly you,” Pollitt growled. “Want me to go ahead, sir? Better allow me.” He pushed towards the door marked Directors. It was still strangely silent, as if everything had stopped in the courtyard, but here were thick windows, and he could actually see the flashes from men who were shooting at the lone soldiers down below. Then he saw another armoured truck come into the range of the floodlights; reinforcements which might make the difference between life and death.
To Palfrev?
To Matt?
”
To millions?
Pollitt kicked open the door, and it opened on to a wide passage. The windows were in the main wall on one side, a pale blue wall was on the other, broken with doorways. Over each door were words, such as: Chairman, Secretary, Board Room, Operations Room.
Pollitt opened the doors one by one, peering inside each, the rifle at the ready; but until they reached the operations room each was empty.
He opened this door slowly, and the sound of a voice came clearly.
“We warned them, we couldn’t have warned them more
clearly, don’t blame me.”
Blame?
Pollitt stood aside, without making a sound. Palfrey went to the door, with Matt close behind him. They saw four people standing between a large desk and what looked like a radio cabinet. One of the men, Rondivallo, was glaring at a girl who, even from the back, looked remarkably like Kathleen O’Shea. For a wild moment Matt thought it was; then he saw her profile, and realized that this was Maureen.
The two men were staring at Rondivallo.
The girl was standing two yards away from him.
She said in a tense, frightened voice: “You told me no one would suffer, you told me it was just a way to frighten people. Now you’ve killed—you’ve killed thousands. You’re worse than the Devil himself.” She crossed herself as she drew further back, and while Rondivallo glared at her.
“Why, you little fool, what did you think would happen? I had to teach them a lesson, didn’t I? I had to make them realize that I meant business. And what did they do? They sent the whole army after me! They started to hold up our trucks and vans and even raided our warehouses. I had to strike, I had to make them realize that they hadn’t a chance. Don’t you interrupt me!” He raised his right hand, clenched, as if he would come forward and strike her. “I warned them, I said I would destroy the whole of the armed forces, and that’s what I’ve done. And if the rest of the nations don’t get rid of their weapons quickly, they’ll be wiped out, too. I can’t stop now. Victory’s within my grasp, don’t you understand that? Why, you red-headed little bitch, you could be queen of the world!”
“I don’t want to be queen of the world,” Maureen O’Shea said. “I just want to see you dead.”
Rondivallo leapt at her.
“Take it easy,” said Lance-Corporal Pollitt from behind Palfrey. He pushed through and covered all four of the people here.
The men sprang round.
Rondivallo’s little mouth dropped open, and his eyes first opened wide in bewilderment, then narrowed as he backed away.
“Get those hands up,” Pollitt said, matter-of-factly. “And you, miss. Up, I said.” He glanced at Palfrey. “All yours now, doc,” he finished, and there was a twist of a grin at his lips.
Then the world seemed to go upside down to Matt Stone, for the girl, her arms halfway above her head, looked at Palfrey and said in a voice which was nearly strident:
“Oh, Sap, thank God you’ve come.”
Matt didn’t believe his ears.
Maureen O’Shea, calling Palfrey “Sap.”
“All right, Maureen,” Palfrey said, “go and sit down. Don’t worry about her, Pollitt.” He moved towards Rondivallo, and it did not seem to matter that the automatic was in his hand, that Rondivallo was looking into his eyes. A short while before Pollitt had looked the most ruthless man alive, but now Palfrey took over. The soldier at the door covered the other two men, the linguists. Pollitt watched the drama of the two main protagonists, Palfrey and Rondivallo: and Matt and the girl watched them as if what happened could change the face of the world.
“If there’s a way to stop this slaughter, tell me,” Palfrey said. “If there’s a way to cure the afflicted, tell me. I don’t mean the injection, I mean a quick, safe antidote. If there is, I’ll let you stand trial. If there isn’t, I’ll kill you now.”
Rondivallo was gasping for breath, and holding up his hands as if to fend Palfrey off.
“Don’t—don’t come near me! Don’t come near me! There —there isn’t anything. If you hurt me, what’s happening in England will happen in the rest of the world tomorrow. I mean it! The bacteria are in our foods everywhere, they only need contact with the air to bring them out. I’ve telephoned my agents in every part of the world. It’s on, Palfrey. I’m the only one who can call it off. Don’t touch me, understand? You’ll sign the world’s death warrant if you do. Get away from me.”
He backed further away.
Maureen O’Shea said very tensely: “Sap, in that cabinet there’s a list of all the agents. You could have them stopped at once.” When Rondivallo turned towards her almost gibbering, she pointed towards a steel cabinet near the desk, but didn’t look away from him. “And there is an antidote and an immunising agent. At least, he says there is. Common salt. Even sea water will do.” She was beginning to shiver. “A tablespoonful of common salt, or a pint or two of sea water, taken every four or five hours for a day or two. That makes the blood resistant to the poison.”
Rondivallo leapt at her, clenched hands raised, as if he would crush out her life.
“That’s enough,” Pollitt said, and fired a shot which struck the fat man in the leg. It sent him staggering towards the desk, gasping, sobbing, reaching out for support.
Maureen was standing still.
“Sap,” she said chokily, “I couldn’t get a message out. No one could get away from here. They couldn’t let me go back to the hotel. The only thing I could do was to make Rondivallo think I was in love with him, and pray for a chance to warn you. I—I have helped, haven’t I?” She was shivering more violently, and her voice was unsteady, now and again her teeth chattered. “It wasn’t a waste of time, was it? It’s been so awfu’, shut in here, living with that beast, knowing what he was doing. He promised me no one would die, and I made myself believe that.”
“Take it easy, Maureen,” said Palfrey very gently. “No one in this world did a better job.” He soothed her momentarily, then turned to the lance-corporal.
“Pollitt.”
“Sir.”
“Did you say you had a radio mechanic in your party?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We want him up here, to start sending messages out.”
A door crashed open as he spoke. Not far away, heavy footsteps clattered on the stone floor of the passage. Pollitt swung towards the door. The man with the sub-machine gun backed from the door to cover the passage and the oncoming men. Maureen O’Shea crumpled up and fell. Matt Stone covered the two linguists. He couldn’t think clearly, could only feel: and his feeling was of dread in case this chance of salvation would be snatched away.
Then Pollitt said: “It’s okay, sir, it’s more of the boys.” He drew himself up to attention. “Captain Ord, sir. Lance- Corporal Pollitt speaking. Mission completed.”
An officer whom Palfrey had not seen before came briskly into the room.
“Good work, corporal. Hallo, sir.” He saluted, took the situation in at a glance, and looked back at Palfrey, grinning. “We rounded up fifty-odd of the men who hadn’t been infected and got them into safety kit. They’ve taken over completely downstairs. Found big stores of automatic weapons in the cellar, too, and other arms are believed to be in one of the plants, but the situation here is under control. Anything we can do, sir?”
Matt Stone found himself laughing. It was ridiculous, but he was laughing. No one seemed to think it extraordinary. Palfrey was grinning. Pollitt was, too. Rondivallo was muttering gibberish to himself.
“Yes,” Palfrey said, and he was smiling, although sweat was running down his forehead. “I want radio communication established with 10, Downing Street as soon as possible, and then radio telephone communication established with New York, Sydney, Paris …”
Within an hour, all Z5 agents throughout the world were repor
ting to the national authorities where they worked. Within the same hour, messages were going out to all nations from the Cabinet Room. Rondivallo’s agents were rounded up in raids on all World Wide plants. Within that hour, Domminy died from self-administered potassium cyanide, but Rondivallo was still alive. It seemed as if the shock had turned him into a maniac, all he did was to mutter and gibber.
Within an hour, everyone in the country who was suffering, or might suffer, from the bite of the mosquito had been given a solution of common salt, or sea water.
By morning, tens of thousands were still ill, but few more had died and many had completely recovered.
“Well, we can go down on our knees and be thankful that didn’t come off,” Palfrey said on the following day. He was at the hotel in the forest, where Z5 men and women were in complete possession. He was in the big room overlooking the forest, even that part which had been despoiled by the fire and which looked like a huge black ring against the pale, sunlight green of the rest of the trees. A few white clouds floated across the sky. It was warm in this room, and warmer outside.
Matt was sitting on a couch, with Kathleen O’Shea on one side, Maureen on the other. That had been accident, not design. Stefan Andromovitch sat in the largest chair that the hotel could boast, and looked much too large for it. Several other Z5 members were there, and two blackcoated, precise-looking men, who had come here at the Prime Minister’s request: the Minister for Health and the Minister for War.
“There isn’t a lot we don’t know,” Palfrey went on, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Rondivallo discovered the bacteria when experimenting with the radio-active dust in the air. He saw how they could paralyse and silence, and often kill. No one realized that Rondivallo was a megalomaniac who had seen the possibilities if a single man, with a small group of devoted supporters, could control the only weapons of both attack and defence. According to some of the prisoners we’ve taken, he had been experimenting for years with a drug which could paralyse people temporarily, rendering them quite useless, and he found several—curare, of course, is the drug which atrophies the muscles but leaves the nervous system unaffected. He experimented widely when it was discovered that some animal life was paralysed for a long time after being infected by this particular bacteria, which bred in an insect which looked like a mosquito. The bacteria left the carrier insect but hovered near until dispersed by wind.
