'Rubbish,' retorted Apthorpe. 'The pressure waves will blanket and kill every living thing within a fifty metre radius.'
Tom shook his head in disbelief. 'Fine if we're talking about human beings. But ants are different, particularly in this case, with ants living many metres underground.'
'All this fuss over a pile of insects which have dug out a few bucketfuls of soil.'
'Hardly bucketfuls. Lorry loads more like. You'll find their nest extends a good few metres further down than your explosives can reach. They're extremely resilient. Short of direct exposure to heat such as flames, they can resist most forms of military attack, including nuclear bombs. They're immune to radiation, although they're as liable to mutate subsequently as any other living beings.'
'Scientific claptrap,' snorted Apthorpe.
Tom leaned forward. 'You'd stand a chance if there was only one queen and you scored a direct hit on the heart of the nest. But some of these will be in a composite colony. There will be many federated nest sites, which means hundreds of thousands of brood chambers, thousands of fertilized queens already laying and probably tens of thousands of alates – winged queens and males ready to be transported in a blast wave to mate miles away and found further nests, God knows where.'
Apthorpe looked taken aback, but only momentarily. 'The pressure wave from the explosion will kill them.'
'If only,' said Tom. ‘We don't know how much pressure an ant's body will need to withstand, given the muffling effect of many metres of soil between it and the blast. The stuff you're using – remember it's a quick blast rather than a blanket – will probably create a hurricane effect at ground level and up to a few metres. But from, say, three metres in depth, you'll suck up like a vacuum cleaner bucketfuls of soil, nest materials and ants, and redistribute them over as wide an area as you can see the clouds in the sky. Except for the winged ants, as I've said. Once liberated and blown to a sufficient height to catch some decent thermals, there's no telling where they will eventually land.'
Bradshaw saw this was going nowhere. He held up his hand. 'Can you summarise the implications of this for me, Professor?'
'For pity's sake don't detonate anything at this stage. The brood nest in the area of primary detonation will be destroyed, but from the peripheral chambers and passages you'll have thousands of newly mated queens scattered over half the country.'
'It's what I told you,' said Apthorpe. 'Remember, I'm not just an academic, but a major in the Territorials. It's horses for courses, Fortius. I've never met a pure academic yet who has an accurate idea of the damage scientifically calculated explosives can inflict. There isn't much time though. We can agree about that, can't we?'
Tom nodded wearily. Apthorpe's naivety was astonishing. He wasn't motivated to push it further.
'Yes,' he said. 'I can vouch for that.'
Almost simultaneously, there was a streak of lightning and a second later an enormous clap of thunder. Rain deluged from the clouds overhead. For a few seconds, it was like a wall of water falling from the sky. Then, as quickly as it had started, the cloudburst ended and gentle rain fell.
The explosion resulting from Apthorpe's efforts couldn't be heard above the thunder. The roof of the barn seemed to lift then settle back and fire spurted from the windows. Regel saw the flames and in his mind’s eye could see only the flames which consumed so many of his generation in the Third Reich. He stood up, his clothes hanging off his fleshless frame like garments on a scarecrow whose arms and legs were no more than broom handles.
'My son!'
Regel's voice rose to a scream of pain. 'Red!' he screeched. 'The colour of fire. Forgive me, my son. I did not mean to hurt you.' His arms were stretched out towards the origin of the blast. His mouth opened. He appeared to be trying to speak again, but there was no breath left in him; his throat was a dry box of rattling bones. His skin turned purple, then blue. He seemed to shrivel and collapse, and where he had stood there was only an untidy pile of clothing. Uniformed officers wearing body armour, combat trousers and heavy boots stepped over the pile of clothing that moved no more of its own volition. Nobody paid any attention.
Apthorpe turned his back on the conflagration. 'There, gentlemen,' he said smugly. 'I think we can congratulate ourselves that we've given the enemy a royal rocket up the rectum.'
Bradshaw watched in silence for a few moments.
'Don't do any more, idiot!' Tom shouted. 'You'll start a nightmare.'
Apthorpe stepped aside, temporarily taken aback. Then he moved forward again. 'It's all right. It's only Fortius. Carry on blasting.'
Bradshaw deliberately turned his back on Tom, who shook his head.
'You're living in an unreal world,' Tom muttered to himself, 'where the baddie gets his comeuppance and everyone else is happy.'
* * *
There was a prolonged period of checking before the officers were called back. The general view was that the site had been secured for the night. A guard was to be set up at the far end of the lane, where it met the main road. The media and police transits moved off. One by one the other cars drove off and soon the clearing was virtually empty.
As the last of the police cleared up, Chris sought out Tom. 'You aren't leaving yet?'
'I don't know what I'm doing,' he said.
'I wanted you to know before some friendly person leaks it,' said Chris. 'I almost handed in my resignation this morning.'
Tom looked astounded. 'I thought you were one of the –'
'Boys? Think yourself lucky I'm still at work, let alone still at the driving wheel.'
'I was actually going to say team.'
'Okay.' She seemed slightly mollified.
'You can't leave this investigation in mid-course.'
'I am going to stay till the crime is solved.'
The panic left his face. 'Tell me what's brought this on.'
'No single factor.'
'Beginning with Bradshaw.'
'It goes back long before Bradshaw, a combination of things. I'm fed up with being treated as less than a full person.'
'I thought the police were beyond all that sort of crude sexism.'
'They are. Well, that's the irony. They have moved beyond the crude bit to a more subtle version which is more difficult to spot and therefore to tackle.'
'But there are compensations. All that pension.'
'You must be joking. At my age? Anyway, that's part of the other reason. Most of the men I work with – even more so the over thirties – are pension watchers. Apart from their cars and caravans and football and women of course in that order, almost the only conversation point is their pensions. I am definitely not cut out to be a policewoman.'
'I must admit the way you describe it is rather a horror story,' admitted Tom.
'So,' said Chris, 'I've shocked you.'
'Yes, you have,' he said slowly. 'And now, like a true equation, I have some news on my own behalf.'
'You've applied for a job. You're taking a research appointment overseas.'
'Not quite,' said Tom. 'I too am thinking about chucking it in.'
‘What? This really is unbelievable. You can't be serious.'
'Never more.'
‘Why?'
'Oddly similar reasons to your own, in most respects. What is it they say these days – Get a life? In my case, I've been thinking of working independently, as a consultant. I could go back to the research I love, carry out the odd overseas project. I'd be free to take on what appeals to me, rather than jumping to the tune or this or that university.'
'Yes, but what about mortgages and family commitments. What will you do about that?'
'I have none. Well, soon I won't have a mortgage anyway.'
‘What a fool I am. Sorry. I didn't want to pry by asking about Laura and the children.'
He held up a hand. 'It's okay. I'm getting used to it. Since you didn't ask I'll tell you. It looks as though Laura will be going with her mother to her sister's in Sydney. In which case the kids are goin
g with her. They aren't emigrating exactly. It's more of a trial. If it doesn't work out, they can come straight back. If it looks promising, then they'll probably stay.'
'I suppose it depends on the availability of work and schools and suchlike.'
'That's the least of my problems. I may not see them again.'
'Oh God, I'm so insensitive, but surely it's not as bad as that.'
'That is the extreme, I admit. But they aren't exactly within regular travelling distance for access visits. They would cost an arm and a leg. On the practical side, work isn't so much of a problem, in the short term at least. We lived there before, you see. I was in research at the University in Sydney for a couple of years. Laura still has a lot of friends there. I think she's exploring a request from one of her former colleagues to do some editorial work for one of the international academic journals. It's not full-time but it will give her the necessary foothold should she want to make a life there with the children.'
'And how would you feel about losing your family?'
Tom shrugged and said nothing.
Chris nodded slowly. 'Words fail you, eh?'
'Something like that.'
'I can't imagine you as a private researcher. You're much more at home with the laboratory and your research students.
'I don't see you as a senior policewoman, among all those hunky coppers, working out in the gym and talking about cars and pensions.'
'Touché.'
'I'll take your new image seriously if you'll believe me.'
She nodded.
A little later, Tom caught a glimpse of someone wearing an anorak of the same distinctive green and blue of Chris's, disappearing round the far side of a police car.
'Hang on!'
He broke into a run and she turned round.
'I thought you'd gone.'
'I could say the same.'
'I wouldn't go willingly without you.'
'That's not very original.'
'It's not a very original feeling. Rather deep and traditional in fact.'
'Don't embarrass us both, Tom.'
'I'm not intending to, merely describing and giving a compliment.'
'I don't mean to offend you, but I can't accept it. The time's not right.'
‘When is the right time?'
'I don't know, but this is the end of the journey for us.'
'Does that mean forever?'
'Forever's a long time. I can't answer that.'
'It's very presumptuous of you to decide on our behalf.'
'I'm being practical. You've got your life here, your – your family. Me, well, things change all the time.'
‘What sort of change?' Tom was groping for a foothold on where she was at. There was something new here he had to grasp, before over-reacting, which he knew he was about to do.
'I'm leaving the office.'
'Leaving?' Listen to me, he thought weakly. God, I sound like an overwrought teenager.
'Leaving the town, leaving Yorkshire, leaving this country.'
Tom felt dizzy. He wanted to sit down, but there was nowhere. He reached out for the wall and it held him up while his head swam and his eyes slowly came back into focus.
'Leaving the country.'
'Yes, a trip abroad. Well, more like a secondment, or unpaid leave to be more precise.'
‘Where for God's sake?' It's probably Calais or Brussels, he thought. Only down the road in these days of rapid transport and electronic mail.
'Japan.'
‘What the – what the hell are you going to do in Japan of all places?'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll file it.'
'Sorry, it's a shock I guess. How long for? Three, six, nine months?'
'It's not like that. More or less open-ended, I suppose.'
'You mean you won't be back, ever?'
'I mean I don't know yet when I will be back. And no, I might never return. It all depends, as they say.'
He was still struggling along behind her, speaking now to fill in time while he caught up. 'And what are you going to do?'
'Something I've already started. Some work with Japanese Police Forces on interrogation techniques. They want to develop more softness and sophistication, Western-style. I've got the skills to facilitate this.'
'So it's goodbye, then.'
'Yes.'
'You seem pleased.'
'I am pleased this case is over and I'm pleased to be going to Japan. But let's be clear, Tom, I definitely am not pleased to be leaving you here. Understand?'
'I can see that.'
'You're letting me go then? Without guilt?'
'I am.'
'And you can go back to Laura and the kids?'
'The kids yes, Laura, maybe.'
'You'll come round to the idea.'
'I said maybe.'
Chris suddenly walked back round the front of the vehicle and leaned against him, pressing him back against the bonnet.
'It's been good, Tom, very good,' she said.
'It has been good.'
'Let's take that away, without any surplus baggage.'
'If ever you change your mind, and need a porter –'
'I'll keep you in mind,' she said, her upper lip quivering in that distinctive way he'd come to know so well.
'I'll damn well keep you in mind as well,' he said as he watched her walk to the vehicle and slide in. Like Venus, he thought distractedly as she drove away.
The edge of the storm was moving rapidly eastwards in the stiff wind, away from the Wolds. The rain ceased suddenly, like a tap being turned off, leaving the ground steaming in the glowering light of the over bright evening sun. Humidity and heat together sank into the earth, fomenting energy. It could only be a matter of time before an eruption took place, through any accessible aperture to the surface.
Ten yards away, in the middle of the clearing was an exit hole, about half a metre across. A dark red stain several metres in diameter spread in a rough circle around it. It flickered and danced in the late sunlight. It resolved itself into thousands of milling bodies.
Chapter 43
Graver turned up the volume to shut out the sound of his own heart beating. He sat in his cellar and peeled off the mask, shaking his head and wiping his face with a towel he'd placed ready. He was pleased the police had taken away the body of the druggie he'd picked up from a bench in Queen's Gardens near the town centre of Hull the other night. The ants had already dined on the face, so it would take time for the police to put two and two together. There would be DNA analysis, of course, but by then he'd be out of the country. He preened himself on his skilful disguises, first as John Thompsen, then as Luis Deakin. From the control centre he could see through to the adjacent underground storage areas where the vats stood, with their sealed feeder entrances strapped to the sides and plastic reinforced hoses disappearing towards the surface. He adjusted one of the underground cameras, training it and focusing on the nest in vat number four, to check that all was as it should be. The camera was set high in the side on a bracket, with the infra red light directly behind it and the white light on a timer over the other side, to sustain the pattern of night and day. The other tubes and apparatuses regulated the supply of air and cleaned out excess carbon dioxide, as well as offering supplies of synthetic food. In this way, the breeder colonies could survive more or less indefinitely.
He trained one of his two surviving cameras – perched high on the tree-lined slopes of the far valley side – on the scene and zoomed in. He nodded as he watched the officers poring over what they imagined to be his remains. Not that it didn't have some attractions. He'd noted with approval the element of affection in rituals involving the members of the tribe eating the remains of newly deceased relatives. He smiled to himself at the thought that one day, but hopefully a long time in the future, at the last he would offer his body to the ants.
'The problem is how to ensure you die at the right time, ' he said out loud to himself. There was much to do but he must be pa
tient. He switched on the emergency gas supply and put the kettle on the little cooker. But first, a cup of coffee.
Apthorpe had driven back to the farm in his Land Rover and sat in the clearing beyond the farmyard in that sole remaining vehicle, staring forward vacantly.
The colour of the ground changed dramatically as the ants swarmed from the hole as swiftly as an unfolding carpet. Within seconds the mass braided into many columns which snaked quickly forward. A close-up of each column revealed that its rapid progress was due to ants from the rear running over the still bodies of those in front, thus forming a living causeway.
Several metres from the hole a change was visible in the columns. They were broadening at their furthest extremities from the hole. As each assumed the shape of a huge goblet, their edges touched each other and a single army of ants coalesced and sped towards its target – the vehicle parked in the clearing.
'Sorry, comrade,' muttered Graver almost wistfully. 'It's a hard world.'
* * *
After a few minutes, Apthorpe felt the desire to go and have one last look at the nearest crater, fresh from his subterranean explosions. He opened the door and climbed down awkwardly, the jeep not particularly friendly towards the mobility of his considerable bulk. He waddled over to the fringe of trees at the edge of the clearing and peered into the gloom. He could just make out the circle of black against the lighter background of the surrounding thickets which prevented him getting any closer.
The strains of Mahler's symphony no. 10 filled the farmyard. Odd, thought Apthorpe, where was the music coming from? At first, he thought he saw a ripple of movement on one side of the hole, but as he stared the effect seemed to stabilise and dissolve. The silence in this place was pretty well absolute, save for the usual tiny forest sounds of the night. Apthorpe turned round, went back and levered himself up into the driving seat again. He reached forward to turn the key in the ignition. He felt a tickling sensation on his leg. Without thinking he put his hand down and scratched it. He jerked his hand up in a reflex action at the stabbing in his finger. He shook his hand wildly at the shock of seeing a huge Sauba soldier ant hanging there, mandibles firmly embedded in the soft flesh of the fat mound below his thumb. But it only released its grip in death, when he had virtually scraped its body into sticky fragments against the door of the jeep. By then, of course, the shadow between his legs had resolved itself into a solid mass of ants, climbing up over each other, completely covering his legs and thighs in a matter of seconds. If it hadn't been for the overwhelming pain at thousands of almost simultaneous bites, and the terror as ants started to drop from the roof onto his bald head and scurry down his neck, Apthorpe would have been quicker off the mark. He got the vehicle started and pushed it into gear. It rolled clear of the carpet of ants. Slowly, it ground up the mound at the edge of the clearing.
Antman Page 42
