فصل 70

CHAPTER 70

THE TUNNEL IN THE TUNNEL

ONCE AGAIN IT WAS PETER’S JOB to scout ahead. The others remained outside at the rear of the abbey as he took to the air and flew along the river up to Westminster Bridge. He rose several hundred feet, so that he was shrouded by the night fog. Then, following Ted’s directions, he flew along Bridge Street until he figured he was above the Underground entrance. Slowly he descended until he could just make out the stairway leading down to the station.

He smiled grimly at what he saw. Although the Underground was not running—it was past midnight—there were four policemen around the stairway, clearly standing guard.

Peter flew quickly back to the others and reported what he’d seen.

“It would appear you guessed correctly, Wendy,” said Patrick. “Something’s going on down there.”

“Yes,” she said. “But how do we get past the police?”

“Karl and I can deal with the bobbies,” said Magill.

“You don’t plan to harm them, do you?” said Wendy.

“Of course not,” said Magill, sounding a bit disappointed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a coil of rope. “Give us five minutes.”

He grunted something to Karl, and the two of them disappeared into the night.

The others waited, saying little. Finally, Patrick said, “I reckon it’s been five minutes.”

They walked around to the front of the abbey, then up to Bridge Street, Peter leading the way. They approached the Underground entrance from the opposite side of the street. Where Peter had earlier seen the four bobbies, there was now not a soul.

They crossed the street and looked down the stairway. It was deserted.

“Down here!” Magill’s voice came from somewhere below.

They hurried downstairs. At the bottom was a metal security fence that had been broken open, apparently by Karl. Passing through it, they found themselves in the station’s ticket hall. Magill stood next to the four bobbies, who were seated on the floor, leaning against the ticket booth, bound hand and foot, with their arms behind them. They were looking warily at Karl, who sat next to Magill, looking back at them.

Patrick approached the bobbies. “Good evening, officers,” he said.

“You had better untie us right now,” snarled one.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” said Patrick. “But I’m certain somebody will find you down here once the trains start running. Meanwhile, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell us where we might find the entrance to the tunnel being dug beneath Westminster Abbey?”

The four bobbies glared silently at Patrick.

“Apparently not,” he said. “Then we’ll just have to find it on our own.”

He turned to go, followed by the others.

“You’ll be sorry!” shouted one of the bobbies, his words echoing off the concrete walls. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into!”

The warning stayed in Peter’s mind as he and the others passed through the unmanned ticket turnstiles and out onto the gloomy, deserted platform. Peter had never been in an Underground station. He felt confined down here, with little room to fly; he could almost feel the tons of stone and earth above him. The grimy platform they stood on stretched left and right, each side leading to the gaping black mouth of a tunnel.

“I’m a bit turned around,” said Ted. “Which way is the Abbey?”

“That way,” said Magill, pointing to the left-hand tunnel with the certainty of a man who always knew exactly where he was.

They trooped down to the end of the platform, where a sign informed them that there was NO ADMITTANCE. Magill reached into his coat and pulled out an electric torch. He flicked it on and shone it into the tunnel mouth. There was a narrow ledge leading to an iron staircase, which in turn led down to a footpath alongside the tracks. Ahead, the tracks, lit by dim electric bulbs every few dozen feet, curved gently to the left, then disappeared.

They went to the staircase, Magill leading the way. As he started down, Neville said, “Mind you don’t touch that rail running alongside the track. It carries six hundred volts, for the electric locomotives.”

They descended the stairs and started along the footpath, single file, keeping to the wall and away from the electrified rail. Magill and Karl led the way; Peter was at the end, behind Wendy. Every now and then a low, dark shape scuttled past.

“Rats,” whispered Wendy. “I hate rats.”

“Me too,” agreed Peter, again thinking of Tink. She didn’t like them, either.

They rounded the curve and reached a straightaway. The only sound was the shuffling of their feet. From time to time Peter glanced behind him; he saw nothing but the widely spaced tunnel lights, and the blackness between.

Suddenly Magill stopped. He flicked off the torch.

“What is it?” whispered Patrick, second in line.

“Train,” Magill said, pointing.

The others inched forward and peered down the tunnel. About fifty yards ahead, silhouetted by a lightbulb, was the boxy shape of an electric Underground car.

“The Underground’s closed,” whispered Neville. “Why would a train be here, sitting between stations?”

“If you were secretly digging a tunnel in the Underground,” said Ted, “how would you carry out the dirt?”

“Ah,” said Neville, nodding. “Clever.”

“That may not be all they’re using the train to carry out,” said Ted.

“I don’t understand,” said Neville.

“The Cache!” said Wendy. “They could carry that out in the train, too.”

“Exactly,” said Ted.

“So what do we do?” said Peter, staring at the train.

“I suggest we have a look,” said Patrick. “But carefully.”

They crept forward, staying as close as they could to the wall, torch off, all eyes ahead. As they neared the train, Magill held up his hand, and they stopped. He held up two fingers, which they understood to mean he’d seen two people, although none of them saw anything ahead except indistinct shadows. Magill gestured at them to wait, and, dropping into a crouch, moved toward the train, followed by Karl.

Two minutes passed. From ahead, a short yelp shattered the silence, followed by thuds. A minute later Magill and the bear returned.

“Two of them,” he said. “And a tunnel.”

“Capital!” said Patrick.

They started forward. As they reached the car, they saw it was connected to two others, forming a three-car train. Peering through the windows, they saw that Ted’s theory was correct. The seats had been removed, and the floors had been covered with heavy canvas tarpaulins. The canvas was filthy; clearly the cars had been hauling dirt. But at the moment they stood empty, gates open, as if awaiting passengers.

The two guards lay on the ground against the wall, helpless. In addition to firmly tying them up, Magill had gagged them with strips of canvas cut from the tarpaulins. He stepped over them and pointed ahead, and to the left.

“There’s the tunnel,” he said.

The entrance was rectangular, about seven feet high and half again as wide, chiseled neatly out of the Underground wall. Leaning against the wall next to it was a piece of plywood the precise size and shape of the tunnel entrance, painted the same color as the wall.

“They use that to cover the entrance when the trains are running,” said Ted. “You’d never see it from a train racing past.”

There were two thick black rubber cables snaking from the tunnel to the train. Neville, frowning, bent over next to the train to get a closer look.

“Interesting,” he said.

“What?” said Ted.

“These are electrical cables,” he said. “They’ve been attached to the power rails. Why do you suppose?”

“For lights?” suggested Ted.

“Not with this much voltage,” said Neville. He looked into the tunnel, which had bulbs glowing along the wall. “Besides, they’ve already wired the tunnel for lights.”

“Then what are they up to?” said Neville.

“I suggest we find out,” said Patrick.

“Karl and I’d better go first,” said Magill, peering into the tunnel.

“Lead on,” said Patrick.

One by one, they entered the tunnel. As before, Peter went last. He tried to convince himself that he was doing a brave thing, protecting the rear. But he knew better. He wasn’t afraid of what was behind him; he was afraid of who—or what—lay waiting ahead.