Blood Red City (45 page)

Then he felt the heat on his face. The flames roared past and the world exploded into red.

*   *   *

The Minotaur was so close that Guy could hear the creature's roar behind him, feel its hot breath on the back of his neck. The roar became a low rumble from deep in the Labyrinth. The breath was a wave of heat moving through the tunnel.

A massive hand closed on Guy's shoulder, wrenching him back. The torch went flying, disappearing into the shadowy liquid that was gushing past them, up to their waists.

But as the Minotaur dragged Guy back, he realised that he could still see. There was light above them – shining down through a hole in the rock, illuminating the dark torrent of oil that crashed down in front of them like a waterfall.

The creature's painful grip loosened slightly as Leo hammered his shoulder into the Minotaur's side. With an almighty effort, Guy tore himself free of the monster's grasp. He turned, pulling his gun from its holster. The Minotaur reared up, dark oil dripping from its glistening body. One powerful arm lashed out, sending Leo spinning away.

Then Guy lunged forwards – straight at the creature, gun raised. The smallest spark would be disastrous. But the time for caution was gone. Deep in the Labyrinth, the rumble was becoming a roar. Flickering orange and red lit the roof of the tunnel behind them.

The Minotaur reached out for Guy again. Leo struggled towards it, thumping at its back, but with no effect. It opened its jaws, saliva mixing with fuel oil, teeth glinting orange and red. Without thinking, Guy rammed the barrel of his Luger into the creature's mouth and pulled the trigger.

For a moment it was still. The sound of the shot was lost in the growing bellow of the explosion and fire. Then the Minotaur staggered backwards, stumbling and falling into the flowing oil. It struggled back to its feet, but in those few moments it had been swept back down the tunnel several yards. Far enough for Guy and Leo to have time to reach the side of the crevice.

Oil poured past them as they clambered up the other side. The rock was slick with fuel, slippery and treacherous. Guy felt himself sliding back down, but Leo's hand grabbed him, and helped him regain his grip.

Suddenly, they were in daylight, and the stench of the fuel was mitigated by the sea breeze. Slipping and stumbling, they scrambled across the rock shelf and towards the field. They had moments – seconds at most – before the area became a raging inferno.

Up the slope, away from the pipeline and the torrent of fuel washing down towards the rocks and into the Labyrinth. Finally, they collapsed, gasping and exhausted.

The roar of the explosion erupted like a wave of sound from the rocky depths behind them, Looking back, Guy saw a single figure emerge from the entrance in the rock, climbing up through the lake of fuel.

It stood knee-deep in the liquid, bellowing in rage. The head of a bull and the body of a man, standing defiant as flames erupted from the ground behind it. The figure was immediately enveloped, burning as it staggered forwards, through a sea of fire.

The flames spread across the surface of the fuel, rushing towards the pipeline higher up the hill where liquid still poured out.

*   *   *

Further up the hill, Brinkman watched Guy and Leo scramble away from the fire. He could feel the heat of the flames that reached the pipe and clawed their way inside. He could imagine the fuel in the pipe igniting, a shockwave roaring inside. At one end was a closed valve where the ships would attach for refuelling. At the other …

The entire massive fuel tank exploded in a moment. A second later, the blast wave thumped into Brinkman's chest like a physical blow. The air was full of flame and debris. Then the second tank exploded, blasting the remaining buildings in the facility to matchwood.

There were further, smaller detonations as more pipelines and backup fuel tanks exploded. Liquid fire rained down across the whole area.

‘Probably time we were leaving,' Mihali said as the sound of the explosions died away. ‘I've a feeling that might have attracted some attention.'

‘I'm hoping it did more than that,' Brinkman said.

 

CHAPTER 45

Dr Wiles passed round a sheet of paper. It was a table of numbers divided into columns that were themselves numbered. It meant nothing at all to Guy, who passed it on to Leo. When Sarah, Sergeant Green and Colonel Brinkman had also looked at it, Miss Manners passed it back to Wiles. It was clear from their faces that no one understood it at all.

‘You'll see that the figures speak for themselves,' Wiles said unhelpfully.

‘Perhaps you could summarise for us?' Colonel Brinkman suggested.

‘If you think that's necessary.'

‘It's necessary,' Miss Manners told him.

‘Well, in that case…' He held the paper up, pointing at parts of the table as he explained. ‘The columns are by date, recording the number of UDT transmissions and other Vril communications by month. This table records only those UDTs detected in the area of Crete bounded by these grid references noted here, and the other communications which either emanate from or appear to be directed towards that area of the Mediterranean.'

‘And what do the numbers tell us?' Brinkman asked.

‘They tell us that Crete was something of a centre for Vril communications and activity in the last six months, which is partly why we focused our own attentions there, of course. But in the last week, since you and your colleagues returned from your last expedition to the island…' He held up the paper again, and gestured emphatically to it with his other hand, like a Shakespearean actor. ‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing?' Guy echoed.

‘Not a jot. Nothing. Which, it seems to me, rather suggests that your expedition was a complete success.' Wiles put the paper down on the table in front of him and stared at it. ‘So, well done.'

‘That doesn't mean our job is finished, though,' Brinkman said.

‘Far from it,' Wiles agreed. ‘If anything, the Vril activity in other geographical areas has increased. Probably messages toing and froing about what we've been up to and what they can do about it.'

‘Do we have any way of knowing exactly what that is?' Green asked.

‘Jane's visions of the Vril have faded,' Miss Manners said. ‘But she still has the dreams, and she can still connect to them at times. Her visions are still stronger than I can achieve. If we can interpret what she sees, that might help.'

She opened a folder and took out a large glossy black and white photograph. ‘This might interest you. It's a photograph I took of Jane Roylston when we first brought her back here, once we knew she was working for the Vril.'

The picture showed a corner of the Station Z offices. But the figure sitting on a chair by a desk looked nothing like Jane Roylston. The areas emerging from her clothes were a mesh of interconnected and tangled lines, as if someone had tried to clothe a human figure constructed out of different types of string and wool.

‘I took several, but this was using a flash. Without the flash, she looked quite normal.'

‘Interesting,' Wiles said. ‘I wonder if it's to do with capturing the image, the reflection of light from the flash effect, or if it's an artefact of the developing process when a bright negative is produced.'

‘Could it be related to the way vampires cast no reflection in a mirror?' Davenport asked.

‘There's no such thing as vampires, Leo,' Sarah told him.

‘Really? You should tell Elizabeth Archer that. I think she might take issue quite strongly.'

‘A conversation for another time, I think,' Brinkman said, cutting across Sarah's reply. ‘Anything else?' he asked Miss Manners.

‘Yes, this.' She produced another photograph from the folder. It was a different angle on the offices, and the subject of the picture was standing against a wall. Although the features were again overlaid with tangled lines, the effect was less blatant, and the standing figure was obviously Jane Roylston.

‘It's like someone just scribbled over her face,' Sarah said.

‘And this was taken, when?' Guy asked.

‘After our little exorcism ritual.'

‘You think it cured her?' Green said.

‘It's certainly a step in the right direction,' Miss Manners replied. ‘But whether this is the first stage in an ongoing change, or a temporary improvement, or simply the effect of Jane no longer being directly controlled, who can say?'

‘We still have a lot to learn about all this,' Guy said. ‘Where's Jane now?'

‘She's at the British Museum,' Brinkman told them. ‘Mrs Archer is doing some experiments to see if she can tell us more about the Vril under mild hypnosis. In fact, she's asked to see me this afternoon. I gather Miss Diamond here left her some rather interesting correspondence.'

*   *   *

The body was held open by long metal pins which pierced the skin. The pins were fixed into the wooden board. Inside, a spongy orange mass was revealed in place of flesh and organs. More pins held the legs spread-eagled.

Two men stood at the workbench, looking down at it. The older man took a pencil from his pocket, prodding at the animal's insides experimentally. He tapped the metal collar round the creature's neck. The man beside him watched impassively through pale blue, watery eyes. He wore a dark suit and a dark blue tie.

‘The President doesn't need to know about this, Agent Cooper,' the older man said. He wiped the end of the pencil on the edge of the workbench before returning it to his pocket. ‘The President has enough to worry about already. Though I think we could do with some help on this.'

‘Who do you suggest, sir?' Cooper couldn't take his eyes off the body of the cat. It was unsettling, macabre … Frightening.

‘The British must know something. They were there. And Sumner, of course. Be worth a few calls.'

‘I'll arrange it, sir.'

‘And get that thing out of sight,' ordered John Edgar Hoover, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

On the workbench, the cat, spread-eagled on the board, its skin folded open and pinned back, raised its battered head and gave an angry hiss.

*   *   *

‘The whole place was destroyed, by fire and rock falls.'

Nachten listened in disbelief. ‘But, how could this happen?'

‘And just as you were almost recovered,' Himmler said. He leaned back in his chair and regarded the two men standing in front of him carefully. ‘A pity.'

‘An attack by Greek partisans?' Nachten still could not believe it.

‘Hoffman?' Himmler prompted.

‘It would seem so,' Hoffman agreed. ‘It was lucky I was there. I ordered the evacuation of the fuel facility at the first sign of trouble. Sadly, Hauptsturmfuhrer Grebben was one of the casualties. I gather he tried to protect the site from escaping fuel.'

‘A tragic loss,' Himmler said. ‘But perhaps now we should focus our attentions closer to home. It is not all bad news. Did you know that with the help of expertise and material provided by us from the Freiburg crash, von Braun and his team last week achieved a successful launch of the A4 rocket?'

‘I gather we are now calling it the V2,' Hoffman said. ‘A great triumph, Reichsfuhrer.'

‘We are all to be congratulated. And it should serve as an encouragement to redouble our efforts, to determine what other technology and weapons we can derive from the Vril Project.' He waved his hand to dismiss Nachten, but gestured for Hoffman to stay.

‘It is lucky that you were on Crete when this attack took place,' Himmler said.

‘If I had got there sooner, I might have managed to avert the attack, or protect the site.'

‘No matter. It is good to have you back, Werner.'

‘It is good to be back,' Hoffman replied levelly.

‘You will keep me informed if you decide to go on any other ad hoc adventures, yes?'

‘Of course, Reichsfuhrer. I was merely following a lead, a hunch. I had no idea if it would pay off. And sadly, of course, it did not.' He opened his hands apologetically.

Himmler removed his spectacles, polishing them slowly on his handkerchief. ‘Luck was not on our side this time, it seems. No matter. It was the right decision. But as I say, in future keep me informed.'

‘Of course.'

Himmler replaced his glasses and stared up at Hoffman. ‘Just so long as you were not injured in the explosions and fires on Crete.'

‘Not at all, Herr Reichsfuhrer,' Hoffman said. ‘Although I confess, I did feel the heat of it.'

*   *   *

Jane Roylston was drawing. She sat at Elizabeth Archer's desk in the vault below the British Museum, a pencil in her hand. She stared straight ahead, but her eyes were unfocused, her expression blank.

‘That's good, Jane. Very good,' Elizabeth said quietly.

Jane's hand lifted from the paper. She took a deep breath, her eyes focusing again.

‘What did you see?'

‘Terrible things,' Jane said. ‘I always see terrible things.'

‘Can you be more specific?'

‘Fire climbing into the sky, then falling back to the ground. Death and destruction. Vengeance.' Her gaze fell on the picture she had just drawn. ‘This is what I saw.'

The drawing showed a ruined street, bodies strewn across the pavement and over the rubble. Elizabeth lifted the sheet away. She put it on top of the first picture Jane had drawn – a sleek elliptical shape climbing into the sky, fire spewing from the engines beneath it.

They kept her in a cage for their own safety. When he came to see her, she stared back at him through the bars, her dark eyes defiant, her hands curled into claws.

‘Show me,' he ordered.

In response, one of the guards took out a pistol. He stuck it through the bars and shot the girl. Twice.

The bullets drove her back against the bars of the cage. But almost at once she flung herself forwards again, at the man with the gun. He withdrew his hand just in time, stepping back quickly.