Chapter 24

Peters and I backed quickly down the tunnel until the light gave out. Fortunately, the rag people showed no inclination to follow us. We could still hear their wild howls and curses quite plainly for some time, though. Finally, I slipped the pistol into my jacket pocket. I sighed with relief and faced Peters. 'Peters, there's something I've been wanting to ask you for some time,' I said.

'What's that?' he asked cautiously. He must have thought I was going to try to rape the Official Secrets Act again.

'Is your hobby really raising budgies?' I asked. This had genuinely been troubling me for months.

Peters was genuinely indignant. 'Certainly not,' he snapped, 'I paint landscapes; water colours, actually.'

That was a relief. I just couldn't believe that a man who raised budgies could be as evil as Peters. Landscape painters, yes; budgie breeders, no. Another joke on the part of his late Lordship. 'Well, Peters,' I said cheerfully, 'I want you to know that it's been very interesting knowing you. I won't offer to shake, though,' I added.

'Look, Turner, you know I can't get around down here with these bloody handcuffs on,' gasped Peters. 'You're not going to just leave me here like this, are you?'

He must have thought we eggheads had absolutely no street savvy at all. 'Yeah, sure. Why the hell not?' I started to stroll off into the dark.

Peters hopped after me. 'Oh, come on, Turner, play fair. I helped you get away just now,' he cried. 'You'd never have got away without me.'

I turned. 'Why should I? I'd never have been here in the first place if it wasn't for you,' I growled. 'Play fair? You of all people have got to be kidding!'

'Look, Turner, terminal processing was nothing personal against you,' he said. 'I was just responsible for carrying out Government policy. I'm just a civil servant.'

'Bollocks,' I snapped. 'I've been hearing that line of civil servant crap just a bit too often for comfort lately. Well, it didn't wash at Nuremburg and it won't bloody well wash with me any more, Peters. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just leave you here to rot or to wander on back to the cannibals for high tea,' I demanded.

'Because I can help you get out of London, Turner,' replied Peters intently. You had to give it to the man. He didn't flap easily, even smack dab in the middle of the frying pan. He knew all the right hooks, I'll say that for him, but this trout wasn't biting.

'Oh yeah?' I sneered.

'Look, every copper on the beat in Britain is looking out for you, Turner,' explained Peters calmly, 'You're a known ecoterrorist. But when we get to Euston, I can make sure you get on a train. No police, no hassles. You'd never be able to get on one by yourself, even if the police weren't looking for you. I've got the authority to just walk through the barriers with you and put you right on the next train out of London.'

'Oh, sure you will,' I scoffed.

'And I'll be right on that train with you, too, Turner,' he added.

'I'm sure that would be an absolutely delightful holiday experience, Peters,' I rasped.

'Think about it, Turner,' urged Peters. 'You know I can do that for you. Think about home, Turner. Think about your wife and children.'

Now I believed that the police were after me, all right. But I jolly well knew that Peters wouldn't want to see me in the hands of the uniformed police, either; not alive, anyway. I also certainly didn't believe I'd ever get on a train, either, if dear old Mr Peters had anything to do with it. So I had this cute idea, as you'll see. I decided to play along with his game for a while. I cleared my throat nervously and glanced at him. 'Would you really do that for me, Peters, even after I told them about the Bulge back there?' I asked fearfully.

'Look, Turner, I know I got angry when you spilled the beans to those apes back there,' admitted Peters amiably. 'But my experience told me that wasn't the best way for us to get out of there, that's all. You know?'

'I suppose you were right, anyway,' I agreed sheepishly, 'Your way did get the gun back.'

'I mean all the shouting was just, ah, to distract them,' added Peters. He must have thought me a total maroon.

'You promise you'll get me on a train?' I begged eagerly. God, it was all I could do to keep a straight face. I could hardly believe he was gulping it down like this.

'On my mother's grave, I swear it,' said Peters earnestly. I didn't bother to ask if his mother deserved a grave or even if he had a mother at all.

'All right then,' I said, 'I'll help you get through the Tube. It's not going to be easy, though. It took me hours to get this far from Westminster and I wasn't dragging someone along with me.' I pulled off my belt. 'Now, look, I'm going to tie my belt to your arm and lead you,' I explained as I took off my belt and looped it around his arm. I had to hold my trousers up with the other hand. They hadn't exactly been fattening us up back there, in spite of their ultimate intentions towards us. I led Peters slowly into the tunnel towards darkness. Eventually, I had to hold the end of the belt in my teeth while I felt my way with the hand not holding up my trousers. We made slow progress, but at least we didn't fall.

'Turner?' asked Peters after a while.

'Yeah?' I grunted, mouth full of belt.

'What happens if a train comes while we're here in the tunnel?' he asked fretfully. I think he was a bit freaked-out by the idea, for once. Maybe all his pushing of people under trains was something deeply rooted in his psyche; a bad childhood experience being endlessly relived. Frankly, I didn't give a toss, except that I was pleased to know that something might just be able to terrify Peters, even if it probably weighed a hundred tons.

I dropped the belt into my free hand and giggled. 'Keep a very tight pucker, Peters, and lie down next to the wall, really close. You'll have plenty of warning when one comes, don't worry.'

Peters' worry wasn't completely unfounded. About ten minutes later we got some practice with a real live train. 'There,' I said, once I could hear again, 'Not so bad, was it?' Oh, revenge can be so sweet.

Peters' mumbled something incoherent at me. I hoped he'd been scared shitless. I certainly didn't want to be this near to him if he hadn't been. 'Come along, Peters,' I called cheerfully, 'Only a few more hours to go!'

We stumbled along in silence for what seemed like ages. I fell twice and scraped my arms up badly. I lost count of the number of times Peters tripped. Too bad, really, that he didn't fall across the live rail. Zzzt! Eventually, I remembered that I had a tie in my pocket and used that instead of my belt as a lead. I least I had my trousers up securely and another hand to grope around in the dark with. Fortunately, Euston wasn't too far from Warren Street so it didn't take all that long to get there, surprisingly uphill though. Better still, the platform wasn't inhabited, so there were no Captain Cook problems this time. We walked up the ramp to the brightly lit station. It almost seemed normal.

'Well, here we are,' I commented unnecessarily. 'I guess we'll just wait here and see if a train will stop and pick us up. 'I do hope you've got a valid ticket, old boy.' Peters just grunted. The tunnel tour seemed to have knocked the wind out of his sails a bit. The platform floor was heavily tracked and splattered with what looked suspiciously like dried blood. I pointed at the splashes and Peters nodded glumly. We sat in silence for a few minutes. 'Tell you what,
Peters,' I said brightly, 'I'm thirsty and hungry. I'm going up to see if I can find some sort of vending machine that's working. Have you got any change?'

'No, of course not,' replied Peters in a tired voice, 'Don't be silly.'

'Well, I'll just have to see what I can find, lying around,' I continued brightly. 'Don't go away, now.'

'Look, Turner,' growled Peters, 'We need to get the hell out of here. Can't it wait?'

'No, it can't wait,' I replied crossly. 'I happen to have been down here quite a bit longer than you have and I'm bloody well hungry for something other than my fellow man.' I turned abruptly and followed the "Way Out" signs. I could have followed my nose, just as well. There was the faint stench of rotten meat. I wasn't so green now that I didn't realise that there must be bodies up ahead. At least no one was eating them, if my nose told me correctly.

The escalator was dark and partly blocked with debris. I climbed over the first pile of rubble and stepped on the partly buried body of a man in a dust-powdered suit. A dark starburst of small shapes fled from the body. If human flesh was good enough for people, why shouldn't it be good enough for rats, too? I calmly looted the man's pockets of change. The body sort of squished and farted as I moved it. Build up of gases from decay I guess. Amazing what a few hours of uncivilised reality can do to dull one's fine sensibilities, isn't it? I encountered several more corpses, women's, as I climbed. Obviously part of the ceiling had collapsed on the escalator. It looked safe enough now, though. I quickly learned that looting bags was a good deal more pleasant and profitable than intimate male body searches. I found sweets in several bags. The absolute find of the day was a tin of Coca-Cola and two chocolate bars in a shopping bag: a memorable meal. I certainly didn't save any for Peters, I can tell you.

At the top of the escalator, I could feel strong air currents, but it was too dark to see much. Probably just as well if the stink was anything to go by. I guessed that the wind must have blown something big, like a small skyscraper, on top of the station and covered it up. The survivors from the station must have fled through the platform below. It was obvious that the emergency services hadn't bothered themselves with cleaning up in here, if they'd been here at all.

A dimly flickering florescent lamp caught my attention. Under it was a rank of pay telephones. I climbed over the litter to the phones. I lifted the receiver of "Good Rubber Times, 7583-4705". It was dead. The second one, "Big Blonde", worked. I fed a pound coin into the slot and dialled home. The line clicked and cut off. I tried again. Cut off again. I lost my pound. I tried the third phone and fed it another pound coin. This time my number rang and was immediately picked up.

'Hello?' she said. God, I could hardly believe it. It was Lizzie. The connection was so clear she could have been across town.

My voice was a tinny strangled quiver. 'Lizzie? Lizzie, is that you, love?' I frantically fed all the change I had into the phone.

'Oh, hello, Sue,' she replied breezily. 'I was just getting the kids off to bed.'

I wasn't quick to catch on. I was never one quarter as sharp as she was; not in real time, anyway. 'Lizzie, it's me, baby. It's Ratty, not Sue,' I protested. This call wasn't turning out the way I'd imagined. Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes.

'Oh, I know that, Sue,' she chattered. 'We're all fine here, though.'

I still didn't get it. 'Lizzie-kins, it's Dick, love, speak to me, please!' I cried.

'Of course, Sue,' she stressed "Sue", 'I know that, dear.'

At last I caught on. Sue was my sister's name. 'Lizzie, is there someone there with you?' I demanded urgently.

'That's so right, darling,' she laughed gaily.

'Is it the police, Lizzie?' I asked.

'Well, I'm not exactly sure,' she said, giggling inanely. 'You can never tell these days.'

I saw that my change was counting down to nothing. 'Baby, are you and the kids OK?'

'Oh, we're just fine. Don't worry about us,' she laughed. God, I'd have given every penny I'd ever made to have fed it into that blasted phone right at that minute. 'How about you, Sue? How are you?'

'Lizzie,' I cried desperately, 'I'm trying to get out of London, love. I'm trying to get home. I'll get there, baby. Wait for me, love. Wait for me.' The horrid beeps cut in.

'Well, be very, very careful coming over here, dear, and have a good ...' The phone clicked and hummed. My coins crashed down into strong box. I hung the receiver up glumly. I suppose I could have looked for more change, but it would only have alerted whoever it was with her. I'd try to call again.