Deception (27 page)

‘
Sorry about that,’ said Binnie. ‘I should have remembered earlier. I’m not sure if it tells you anything?’

‘
It does,’ said Steven, without saying more. He thought about what Binnie had said as he drove on. It was always nice when things fitted and there was satisfaction to be had in understanding just how Sigma 5 had come to know about the rat autopsy.

Steven went back to wondering about the change in the rats’ behaviour. Sigma 5 knew that it was specific to Blackbridge because they weren’t targeting any other GM sites. But if it wasn’t the crop itself and it wasn’t the use of glyphosphate or glufosinate herbicides, what else could it be? The crop itself had been tested . . . but the weed-killers hadn’t! he concluded. Just supposing that Agrigene were using a different kind of weed-killer at Peat Ridge! Phillip Grimble, Agrigene’s technical manager had said that same crop was being tested at different sites to try out different herbicide regimes. Could that be the source of the problem? Were they using an unlicensed herbicide? Something really toxic?

This certainly seemed to be a possibility but why on earth should a high level, covert government operation be mounted to cover something like that up? Why wouldn’t the authorities just throw the book at the company and be done with it? Steven decided that there was only one way to check on this. He would pay an unannounced visit to the storage barn at Peat Ridge Farm and check out what they were using for himself. While he was up there, near the canal, he would also try to get another rat for forensic examination. This time a Sci-Med appointed pathologist would carry out the autopsy. There was no guarantee of course that all the rats in the canal area were afflicted with whatever it was, but in view of McNish’s death it certainly seemed likely that a majority were.

Steven decided that he would go to Peat Ridge Farm that very night. The idea of doing something positive appealed to him. He thought about what he would need in the way of equipment and decided not that much. He already had dark clothes and a balaclava in his bag at the hotel. He had good quality trainers for any climbing that might be involved, although he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. The only thing he needed that he didn’t have at the moment was a series of small plastic bottles for taking samples from the chemical containers stored in the barn and something to carry them in. And maybe one bigger plastic container, suitable for a whole rat should he manage to get hold of one.

He decided that he would approach Peat Ridge from the canal towpath. He would go well after dark when the soldiers engaged in the rat cull would have left for the day. He would of course, have to avoid the patrolling private security men but their presence didn’t worry him too much. These men were all right for dealing with amateur intruders. Being ex-Special Forces gave him a distinct edge in that department.

Going in from that side would give him access to the back of the Peat Ridge barn where presumably the chemicals were kept. There did not seem to be anywhere else suitable and it was certainly the only place on the farm that the rats might have access to in view of its dilapidated state. He thought it would be ideal if he could gain entrance from the rear too, rather than have to try for a front door entry where the yard lights were kept on all the time these days. He would play it by ear. He felt a slight thrill of excitement as he set off for the city to find a shop where he could buy some plastic containers and a small black rucksack.

Steven set off just after eleven thirty. It was a clear night and a half moon was shining brightly. He headed for a large lay-by he’d seen on a previous occasion, about half a mile east of Blackbridge, where he planned to leave the car before continuing on foot. It wasn’t a proper lay-by and it was on a very minor road so the car shouldn’t attract too much attention. He thought the site was probably used as an intermediate dump for sand and salt mixture in winter for subsequent application to the surrounding roads. It was important that he approach from the east he thought because, with a prevailing west wind, he would be downwind of the patrolling dogs.

Steven slung his rucksack over his shoulder and locked the car before putting the keys into his right hand jerkin pocket and zipping it up. He checked the zips on all his other pockets. He didn’t want anything falling out. He climbed over the fence separating the road from the field on the south side and started out across the field towards the canal towpath.

Crossing the field presented no problem - there was a rough path round the perimeter, which he followed, but things became more difficult when he climbed over the fence at the other side and had to drop down from a low stone dyke into an area of rough ground and tall trees. The trees blocked out what light there was coming from the moon and the ground here was very soft from the rain of the previous night. There were also a great many boulders here that he kept stumbling over and he guessed that the field behind him had probably been cleared of these stones at some time in the past.

He was beginning to run out of expletives when he reached the fence bordering the ground leading to the towpath. He climbed over it and up on to a more solid footing. Once up on the towpath, he pulled down his balaclava over his face. Moonlight was reflecting off the water of the canal and he didn’t want his face becoming visible as he ran lightly along the path to past the southern edge of Crawhill Farm and under the canal bridge to the perimeter fence of Peat Ridge.

When he saw the lights of the farmyard over to his right, he crouched down and remained motionless for fully five minutes, just listening and watching the patrolling guards. He was pleased to see that there only seemed to be two although both had dogs with them. When he felt confident that they were not varying their patrol pattern – it was obvious that their mere presence was meant to be a deterrent – he waited until the gap between patrols was greatest and went under the wire. He ran towards the back of the barn in a low crouching run and threw himself to the ground to remain motionless again, just listening to the sounds of the night. He was now at the southeast corner of the building so his view of the farm buildings, which lay slightly to the northwest, was obscured.

Reassured that all was still quiet, he started to search along the base of the barn, looking for somewhere that might afford him access. He had reached the centre without success when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of one of the dogs barking. He remained rooted to the spot while the barking went on for fully half a minute, accompanied by the sound of a man’s voice constantly telling the animal to shut up. Steven took off his rucksack and brought out a clasp knife from the side pocket. If push came to shove, it would be better than nothing. He slipped the knife into his jerkin pocket and redid the zip. He swung his rucksack across his back on and continued his examination along the base of the wall.

He had just about given up on finding any flaw in the wall when he reached the final corner and found a series of three wooden slats had broken away from the main frame. He pulled the slats out a bit more to see if he could make the opening man size but he was rewarded with a heart-stopping moment when the panel freed itself of another rusty nail and the sound reverberated up the wall. The dog started barking again. He had certainly heard. Had anyone else?

After another minute of remaining motionless, like the statue of a cat burglar caught in the act, Steven heard the barking subside and quietness slowly returned to the farm. Once again he had got away with it but he was living dangerously. He decided that he couldn’t risk the same thing happening again so he resolved not to work any more on enlarging the opening. He would get down on the ground and squeeze through what little gap there was. It would be uncomfortable but it was just possible. He took off his rucksack and placed it on the ground, ready to be pushed through in front of him then he got face down on the ground. The smell of wet grass and earth up close brought back memories of rugby games on winter days long ago.

Steven had a torch in his rucksack but felt he couldn’t take the risk of using it until he was inside the barn so he stretched out his arm to feel what lay ahead. His fingers touched a cold plastic surface and he knew that this must be one of the chemical containers. That might be a problem, he recognised. If the containers were stacked up ceiling high at the back of the barn there would be no way for him to gain access to the interior. He changed hands and felt along to the left where he found a gap and moved into it. The jagged edge of a plank brushed his cheek as he inched forward and he cautioned himself to be more careful. It could have cut his face open had he been moving faster.

Steven reached further into the gap and let out a yell of pain as something smashed down on his hand and held it in a vice like grip. His head filled with stars as pain shot up his arm and the dog started barking again. This time it was part of a duet; the other dog had heard as well. He snatched his hand away but the thing came with him and he now realised that it was a rat trap. He'd unwittingly stuck his hand into it. His fear now was that bones in his left hand had been broken by the spring-loaded bar that had hammered down on them. To compound his misery, he could hear voices outside in the farmyard.

Still with the heavy metal trap fixed on his hand, Steven turned and pulled the wall panelling in towards him, drawing the slats in as far as possible in an effort to disguise where he had entered. It was also a move of self- preservation. This way he would be protected from the immediate attentions of the dogs should they be set free. The voices outside were becoming louder. He could now make out what they were saying.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded a voice Steven recognised as Lane’s.

‘My dog heard something,’ replied one of the guards.

‘Caesar did too,’ agreed the other.

‘Did you?’ asked Lane.

‘Can’t say as though I did.’

‘Me neither,’ agreed the other guard.

Steven breathed a small sigh of relief. It was only the dogs who were on his case. There was still a chance he might get away with this if he kept his nerve.

‘Look, he’s picked up a scent!’ said one of the guards, putting an end to Steven’s optimism. He could hear the animal snorting and panting on the other side of the wall. He was holding the panelling closed with his good hand but there was still a gap of a few inches at the bottom where the dog was trying to push his snout through. He failed and changed to pushing through a large paw to scratch at the earth only inches from Steven’s leg. He was joined in the attempt by the other dog. Steven knew that if he were to let go of the panelling right now the dogs were going to make quite a mess of him before they were brought to heel.

Suddenly as if to add to his nightmare, a rat came from somewhere in the darkness behind him and clambered over his thighs to drop down on the floor and escape out under the panelling. Steven nearly let out a cry of shock but managed to stop himself in time. It probably wouldn’t have mattered as the dogs launched into a new frenzy of barking as the rodent had the temerity to run out right under their very noses.

‘It was bloody rats they were after,’ said Lane. ‘Didn’t you set the traps?’

Steven silently nodded.

‘Let’s all stop playing silly buggers and get back on patrol,’ ordered Lane.

There was little or no argument from the guards, just a weak assertion from one that his animal had definitely heard something. The voices started to fade. It was the first time in his life that Steven had ever felt grateful to a rat. He let out his breath in an uneven sigh and then drew it sharply in again when he moved his trapped hand and felt a surge of pain. He let go of the panelling slowly, his fingers almost numb from the pressure on them, and started trying to free his left hand by holding it and the trap flat on the ground while he pulled back the bar with his right. The spring on the trap was so strong that it took him three attempts before he succeeded in making it move.

The blood was pounding in his temples and his teeth were gritted so hard that his cheek muscles were going into spasm before he managed to pull the bar back far enough to snatch his hand free. The bar closed with a loud snap and Steven lay still on the ground for a moment, suffering from nervous exhaustion. He examined his left hand gingerly, feeling for any breaks and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t find any. Still not fully convinced, he stretched out his fingers and flexed them slowly. They came through the test. It really seemed as if there were no breaks although he was in considerable pain.

He got out his torch from his rucksack and switched it on. There was a small mountain of chemical containers in front of him but along to the left he could see where they weren’t piled so high. There was also just enough space between the drums and the back wall for him to squeeze along to the left and start to climb over them. His left hand wasn’t much use in the climb and he could feel that it had already started to swell up. He kept it inside his jerkin as much as possible.

Steven could now see down into the barn in front of him. It was a little over half full of plastic containers. He climbed down onto the floor of the building where he started examining the labels on the drums. After a few moments he concluded that there were only three different kinds of weed-killer in the barn. He would take three random samples from each kind, making a requirement for nine plastic bottles in all. He had brought ten. He used his knife to lever up the drum caps selected at random and collected his samples.

He had just packed the containers away in his rucksack when he heard a loud crack and his stomach turned over. It took a few breathless moments before he realised that it had been one of the other traps triggering. With a bit of luck the next stage of his mission had just been accomplished for him. He climbed back over the drums at the back and dropped down into the narrow space between them and the back wall. For some reason he felt much more claustrophobic doing it this way around. He couldn’t help thinking that if the drums were to tip backwards, he would be trapped there like a nun walled up in a medieval convent.