Deception

FIFTEEN

It was a little after midnight when Steven got back to his new hotel but he still found room in the car park round the back. He supposed that some guests had been put off by the narrow potholed lane leading through to it so they had left their cars out in the street instead — probably hoping to be away in the morning before the traffic wardens were up and about. Steven parked his car with the front bumper hard up against the back wall of the hotel, making it well nigh impossible for anyone to open the bonnet.

Despite the rain, he still took time to look around for a number of small stones and positioned them at strategic intervals round the car so that anyone crawling underneath the vehicle would be sure to disturb the pattern he’d made. He didn’t really think an attack on this car was likely; it was more a case of being better safe than sorry.

On the way back round to the front of the hotel, he took a good look at the building itself, noting the position of his room window in relation to what was near it in the way of pipes and guttering — routine insurance against circumstances dictating that he might have to get out in a hurry. Once inside his room he locked the door and wedged the foot of it with a cheap ballpoint pen — insurance against the opposition gaining access with a key. He turned out the light and looked out on the rain swept streets, pleased to see that the windows were double-glazed. It was well nigh impossible to throw anything through a double glazed window. He closed the curtains and switched on the bedside light before taking off his jacket and removing his holster, which he hung over the single chair in the room. The gun itself, he took out put on the bedside table. ‘And you’re the one who hates melodrama,’ he murmured to himself.

Steven lay awake for a long time. This was due in part to the wind that had got up and the rain that now lashed against his room window but it was mainly down to the sense of unease he felt about Eve. He could still feel the sensation of her lips on his. She had been right about seeing guilt in his eyes; it had been the first thing he’d felt when she’d surprised him. He knew it didn’t stand up to analysis — it just didn’t make any sense, but the feeling had been real enough. Could he really still see it as cheating on Lisa? Lisa was dead and gone and nothing was going to change that. Perhaps he was more worried about what he was seeing in Eve, he wondered, for it hadn’t escaped him that, although Eve did not look anything like Lisa, she had many things in common with her. Her Scottish directness, even her sense of humour and tendency to scythe down pretensions of any sort was pure Lisa. She was bright too, again like Lisa. Could he be sizing her up as some sort of substitute for Lisa? If he was, that would be unforgivable. Almost immediately, he rebelled against the thought. What the hell was all this about? It had only been a goodnight kiss, for God’s sake.

The rain got even louder on the window as he turned over on to his side. ‘Bloody country,’ he muttered before falling asleep.

Next morning, the Clarion trumpeted its success in provoking action over the increasing rat population at Blackbridge. ‘The Pied Paper that gets things done’ was how it congratulated itself. The self styled champion of the people had done more than all the hide-bound officials put together and had got something done about the rat menace, it asserted. While ‘they’ all sat in the Blackbridge Arms on fat expense accounts, arguing the rights and wrongs of GM crops and deciding nothing, the Clarion had cut through a veritable forest of red tape and embarrassed the powers that be into taking firm action. There was a large photograph of a white-overalled man holding a rifle on the banks of the canal. ‘Blow the vermin away!’ the Clarion encouraged.

It was a typical tabloid piece, Steven thought, but there was a worrying aspect to it that captured his attention. As was usual in this kind of situation, the paper was claiming credit for having forced the authorities to do something about the rats but he suspected that the truth of the matter was somewhat different. No one on the paper would realise it but the Clarion itself was being used by Sigma 5.

Sigma 5 knew about the change in the rats’ behaviour and therefore must have realised that something would have to be done, but if they had just arranged for a team to be sent in, too many embarrassing questions would have been asked. The authorities would have been at each other’s throats to discover who was behind it. As it was, Sigma 5 had bided its time and then used the story in the paper to make it appear as if someone high up in government had stepped in to clear up the mess in response to the paper’s story of public anxiety. The local authorities would now be too reluctant or red-faced to say anything because the move had elicited such popular support and what was more, the Clarion would crucify them if they did. Sigma 5 were not only powerful, they were clever too, an unfortunate combination in an opponent, thought Steven.

Jamie Brown in The Scotsman had covered the rat cull story too but he had concentrated on the administrative buck-passing that had been going on. He pointed out that no one in authority would say who had ordered the cull and this did not bode well for the open government that the Scottish people had been promised from their new parliament and again highlighted the lack of clear distinction when it came to who was responsible for what in the new administration.

Today, in a recap for the readers’ benefit, he reminded them which powers had been devolved and which hadn’t, and concentrated on something called ‘Executive Devolution’. This was a term applied to powers where Westminster retained sole law-making rights but the Scottish Parliament could make some lesser decisions within an agreed framework. Brown described this as, Westminster driving the car but the Scottish Parliament being allowed to blow up the tyres.

Steven overcame a reticence about the risk of disturbing James Binnie in a compromising position with a cow and called him on his mobile number again. ‘Sorry to bother you again, James but we have to talk.’

‘I’m on my way over to Letham Mains to look at a pig,’ replied Binnie to Steven’s relief. ‘I’ll be there about half an hour and then I’m free for a bit. What would you suggest?’

Steven checked his local map, which he had on the table on front of him and found Letham Mains Farm. He saw that there was a crossroads about a mile west of the farm and suggested that they meet there.

‘A bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it,’ said Binnie.

Steven agreed but did not offer either explanation or alternative. ‘Half an hour then.’

Binnie was sitting in his Land Rover, reading his newspaper when Steven arrived. Steven parked his own car about twenty metres down a farm track and went back to join him, climbing into the passenger seat and wrinkling his nose at the smell inside the Land Rover. He saw that Binnie’s Wellingtons in the back were covered in what he thought just might be, pig manure — the smell gave strong support to this theory. Binnie appeared not to notice.

‘I had a talk with your friend Sweeney, yesterday,’ said Steven. ‘He hasn’t called you has he?’

Binnie said not.

‘Pity. He’s hiding something. He said there was nothing wrong with the rat you gave him but he was lying; I’m sure of it. He had guilt written all over his face.’

‘But why should he lie?’

‘He was a nervous wreck. Someone must have got to him and instructed him to come up with a clean bill of health for the rat.’

‘John Sweeney? Turn out a false report? I don’t believe it. He’s as honest as the day is long.’

‘I suspect that the pressure came from within,’ said Steven. ‘That’s always difficult. I think they invoked the official secrets act and warned him of the consequences of breaking it.’

‘Good God, poor chap,’ said Binnie, looking over his glasses at Steven and appearing genuinely shocked. ‘What the hell is going on in Blackbridge?’

‘I don’t know but I have to ask you if you told anyone about taking the rat over to the vet school,’ said Steven. ‘Ann knew; I knew; who else?’

Binnie sighed and shook his head. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘I can’t think why I would tell anyone else.’

‘Someone must have known in advance or they wouldn’t have had time to stop your friend issuing a genuine report,’ said Steven.

‘I can see that,’ said Binnie. ‘But I just can’t think of anyone I might have told. I’d have no reason to.’

‘If you do happen to remember, let me know,’ said Steven.

‘Why did you ask if Jim had been in touch?’ asked Binnie.

‘I tried to persuade him that he should listen to his conscience rather than just obey the strict letter of the law,’ replied Steven. ‘I hoped that if he felt guilty enough, he might tell you as a friend what was wrong with the rat.’

‘Afraid not,’ said Binnie. ‘Want me to have a prod at him?’

‘Anything’s worth a try right now.’

‘Like that, is it?’

‘A long time ago someone told me never to go to war with the establishment because, as he said, you’ll always lose. I feel like I’m confirming his belief at every turn.’

‘But you work for the establishment,’ said Binnie.

‘I thought I did,’ said Steven ruefully. He made to open the Land Rover door. ‘I’d better let you get on with your work,’ he said.

‘I’ll call you later if I get anything out of John,’ said Binnie.

As he drove off, Steven doubted whether Binnie would be able to persuade his friend, Sweeney to tell him anything. Friend or not, Sweeney had clearly been scared about what he had got himself into. He would probably see keeping his mouth shut as the safe option. Steven started to wonder if breaking into Sweeney’s office at the Dick Vet might be a better idea. Surely Sweeney would have written down his findings about the rat, he thought, but on the other hand it seemed equally probable that all such evidence would have been removed by the people who’d applied pressure to him. He reluctantly concluded that a break-in was probably a non-starter. The chances of success would have to be very good indeed to warrant such a risky venture and they weren’t. His phone rang. It was James Binnie.

‘I’ve just remembered,’ said Binnie. ‘I did tell someone else about taking the rat over to the vet school,’ said Binnie. ‘I mentioned it to Tom Rafferty.’

‘Rafferty?’ exclaimed Steven.

‘It was the day he called me over to see his dog, Khan. ‘He kept insisting that Khan was genuinely ill and that was the reason he seemed to be getting meaner every day. Although I told him that, in my opinion, Khan had always been mean, I had to defer to the fact that owners always know their pets better than outsiders. I remember mentioning to him that I was going to be going over to the vet school in the next few days to have an analysis on the rat done. I offered to take over a blood sample from Khan at the same time.

‘That would make sense,’ said Steven. If Rafferty had known about Binnie’s intention then it was a safe bet that Childs and Leadbetter would also have known. It must have been them who had arranged for pressure to be put on Sweeney to kill the report.

‘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.

Holding the torch in front of him, he inched his way along towards the damaged panelling, doing his best to protect his injured hand from buffeting on the way. He came to a sudden halt when he felt sure that something had moved near him and then he heard a metallic scraping sound. He moved his torch beam slowly upwards in an arc. At eye level, he picked out a rat’s hind legs scrabbling at the drum it was sitting on. It had been caught in a trap that had been left there but the impact of the trap had not been sufficient to kill it. Although badly injured, it was still desperately trying to free itself.

Steven squeezed himself round sideways so that he could reach into his jerkin pocket and bring out his knife. To open it, he required the help of his left hand, something that made him grimace in pain and whisper curses before the blade locked open and he inched towards the rat. Nausea at the thought was building inside him but knew what he must do. He rested his injured hand on the rat’s back and held it steady while he slipped the tip of the blade between the base of the trap and the animal’s throat where it was held fast by the bar. He closed his eyes and pushed the blade sharply forwards. The warm wetness on his hand and the sudden stop to the animal’s struggles told him that he’d been successful in cutting its throat.

Steven had to wait until he was outside the barn before he could put the dead animal into the plastic container he’d brought with him for the purpose. He cleaned his hands as best he could on the wet grass, secured his rucksack and picked his moment when the guard patrol allowed him to run back up to the perimeter fence and out on to the towpath. He set off back to the car, mission accomplished.