The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

of an electric motor came from outside. It became a heavy, gnawing buzz as it touched the brickwork of the building. A big drill.

‘What is that?’ Bethan asked.

‘They’re drilling a hole.’

‘Why?’

‘They want to kill us without setting off the munitions.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What comes through a hole and kills everyone inside a confined space and isn’t water? Add to that he’s Russian, he’s not subtle and has access to a lot of bad toys.’

She took a second to think. ‘Gas?’

‘You’re catching on,’ he said regarding the mere pistol in his hand and threw it down. It wasn’t going to be enough.

He grabbed a block of plastic explosives, detonators, fuse wire and matches, found a knife, cut off a piece of fuse wire, pushed the end into a detonator and crimped it with his teeth.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Trying to get us out of here,’ he said as he pushed the detonator into the explosives.

She got back to her phone and started to key in a number as a drill bit burst through the far wall. The drill wiggled about a bit before it was withdrawn.

‘Block the hole,’ Gunnymede ordered urgently. ‘Quickly!’

She hurried off as he went to the opposite end of the building and cleared away a pile of crates to expose the wall. He dug Ashio’s lighter from his pocket and got to work.

Bethan went to the drill hole, looked around, found a piece of cloth, shoved it into the hole and got her weight behind a crate and pushed it in front of it.

A moment later a metal rod shot through the hole, dislodging the cloth and punching the crate back. She looked back at Gunnymede for help but he was busy with his own task.

She needed something more effective. A box of tools was by the door and she sorted through them, found a screwdriver and a hammer and went back to the hole. She placed the screwdriver into the hole and hammered it home as hard as she could.

It looked solid.

Seconds later a sledge hammer slammed against the outer wall and a large scab broke away to fall at her feet. She stepped back as another blow sent more shattered brickwork into the room. Another and a hole appeared, large enough to place a hand through.

Outside, Krilov stood back watching three of his men at work against the wall, all wearing Russian made military biological and chemical warfare suits. One of them was preparing what looked like a sophisticated high pressure gas bottle system with a rubber hose attached to a complex valve head. They fed the hose in through the hole and turned the valve.

Bethan stepped back further as the end of the hose poked through the hole. It was certainly ominous. An orange gas gushed from the hose, slowly at first then increasing in volume. It was heavier than air and gathered on the floor in an ever increasing cloud. As the gas accumulated it began to spread like a thick ground smog.

Bethan backed away and hurried down the room, stepping over the dead thug to join Gunnymede. ‘Whatever it is, it’s coming,’ she said.

Gunnymede concentrated on what he was doing.

‘It’s an orange gas,’ she said.

‘Got it,’ he said putting the finishing touches to his work.

‘What is it?’

‘No idea,’ he said as he propped the lump of explosive against the wall and straightened the trailing fuse wire. He placed boxes and furniture against it and held up the lighter. ‘When I light it we have a minute before it goes. Understood? Go to the corner behind those boxes.’

She quickly obeyed and crouched behind them.

He lit the fuse and joined her, pulling more crates in front of them and using his body to protect her. He leaned round to look for the gas but couldn’t see anything from where he was. Not at first. Then a wisp of orange mist drifted between shelving halfway down the room and oozed along the floor towards them.

‘I take it that will kill us?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think it’s going to make us laugh.’

The gas spread the width of the room as the leading edge rolled towards them.

‘How much would we need to breathe before it kills us?’

‘If it’s nerve gas, none. A droplet on the skin will be enough.’

The hissing fuse burned smokily and went out of sight behind the boxes. It was too slow for Gunnymede’s liking, the gas moving far too quickly. When it was metres from their outstretched feet they instinctively pulled them in.

They pressed themselves against the wall as the orange wave drew closer. The charge should’ve detonated by now. The gas was within a fingers-reach of their legs.

The explosion was ear-splitting in the confined space and rocked the building so violently it felt like the entire structure might collapse. The blast reached out, the shockwave throwing back everything in its path, including the gas. Debris hit Gunnymede’s back as he shielded Bethan. Most importantly, the blast created a large hole sending bricks across the farm yard.

Smoke and dust filled the room. Gunnymede grabbed Bethan’s arm and yanked her with him. Unable to see much, both coughing, Gunnymede felt his way along the wall, stumbling over rubble until he reached the edge of the crumbling hole and stepped through it.

Gunnymede kept hold of Bethan’s arm as he broke into a run, out of the dust and into the night air.

‘My car,’ she said, pointing.

They ran towards it and climbed in. She struggled to find her key. Gunnymede looked over his shoulder anxiously. There was no sign of pursuers. She found the key, dropped it on the floor, scrambled to pick it up while he bit his lip in an effort to resist offering encouragement. She started the engine and screeched away, turning in a tight