Doctor Who_ Attack of the Cybermen - Eric Saward [7]
Lytton didn’t answer. Instead he removed a magazine from his backpack and inserted it into the pistol. He then pulled back the bolt and released it with a harsh, metallic clack: the gun was cocked and ready for use.
‘You shoot that thing off,’ bemoaned Charlie, ‘and you’ll have old bill calling out the SAS!’
Lytton snapped on the gun’s safety catch. ‘Armed robbery is armed robbery, Griffiths. The size or power of the gun is unimportant...’ He paused as much for dramatic effect, as to let Charlie think about his statement. ‘If we’re caught, we’ll go to prison for a very long time...’ He then held up the gun to emphasise the point. ‘ This is our insurance against that happening.’ Lytton then turned to Payne, who by this time was attempting to hide behind a self-induced smoke-screen. ‘And what about you?’
Joe glanced furtively, almost a little ashamedly, at Russell and Griffiths. ‘Well...’ he said at last, ‘I’m with you, Mr Lytton.’
‘“I’m with you, Mr Lytton”!’ mocked Charlie. ‘You mean you’re with anyone who pays you.’
‘If you’re dissatisfied with the arrangement, Griffiths, it isn’t too late to back out.’
Charlie eyed Lytton reproachfully. Although he hated guns, he had also acquired a taste for his improved standard of living. ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly, ‘count me in.’
Lytton then turned to Russell. ‘And you?’
Russell nodded his acceptance.
But then Lytton knew he would; as an undercover policeman he had no other choice. So as a special reward, for devotion to duty, he allowed Russell the tedium of breaking through the wall into the sewers.
The tunnel was dark, cold and dank. Somewhere in the gloom, the sound of cascading water could be heard. Like so many of London’s sewer tunnels, this was a monument to the skill of the Victorian bricklayer. As a rule, only the brown rat and the occasional workman were ever privileged to view these structures, yet their daily use was shared by the whole population. Once the greatest, now part of the most neglected sewer system in the world, this particular tunnel was to experience further degradation as Russell’s sledgehammer sent a scurry of bricks tumbling from the roof.
Slowly the incipient hole was widened until it was large enough for a man to pass through. When this was finished, an aluminium ladder was lowered and Griffiths, also carrying a sledgehammer, and followed by the others, descended into the tunnel. Once they were safely down, Lytton consulted a map, then indicated the direction they should take. With Charlie grumbling about the tightness of his boots, the trio moved off.
In another part of the sewer stood a large metallic shape. At first glance, it looked like a huge black suit of medieval plate armour. Yet the incongruity of the sight would soon be overshadowed by the unnerving realisation that the rasping noise, emanating from a box mounted on the chest-plate, was, in fact, the sound of breathing.
Suddenly the shape gave a small jerky movement as though irritated by something. Then its massive head slowly turned, responding to the distant noise of human activity.
After a moment’s intense monitoring, the metal shape moved off along the tunnel, towards the source of the sound.
Despite the ease of Lytton’s route, his team were beginning to tire. What was more, Charlie’s earlier whinging was now justified-as he had developed a nasty case of blistered heels.
As he struggled to remove his boots, Joe, who was now dying for a smoke, irritably pulled the first-aid kit from his pack, and while Charlie attended to his injury the others tried to rest as best they could in the unpleasant conditions. The tunnel was damp and smelly, and because of the wet floor, they were forced to perch uncomfortably on their packs.
No one spoke.
No one wanted to.
Yet something else was now agitating Joe. Quietly he crossed to where Lytton was sitting and squatted down beside him. ‘It could be my imagination,’ he whispered, pointing back along the tunnel, ‘but I think