Ken McClure - The Anvil

‘Just the job,’ said MacLean. He remembered seeing one just to the right of the top of the stairs he had climbed earlier to the medical flat; he volunteered to go.

The plan was that Leavey should return to the catwalk and wait there for MacLean. They would both remain until the boiler house had emptied and then take a look at the sterilizer with no steam supply.

MacLean gave Leavey a few moments to get out on to the catwalk before leaving the boiler house and climbing stealthily up the stairs to the medical flat. He was about to step out into the main corridor when he heard the sound of female voices and stepped back to press himself against the wall. For a moment he was convinced that they were coming towards him. He was preparing to dash back downstairs again when the sound started to fade. He stayed still for another thirty seconds before putting his head round the corner. The corridor was deserted. He broke the glass on the firepoint and rushed back downstairs to the deafening sound of the alarm. He was gambling on being able to get back and out on to the catwalk before the men working there had time to reach the head of the stairs. He made it with less than ten seconds to spare.

As the last workman left, Leavey and MacLean wriggled back to the head of the stairs and descended as fast as they could, their feet rattling off the metal treads. The final dash across the brightly-lit floor of the boiler house made them feel terribly exposed.

Leavey hit the button to open the power-driven door of the sterilizer and cursed at the agonising slowness of the response. It finally swung open to reveal, not the steel inner chamber of a surgical dressing sterilizer, but the entrance to a tunnel running back into the rock face itself. They looked at each other and stepped inside quickly, anxious to be out of the glare of the lights. Leavey found a recessed panel in the rock and pushed the button, which he rightly assumed would close the door behind them. It hissed shut with the same agonising slowness and in doing so, completely cut off the sound of the generators.

It was now possible to speak normally again although both men were too awe-struck to say much. It was clear that the tunnel led into the heart of the mountain. MacLean led the way for the first thirty metres until they came to a sharp bend. He paused to peer round the corner before signalling to Leavey that it was safe to continue. Another thirty metres and they were faced with a choice where the tunnel split into three: two shafts were lit, a third was in darkness.

The sudden sound of voices sent them scurrying into the dark option where they lay down flat. The voices grew fainter and MacLean let out his breath in a sigh of relief. Leavey switched on his torch to reveal a large wooden door covered with cobwebs and dust. Dry rot had already eaten into the lower panels and was gnawing at the lower edges of the iron lock mounting. It gave way when Leavey put his foot to it; the door creaked back on its hinges. ‘After you,’ said MacLean.

Leavey’s torch remained directed at the floor until they were both inside. Something rattled as MacLean walked into it and he recoiled, pushing whatever it was away. He was startled when it returned to hit him and he cried out involuntarily. Leavey’s torch beam flashed round to light up the skeleton of a man hanging from a rusty chain. There were seven other skeletons hanging from the ceiling.

‘Franco’s Opposition?’ suggested Leavey sourly.

They returned to the lit tunnels and continued on into the mountain. Leavey stopped and touched his face. He looked startled.

‘What’s wrong?’ whispered MacLean.

‘I can feel the wind,’ he said.

MacLean joined him on his side of the tunnel and experienced the same sensation. ‘It’s crazy,’ he murmured. ‘We must be a hundred metres into the rock.’

They followed the source of the breeze and found themselves at the head of a flight of stone steps cut into the rock. At the top they found themselves outside in the night air.

‘We can’t be!’ whispered Leavey. ‘It’s impossible!’

Both men crouched down in the darkness giving their eyes time to adjust. MacLean was first to work out the truth. He got the clue from the fact that the wind sounded much more ferocious than it felt. They were being sheltered from it. They were being sheltered by virtue of the fact that they were surrounded by cliffs on all sides. They were standing in the middle of a hollow mountain. The hollow comprised a valley about a hundred metres long and fifty across and totally cut off from the outside world.

Leavey and MacLean moved well clear of the mouth of the tunnel. As their eyes became more accustomed to the dark and, with the help of an occasional break in the clouds, they were able to make out the shapes of buildings on the valley floor.

‘There’s a complete village here!’ whispered Leavey.

MacLean’s reply was cut short by a light clicking on in the building nearest them, scattering light from the window and causing them to throw themselves to the ground. The silhouette of a young woman drifted briefly across the light and they watched as the figure put on a jacket she took from a cupboard in the room. The light clicked off again and moments later a door opened.

A torch beam appeared and started to move over the ground, illuminating the holder’s path between the building she had just come from and the one next to it. As she fumbled with the door handle the torch in her hand swung upwards and lit her face for a moment. She was in her early twenties, dark-haired and pretty. When she disappeared inside MacLean said, ‘When she comes out we’ll grab her and find out what the hell’s going on.’

Suddenly the cry of a baby came from the building. It was long and loud and echoed up the face of the cliffs.

MacLean shook his head in disbelief but before he could say anything, the baby’s cry was joined by another and yet another. Lights were switched on and Leavey and MacLean were forced to retreat from the position they had taken up in order to intercept the girl when she left. A torch beam appeared out of the darkness to their left. It was followed by another to their right. Both beams converged on the building where the noise was coming from. When they met, the light coming from the windows revealed their holders as two more young women. They spoke briefly in Spanish and went inside.

‘It’s a nursery,’ whispered Leavey.

Peace was restored over the course of the next few minutes and the lights were turned off once more. The two girls who had arrived after the start of the disturbance were the first to leave and spent a little time in whispered conversation outside the front door before saying good-night and separating. A few minutes later, the original girl left the building and turned on her torch. She started out on her journey back but had only taken a few steps when Leavey came up silently behind her and cupped his hand over her mouth. He lowered her gently to the ground and whispered reassurances in her ear until her panic had subsided.

MacLean asked gently, ‘Do you speak English?’ and Leavey relaxed his hand to allow her to answer. He kept it close, ready to smother any attempt at a scream.

‘A little,’ replied the girl.

‘Good. Who are you and what do you do here?’

‘My name is Carla Vasquez. I look after the children.’

‘Carla Vasquez? Maria’s friend?’

‘You know Maria?’ exclaimed the astonished girl.

‘She told us about you,’ replied MacLean. ‘She suspected you were some kind of prisoner.’

‘But not here,’ added Leavey, looking up at the high cliffs against the night sky.

‘Your mother thinks you’re in Madrid,’ explained MacLean.

‘We are given post-cards to write to our parents.’