Again, Niall closed his eyes and tried to envisage the map. He said finally:
“The word ‘Arsenal’ wasn’t on the building itself. It was somewhere in front of it.”
Only Doggins’ eyes betrayed a glint of satisfaction. “Show me.”
Outside, Niall pointed to the area adjacent to the building’s northern wall. “About there.”
Doggins turned to the others. “All right, we’re looking for some kind of entrance, probably a concealed trapdoor. Spread out over there and stamp your feet. Keep on stamping until it sounds hollow.”
Niall joined them as they stamped over an area of twenty square yards. The ground under their feet was smooth and black, and after ten minutes, both his feet felt sore. Doggins was crawling on his hands and knees, looking for a hairline crack; Niall could sense his increasing disappointment. The others gradually ceased their efforts.
Mostig’s assistant said wearily: “Now if it was water, my old grandad could have found it in two minutes. He was the best dowser for miles.”
It reminded Niall that he himself had often located underground springs; such an ability was part of the survival equipment of every desert dweller. Jomar had even claimed to be able to sense the burrows of rodents. He took the telescopic rod from his pocket and made it expand.
Doggins asked curiously: “What’s that?”
He smiled. “A magic wand.”
He observed with satisfaction that the metal seemed to tingle against his fingertips. Holding the two ends firmly in clenched fists, he turned his hands outward so the springy metal curved like a powerful bow. Then, forcing both hands down, so the curve was parallel to the ground, he walked forward slowly, closing his eyes to increase his concentration. When he reached the wall of the building, he turned and traced a diagonal path towards the perimeter wall. Within ten feet, the rod twisted upward with an irresistible force. Niall stopped and pointed to his feet.
“There’s something down there.”
Doggins said: “Bring the lights.”
He and Niall both crouched on all fours and examined the hard asphalt. But the closest examination revealed no evidence of a trapdoor. Doggins asked:
“Are you sure there’s something there?”
“Yes.” The rod had spoken more clearly than words.
“All right.” Doggins stood up. “Stand back.” He pointed the blaster at the ground and pulled the trigger. The blue thread crackled like a miniature bolt of forked lightning, and the air filled with the ozone smell and with the pungent odour of burning asphalt. As they watched, the ground sagged, then dissolved. The edges of a two-foot hole bubbled and hissed, sending up plumes of white smoke. Niall joined Doggins at its rim; the ground felt hot through his sandals.
“Look at that!” Doggins gave a chuckle of delight and slapped Niall on the shoulder. “No wonder it didn’t sound hollow.”
From their position directly above the hole, they could see that the asphalt at this point was more than two feet thick. A lowered oil lamp showed a flight of steep concrete stairs descending into the darkness.
Doggins ordered them to fetch curtains; they returned with arms full of the mouldy and disintegrating cloth, and these were packed over the molten edges. Then Doggins was lowered into the hole, a rope tied under his armpits. Niall and Milo followed.
From below, Niall could see that the asphalt had covered a wide trapdoor whose edges were supported by curved steel buttresses, each six inches wide. He asked:
“How could anyone lift that from above? It must weigh half a ton.”
“It wasn’t intended to be lifted from above. The doors are controlled from below — the switch is probably in the office building.” Doggins stepped carefully around the pool of tar that was slowly solidifying on the steps. “Follow me and watch out. This place may be booby trapped.”
Niall said: “In that case, you’d better let me go first. I’ll use this.” He extended the telescopic rod in front of him.
“All right, but for God’s sake be. . .”
The sentence was never finished. As Niall took his first step from the bottom of the stairway, there was a click, followed by a thud. Something flashed before his eyes and he found himself looking at a solid metal barrier which had slid across the corridor in the blink of an eyelid. It had snatched the telescopic rod from his hand and trapped it against the opposite wall. There could be no possible doubt that if it had been Niall’s body that had intercepted the door, it would now be crushed flat, or perhaps divided in two as if by the stroke of some enormous axe.
Yet the sense of control engendered by the thought mirror was so powerful that Niall experienced only a mild sense of shock; his brain had already countermanded the flow of adrenalin before it had time to reach his bloodstream. As he reached out to try and pull the rod free, his hand was perfectly steady. But the rod was trapped as if in a vice.
Doggins said drily: “You see what I mean.” But his face revealed how deeply shaken he felt. “Stand back.”
He pointed the blaster at the edge of the door, a foot below the rod. In the blackness, the blue light made the enclosed space look like a wizard’s cave; Niall observed that it caused faint sparks to crackle in Doggins’ hair. As the door became red hot, then white hot, they had to move back up the stairs. A few drops of molten metal ran like drops of water, then a hole the size of a fist appeared. There was a click, then the door was no longer there. It had moved so fast that it was no more than a blur, and had vanished into the wall before the telescopic rod had reached the ground.
Niall bent to pick it up, and swore as the metal burnt his fingers. He knelt down and examined it by the light of the lamp. Incredibly, the metal was not even dented.
Once again, he extended the rod at arm’s length. This time, nothing happened; whatever mechanism had triggered the release of the door had been destroyed by the heat.
Another twenty yards brought them to a heavy metal grid like a prison gate; it looked formidable, but its lock melted immediately under the heat of the blaster. Ten feet beyond this was another solid steel door with a combination lock. Doggins raised the blaster, then changed his mind. “No, let’s play it safe.” Niall watched with fascination as he placed his ear against the dial, then moved the knob gently back and forth with his fingertips. After ten minutes, there was a series of clicks and Doggins was able to pull the door open. It was then that they realised the wisdom of his decision not to use the blaster; stacked immediately behind the door were piles of red explosives cases, each decorated with a skull and crossbones.
These cases proved to be the final barrier. When they had been removed and restacked in the corridor, their lamps showed them a long, low-ceilinged chamber that was full of wooden cases and metal boxes. As they stood in the entrance, their lamps raised above their heads, Niall caught a glimpse of Doggins’ face. His eyes were shining with the expression of a man who has achieved the goal of a lifetime.
Niall asked him curiously: “Did you know this place existed?”
Doggins started, like a man awakened from a dream. “I’d heard rumours. There were always lots of rumours. But I didn’t really believe them.” He drew in a deep breath. “My God, there’s enough stuff here to start a war.” He went forward and peered at the labels on the cases. “Rockets, firebombs, fission capsules, atom grenades. . .” He was like a man repeating some sacred litany.
Niall turned to Milo. “You’d better go and get the others.” When Milo had gone, he went and joined Doggins, whose light glimmered at the far end of the storeroom. He found him sitting on an ammunition case, his hands drooping loosely between his knees.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You look ill.”
Doggins shook his head slowly. “I’m not ill. Just. . . a little frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Of all this power.” He was staring straight in front of him. Niall sat beside him. “You realise what this represents? It’s power to change the world. Power to do what you like. . .”
“To get rid of the spiders?”
“Oh yes, even that.”
Niall was puzzled. “I don’t understand. You’ve always had explosives.”
“Not just explosives.” He pointed. “Do you see that?”
He was pointing to a pile of black metal boxes, each about three inches thick and eighteen inches long. The label fixed to the wall above them said: “AFLs.”
“What does AFL stand for?”
“Automatic fission laser.” He went across to the pile and opened the topmost case. “Better known as Reapers.”