Whispers Under Ground

indescribable. Let’s just say that it’s the sort of smell that follows you home, hangs around outside your door and tries to hack your voicemail. Kumar and I ended up stuffing tissue paper up our nostrils, but agreed that if we had to come down again more drastic action would be justified – like amputation.
    Since it was my idea I got to go first. The, let’s call it water, was freezing and knee-deep so that it cascaded over the top of my wellies. Later I learnt from a flusher, them that make their living maintaining the sewers, that only an idiot climbs into the sewers wearing anything other than waist-high waders. In my defence there were plenty of other idiots underground that night.
    The ceiling was just high enough that I could wade upright, although the top of my helmet scraped the brickwork. I pushed upstream against the surprisingly strong current and Kumar splashed down behind me.
    ‘Oh god,’ he said.
    ‘Yeah I know,’ I said. ‘Water’s cold.’
    ‘That’s because it’s snowmelt,’ said Kumar. ‘That’s why we’re wearing wetsuits.’
    I heard a splash from up ahead and pointed my helmet light in that direction.
    ‘There’s somebody ahead,’ I said.
    ‘Kill your lights,’ said Kumar. So I did and he followed suit.
    It went completely black. I became aware of the sullen wash of the filthy water against my knees, of random sloshing sounds and a really disgusting slurping sound from somewhere behind us.
    ‘I think they heard us,’ I whispered.
    ‘Or there’s nobody there,’ Kumar whispered back.
    We waited while the cold seeped into our legs. I’m not claustrophobic. It’s just that my imagination won’t let me forget how much the stuff above my head weighs. And if I start thinking about my breathing I start thinking about how it doesn’t seem to be bringing in enough oxygen.
    There was a splash up ahead. The distance was difficult to judge, but I thought less than ten metres. I surged forward as fast as I could against the current and fumbled to turn my helmet light back on. When it came on I was rewarded with a flash of green and tan ahead of me. Despite the up and down of the light, I realised that I was looking at somebody’s back and shoulders as they tried to wade ahead of us. They were wearing woodland camouflage pattern, what looked like a skateboarding helmet and, unlike me. they were short enough to be submerged above their thighs.
    ‘Stop,’ I yelled. ‘Police.’ I hoped they would, because I was getting knackered.
    Our fugitive tried to pick up their pace, but my height gave me the advantage.
    ‘Stop,’ I yelled. ‘Or I’ll do something unpleasant.’ I thought about where we were for a moment. ‘Even more unpleasant than what we’re doing now.’
    The figure stopped, the shoulders slumped and then started to shake with laughter and I suddenly knew who it was.
    Agent Reynolds turned to face us, her pale face caught in the bobbing circles of our helmet lights.
    ‘Hi, Peter,’ she said. ‘What are you doing down here?’

19
    Ladbroke Grove
    ‘W e’ve got to go now,’ said Agent Reynolds. ‘I’m right behind them.’
    There are some questions you have to ask even when you don’t want to. ‘Right behind who?’
    ‘There’s somebody down here,’ she said. ‘And it isn’t you, me or some guy from water and power.’
    ‘How do you know?’ asked Kumar. ‘And who are you?’
    ‘Because they’re moving about without using a flashlight,’ she said. ‘And I’m Special Agent Kimberly Reynolds, FBI.’
    Kumar extended a hand over my shoulder which Reynolds shook.
    ‘I’ve never met an FBI agent before,’ he said. ‘Who are you chasing?’
    ‘She doesn’t know,’ I said.
    ‘If we don’t follow now we’re going to lose him,’ said Reynolds. ‘Whoever it is.’
    So we chased because they were, allegedly, running away and that’s just the way the police roll – even when they’re special agents. I made it clear that post-chase there were going to be some explanations.
    ‘Like what brought you down here in the first place,’ I said.
    ‘Later,’ said Reynolds through gritted teeth as she splashed ahead.
    I say chase, but there’s a limit to how fast you can go when you’re knee-deep in icy water, not to mention how bloody knackering it is. After watching Reynolds flounder in front we persuaded her to follow behind and grab hold of my belt so that I could half pull her along. We were too breathless to talk and by the time we