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smooth and having done a couple of laps, he gave up. Casting his eyes upwards, he noticed light spilling through the join of a massive hatch. This was how they had fallen into this strange hell.
    It was now that Ben became aware of the cuts and bruises that covered his face and torso. It was a good twenty feet drop down from the hatch and the compacted coal wouldn’t have made for a soft landing. Suddenly everything hurt. The shock was wearing off and his battered body was protesting. A noise made him turn. Peter was stumbling towards him – his face a picture of dull, stupid astonishment. He was looking for explanations, but he would get none from Ben. And it was as they were standing there, exhausted and hopeless, that the phone rang. They both froze for a moment, then simultaneously scrambled for it, Ben just getting there first.
    After they’d been given their deadly ultimatum, they both laughed maniacally, as if the whole thing was some preposterous joke. Slowly, however, the laughter evaporated.
    ‘Let’s call the office.’ Suddenly Ben needed to be out of this pit.
    ‘Good idea. Call Carol, she’ll know what to do,’ said Peter, feeding off Ben’s energy.
    Ben punched in the familiar numbers. But the phone was pin-locked. Four small digits separating them from freedom.
    ‘What shall we try?’
    Already Ben’s eye was drawn to the battery sign at the top right of the screen, flashing low.
    ‘We’ve only got a few goes at this. What shall we try?’ Ben’s voice was tight, the impossibility of their task starting to register.
    ‘I don’t know. 1, 2, 3, 4.’
    Ben’s look was withering.
    ‘Well I don’t fucking know,’ Peter responded angrily. ‘What year were you born?’
    It was desperate but as good as anything else. Ben tried Peter’s birth year, then his own. He was attempting a third combination when the phone died in their hands.
    ‘Shit.’
    The word echoed around the vault.
    ‘What now?’
    The pair stood quiet, staring forlornly at the locked hatch above them. Light seeped in through the cracks, illuminating the gun nestling quietly on the floor between them.
    ‘Nothing. There’s nothing …’
    Ben’s words petered out as he turned and retreated into the dark. Slumping down in the coal, he was suddenly overwhelmed with despair. Why was this happening to them? What had they done ?
    He shot a glance across at Peter, who was pacing up and down, muttering to himself. Ben had never liked Peter, but he didn’t want to kill the guy, for God’s sake! Perhaps the gun wasn’t real? He got up to check, but the look Peter shot him made him sit straight back down.
    Ben sat there in his own private hell. He had never been very good with enclosed spaces. He always liked to know where his escape route was in any given situation. But now he was trapped and worse than that trapped underground. Buried alive. Already his hands were beginning to shake. He felt lightheaded and sweaty, lights danced in front of his eyes. He hadn’t had a panic attack for years, but he could feel one coming on now. The world was closing in on him.
    ‘I’ve got to get out.’ Ben was stumbling to his feet. Peter turned, surprised and unnerved. ‘Please, Peter, I’ve got to get out. HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!’
    He shouted and screamed to try and ward off the attack, but felt faint and had to stop. Surely someone would find them and rescue them? They had to . The alternative was unthinkable.

14
     
    Mark Fuller left the nick shortly after Charlie had dropped her bombshell. A whole new line of enquiry had opened up, but for now it was the data compilers and uniformed officers who would carry the load. A massive double- and triple-checking of facts was taking place and it would only be once the two men’s disappearance was confirmed as suspicious that CID officers would be deployed. Tomorrow looked like being a long day for Mark, Charlie and the rest of the team, so Helen had sent them home for some kip. But Mark