Reassured that all was still quiet, he started to search along the base of the barn, looking for somewhere that might afford him access. He had reached the centre without success when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of one of the dogs barking. He remained rooted to the spot while the barking went on for fully half a minute, accompanied by the sound of a man’s voice constantly telling the animal to shut up. Steven took off his rucksack and brought out a clasp knife from the side pocket. If push came to shove, it would be better than nothing. He slipped the knife into his jerkin pocket and redid the zip. He swung his rucksack across his back on and continued his examination along the base of the wall.
He had just about given up on finding any flaw in the wall when he reached the final corner and found a series of three wooden slats had broken away from the main frame. He pulled the slats out a bit more to see if he could make the opening man size but he was rewarded with a heart-stopping moment when the panel freed itself of another rusty nail and the sound reverberated up the wall. The dog started barking again. He had certainly heard. Had anyone else?
After another minute of remaining motionless, like the statue of a cat burglar caught in the act, Steven heard the barking subside and quietness slowly returned to the farm. Once again he had got away with it but he was living dangerously. He decided that he couldn’t risk the same thing happening again so he resolved not to work any more on enlarging the opening. He would get down on the ground and squeeze through what little gap there was. It would be uncomfortable but it was just possible. He took off his rucksack and placed it on the ground, ready to be pushed through in front of him then he got face down on the ground. The smell of wet grass and earth up close brought back memories of rugby games on winter days long ago.
Steven had a torch in his rucksack but felt he couldn’t take the risk of using it until he was inside the barn so he stretched out his arm to feel what lay ahead. His fingers touched a cold plastic surface and he knew that this must be one of the chemical containers. That might be a problem, he recognised. If the containers were stacked up ceiling high at the back of the barn there would be no way for him to gain access to the interior. He changed hands and felt along to the left where he found a gap and moved into it. The jagged edge of a plank brushed his cheek as he inched forward and he cautioned himself to be more careful. It could have cut his face open had he been moving faster.
Steven reached further into the gap and let out a yell of pain as something smashed down on his hand and held it in a vice like grip. His head filled with stars as pain shot up his arm and the dog started barking again. This time it was part of a duet; the other dog had heard as well. He snatched his hand away but the thing came with him and he now realised that it was a rat trap. He'd unwittingly stuck his hand into it. His fear now was that bones in his left hand had been broken by the spring-loaded bar that had hammered down on them. To compound his misery, he could hear voices outside in the farmyard.
Still with the heavy metal trap fixed on his hand, Steven turned and pulled the wall panelling in towards him, drawing the slats in as far as possible in an effort to disguise where he had entered. It was also a move of self- preservation. This way he would be protected from the immediate attentions of the dogs should they be set free. The voices outside were becoming louder. He could now make out what they were saying.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded a voice Steven recognised as Lane’s.
‘My dog heard something,’ replied one of the guards.
‘Caesar did too,’ agreed the other.
‘Did you?’ asked Lane.
‘Can’t say as though I did.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed the other guard.
Steven breathed a small sigh of relief. It was only the dogs who were on his case. There was still a chance he might get away with this if he kept his nerve.
‘Look, he’s picked up a scent!’ said one of the guards, putting an end to Steven’s optimism. He could hear the animal snorting and panting on the other side of the wall. He was holding the panelling closed with his good hand but there was still a gap of a few inches at the bottom where the dog was trying to push his snout through. He failed and changed to pushing through a large paw to scratch at the earth only inches from Steven’s leg. He was joined in the attempt by the other dog. Steven knew that if he were to let go of the panelling right now the dogs were going to make quite a mess of him before they were brought to heel.
Suddenly as if to add to his nightmare, a rat came from somewhere in the darkness behind him and clambered over his thighs to drop down on the floor and escape out under the panelling. Steven nearly let out a cry of shock but managed to stop himself in time. It probably wouldn’t have mattered as the dogs launched into a new frenzy of barking as the rodent had the temerity to run out right under their very noses.
‘It was bloody rats they were after,’ said Lane. ‘Didn’t you set the traps?’
Steven silently nodded.
‘Let’s all stop playing silly buggers and get back on patrol,’ ordered Lane.
There was little or no argument from the guards, just a weak assertion from one that his animal had definitely heard something. The voices started to fade. It was the first time in his life that Steven had ever felt grateful to a rat. He let out his breath in an uneven sigh and then drew it sharply in again when he moved his trapped hand and felt a surge of pain. He let go of the panelling slowly, his fingers almost numb from the pressure on them, and started trying to free his left hand by holding it and the trap flat on the ground while he pulled back the bar with his right. The spring on the trap was so strong that it took him three attempts before he succeeded in making it move.
The blood was pounding in his temples and his teeth were gritted so hard that his cheek muscles were going into spasm before he managed to pull the bar back far enough to snatch his hand free. The bar closed with a loud snap and Steven lay still on the ground for a moment, suffering from nervous exhaustion. He examined his left hand gingerly, feeling for any breaks and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t find any. Still not fully convinced, he stretched out his fingers and flexed them slowly. They came through the test. It really seemed as if there were no breaks although he was in considerable pain.
He got out his torch from his rucksack and switched it on. There was a small mountain of chemical containers in front of him but along to the left he could see where they weren’t piled so high. There was also just enough space between the drums and the back wall for him to squeeze along to the left and start to climb over them. His left hand wasn’t much use in the climb and he could feel that it had already started to swell up. He kept it inside his jerkin as much as possible.
Steven could now see down into the barn in front of him. It was a little over half full of plastic containers. He climbed down onto the floor of the building where he started examining the labels on the drums. After a few moments he concluded that there were only three different kinds of weed-killer in the barn. He would take three random samples from each kind, making a requirement for nine plastic bottles in all. He had brought ten. He used his knife to lever up the drum caps selected at random and collected his samples.