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Dave Kowalski had the build of a nightclub bouncer and the mind of a hydraulic engineer. He pulled on a dry suit, a harness, and a helmet with a lamp that cut through the dark like a knife. Jake stayed topside, monitoring the gas detector and the rope.

Dave lowered himself through the gully, scraping his shoulders against the old brickwork. The vault was colder than a mortuary. The rhythmic thump-thump of the water was louder now, almost a subsonic bass that vibrated in his ribcage. drain company wolverhampton

"Whoa," Dave muttered. "That’s not on any map." Dave Kowalski had the build of a nightclub

Mr. Chandry leaned over, his face pale. "Is it dangerous?" Dave lowered himself through the gully, scraping his

"Depends what's causing the pressure," Jake replied. "We need to open that grate. But not with cameras. Dave, suit up."

"What's your name, sir?" Jake asked, already waving to his partner, Big Dave Kowalski, a bear of a man whose specialty was wielding the high-pressure water jetter.

The phone kept ringing in the Severn Trent office. Blocked toilets, collapsed sewers, fatbergs. The ordinary filth of modern life. But whenever a new engineer asked Jake Mullins what the strangest job he'd ever done was, he would pour himself a coffee, look out at the rainy Wolverhampton streets, and say: