The anthrax mutation v1.., p.7
The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 7
“Well, we’ll pack him off to Great Ormond Street. They deal with kids all the time.”
“Not this sort of kid, they don’t. Doesn’t your Porton have a special center? What happens when your researchers get exposed?”
“Nothing I suppose. I’ve never heard of such a place—if it does exist.” He scratched his head. “No, I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
“Then I’ll have him sent to Detrick. They can deal with it right now.” He turned to enter the station.
“See here. Major Thomas, I really cannot see how any of this is your affair. I mean, this is our problem and not the Americans’.”
“Perhaps you would rather I left, huh? Perhaps you would like that boy in there to die like all the rest only a lot slower and a hell of a lot more painfully?”
Chadwell hesitated. “Well, this whole thing will have to be kept rather hush-hush, you know. We mustn’t let the public know of what’s happened. If that’s possible.” He eyed the rows of newspapermen who lined the barricades on the edge of the village. His stomach sank further when he saw a BBC outside broadcasting unit arrive and immediately begin setting up their cameras. “You. will of course respect the Official Secrets Act. I’m sure you can appreciate—”
“Chadwell,” the Major began coldly, “can you tell me exactly what was going on at Dwarf Hill?”
He laughed. “Even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you—certainly not after what’s happened.”
“Exactly—you don’t know. If Captain McRoberts was at all right, the personnel working in that plant are the only ones who knew precisely what they were doing. And they’re all dead.”
“And who is this McRoberts?”
“He worked at Dwarf Hill. God knows what’s left of him.”
“Well, I doubt what you say is true, but even if it were, where does that leave us?”
“I was told just before I left yesterday that I probably knew more about what was going on in that plant than your boys in London did. Work was so secret and specialized that only when they came up with the results would the information be passed on. Apparently that’s a policy among your research laboratories.”
“My dear fellow, that’s highly unlikely. More near impossible, I’d say.”
“Did you know that they were developing the microencapsulation of a highly virulent anthrax bacteria?”
“No, I can’t say that I did. But I’m sure London has the fullest details on what was going on.”
Inspector Morris plodded wearily down the steps of the police station and approached the two arguing figures. His hopes of some rest before the onslaught from London had been shattered during the night when proof of the disaster reached the Ministry. By four o’clock troops had begun to arrive and establish roadblocks and barricades, and he had been told to empty Chesterly of its inhabitants by six. When that had been accomplished, Chadwell had arrived, and there had been no time for rest since. As he surveyed the village, he knew it would be a long time before he could even think of a kip. “Excuse me, Mr. Chadwell, but Major Thomas is wanted in the station,” he said. “Can you spare him a moment?”
“Certainly. I think I’ll go too. Want to get on to Head in London. See exactly what was going on before the bang.”
As he strode confidently off, the Major shouted after him. “You might see what this Project Dracula’s all about or if there’s any record of deliveries of bats.” “Bats?” Chadwell spouted, turning abruptly about. “Flying mice-type bats. If they can’t tell you anything, maybe I can.”
“Sounds a bit melodramatic to me. I think you and I better have a talk about all this. I’m sure London will want to see you before your return.”
“Return?” said the Major, walking towards him with the Inspector.
“To America of course. I thought you and your lot were going back tomorrow.”
“Don’t know yet,” he replied casually. “Maybe I’ll stick around and see how things go. That is if you have no objections.”
“It won’t be up to me,” he replied disappearing into the station.
The Inspector pulled at the Major’s sleeve. “It’s that boy of yours. He getting pretty restless in there and he seems to be in a lot of pain. I figured you might be able to handle him—I daren’t let any of the other lads tell him anything.”
“Christ, I don’t know what to say. Why doesn’t Chad-well tell him?”
“You don’t really mean that?”
He flipped his cap from his head and banged it against his knee. “No, I don’t mean it. But I don’t know what t© say to the kid. How do you tell him his parents are lying in Stumford dead as doornails, and he’ll be just as dead if he doesn’t get treatment?”
“Gently, that’s how you tell him. Didn’t you ever have anyone close to you—I mean who maybe died?”
“Yeah, my wife.”
Morris seemed ashamed. He shook his head and tried . to count the pebbles on the steps of the station. “I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. I didn’t mean it that way. That was a few years ago. It’s over. But I see what you mean.” He sighed and replaced his cap. “Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
“You mentioned this treatment he must have…”
“Well, he should have a proper diagnosis. I know that some of his nervous systems have been affected, but which ones and how bad only an expert could tell. All I can do is keep him on oxime until he gets help.”
“Oxime?”
“Don’t you start. Oxime—it’s a drug which helps counteract the effects of gas poisoning. But Chadwell doesn’t know of any place that can treat him. No ordinary doctor would know where to begin.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“We?”
“He’s your problem, Major. You rescued him and it seems you’re the only one who knows what to do. I’ll do whatever I can to cut red tape, but it won’t be much.” “Well, the only place I know of that handles cases like his* is at Detrick. But I doubt the Ministry is going to let him simply fly out of their hands. No doubt their scientists ^vant to have a poke and a prod. It’s not often people get exposed to this stuff.”
“Thank God. Look, I’ll see what can be done. You see to the boy.”
“What about Chadwell? Aren’t we supposed to be hush-hush—nobody’s to know what happened?”
They climbed the steps to the station. “Just tell the boy what you think is best—what he needs to know.” “What if he asks about tomorrow, about what’s going to happen to him?”
“Well, Major. Right now his life is in your hands. You decide what his tomorrow’s are going to be. Whatever you decide I’ll try damned hard to put through. I don’t like to see him suffering any more than you.” Morris looked at the Sergeant who nodded. “He’s in the same cell. You know where it is?”
“Yeah. And look, keep Chadwell out of my hair, will you? At least let me finish with the kid first.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Down here, Sir,” the Sergeant offered, leading him through the ‘narrow passage. “Here we are, cell fifteen.” He knocked on the partially opened door. “All right if we come in, laddie?”
“If you want,” replied a stronger voice than the Major remembered. “Need the key?”
“Not unless you’ve managed to lock it from the inside,” the Sergeant grinned. “You’ve got a visitor. I’ll leave you to it. Maybe this fellow can answer some of your questions.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Thomas replied, shutting the door behind him. It clanked shut and he laughed. “Hope someone’s got the key. Not used to the inside of these places.”
“Me neither,” he said, pushing up his pillow. “Filled with sawdust, this. Ever slept with a pillow full of sawdust?” Trevor tried to grin, but shut his eyes in pain.
“No, can’t say that I have.” Thomas looked down at the boy. Wouldn’t have passed for twelve in America, he figured. He was thin, pale and with a lock of wispy hair which partially hid his eyes. His face had character, though, with a definite hint of mischief. Underneath, he must be all English. The very fact that this was an English boy held some kind of mystery for the Major like it did for all Americans, and the mystery was deepened by the fact he would in all probability be the lad’s keeper for some time yet. Thomas would have found dealing with an American kid difficult in these circumstances, but at least he could predict yanks—he was used to them. It was silly, he thought, that English kids should be any different, but his generation had been brought up in respect and admiration for the British (didn’t they beat kids in their schools?), and while Thomas felt he could predict grown-ups, he hadn’t the slightest idea how this young boy would react or behave. He scratched his head and picked out a crack in the wall.
“You ride a motorbike pretty well,” Trevor began, breaking an uncomfortable silence and eager to uncover some information.
“Yeah,” he scoffed “From my early days in the Army. We couldn’t get killed in Vietnam in those days so we had to find other ways of doing it. I chose motorcycling.” Trevor knew little of Vietnam, but he knew it was some kind of trade mark among all Americans.
“May I sit down?”
Trevor tried to move his legs, but his reactions were slowed. Thomas helped him.
“What’s your name, then—better start with that.”
The bed creaked under his heavy frame.
“Didn’t the coppers tell you?” he sighed uneasily.
“I’m very bad at names. I know your first name,” he announced proudly. “Trevor.”
“And my surname’s Brecon. Haven’t got a middle name. And I live in Deignby and I want to go home. Can you tell me what’s going on, or aren’t you allowed to either?”
“No I’m not allowed to either. But I’ll tell you what I can. Just keep it between us, huh?”
“Then what’s happened in Stumford—why can’t I go home?”
He sighed. He hoped it wouldn’t be this direct. “It’s a bit of a long story, Trevor.” He removed his cap and twirled it between his knees. “And not a very nice one.” He looked at him. “I think you’ll have to have a lot of courage.”
“It’s about Mum and Dad, isn’t it?”
He paused before he nodded. “And about others.” Trevor stared beyond him. “Are they dead? Is that why nobody’ll tell me anything?”
“Yes, Trevor. Your mother and father and everyone else in Stumford.” He saw tears well up in the boy’s eyes and he waited for it to come. He had a sudden desire to help him, to comfort him, but how did he comfort a child who’s just lost his family? He raised his arm to put about the lad’s trembling shoulders when he turned over and buried his head in the rough pillow.
“Why?” he sobbed. “What happened to them?”
“They, well—”
The door opened. The Sergeant stepped hesitantly inside. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but Mr. Chadwell wants to see you straight away. I know you weren’t to be disturbed, but he says it’s rather important—urgent.”
“That’s all right, Sergeant,” the Major replied quietly. He looked down at the boy. “I’ll be back soon, son. If, if you want anything, there’ll be someone just outside.” He gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder and arose. He heard Chadwell and the Inspector coming down the hallway, evidently engaged in an argument.
“Damn it, Morris, I don’t care who it is—I told Thomas he’s not to give out information to anyone.” He peered around the door to the cell. “There you are, Major.” He noticed the boy. “Oh, sorry, old man. May I have a word with you?” He watched him slowly withdraw from the bed, and—with an obvious effort to control his temper—came into the corridor. “Now see here Major Thomas, you fail to realize that we’re dealing with a case of National security—you simply can’t go . round telling people what’s happened.” He nodded towards the cell. “Even if what has transpired involved people personally. I know the lad lost his family and relatives, but can you imagine what might happen if any of this leaked out?”
Thomas’ hands were white as he glared at the Inspector who shrugged his shoulders from behind Chad-well’s back.
“How much have you told him?”
“I told him, Chadwell, that his parents were dead and so were a hell of a lot of other people in Stumford.”
“Is that all?” he asked cautiously.
“That’s all.”
He looked relieved. “Well, I daresay that isn’t news. I thought you might have told him more.”
“I would have if you hadn’t come—what would you have me say, that his mother and father have gone on a long vacation and can’t be traced?”
“Oh, forget all this, for heaven’s sake,” Morris cried. “There’s enough bother about without you two having a go at each other.”
“Quite right,” Chadwell announced emphatically. “Major, I apologize. Can’t be too careful, you know. Anyway London wants you to tell me all you know about what was going on at Dwarf Hill. They, ah, well, they don’t seem to know all I had hoped they did.”
“Then McRoberts was right—you don’t know from nothing what was going-on up there.”
“Well, I shouldn’t go so far as to say that. Let’s just say that we don’t have all the information we’d like to have in our possession.”
“You can use my office,” said the Inspector, leading the way out. “I’ll see that Dr. Phipps has a look at the boy. Give him a sedative or something.”
“Thank you, Inspector. And don’t let the boy out of the station, will you? Not until we’re sure he won’t say anything.”
Thomas boiled inside. His head was throbbing with fury when he plopped himself in the chair on the other side of the Inspector’s desk where Chadwell sat rifling through a file of papers.
“You mentioned this Project Dracula and something about a consignment of bats. Could you elaborate?” Thomas chose his words carefully. “Dwarf Hill was working on a wild idea codenamed Project Dracula.” “Yes, yes. I gathered that. Exactly what was this idea?”
“Some of your fellows in London had the idea of micro-encapsulating a high potency strain of anthrax bacillus in a time delay device and attaching the whole thing to hundreds of bats. Presumably, the bats would be able to fly undetected and unseen and eventually be brought to ground when contaminated by the anthrax. I think the whole thing was based on something we experimented with before the end of the last war.”
“So you have tried this as well.” He never glanced up, but continued writing.
“Only we used incendiary bombs. It never succeeded of course, but probably one of your boys was reading some history book and hit on the idea.”
“Garry on, Major.”
Chadwell’s quiet unflappable voice, his thin glasses and portly figure reminded Thomas of the psychiatrist who had examined him years before—for security reasons. He cringed at the recollection, and hated Chadwell all the more. He continued his explanation. “The operation was to begin this morning just before sunrise. They had rigged up a special netting around the phoney village they had built. After the bats were released, the plan was for the time delay mechanism to expose them to the anthrax at various intervals. The men would calculate how effective the device was, where the bats were brought down and where they nested—if any tried to. The basic objective would have been to determine area of contamination, virulence…” He shrugged. “Time and so on.”
“Brilliant idea, what?” Chadwell seemed to have forgotten the explosion. He was intrigued by the experiment. “Strike at night totally undetected and spread un-curable anthrax all over the bloody place. Pity we’ll never know the results.”
“Won’t we?” Thomas mused.
“Not if the Base has blown up like everyone says it has.”
“You better goddam hope so. I’d hate to think what would happen if any of those things got loose. They were prepared, you know. They were fitted with the device.
“Impossible, dear boy. Nothing could escape. It was just unlucky that the nerve gas leaked out over Stumford. If that’s what it is.”
Thomas glanced upwards. “I suppose it’s just going to be unlucky if a few of those bats blow over London.”
He laughed. “I don’t mind admitting that would be a bit of bad luck for us. It’s going to be hard enough explaining our way out of this one.”
“I don’t suppose that bad luck of yours would affect a few million people.”
“Oh, come now, Major. If that explosion was as bad as you seem to think it was, surely nothing could survive.”
“Mr. Chad well, have you ever seen the actual effects of an explosion—I mean, what an explosion can do?”
“I don’t quite follow…
“You know that if your gas stove explodes in your face, usually the windows and sometimes the walls blow out.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“And if your wife, say, was coming in the door when you blew up the stove, how she would probably be blown back a few hundred feet or so?”
He nodded thoughtfully again.
“Well, picture in your mind about a thousand bats settling down for a nice night’s sleep when Bang! The floor blows up and blasts the ceiling several hundred feet high. Now, not every bat is going to get blown up as well. A few will die from concussion, flying debris will remove a few more and maybe the heat will roast those who aren’t quick enough, but,” he paused, leaving Chad-well hanging, “but there will be quite a number of lucky ones who manage to get loose. Like you wife standing in the doorway, they’ll be blown clear of danger.”
“But you mentioned something about a netting,” he replied as if guessing the answer to a riddle.
“Do you honestly believe that if the explosion was strong enough to level a six-inch thick concrete building, it wouldn’t be powerful enough to snap the wire on a miserable net?”
“Good point, Major. Your theory is unsettling. But I hardly understand how anything could survive that. Besides, if any did get away from the blast, they’d be dead by now anyway. Didn’t you say the capsules would melt or something?”
“Dead they would be, Mr. Chadwell, but where?”
