Ice Age

by Brian Freemantle

  Unlike Stoddart at Fort Detrick or the rest waiting expectantly at Blair House, Peter Reynell did not consider the Russians’ arrival in terms of a contest. Had it occurred to him, Reynell wouldn’t have entered the arena. Reynell’s philosophy was that shoulder-against-shoulder slugging, from which no one emerged unbloodied or unbruised, was for others, never for him. Reynell was a scavenger, a guerrilla fighter who picked over the bones and defeats of others stupid enough in the first place to get into direct conflict. Which is what he regarded the ever-eager-to-prove-himself Simon Buxton as having done – openly issuing a challenge by sending him into Washington exile – which Reynell now planned to reverse completely in his absolute favour.

  Gregori Lyalin made what even the cynical Reynell conceded to be a dramatically impressive entrance, although there was a tempering hesitancy which made it appear it was not intended to be that way at all. The effect was achieved by a grey-flecked, unrestrained waterfall of a beard, which the plump Russian had defiantly worn as the recognized badge in Russia of orthodox religious conviction long before the end of atheistic communism. It plunged in disordered contradiction to the blue, clerk-like suit and subdued and collared shirt, both of which were largely lost under the overflow.

  Amanda thought the man looked like Santa Claus on his way back to the office the day after Christmas. The handshake was very firm, although the hands were soft. The concentration, upon every introduction, was intense, as if he were burning the names along with the facial images into his mind.

  Lyalin waited politely to be accorded his place at the table and the moment he seated himself, in advance of any further preliminaries, said: ‘I want to make it clear to everyone here, every government represented here, that we – Moscow – welcome this co-operation. And to give you my personal pledge of our total commitment.’

  The announcement was so totally unexpected, as well as being so quick, after what they had just been relayed from Stoddart, that momentarily there was silence.

  From that declaration, Amanda decided it wasn’t premature – rather, it was what they’d already hurriedly decided – to put a little stiffening into the diplomatic marshmallow. She said: ‘Let me return that commitment, on behalf of the rest of us …’ She indicated the assembling secretariat, which now included a Slavic-featured man from the Russian embassy. ‘Our proof of that commitment is having already had translated everything we have … we’d hoped for the same, at least with any medical or scientific material from you …’

  Both Amanda and Reynell continued to be surprised, Reynell wondering if he was the only one to detect the faint flush beneath the beard. Unaware until that moment of Raisa’s failure to get their material put into English and French, Lyalin said: ‘There should of course have been a translation. I will arrange for it to be done at once …’

  The scavenging Reynell pecked at once. If Gregori Lyalin, the science minister, had been working as he should have been with Raisa Orlov, his chief scientific advisor, he’d have known there wasn’t an interpretation. An interesting bone to chew upon, he decided. But not too soon: Amanda was doing perfectly well without his intervention.

  Nodding towards Paul Spencer, Amanda said: ‘Arrangements have already been made to have it done by our State Department people. It’s important that the rest of the scientific group read what there is from you as soon as possible.’ She believed the Russian’s apology, Amanda decided, further surprised. Or could it be a trick, a far better performance than the other Russian up in Maryland? Careful, she warned herself; she’d dizzy herself trying to revolve in ever decreasing circles. It was disconcerting having to run the meeting, preventing her from adopting her usual sit, watch and assess role. The Russians – here and at Fort Detrick – weren’t her only personal concern. She still wasn’t sure about Paul Spencer, which meant it was very important to get into the record everything he’d provided that morning, to avoid the accusation of her not responding to everything as quickly as she should. It might have been his thinking that she’d delay, until they’d had time to consider what Lyalin had to contribute. ‘We’ll all of us have a lot to catch up with,’ she said briskly. ‘What about anything additional to the Iultin outbreak?’

  Good, judged Reynell at once. Almost time for his entry

  Lyalin looked blankly around the people confronting him. ‘I don’t understand that question. There’s been no other outbreak apart from Iultin, if that’s what you mean?’

  Spencer was ready with what had come in overnight from the CIA and Science Foundation monitor, but observing his new self-imposed restraint he held back from responding uninvited and was glad because Amanda began to talk without any reference to him. Spencer listened, hoping she’d forget something that he’d be able to prompt her upon – which she didn’t – but so intently was he mentally rehearsing a discreet correction that when Amanda did defer to him, for that day’s update, he almost missed the invitation. Hurriedly he said: ‘There are human influenza outbreaks, in all the coastal regions where whales have been reported dying from the same illness: India, Japan, some Pacific islands and in Chile. And some places where it hasn’t yet appeared to affect sea life: Norway, Germany and France, with sea coasts in the north, and Australia and New Zealand in the south. And it’s no longer coastal. There have been isolated reports of respiratory illness in four British cities – Manchester, Bristol, Newcastle and London – and in Budapest and Vienna in continental Europe, and Amman in Jordan. In India again there are cases in Nagpur and Bangalore, which are hundreds of miles inland …’

  ‘How many?’ asked Buchemin, to establish a fact there hadn’t been time to find earlier.

  ‘Under seven thousand in total,’ responded the prepared presidential aide. ‘That’s why it hasn’t yet been picked up by world health monitoring. Still wouldn’t have been without us establishing our own far more detailed checks. But added together, from so many places, it’s significant.’

  ‘I still don’t follow what this has got to do with what we’re trying to deal with,’ protested Lyalin.

  It did seem an abrupt – and disassociated – intrusion, thought Reynell, worriedly. It was difficult to hold back, to guide it as he wanted it guided.

  ‘We’re waiting for the opinion of the scientific advisors,’ said Amanda. ‘At the moment a strain of influenza that appears to be able to jump species, from whales to humans – and all the other maritime occurrences I’ve outlined – remains inexplicable, as whatever it is that aged all our victims is inexplicable. That’s the only significance we’re offering. If our scientific advisors tell us there’s no possible cause to include it in our thinking then we’ll dismiss it. I’ve mentioned it today, this early in our discussion, to explain why it forms part of what you’ve still got to study.’

  ‘North Sea grey seals are dying from distemper, a domestic dog disease?’ queried Lyalin slowly, echoing Amanda’s earlier explanation.

  ‘That’s one of the confirmed reports,’ said Amanda.

  ‘Are you familiar with Lake Baikal?’ asked the Russian minister.

  ‘Siberia,’ identified Gerard Buchemin.

  ‘What’s happened there?’ demanded Reynell, hurriedly, moving at last to take over. Could it be any better than he’d imagined, from what Paul Spencer had recounted?

  ‘There’s a species of freshwater seal, the nerpa, that isn’t found anywhere else. For the past three months there have been reports of a disease decimating them. Just before I left Moscow there was confirmation that it was the same sort of distemper that affects domestic dogs,’ disclosed the Russian.

  ‘Another cross-species jump,’ remarked Buchemin, solemnly.

  ‘But not involving humans,’ Amanda pointed out. ‘Nothing we should allow ourselves to be deflected by, until we hear the opinion from Fort Detrick.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ declared Reynell, smiling towards her to take any offence from the contradiction. He wondered how long it would take her to completely follow his lead. ‘OK, we’re none of us health m
inisters but holding the portfolios we do we’re certainly involved in the health of our countries. And we’ve just learned of an outbreak of one of the most feared and closely monitored diseases in medicine. No one knows how many people died in the influenza pandemic of 1918. Estimates range from forty to a hundred million. I’m fairly sure, from memory, that it was a cross-species infection. In late 1997 there was a human outbreak of influenza – fortunately limited – in Hong Kong that originated in chickens – a medically and scientifically proven species jump … whatever the opinion of Fort Detrick, we certainly can’t ignore something that could become a cross-species pandemic on the scale of 1918. Something that, even on the small scale that our discoveries so far suggest, already appears to have spread far more extensively throughout the world than the Hong Kong incident of 1997.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ came in Amanda, quickly. ‘I didn’t mean it should be forgotten … I meant in connection with what we are doing—’

  ‘And I wasn’t for a moment suggesting you were,’ said Reynell, just as hurriedly, wanting Amanda as an ally – albeit an unwitting one – not someone resentful. He looked quickly towards the secretariat, where the record of what he needed to say would be made. Made, but not published, he told himself; not until it was too late to affect everything he wanted to achieve. ‘And we must be extremely careful that we don’t allow the connection to become blurred. We’re all agreed on the need to keep the ageing illness from becoming public knowledge for as long as possible?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lyalin, although doubtfully.

  ‘But that there will more than likely be a public outcry when it is disclosed?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Lyalin, still cautious.

  Reynell switched his attention to Spencer. ‘We’ve got to thank Paul for creating the monitor that means, at this moment, we’re the only people to have pulled together all these isolated, inexplicable things …’

  Spencer smiled openly at the recognition. Amanda’s face began to clear.

  ‘A possible species transmission of influenza, a fatal disease, from mammal to humans is horrifying …’ continued Reynell.

  ‘… Undeniably so,’ encouraged Amanda, not wanting to commit herself until she was sure.

  ‘The sort of Frankenstein thing that will occupy the undivided attention of a lot of people,’ suggested Reynell.

  Like starting a brushfire war to divert the voting public from domestic difficulties, acknowledged Amanda. Did Reynell want the credit or was he offering it to her? When the man didn’t continue she said: ‘The influenza should be brought to the attention of world health authorities … and to the general public …’

  ‘The World Health Organization,’ insisted Reynell. ‘Through our respective governments, to avoid directly drawing attention to ourselves of how and why we discovered the instances.’ It was almost as if they were performing to a script, or rather a prologue to an even more complete script that he had already learnt virtually word for word for his equally well planned conversation with Simon Buxton. Was there any more to achieve today? Not here, Reynell decided. And he was sure there was a lot more mileage he hadn’t yet worked out. But would, before very long. Maybe, even, on the flight back to London he decided at that moment to make.

  ‘That would be the responsible thing to do,’ agreed the French minister, joining the political quadrille.

  Gregori Lyalin let the dance swirl around him, strangely – wrongly, he at once and realistically accepted – saddened by it. There was every political justification for what they were deciding – and with which he’d go along, for the same reason as they were agreeing it – but he wished the first concentration had been upon the unarguable medical need to alert the medical authorities and not upon minimizing any personal or political backlash, which it was easy enough to recognize. Did he have the right to such mental pretension? Lyalin asked himself, refusing the hypocrisy. He would go along with it. Which, in practical political terms, wasn’t even dishonest. It was necessary expediency; the sort of thinking that was going to have to come as naturally to him as it automatically appeared to come to those with whom he had to establish himself. He said: ‘It’s definitely something that should be passed on, quite irrespective of whether it affects our remit or not.’

  ‘I’m pleased that we’re obviously going to work so well together,’ said Amanda.

  Nowhere near as pleased as I am, thought Reynell.

  Geraldine Rothman changed her mind about immediately conducting secondary autopsies as she strode angrily from Stoddart’s office, halted by what she half-heard of the conversation between Pelham and the Frenchman.

  ‘Lebrun’s got twelve hours,’ confirmed Pelham, answering her question. ‘Maybe not even that long.’

  ‘Then I need to see him now,’ she announced.

  ‘We can both see him,’ frowned Dupuy. ‘That’s what I’m on my way to do – to be as supportive as I can.’

  ‘I mean in his room. I want to examine him myself …’ She hesitated, as Dupuy’s expression deepened. ‘As a forensic pathologist.’

  ‘No!’ refused Dupuy at once, unthinking.

  ‘It’ll be no different from any examination he’s undergone from any other doctor. I’ll cause him no discomfort. I don’t want to argue, but I don’t think you can stop me. And of course you can watch all the time, from the observation gallery.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Examine someone who can hopefully answer questions; help me towards things I don’t understand.’ She hadn’t repeated to any of them the doubts she’d raised with Stoddart the previous night, unwilling to create more mysteries she might be able to answer from her own, specifically directed examination.

  ‘I’m not comfortable with one of our own group doing it,’ said Dupuy.

  Geraldine clenched her hands at her sides in renewed frustration. When the fuck was this man – were any of them – going to start thinking dispassionately, behaving dispassionately, like the medical specialists they were supposed to be! ‘You know my professional qualifications.’

  ‘I’m not arguing your capabilities.’

  ‘Then what the hell are you arguing about? I’ve had some thoughts – valid, medical questions I want to answer – and I need to examine Henri Lebrun while he’s still alive. Please, stop getting in my way!’

  Dupuy nodded, capitulating under her outrage. ‘I’ll watch, from the gallery.’

  ‘I’d like you to.’ She switched to Pelham. ‘You, too. I’d welcome input.’

  The protective clothing was very different from that with which Geraldine was familiar – had actually been part of approving – for British post mortems upon AIDS sufferers: thicker skinned and therefore more difficult to move in, the gloves most awkward of all, as thick as the rest of the uniform but seamed, which medical gloves were not. It would make it difficult to handle instruments with any sort of damage-restricting skill. She was glad it hadn’t yet got to a dissecting blade operation with Henri Lebrun. Which was nothing more than a postponement, in the case of the Frenchman and any of the others upon whom she decided it was necessary to perform secondary examinations. Literally an operational bridge to cross when she reached it, not before.

  Lebrun was awake, although tethered to his various catheters and drip feeds, his head moving at once although slowly to the soft sigh of the time-released lock of the inner sterilization chamber. At once, fragile-voiced, he demanded: ‘What do you want?’

  The watching Dupuy would have warned the man while she changed, Geraldine guessed. ‘To talk. Check some things out.’

  ‘You know it all.’ The man’s nose was running.

  ‘I wish we did,’ said Geraldine.

  ‘You’re not going to be able to save me, are you?’ The Frenchman was emaciated, wasted, milky eyes not actually focused upon her but in the direction in which he knew the door to be.

  ‘No.’

  The man went to speak but his voice caught, like a hiccup. Then he said: ‘Why did
the others say they could help?’

  ‘We hoped we could.’

  ‘Fucking bastards!’

  ‘Yes.’ Geraldine thought she could hear movement on the relay microphones from the observation gallery but it equally might have been from her own movement, inside the suit. It was emaciation – wasting – despite his being able to eat protein and carbohydrate supplemented solids until a day and a half ago and having been on even more enhanced drips since then.

  ‘You shouldn’t have said that!’ Guy Dupuy’s metallically distorted protest echoed into her headset.

  Geraldine ignored the man, reaching out for Lebrun’s unprotesting, flacid hand. The bloody gloves were too thick to feel anything adequately! For the briefest, thwarted moment she considered tearing them off.

  ‘Leave me alone!’

  ‘You heard what he said,’ came Dupuy’s voice.

  Again Geraldine ignored the unseen man, fumbling with her other hand for Lebrun’s pulse which she couldn’t effectively feel although she was conscious of the body heat, permeating the glove fabric. She squinted through the vizor for the heartbeat monitor, frowning at the reading, a fluctuation between 150 and 165, mostly the higher. She’d told the man he was dying, she accepted. So an increase was understandable. But not an increase – what appeared to be a consistent increase – of fifty per cent! Lebrun’s heart – no one’s heart – could sustain that demand. What had the pulse readings been of the Antarctic rescuers, before they’d died? She couldn’t remember, although she was sure they would have been recorded, like Henri Lubrun’s were being recorded, automatically, upon what could become an immediate computer print-out. If there was any comparison in the rapidity, they hadn’t – she certainly hadn’t – been professionally doing the job she’d been sent here to do. Neither – more culpably – had Pelham’s teams if there had been matching readings from the Antarctic. The heart monitor pounded on, like a mocking drumbeat.

  From behind the screen Pelham said: ‘Can there be any useful purpose in this?’