The girl wiped her eyes. ‘Carol Anne!’ The words seemed to fascinate her and she repeated them again and again.
‘For God’s sake stop that giggling,’ said Grant slowly, ‘or so help me I’ll smack you back to sanity.’
The girl snatched at a king-size Pall Mall and lit it with a butane lighter. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her fingers were still trembling and he saw that her forearms were gooseflesh with fear. ‘But I’m scared sick.’
‘Then tell me about Carol Anne,’ he repeated. ‘And remember that I’m going to need every possible clue if we’re to get your father back home again. So where does she stay?’
The girl stared. ‘Somehow your face seems familiar but I can’t place it.’ She drew thoughtfully and blew a perfect smokring. ‘Wait a minute. You were in the papers a while ago in a story about some Russian ballerina who is dancing in London, A funny name. Maya something.’[4]
‘Maya Koren,’ said Grant quietly. ‘We got mixed up in Russian trouble and I helped to get her out.’
‘And she’s your mistress, isn’t she?’
Grant smiled. His affair with Maya had been fizzling out ever since she had begun to find her feet in London. But they were still good friends and had an arrangement that since neither was the marrying kind they were each free to do as they liked. ‘She’s a good friend. But let’s go back to Carol Anne. Where did your father meet her?’
‘And I remember your name,’ said the girl slowly. ‘It’s all coming back. You’re David something. David Grant, I think. And you’re supposed to be the most dangerous spy alive. Or so someone said in a newspaper article. Chapman Pincher, I think, or maybe Robin Douglas-Home. And you’re supposed to be more important to the West than a hydrogen bomb.’
Grant remembered the piece. A column which had broken after his last mission to Africa and which had leaked to Britain through an American correspondent who had travelled with Yankee paratroopers to the Sahara.[5] ‘You can’t believe everything they write in the papers.’ But he saw that the girl was getting back again to normal. ‘Columnists must have a heck of a life finding material, but some stringer tipped off a few facts that I’m David Grant and that some people don’t like me very much.’
The girl tossed her head. ‘Then if any man can get my father back it’s you. But I don’t know whether Carol Anne will be any help. She’s an empty-headed little tart who used to be Dad’s secretary. But she’s working in Prestwick now and maybe she knows more about him than any of us at home because my guess is that he’s still besotted about her.’
‘And her address?’
‘Digs with another girl in Midton Drive just about next door to the airport. The house is called Killarney and if my guess is right her friend works in the office of some Middle East airline.’
‘But how do you know all this?’ Grant felt that he was fighting the clock.
‘Because Dad had no need to be all that secretive in his own house. I told you that my parents didn’t get on together and he got plenty of mail with a Prestwick postmark. Once or twice I got a glimpse of the letterhead when he was reading it over breakfast.’
‘And the girl friend with Middle East?’
Deirdre Carpenter hesitated. ‘I saw them eating together at the Postillion a few months ago. There were three other men in the party and I know Carol Anne by sight. The other girl had a sort of uniform.’
‘And did they see you?’
She shook her head. They had been down at the back and she had left the minute she spotted them.
A bell suddenly clanged and the girl twitched at the sound. Her nerves were still frayed but Grant guessed that she would keep her head. ‘Sounds like they’ve arrived,’ he grinned. ‘So keep your fingers crossed and not a word about your old man until I give you the say so.’
Three men in plain clothes were waiting outside with two patrol cars loaded with dark figures in the background. Grant knew two of them by sight: the Chief Constable was a national ‘character’, and he had been at school with the Secretary of State, although a few years his junior. It had begun to look as though the Prime Minister had hit the jack-pot and collected all the top brass which mattered. ‘Come in, gentlemen.’
‘Dr. David Grant,’ said the Secretary. ‘You know our Chief Constable, of course. And this is Colonel Alistair Hunter who is acting liaison officer with Whitehall. It is a bit of good luck we were all more or less in the same place at the same time.’
‘Inside,’ said Grant crisply, ‘but may I suggest that we collect Deirdre Carpenter and take her to a nursing home for the rest of the night. A couple of days in bed will set her up and you can get her statement at leisure. Let’s try to keep whatever anonymity is left to us and avoid meeting any of your men.’
The Chief Constable frowned, but the Prime Minister had given firm instructions that what Grant said had to ‘go’ and he didn’t like any bit of it. Not with two of his men dead and a mass murderer on the loose.
Colonel Hunter correctly interpreted the beetling eyebrows and tight lips. ‘Maybe better that way, sir,’ he drawled, ‘and if it pleases you better the girl can go back to my house. The wife will look after her and all that.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ said the Secretary of State for Scotland. ‘So now, David, move. And while you collect the girl we’ll have a quick look round.’
Grant returned to the kitchen. ‘Everything fixed. You’re going to stay with a Mrs. Hunter for a couple of days and they’ll get your statement tomorrow. So put some things in your bag and be ready in ten minutes.’ He returned to the parlour. ‘She’ll be down shortly. And after we go I would like this place ripped apart. In particular I want to see every scrap of paper. Secret drawers and so forth must be excluded and someone’ll have to visit the university, empty Carpenter’s office and deliver records with the rest of his stuff to some suitable place, say an office in St. Andrew’s House, for consideration by myself as soon as possible.’
‘And, of course, by everyone else who is involved in this party,’ added Colonel Hunter politely. ‘But if you are all agreeable everything can be carted down to my own place. God knows it’s big enough to hold just about everything. And we have two empty rooms the wife hasn’t got around to furnishing yet.’
The Chief Constable relaxed slightly. ‘And we’ll put a guard on it. Night and day,’ he added as an afterthought.
Colonel Hunter was a slick operator and Grant watched with approval the way in which he could both growl and show his teeth without causing offence. But he would need all the tact that was going to avoid inter-departmental rivalries before this show was over.
The Chief Constable was bending over the bodies. ‘Two shots and two bulls? Some marksman. How come he missed you, Grant?’
Alistair Hunter watched Grant’s face suddenly freeze. ‘Because Dr. Grant is a fast mover himself, Chief Constable. And because, no doubt, he used his vast experience of this sort of situation to save what he could from the wreckage.’
The words were official approval of whatever he had done. Colonel Hunter seemed to be the Prime Minister’s man and Grant was grateful. The Chief Constable missed nothing when an investigation was in progress and Grant knew that he worked on every clue with a cynical thoroughness which exempted nobody. But Alistair Hunter had put him in the clear.
‘In a nutshell, David, tell us what happened before we leave. Where you were sitting and a bit of detail.’ The Secretary of State knew more about Grant at first hand than any of them, and he remembered how even at school David Grant had been a tough citizen as a forward in the First, as a Bisley prizewinner in the Watson’s team and as an artillery sergeant in the Corps. ‘And where was the girl when she was shot?’
Grant etched the scene in a dozen sentences and was marking where he had savaged Zero when Deirdre Carpenter arrived with her overnight bag. She had changed into a pair of bottle-green slacks and Angora jersey which made her look sensational. There was a Rodiak Irish coat hanging over her shoulders. The colour was back in her cheeks
and Grant guessed that she was feeling safe for the first time since Zero had burst into the room.
Half an hour later the girl was sipping a sherry with Mrs. Hunter and the four men were sitting in the Colonel’s study prepared for an all-night session.
‘And you say that this discovery of Carpenter’s is a birth-control device which is “a once and for all” but which can be used in microscopic dilution.’ The Secretary of State was unusually serious.
‘Correct,’ said Grant. ‘But what’s on your mind?’
Scotland’s top Cabinet Minister loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. The man was groping for words. ‘I don’t know how much to believe about this but there’s a rumour going around that the Edinburgh birth-rate has crashed. Some news hawk got on to the story and phoned up two or three days ago. Said there would be a piece in the Sundays about it and he wanted comment.’
‘So what did you do?’ Colonel Hunter was tensely alert.
‘Nothing.’ The Secretary lit another cigarette. ‘What could I do? And anyhow it sounded impossible.’
‘Well, impossible or not,’ said Grant carefully, ‘would you tell us what you do know?’
It sounded simple enough, but for Grant with his background knowledge it was deadly. Fewer babies were being born in Edinburgh. Nursing homes were half empty and the maternity hospital had vacant beds in every ward.
‘Do you remember which paper phoned up?’
‘Sunday Mail, I think. Or maybe the Post. One of the smaller-sized sheets with a big circulation. Office in Glasgow, if I remember.’
The Secretary of State nodded towards the Chief Constable. ‘How about doing some phoning, Chief? Try all the news offices which matter and ask if they’ll be so kind as to give you a hint about their leading story.’ He turned again to Grant. ‘Did the idea make sense? Was it possible?’
Was it possible? Grant recalled his morning session at the Big House and the frightful force which was represented by chemo-repulsion. Sure it was possible. And if the news leaked there would be a national panic. With by-elections just round the corner it would rock the government. But even more important was how in heck had Carpenter managed it?
Alistair Hunter puffed solidly at his pipe and then interrupted. Edinburgh’s water supply came from about five major reservoirs. It would be easy enough to drop stuff into at least one of them. And probably Carpenter only wanted to see the effect on a small proportion of the city. To check if the birth-rate really would drop.
The door slammed and the Chief Constable returned, sweating. ‘First editions are already out on the streets. Others mailed to the provinces. Headline: Edinburgh’s birth-rate dropped by forty-six per cent over the past five weeks, and the graph still falling.’ He paused. ‘Think what’ll happen when this story really hits the public. There’ll be television arguments on “Gallery”, “Panorama” and all the rest. And nothing on God’s earth can stop it.’
The room was suddenly silent as each of the men tried to imagine what really could happen. And then: ‘One thing is certain,’ said Grant heavily: ‘Carpenter must have been making the stuff in quantity: tons of it: and you can’t do that in your own backyard. Someone must have been helping. And if he really did put it into the water supply it must have been done by air. So the police will have to check on every warehouse in the country and make every manufacturer account for every single barrel or keg or bale or whatever it may be. And that at the double.’
‘Solid or liquid?’ asked the Colonel.
‘Either, probably,’ said Grant. ‘The stuff we had was liquid but probably it can be crystallised or something. As to the air angle, I’ve got my own ideas. But let it rest at that.’
‘Pardon, Doctor,’ interrupted Colonel Hunter, ‘but we can rest at nothing short of total candour. Precisely what do you have in mind?’
‘A hunch,’ said Grant sourly. ‘There have been two statements today involving a Middle East airline and probable staff members who are alleged to be pals of Carpenter. They operate from Prestwick and Carpenter is said to have a mistress down there. My own chief has proof that the man has been using his position to supply some drug-ring or other with dopes of various kinds and the chances are that Prestwick area is a local H.Q.’
‘Then be so kind as to write a report of your evidence and let me have it before breakfast. The Prime Minister wishes to be kept fully informed.’
‘O.K.,’ snapped Grant. ‘But I insist on playing this my own way. These people are likely to be extremely sensitive and we don’t want any normal enquiry made at this stage or we may panic the opposition into disappearing.’
‘But who is this opposition?’ asked the Colonel. ‘Your man Zero has walked off with Professor Carpenter. But it is obvious from what you said that he knew nothing much about PENTER 15 until today. So he can hardly be blamed for sterilising half of Edinburgh’s fertile women. Are there two oppositions? Or what do you have in mind?’
Grant fumbled for words as he tried to put the jigsaw together. Certainly Zero had Carpenter. But Zero knew nothing about supplies. The only other opposition must lie in Prestwick and this tied up with drugs. Though in the end it was his bet that the two lines would cross, that Zero had got his first hint about PENTER 15 through some sex maniac who operated near the airport. And the chances were that Carpenter had simply wanted a major field trial on more realistic lines than he could get with a small number of people who were personal contacts. As a scientist he would be interested in statistics. So two things were obvious. Carpenter had to be found. And that fast. But somewhere or other there was an unknown factory, a source of supply. That too would have to be eliminated. And finally the man’s records would have to be transmitted to ADSAD for disposal.
‘You’ve forgotten one other thing,’ said Hunter smoothly. ‘Patrols over all reservoirs in the United Kingdom. We don’t want history repeating itself elsewhere.’
‘One last point,’ said the Secretary of State. ‘You realise that this has happened plum in the middle of the Festival and that Edinburgh has got female artistes from a dozen countries performing in one place or another. Chances are that the entire female cast of the opera company is now sterile and that the ballerinas will never reproduce. This thing has become international. Everyone is in it. And if they discover that some drug or other has been put into our water there’ll be panic stations with demands for indemnity and the like. But, incidentally, how do you know that it was put into the water supplies?’
‘I don’t,’ said Grant quietly. ‘But that was the method which our Professor Juin thought was the most feasible and I can’t for the life of me see any other alternative for success on such a huge scale.’
‘Then you can be sure that it’s only a question of time till the newsmen figure out the same thing,’ said Colonel Hunter. ‘And once the idea hits one single columnist the result will be chaos.’
Grant slammed the table with his fist. ‘There’s only one answer. The Prime Minister must make a broadcast and tell the whole story. Truth is the only weapon left to us. We’ve got to stop other people from being affected.’
‘Most of this is sheer speculation, David,’ said the Minister. ‘Shrewd but lacking proof. No responsible government can take a step like that without more evidence.’
Grant looked at him coldly. ‘Well, you’ve got your problems, Mike, and I’ve got mine. But I’d rather have mine than yours. Or is it the P.M. who will have ultimate responsibility?’
The Minister fidgeted uneasily. ‘I’m technically responsible for what happens in Scotland but in matters affecting national security there has got to be a Cabinet decision.’
‘Then get one,’ drawled Grant icily. ‘Because I don’t see how any man can live with his conscience now unless he leans backwards to save what he can from the mess. And the only way to save others is to put them wise.’
Colonel Hunter again interrupted: ‘The Prime Minister will be here for breakfast, gentlemen. So I suggest that we file that item on the agenda until
then.’
‘And how did you fix that?’ asked Grant.
‘By using the phone,’ snapped Hunter, ‘and I did it when I went out for another flask of coffee. This thing has now gone above our own level. So I suggest that we break up the meeting and rendezvous at breakfast. There are beds for everyone and I suggest that you sleep here. In fact,’ he added softly, ‘the Prime Minister has expressed the same wish. So you can rate it as an order.’
Chapter Eight – ‘I’ve got everything.’
‘I don’t like coincidences, gentlemen.’ The Premier had arrived just on eight ack emma and a meeting had been called within the same fifteen minutes. ‘Can any of you explain why all this has happened without warning at virtually the same point in time?’ He stared sourly towards Grant. ‘As the foremost figure to date in this appalling muddle can you tell me in simple words why everything has happened at once?’
Grant hesitated. Coincidences bothered him too. And he disliked the way they could upset the most carefully planned scheme. But he would have taken a bet that Zero and the Board of Directors of SATAN were at least as annoyed as the P.M. Success in handling PENTER 15 depended from Zero’s angle on having a monopoly and now it had begun to look as though the stuff could be had by the ton. Given that one knew where to call for supplies. ‘Nothing alters the basic picture, sir,’ he ended. ‘Professor Carpenter got into hot water over a girl called Carol Anne. And the Admiral told us this morning how that led him into blackmail by dope-addicts. The chances are that he became known to some top men in at least one drug-ring, and several women also knew that he was their only source of a really reliable and convenient contraceptive. Zero will have contacts in any drug-ring which matters and he would investigate Carpenter together with the contraceptive device as a routine measure to see if it had any possibilities for development. And in my view, if Carpenter was preparing to publish his results, it was quite reasonable for him to let Juin have some PENTER 15 in order to tie up the odds and ends of technical queries which had still to be settled. Because, after all, our own Juin is at least as big in that racket as anyone else. And it would also be quite in order for Carpenter to want a major field trial, even if only for his own private satisfaction. But that is where, in my view, the airline people come in. He has contact of some sort with a pilot. So it is theoretically possible for him to have dropped a load into any reservoir he chose. And from what we have heard this unknown pilot may be a freelance adventurer. He would probably be willing to do it for hard cash with no strings attached. So you see, sir, it is not so much coincidence as simply a matter of everything having developed to a stage when it simply had to become public.’
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