Tall brick walls surround the back yard at Fairfells Pet Centre to keep boarders in and wild animals out. The concrete cubicles and wire mesh kennels have few comforts other than a large plastic tub bed in one corner and a stainless steel water bowl in the opposite corner. Old newspapers spread in the centre soak up urine from the concrete floor. Some boarders had toys and blankets provided by thoughtful owners. Picture postcards adorned diet card holders on most cages.
The night duty veterinary nurse Carol Donginger finished off her paperwork in the small yard office. An attractive, educated and well-spoken woman in her mid-twenties. She was shorter than average height and in love with animals, especially dogs. She tied her chestnut brown hair at the back to form a pony tail. A few side strands worked loose and unconsciously she kept pushing them back behind her ear. She wore the Pet Centre's dark blue safari-type uniform. Carol dreamed of becoming a vet and prayed every week for a lottery win to make it possible.
Carol crouched down in the centre of a ring of twelve metal bowls laid out in a circle. Wielding a wooden spoon she started to mix dog-food when Colin stormed into the yard. His head searched side to side for a clue. The self-closing door slammed shut and startled her. Immediately the dogs pounded against their kennel doors barking at Blunt. He thought they greeted him but in fact they were telling Carol to hide the food.
"Where is it?" he called to her.
The familiar smell of kennels braced his nose and caught his throat.
"Morning Colin, she's over here," she said as she looked at Mr Morning Grumpy's face.
Carol pointed him to an isolation kennel set against the back wall of the building. On the floor lay an adult black and white mongrel bitch with long matted hair, speckled white ears and two white front paws. It lay on its side opposite the cage door. Carol moved over to the door and tucked her wooden spoon under her armpit.
"This poor soul arrived last night in a police van. I've called her Lonely; apparently attacked a man in the street but didn't bite. The police dog handler Charlie brought him to me," she said proud of her extra responsibility.
"Did you sedate it?"
Colin glanced at the motionless body and prepared to tear a strip off her for giving sedation without permission.
"She's dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes. I told your wife," Carol replied puzzled at his surprise.
He grunted loudly, lifted his case and turned to walk away.
"She barked for ages and wouldn't settle," Carol said raising her voice.
"Look Carol I'm not angry with you but you must not make emergency calls to my home unless really essential. Have you got that?" he said then stormed off.
Carol stood perplexed with her mouth ajar. She told his wife the dog was dead and she just wanted a quick word before surgery started. Colin made his way to a door leading to the office and surgeries. She suppressed a strong urge to shout something rude about his wife.
"Something you should see before I clean up," she emphasised.
He stopped in his tracks, pounded his left foot into the ground and rolled his eyes skyward. She slipped the bolt on the cage door and moved hesitantly inside the kennel. His eyes narrowed and he thought you little witch. He returned, crashed his case heavily down and followed her inside.
"I've never seen rabies but ...," she said looking down at the dog.
"RABIES! Don't be silly."
Blunt stood at the kennel door facing the dog. White fluid had seeped from its anus and spread out in a small pool on the ground. Similar material formed a larger pool around its mouth.
"Look at this damp patch under her body as if she's been sweating. I can't understand it," she said and looked at him for an answer because dogs have no sweat glands.
"Probably vomited," he dismissed.
Blunt moved around to the back of the dog for another view. He became conscious of something crushed under his shoe against the concrete floor. He crouched down on one knee and moved a sheet of newspaper for a closer look.
"What the hell's this? Teeth?" he raised his voice.
Carol sprang to her feet and turned her back on the dog. She covered her mouth with the palm of hand. She remembered the last moment she saw the dog alive.
"That poor baby must have been in terrible pain," she said emotionally.
Blunt leaned over the dog and with his right hand pressed on the body.
"Its abdomen has collapsed."
The dog gave out a loud burp.
"CHRIST." Colin blurted out.
His prodding disturbed the lay of the chest. It collapsed forcing trapped air to expel noisily like a deflating balloon.
Carol composed herself and squatted down beside him. Colin snapped with his fingers for her to pass the wooden spoon and he poked the handle end into the dog's mouth. He pressed hard to prise open its mouth. It seemed the gums were welded together.
"The jaws are..., Aagghh!"
He sprang back as his stick slipped off its gum, brushed the dog's eye causing fluid to spurt out of its eyeball. Splashes of vitreous fluid from its eyeball landed on the back of his hand and on his sleeve. They stared at the dog's head as fluid oozed out of its eyeball rolled down and dropped onto the floor.
"How could she decompose so quickly?" she sounded agitated.
Blunt drew the stick gently across the back of its body. Clumps of dark hair dislodged and stuck to the end of the stick. Although gentle he rippled and tore the dog's skin, exposing a white gel-like tissue underneath. They looked on in disbelief.
Colin's anxiety increased as a surge of adrenaline flushed through his blood and made his heart thump. Beads of perspiration formed on his hairline and his face paled. What the bloody hell happened here? His thoughts were turbulent.
"What would cause her teeth to fall out?" she sounded like a worried pet owner.
His frantic brain searched and analysed. He didn't reply, so Carol broke the silence.
"When I saw this white stuff I thought her body might be rotting quickly but have you noticed it?" she asked curiously.
A pang of irritation sprang up in his mind. Colin hated open questions from juniors. He gave her a sharp sideways look.
"There's no smell! That doesn't smell of anything," she said pointing to the pool of material expelled from its mouth.
Colin remained silent and retrieved a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He dabbed perspiration from his forehead and wiped moisture from his palms. He gasped when he saw her staring at the splash of vitreous fluid on the back of his hand. He jumped to attention and vigorously wiped the fluid.
He tried to recall events immediately following the death of an animal. He thought back to his student days at Vet School. They taught him little about death but he remembered something of the biochemistry of death. After death resident bacteria in the body begin rapid consumption of all freely available biochemicals to grow and produce more bacteria.
When simple sources are exhausted the bacteria secrete suites of digestive enzymes to demolish organs and tissues to simple building blocks. Large protein molecules reduced to small molecules such as ammonia and amines, many of which bear a strong smell. The characteristic smell of death develops slowly as a complex cocktail of small odour-bearing biochemicals accumulate beside rapidly growing bacteria.
"Okay this is clearly a massive bacterial infection."
He believed bacteria somehow killed and decomposed the dog without producing a smell. Colin ushered Carol out of the kennel and closed the door.
"Shall I clean up now?"
"No, fetch protective clothing and wait. I'll come back down in a few minutes. I need to make a call," he said as he hurried toward the office door.
Dorothy Chambers sorted morning mail at Fairfells while she talked to the trainee nurse Sameena. Colin breezed in though the door leading to the kennels.
"Morning," he said as he hurried into surgery number one.
As usual his surgery was open, brightly lit, sparkling clean and ready for busine
ss. Also as usual Colin dressed immaculately in a well pressed dark blue business suit, polished black brogue shoes, light blue striped shirt and matching blue tie.
Tall and thin faced, with a commanding voice much appreciated by pet owners who drew reassurance from his confidence, particularly when beloved pets were unwell. Dorothy followed Colin but stopped at the surgery door.
"Morning Colin; it's lovely again today," she said staring off through a window.
Colin said nothing. She noted his distraction, not unusual first thing for Mr Morning Grumpy and turned to walk back to her reception desk. Colin slipped his suit jacket neatly onto a coat-hanger and put on his white coat. He moved smartly around an examination table in the centre of his surgery and towards the door to follow Dorothy into the reception area.
"Coffee?" enquired Dorothy.
"Dot, a moment please," he said while glancing at a customer entering the foyer with an anxious pet poodle friend.
With his hand pulling her arm they moved inside the office and he closed the door behind her. She looked uncomfortable with his uncharacteristic manhandling.
"Will you call Sir Charles McCall-Brown at Kinmalcolm University; his number is on my personal list."
"Now?" Dorothy said looking at the wall clock.
"Yes, he'll be there, he's always at his desk by seven."
Dorothy rubbed her arm where his fingers had pressed then she dialled the number. She asked McCall-Brown to hold and Colin took the wireless handset into his surgery, closing the door behind him.
"Charles, yes, morning, fine I know I'll be there. I have an animal here at Fairfells. I think it's been infected with a kind of super bug. It's not natural. I think it has escaped from one of your research labs? I want you to send someone over here now? It is urgent, yes now, good, yes I will, thanks, yes of course, bye."
Colin felt relieved as he stepped back into the foyer. Clearly shaken he returned the handset to Dorothy. He noticed Dorothy and Sameena staring at him. This wasn't the overbearingly confident boss they knew and feared.
"Someone will be over from the university. Let me know when he arrives. I'll be down at the kennels with Carol."
He pushed through the door and when it slammed shut the two women exchanged looks of bewilderment.
* * *
One of the most difficult parts of the job of a University Vice-Chancellor is managing the chairman of the board of governors. Some VC's have it easy enough with a puppet chairman. Colin Blunt chaired Kinmalcolm's Board of Governors with an aggressive hand and even on a good day he could be very prickly. McCall-Brown decided that if Blunt was correct then such an issue should rightly be passed to the Lambeth Group.
The Lambeth Group was formed in 1975 when a group of twenty-six University Vice-Chancellors from elite Universities met secretly with Home Office mandarins at the Imperial War Museum, Lambeth Road, London. After prolonged discussion they agreed on the need for a doomwatch strategy to discover and manage research and technology disasters that can happen when top researchers push past the boundaries farther and faster than they should.
Working with CPNI (Centre for Protection of National Infrastructure) a branch of MI5 and the Home Office the Lambeth Group had successfully prevented the most damaging university and private research disasters from becoming public knowledge.
McCall-Brown first came into direct contact with the Lambeth Group six years ago when they recruited one of his staff Dr Gavin Shawlens. Knowing Colin Blunt's propensity for overreaction McCall-Brown decided not to contact the Lambeth Group immediately in case Blunt was in fact wrong. Colin Blunt used overreaction as a tool to get his own way so instead he phoned Gavin Shawlens and told him to assess the incident.
Gavin Shawlens had gained a great deal of experience over the past six years on a number of major investigations for the Lambeth Group. In fact Gavin Shawlens had a UK security clearance of Top Secret Level D, which meant he had knowledge of the highest category of official state secrets. He knew where some of the nastiest Government skeletons were buried. He'd been present at the burial of two of them.
Three
University of Kinmalcolm, Scotland
Gavin Shawlens had just arrived in his office when the phone rang and he took an internal call from Sir Charles McCall-Brown. The Vice-Chancellor said little of what to expect. He instructed Shawlens to assess whether or not the incident at Fairfells had any of the hallmarks of a university research project that had backfired.
A thirty-six year old academic, Gavin Shawlens stood five foot eight in his socks and occupied a lean and muscular frame. He kept himself fit with occasional visits to the University judo club. His thick mop of hair had a light straw-colour in summer that darkened in winter. A tousled fringe covered his forehead. His voice resounded with a strong Scottish accent although all trace of his Glasgow dialect had been smoothed out after years of lectures and public speaking.
Fifty-two minutes after taking the call he stood with Colin Blunt and Carol Donginger facing the dead dog at Fairfells Pet Centre. Colin had decided not to disturb the dog until it had been inspected. All three wore protective head visors, disposable coats, over-trousers, latex gloves and disposable plastic bootees. It didn't occur to any of them that their strange attire set most of the boarders in a frenzy of barking and jumping.
"It's been dead for less than six hours yet it's showing massive decomposition," Colin said as Gavin examined the body.
"The cold last night should have slowed any decomposition. Something has speeded it up even against the cold. Interesting," Gavin said.
"This white matter has seeped from both ends. All its teeth are out, hair is loose. Tissue and skin is well..., jelly," Colin said while he gesticulated nervously with his hands.
"How did the dog come into your possession?" Gavin asked as he circled the dog taking photographs with his Lambeth Group SEM mobile phone.
He didn't tell them the photos were being transmitted to the Lambeth Group office or that his phone also transmitted their conversations.
"Police rounded her up and brought her here to me," Carol said.
"Obviously this is not a typical infection. I think it escaped by accident or design from a university research laboratory," Colin said.
"Really!" Gavin said.
"Animal rights people or students probably let this dog loose," Colin said accusingly.
"Well it wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
Shawlens knew that mongrel dogs aren't used in research laboratories because they don't have the defined genetic profile needed for provenance. You're a vet you know this he thought.
"I want full microbiological and viral screens done on this animal? I want to know what I'm dealing with here."
Gavin Shawlens stepped back, frowned and wondered what had agitated Colin Blunt.
"Full screens are a lot of work. What do you think you have?" Gavin asked.
"Looks to me like Strep. The flesh eating one," Colin said impatiently.
"Streptococcus pyogenes," Gavin replied.
"That's the nasty one isn't it?" Carol said to Gavin.
"Yes it can be. It occurs naturally in humans, occasionally causes sore throats. Very rarely it causes necrotising fasciitis or flesh eating," he said as he rummaged through a corner of his memory.
"How does the flesh eating business work?" Colin asked.
"...umm. Strep bacteria secrete enzymes to digest tissues. Skin blood vessels are so thin they're digested quickly then skin tissue is destroyed."
"Killer enzymes," Colin said.
"Not intentionally. Imagine if I gave you a giant loaf of bread five miles by two miles. Before you could eat it you would need to break it down to mouth size. Bacteria are too small to consume our organs directly. They need to use enzymes to demolish huge structures down to small building blocks they need to make new bacteria."
"The dog is dead is it not?" Colin argued.
"This type of infection is rare. Probably less than ten people in the UK ea
ch year," Gavin said as he walked out of the kennel to join Carol.
He'd had enough of Blunt's paranoid ideas. Her face looked more interesting as they exchanged smiles.
"They say large doses of antibiotics are useless," Carol said to Gavin.
Gavin Shawlens engaged her in eye-to-eye contact.
"That's almost true. Antibiotics do kill Streptococcus but not its enzymes. If Strep gets time to secrete large quantities of enzymes into the blood antibiotics won't stop tissue destruction and death can follow quickly," Gavin said as he and Carol examined the fine detail on each other's face through their visors.
Colin paced around the kennel evaluating this information. Extensive damage seemed consistent with Strep bacteria.
"You're not convinced it's Strep are you?" Carol said pointing her hand at Gavin.
Colin frowned but she had read Gavin's facial tell correctly. Gavin Shawlens hesitated. The Lambeth Group demanded complete confidentiality and he was unsure what had happened.
"Strep doesn't occur naturally in dogs. They have natural immunity to Strep."
"WHAT? Are you certain?" Colin shouted.
"A Strep infection is unlikely in a dog."
Shawlens sounded sympathetic and shifted his gaze back to the dog. Colin sucked in air loudly with frustration. His heart started racing again. He stared at the dog.
"Then it's a genetically modified strain that attacks dogs, no question."
"That's one possibility," Gavin conceded.
"Get the screens done then," demanded Blunt.
Colin Blunt pressed his hands downward against his thighs causing the latex gloves to tighten against his fingers. Gavin noticed perspiration on Colin's forehead and a mist of condensation had formed on the top of his visor.
"Okay I'll take samples and send them off."
Colin marched to the kennels office and changed out of his protective clothes. Gavin carefully collected samples and stored them in a transit bag. He helped Carol move the dog into a body bag. In the office they removed their protective clothing and he put his SEM mobile phone back on standby.
Everything to Lose Page 30