by Nicholas Lim
“I’m in the middle of an investigation. I am trying to understand–”
“How do you know about Barindra?”
“Please, if you know anything –”
“How do you know about Barindra?”
Garrett blinked. “A man called Dr Prenderville put me in contact with him.”
“Dr Prenderville. I see.” Skyler’s mouth twisted. His face was dark with blood.
“He told me a lot of worrying things. I wanted to ask you if they are true.”
“You think they are.”
“I'm asking because I'm concerned that–”
“–What sort of things?”
“Mike – Barindra – told me he left Asari Valley–”
“Rejection of Arshu is the one sin that cannot be forgiven.”
“He said you were once friends. He was worried about you.”
“You haven’t changed at all have you? For a while, I thought maybe, maybe, you were open to the truth, open to change.”
“I won’t pretend Jason. I can’t believe in your religion–”
“I am not Jason. I’m not your son any more. You will not infantilise me.”
“I’m sorry. Skyler. I–”
“What’s the matter with you?” Skyler stared into her face. “You make vague paranoid accusations. You undermine me, go behind my back and talk to liars and self-publicists like Prenderville. How do you think that makes me feel?” He shook his head in disgust. “You don’t think of other people.”
“I don’t? What about you calling me twice a year?”
“Dad wouldn’t recognise you any more.”
“Perhaps neither of us,” Garrett said. She couldn’t look at him.
“Those jokes you used to tell about the novitiate – how long were you there? Six months? I’m surprised you lasted that long.”
Garrett looked up at the surrounding cliffs. White clouds pushed over the high ramparts. Halfway up one side of the Valley, sunlight twinkled on the geodesic dome of the House of Healing.
Skyler sighed. “As usual, you have made me behave less well than I should.”
“I made you? How?”
“Okay. You provoke me to say things I regret. Don’t you get tired of being clever?”
Garrett flinched from the hatred.
“I can't believe I talked to you about the truth.” Skyler said. “What a waste of breath. You can't hear. Even now, you're not telling me what you’re really thinking. I can see it in your eyes.”
“The truth? About what I really think? Alright I'll tell you what I'm really thinking. I'm frightened. I'm frightened by what I saw on the autopsy tables in Brighton and what we can't explain in the lab. I'm frightened about what has happened to you. I'm frightened by this place and the possibility there is a connection I don't understand. And the one person who could help me will not.”
Garrett struggled with herself and lost. She began walking towards the exit ramp.
“There, that’s better isn’t it? Get the ugly truths out in the open.” Garrett was surprised to hear what sounded like amusement.
“I'm going to find my friend, check she’s okay. At least I can do that.”
“Christine!”
Garrett ignored him. She was angry to discover her cheeks were wet.
“Christine.”
Garrett continued to walk away.
“Mother!”
Garrett stopped. She stood with her back to him.
“I thought you weren't meant to call me that.”
“I have not yet taken Sanyas.”
Garrett watched sunlight play on the segmented glass roof of the House of Healing across the valley. She could see red clots of poppies scattered through the surrounding grass.
“I have learned it’s all right to be frightened.” The reflective note had returned to Skyler's voice.
Garrett turned around. She forced herself to speak. “I'm sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You're right. I am sometimes a smart arse.”
“That's okay. So am I. Perhaps it runs in the family.” Skyler smiled. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I don't understand your fears; but maybe we can talk about them.”
Garrett watched the muscle in the side of his face begin to twitch continuously. What was wrong? What was disturbing him so much? Would he ever tell her his fears?
“I'd like that.” Garrett made a small movement towards the ramp.
“I don't know where they've got to,” Skyler said with a shake of his head. “Look, I'll come with you. I know all the paths along the shore.”
“I’ve a better idea.”
Garrett looked up, startled. A man stood above them at the top of the ramp. Short, barrel-chested, with cropped red hair, he wore a rainbow dog collar. Four men crowded behind him.
Skyler stepped backward. “Kirt. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“I’m busy right now.”
Kirtananda shook his head. “You should show me more respect.”
“Respect? For you?”
“Yes me.”
“Why?”
“I will soon be your new acharya.”
“You an acharya? Who says?”
“Arshu.”
Skyler laughed. When Dharma growled and moved up to his shoulder, Kirtananda raised a restraining arm. Garrett could see the scorn on Skyler’s face, mixed with open fear. What was happening?
Kirtananda looked down at Skyler and sighed. “You forget your place again. You are not even sanyasin yet.”
He tilted his head to one side and studied Skyler. “I can’t decide about you. Are you dumb or just ignorant?”
“I think it has to be dumb. You still don’t get what’s happening do you? You hear the local news recently?”
“I am on retreat. I do not need the stimulus of news,” Skyler said.
Garrett watched the two men, Skyler thin, stiff with pride, the other man baiting him, in his look the intense, almost cross-eyed stare of an attack dog. He seemed to have some hold on her son. She feared for him.
“You don’t, huh?” Kirtananda looked at Skyler. “It’s begun.”
“What’s begun?” Skyler sounded bored.
“The plague is running.”
“Plague?” Garrett said.
“Mother, don’t–”
“Mother!” Kirtananda laughed and raised his arms. “Don’t you remember what Arshu said: Rebirth through death. Transformation through sorrow. What did you think that meant? Just songs on your guitar?” Kirtananda spat out his disgust.
“You’re lying,” Skyler said.
“So you haven’t seen the local reports of the deaths, in Cardiff and Merthyr Tydvill and Newport? You haven’t heard the bulletins today? About the malaria plague?”
When Garrett started forward with a cry Kirtananda drew a gun out from the folds of his robes and pointed it straight at her. She heard the clear snick of the released safety. Behind the snub-nosed barrel the eyes of the gunman held the promise of violence. There was no reasoning with those eyes. She held still.
“Skyler, Arshu is mindful of leadership and succession; right now he is appointing his representatives on each continent. After the cleanup I am to stay here. I will become acharya. You and this woman are no longer needed. She is adding risk.”
Garrett recognised the man from the hospital car park. A cold fear ran up her back. Where’s Cherry?
“Where is –” The look of alarm in Skyler’s eyes silenced Garrett before she could finish.
Kirtananda showed his teeth. “It was good of you to deliver her to us.”
“You are mad.”
“Arshu has spoken.”
“This is your madness not his.”
“You think too much.” Kirtananda sighed. “You always did. Too many answers, to the wrong questions. I am stronger. I have faith. I believe without question.” Kirtananda looked at his pistol.
“Wait!”
Kirtananda sighted
along the barrel with both eyes open.
“You are making a terrible mistake. I spoke to Arshu this morning! He – he wanted to speak to you, of course. You were not here.”
Kirtananda held the gun steady. “You are a fool and he is wise.”
“He asked me to give you a message.”
Kirtananda shifted his weight. The boy was playing for time.
“You think I'm lying. But I’m not. I swear I'm telling you the truth. Shall I tell you the message?”
Blood pounded in Kirtananda's ears. His men hissed at his back. This boy was irritating as a mosquito. After a moment he jerked his head.
“Arshu said he must speak with my mother when she arrived. He said it had something to do with a promotion. He said you would understand what he meant.”
Kirtananda stared at Skyler
“Call him,” Skyler said. “Ask him!”
Kirtananda’s knuckles whitened. He shook his head from side to side.
Chapter 38
“Can we get back to the current cases?” Hammond said, his voice patient. “I'd like to hear more about the medical context so I can understand the public health implications first. I'm afraid I only received your lab summaries a few minutes before this meeting started. Your later reports didn't get through to me and we have not had time to contact the Surrey and Sussex NHS Trust. You say standard treatments were ineffective in the early cases.” The room quietened. “Have we identified alternative protocols yet?”
White nodded. “I have spoken to the chief microbiologist at the Brighton Royal, Dr Da Costa. He reported the first cases and has been treating ten similar cases which have presented in the last twelve hours. He is recommending one of two new Artemesinin-based combinations: Artesunate with either Amodiaquine or Chlorproguanil-Dapsone,” Hammond raised his eyebrows then nodded, looking down at some notes as White added, “Together with full blood transfusions every three hours.”
At this, Hammond frowned, “For how long?”
“Dr Da Costa claims to have stabilised nine patients this way for more than twelve hours. They remain in a critical condition.”
“With full transfusions every three hours?” Hammond echoed. “That's stabilized? Until his blood runs out.”
“A point he made to me quite forcibly himself,” White said.
“What about the other hospitals?” Allcock asked.
“There are six more in the Brighton area with between one and four cases each. Their reports add nothing new. I would say they are still waking up to the problem.”
“What is the overall recovery rate?” Allcock asked impatiently.
White looked at the Colonel. “I don't think I was clear. No patient has recovered so far.”
There was a silence.
“Look, what are we looking at, worse case scenario?” Connell said impatiently. No one offered an answer. Connell waved at the graph of infections then looked at the screens. “COME ON! Someone has to stick their neck out and say what we're talking about here. Sir John?”
Hammond shrugged. “At this stage I really couldn't say.” Connell raised his voice again and Hammond continued. “If all that we have heard is true,” Hammond hesitated, “The first thing we would need to do, as we said, is get some other Level Three labs involved, replicate the results, confirm the oral transmission and genetic modifications, start to understand what we're dealing with–”
“Sir John! Worse case scenario?”
Hammond turned his head as if listening to a voice off screen. “We have case studies for various outbreak types to define NHS emergency response plans,” he said. “Many scenarios are considered. You've seen them,” he pointed out to Connell.
“I've seen a hundred policy reviews, none of them agree. Some are clearly exaggerated to secure funding streams for unnecessary research,” Connell shot back. “Is that your answer? Case studies?” He looked around the room. “Does no one here have the guts to give me a threat assessment?”
“Of course I will.” Burnett said. Her voice was calm. “That's what I'm here for.”
The room settled.
Connell sat back and smiled. Burnett’s gaze came to rest on White's face. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If we are dealing with a GM malaria as lethal and untreatable as currently appears, then estimates depend critically on whether, and then how effectively, this strain can transmit orally.” Connell began to grumble again, shifting in his chair. Burnett's voice continued above his, firm and musical. “Now the lab evidence we have is not reliable or specific enough to make a prediction on this count, however we do have epidemiological data for the current outbreak. Unfortunately it's early days and reporting has been unreliable, but… it’s all we have to go on.”
“Come on Frances, enough already with the ifs, ands, buts, unfortunatelys and howevers. Put your balls,” Connell caught himself and grinned, “Put your opinion on the table.”
Burnett deployed a sweet smile, her voice unchanged. “I do not deal in certainties. That's a luxury I leave to political speech-writers. However, I presented the facts as we know them to two senior epidemiologists and a bioterrorist expert just before I came to this meeting. They gave me remarkably similar assessments.” Burnett began counting her fingers. “Cases present sporadically. We have not seen an extinction event,” she paused at a frown from Thorpe and translated, “There has been no incident of localised, catastrophic death. That is good news. It dramatically changes the possible nature of the pathogen. The casualty bounds from both experts ranged from a hundred deaths – this assumes oral transmission proves to be a red herring – to a few thousand plus, assuming appropriate public-health countermeasures – such as the emergency response plans Sir John mentioned – are deployed.”
Connell snorted then consulted his watch. “An estimate from one to infinity isn't much use is it? I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you. The Prime Minister will be on his feet in the House any minute.” He swung his chair down to the floor. “But here's what we do: try to refine the,” Connell paused, “‘estimate’ a little. Then consider our response. We'll need a press release. I'll be back in two, maybe three hours, see where we've got to.”
He clambered to his feet, turning to the screens. “Given the situation, we’ll need that press release ready for when I get back, in time for the evening editions. I'll look over it of course, but try and get the tone right.” Connell showed his teeth. “Energetic, exasperated and focused on finding solutions. And I want all the bad news out in one go. We are not going to be seen withholding: we take one hit then we control it. Peter, I'm going to need a paragraph from you. Keep it brief. Non-technical. It should emphasise competent reaction by a world-class, well-resourced health service. We can mention the Emergency Fund, but perhaps not initially. And get more information on this intel cock-up.”
He picked up his files.
“I think you haven’t grasped what we are facing,” White said. “We need more than–”
Connell juggled his files into the crook of an arm. “PMQs have already started. I’ve got to go. Kick-off the planning, I'll be back tops three hours, see where we've got to,” Connell trousered his organiser.
“My recommendation,” Burnett's voice cut through the air. Connell's eyes narrowed. “My recommendation,” Burnett repeated, “Is that you advise the Prime Minister to cancel PMQs and join us here immediately.”
Connell's face showed frank amazement. “Based on your intelligence, we might have stopped the country three times already this year. This latest report–”
“A report which will be on your desk within the hour,” Burnett interrupted smoothly. “Copies are also being sent to the Attorney General, under Privy Seal, and the heads of JTAC and MI6. Copies of a report – not a dossier – written by my service officers and otherwise unedited.”
Connell blanched at this last word. Everyone knew what Burnett was talking about. Forced to pause, he looked furious. Like most bullies, the only fists he liked to see were his own. For a moment he
was speechless. White watched, fascinated. Burnett continued before Connell managed a reply.
“Some say the word intelligence in our service name is an oxymoron.” Burnett smiled at Connell, a wide engaging smile, as if meeting him for the first time. “I don't think so. We learn from our mistakes. I understand your need for our intelligence – particularly regarding the very serious threats posed by WMD. You need to be properly advised on courses of action you have already,” she looked down at the table then gave her head a little shake, as if freeing it of a small regret, “Have not yet decided upon. Be assured that the report you and others will receive will be the best, untampered-with advice we have. I give you my word on that.” Burnett’s follow-up punches appeared to thump the remaining wind right out of Connell. Finally he managed a reply. “Frances, you're sticking your neck out a bit on this one aren't you? You'd better be right.”
“In the senses you usually mean, I'm not sure being right matters that much.”
“Get over it,” Connell said savagely.
Burnett smiled again, the sweet, deadly smile of a well-bred Roedean schoolgirl. “If I'm wrong, I can always call for a public inquiry by a well-trained and titled judge asked to focus only on procedural mistakes. The fact that I was right or wrong, that the official reasons for war or public health are actually false or true, might get lost in the smoke don't you think?”
Connell blinked.
“I'd like to go over the medical data again,” Hammond said.
“Of course,” White said, shuffling paper.
There was a discreet tap at the conference door.
“Excuse me,” Hanratty poked his head into the room. He looked agitated. Burnett exchanged a glance with White and nodded to him to continue. She rose and left the room.
Connell stared at the projected slide of rising infections. He appeared unwilling to leave with a fight unfinished. “I can see I'm going to be the one clearing up this spooky mess again.”
Chapter 39
Garrett looked out through a barred window. The sky was darkening. Behind her, she knew Skyler was sitting on a bunk bed staring at a metal desk and chair.
“Who is that man?”