Crisis

by Ken McClure

  ‘Much better.’

  ‘You’d better get some sleep.’

  Bannerman nodded.

  ‘You look all in,’ said Shona, coming over to him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘See you in the morning.’

  For once the weather was kind to them. The sun shone down on Stobmor from a blue sky and fluffy white clouds raced each other in a stiff breeze. There was a strong smell of the sea in the air as Bannerman loaded the polystyrene box containing the samples into the boot of the car and checked that it wasn’t leaking. He had opened it earlier to replace the ice.

  Shona and Bannerman made good time on the journey down to Edinburgh, stopping only twice on the way. Once to have lunch and fill the tank with petrol and the second time to have coffee and stretch their legs in mid-afternoon. Bannerman phoned the Medical Research Council to keep them appraised of his whereabouts.

  Once in Edinburgh, they booked in to a small hotel on the south side of the city and Bannerman called Hector Munro at the Neurobiology Unit.

  ‘Can I bring the samples over?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re all waiting,’ replied Munro. He gave Bannerman directions on how to find the unit which was situated in the university’s science complex at Kings Buildings in West Mains Road. Before he left, he thought it polite to call Morag Napier at the university medical school and tell her that he had succeeded in getting some infected brain samples.

  That’s good news,’ said Morag. ‘How did you manage it?’

  Bannerman told her about the sheep carcass that had escaped the lime pit.

  ‘What a piece of luck,’ said Morag. ‘Will you set up the tests yourself?’

  Bannerman said that he was giving them to Munro at the Neurobiology Unit but if she would like some to complete the mouse experiments that her department had started then he would see to it that some tissue was sent to her.

  ‘Thank you Doctor,’ replied Morag. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what tests you are asking Dr Munro to do so that we don’t duplicate our efforts?’

  Bannerman said that a stained brain section was a first priority. Subsequent tests would depend very much on that.

  ‘Call me when you know,’ said Morag. Bannerman said that he would.

  Bannerman spoke into the grille at the side of the entrance door and said who he was. The electric security latch was energized, arid he was allowed to enter. At the top of the stairs he met Hector Munro, who was waiting to greet him.

  ‘Whatever happened to you?’ exclaimed Munro, when he saw Bannerman’s face.

  ‘A long story,’ said Bannerman, ‘and it would do me no good to relate it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.’ He handed over the polystyrene package containing the sheep samples.

  This is exciting,’ said Munro. ‘Will you wait for the brain section report?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ smiled Bannerman. The samples were taken away by two technicians who had been briefed on what was to be done to them.

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Munro. ‘Please.’ As the two men sipped their coffee in Munro’s office, Bannerman broached the subject of the MRC report on brain disease. He told Munro what Milne had said about classifying the Achnagelloch agent as a new virus. Munro smiled and said, ‘I suppose he’s right in a way. We can hardly classify this thing as a slow virus if it has an incubation time of two to three weeks.’

  ‘But the point is that it is a form of Scrapie’ insisted Bannerman.

  ‘We’ve yet to prove that,’ said Munro.

  ‘Agreed,’ conceded Bannerman. ‘But if your tests show that to be the case, can I count on your support in making the point forcibly to the government?’

  Munro looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee cup. Take on the government?’ he said. ‘And the farmers? You’re not asking much are you.’

  ‘All I’m asking is that we tell the truth,’ said Bannerman.

  ‘Ah yes, the truth,’ said Munro slowly. ‘Wouldst it were so simple.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ asked Bannerman.

  ‘I don’t think it is. We have to consider what is right in this case as well as what the truth of the matter is. We are talking about half-a-dozen deaths here, probably as a result of some freak, biological accident. Against that, we have the whole future of the meat trade in this country.’

  ‘But if it has happened once it could happen again.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Munro, looking down at his desk.

  ‘Then I can’t count on your support?’

  ‘Look around you, Doctor; this unit exists on government grants …’

  Bannerman smiled ruefully.

  ‘Let’s wait and see what the tests tell us,’ said Munro.

  Bannerman nodded with an air of resignation.

  The buzzer on Munro’s internal phone sounded. He answered it and held a brief conversation before saying to Bannerman, ‘Excuse me, there’s a problem.’

  Munro returned ten minutes later and stood in the doorway of his office. He said, ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this.’

  Bannerman turned to face him.

  ‘My people have done a couple of brain sections …’

  ‘And?’ asked Bannerman.

  ‘They’re quite normal. No sign of Scrapie damage at all.’

  ‘But that’s impossible!’ protested Bannerman. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  Munro led the way through to a laboratory where one of the sections was set up under the microscope. Bannerman sat down and examined the preparation for himself. It seemed perfectly healthy. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ he murmured.

  ‘We’ve also carried out an antibody test for Scrapie associated fibrils. It was negative.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Bannerman, feeling utterly deflated.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Munro, removing the slide from the microscope. ‘Back to the drawing-board.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ stormed Bannerman.

  ‘I think you have to,’ soothed Shona. ‘Unless you are going to suggest that Dr Munro is part of the conspiracy to cover this thing up.’

  Bannerman looked at her and Shona regretted having said it when she saw Bannerman was seriously considering the possibility. ‘The other samples!’ he said.

  ‘What other samples?’ asked Shona.

  ‘I kept some back to give to Morag Napier at the medical school for ethical reasons. I could do some preps myself!’

  ‘Aren’t you being a little paranoid about this?’ ventured Shona.

  Bannerman thought for a moment before saying, ‘I just cannot believe that three men died after eating this sheep and the sheep had nothing to do with it.’

  Shona conceded that he had a point. ‘Do what you have to do,’ she said.

  It was just after eight in the evening when Bannerman drove into the quadrangle at the medical school. He was counting on the fact that most of the staff would have left by now and probably only the duty technicians and perhaps a night security man would be around. He did not want to explain why he was repeating tests that Munro’s people had already carried out.

  Having been a recent visitor, the technician who answered the bell recognized him and let him in without question. ‘Working late, Doctor?’ the girl asked. She hadn’t realized that he had been away.

  ‘A couple of hours,’ smiled Bannerman.

  Bannerman turned the corner at the end of the ground floor corridor and found himself face to face with Morag Napier.

  ‘Dr Bannerman?’ she exclaimed. This is a surprise.’

  ‘I was hoping I might catch you,’ said Bannerman, recovering well from his shock.

  Morag had on her coat and was obviously just about to leave. ‘What can I do for you, Doctor?’ she asked.

  Bannerman came clean about the tests. ‘Munro’s people found no sign of Scrapie infection at all,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to be absolutely sure.’ ‘I’ll help you,’ said Morag, taking off her coat. “There’s really no need,’ insisted Bannerman. ‘I can manage if you don’t mind me
using your lab?’ Bannerman felt uncomfortable, knowing that Morag must have worked out that that was what he had intended doing anyway.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ said Morag. ‘It’ll be quicker if I help, and I wasn’t doing anything this evening anyway. My fiance is away at the moment.’

  That’s very kind of you,’ said Bannerman. ‘I appreciate it.’ He removed the brain sample vial from his pocket and handed it to her. They walked back to her lab and she laid the sample down on the bench while she donned her lab coat and put on surgical gloves. Bannerman felt a tingle of anticipation grow inside him as he watched Morag prepare the section. ‘I just find it so hard to believe that there was no sign of infection,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure this came from one of the infected sheep?’ asked Morag. ‘Yes,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Then we’ll see,’ said Morag.

  Bannerman grew nervous as they waited for the final staining procedure to complete. After a few minutes the electric timer sounded and Morag rinsed away the stain with fresh distilled water. He was pleased to see her hasten the drying procedure by placing the slide under the bulb of an anglepoise lamp for a couple of minutes instead of allowing it to dry naturally in the air like all the books said.

  ‘Now then,’ Morag murmured, as she set up the slide under the microscope and adjusted the focus. ‘Let’s see what we have here …’

  It took less than thirty seconds for the feelings of excitement to die inside Bannerman. He read the expression on Morag’s face as she got up to let him take a look for himself. Each new field he turned to confirmed what Munro had said. He was looking at normal, healthy brain tissue.

  Bannerman had been angry and confused when Munro’s people had come to this conclusion, but now he was just thoroughly fed up. He jettisoned the slide into a contaminated-waste container and let his head slump forward on his chest for a moment while he thought.

  ‘Most peculiar,’ said Morag.

  ‘I just don’t understand,’ said Bannerman.

  ‘If you have another sample with you I could set up animal tests,’ said Morag. ‘Maybe this animal was at a very early stage of infection. Perhaps it’s just not showing up on section analysis.’

  ‘I don’t have another one with me,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ll bring one in tomorrow if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course. Did Dr Munro set up animal tests?’ asked Morag.

  Bannerman shook his head. ‘I was so disappointed at the section result I forgot to leave him a sample,’ he confessed.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Morag sympathetically. ‘I’ll send up a full range.’

  Bannerman thanked Morag for her help and wished her goodnight. It started to rain as he crossed the quadrangle to get into his car.

  Bannerman was on his second gin and tonic in the hotel bar before he realized how badly he was behaving towards Shona. He had hardly said a word to her since his return. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was just such a disappointment. I can’t stop thinking about it.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Shona, giving his arm a squeeze. ‘Why don’t you get plastered. You deserve it.’

  Despite promising not to, Bannerman periodically returned to the subject of the sheep brain, expressing disbelief that fate could be so cruel.

  ‘You’ll just have to accept it,’ said Shona. This particular sheep didn’t poison the men.’

  Bannerman stared at the glass on the table and said slowly, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, you’d just have to accept it,’ said Shona.

  ‘No, the rest,’ insisted Bannerman.

  ‘I said the sheep didn’t poison the men, why?’

  ‘You used the word “poison”. I’d forgotten all about the possibility of chemical mutagenesis of the virus!’ said Bannerman. He got up from his chair, left the bar and ran upstairs. He came back down with his coat on and his hands searching through his pockets for his car keys. Shona watched him in the hall with wide eyes. ‘I won’t be long, I’ll explain later,’ he said.

  Bannerman disappeared through the front door leaving Shona wondering what on earth was going on. Within seconds, he had reappeared in the doorway and was looking embarrassed. ‘I’ve had rather a lot to drink,’ he said. ‘Will you drive?’

  ‘Don’t I always?’ said Shona, holding out her hand for the keys.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she started the car.

  ‘The Royal Infirmary.’

  Shona stopped the car outside a shop that was still open. She got out without saying anything and returned a few minutes later with some chewing gum and a packet of peppermint sweets. ‘Eat,’ she said, handing them over. ‘If you go into the infirmary smelling like a distillery they’ll call the police. Now say after me, the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog …’

  ‘That’s for typists,’ protested Bannerman.

  ‘It’ll do, clever dick!’

  ‘The … quick… brown fox… jumped over the lashey dog.’

  ‘Close,’ sighed Shona. ‘Again!’

  Bannerman continued with his elocution practice until they reached the hospital.

  ‘Remember,’ said Shona. ‘Speak slowly and don’t get excited. Do you have your ID?’

  Bannerman checked his inside pocket and said that he had. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said and disappeared inside the building. He returned fifteen minutes later.

  ‘Did they agree to do what you wanted?’ asked Shona.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bannerman. They agreed. I’ll know tomorrow. Thanks Shona.’ He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

  ‘Peppermint,’ she said. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this is about?’

  ‘I used to be a great fan of old war films,’ said Bannerman.

  ‘So what?’ said Shona.

  There used to come a point in just about all of them when someone would say, “It’s a long shot but it might just work.” Well, this is my moment.’

  ‘I see,’ said Shona with an inflection in her voice that made it clear that she didn’t.

  Next morning, as they walked through Holyrood Park after breakfast, Shona asked Bannerman when he would call the hospital. ‘After lunch,’ he replied. ‘What exactly did you ask them to do?’ The Royal Infirmary has a poisons reference laboratory. When you used the word “poison” last night it made me realize that chemical involvement was something I hadn’t really considered. The presence of the power station had blinkered me to everything except radiation as a cause of mutation. I had a look around the barn at the farm but that’s about all.’

  ‘So you think that the Scrapie virus was altered by some chemical agent?’ said Shona, without much enthusiasm.

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Bannerman. ‘But, unlike radiation damage, traces of the chemical might be present in the tissue samples.’

  ‘But there was no sign of Scrapie in the brain samples yesterday,’ said Shona.

  ‘It occurred to me that the mutant virus acts so quickly that there wouldn’t be time for the brain pathology to develop the signs that we normally associate with Scrapie. That’s why the slides appeared normal yesterday! But if the samples are injected into mice I bet they’ll be dead within days.’

  ‘But the slides that were sent to London showed typical Scrapie brain damage,’ protested Shona.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Bannerman, thoughtfully. The slides that Gill sent us. I think I just might be able to explain that too.’

  Their walk took them down past Holyrood Palace where the Royal Family would stay when in the Scottish capital. At the moment only a handful of workmen were in evidence in the courtyard which, in the summer months, would be thronged with tourists anxious to be led through the rooms where Mary Queen of Scots had once collected her tears in a small glass bottle. They came back on to the high road which climbed up the side of Arthur’s Seat, the hill — an extinct volcano — which lay like a recumbent lion in the park. Several joggers from the nearby university halls of residence complex passed them by as they stopped to admire the view acr
oss the Firth of Forth to Fife, and the Kinross Hills beyond.

  ‘You haven’t explained how the first slides were different,’ said Shona.

  ‘I think there was something wrong with them,’ said Bannerman. ‘I think that’s why Gill tried to send the brains to the MRC when he was on the run.’

  They stopped on the south side of the hill to look down at Duddingston Loch, a nature reserve which was clad in the grey hues of winter. A few ducks paddled their way through the reed beds like busy tug boats while two swans sailed serenely past in open water, too elegant to notice. ‘What was wrong with them?’ ‘I don’t want to say just yet. I need to think.’ ‘We haven’t talked about us,’ said Shona. ‘I know,’ said Bannerman. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ confessed Bannerman. ‘I don’t know where we go from here. Do you?’

  Shona smiled and Bannerman asked her why. ‘Like I said,’ she replied, ‘the easy way is never for you.’

  ‘What is the easy way, Shona?’

  ‘Follow your heart,’ said Shona.

  Bannerman opened his mouth to reply but Shona put her index finger on his lips. ‘Ssh!’ she said softly. ‘You are about to tell me that it isn’t that easy. Don’t.’

  Shona made to walk on but Bannerman called after her. She turned round and Bannerman said, ‘I do love you, you know, very much.’

  ‘I know,’ said Shona.

  They turned to the hotel to be met in the lobby by two men in dark suits. Bannerman had noticed the desk clerk nod to them as he came through the door.

  ‘Dr Bannerman?’

  Bannerman nodded.

  One of the men flicked open an ID wallet and Bannerman saw the photograph and read the name.

  ‘I’m Inspector Morris. This is Sergeant West. We’re from Special Branch.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Bannerman, quite bemused.

  ‘We’d like you to come with us, sir,’ said Morris.

  ‘Am I being arrested?’ exclaimed Bannerman.

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Morris evenly. ‘We’d just like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Later, sir.’

  Bannerman shrugged his apologies to Shona. ‘When will I be back?’ he asked Morris.