The Insulators

by John Creasey

  Gloria gave a funny little laugh. Her husband said hoarsely: “Goodbye, lass,” and rang off. Gloria put the receiver down slowly, and Palfrey saw the tears in her eyes: in those moments a pleasant-faced but ordinary-looking woman became quite beautiful. Soon, out of the tears and the passing beauty came a bubbling little laugh, and words came bubbling, too.

  “I don’t know what my Dad would have said, or Mum, for that matter.” Then she put her hands out to Palfrey. “You will look after my children, won’t you?”

  “As well as I possibly can,” Palfrey promised.

  She gripped his hands, looked into his face for a few seconds, and then asked: “Why do I seem to know you, doctor? Where have I seen you before?”

  “You’ve seen my photographs in the newspapers, you’ve seen me on television at times of crisis, only a few months ago when there was a great scare about women going barren—”

  “Oh, now I know!” she cried, her eyes lighting up. “And there are some books about you. You’re—Dr Palfrey!”

  “That’s right,” Palfrey said.

  “My goodness!” exclaimed Gloria Adamson. “It’s like mixing with the crowned heads!”

  And she looked happy – although her whole body might be impregnated with radioactive dust, and before long she might die.

  On the television screens of the nation that night she looked sad, wistful, scared perhaps, but always composed. When the pictures of her bathed in pale light were shown, she looked quite lovely; woman, as idealised by man; the body beautiful.

  Stefan Andromovitch watched, so did Joyce Morgan, so did nearly every man and woman and child in Great Britain. Only in a few of the main centres was there any life in the streets, even the heart of London, in Piccadilly, Leicester Square and Soho, seemed deserted. Waiters, chefs and kitchen staff, stood or sat by the empty tables, watching the screen.

  In the great houses of the land, people watched.

  In the big apartments and the houses of the rich, people dropped everything and watched.

  In the slum areas and the crowded places where the workers lived, everyone watched. And across Europe millions joined the watchers as the drama was played out, for it was relayed by Eurovision, while across the Atlantic millions watched as it was relayed by Telstar. In addition to these countless millions, hundreds of millions more listened to the simultaneous radio broadcast. Great crowds gathered in India and Pakistan, in Africa, in Russia and in China, as a commentator translated. The peoples of the whole world knew what was taking place; knew of the green dust and the horror it could mean; knew that all mankind was facing a common danger.

  Palfrey, who was commentating on television, linking up the various aspects of the situation, sensed what was happening. Gloria Adamson was transformed from being a simple wife and mother, into the hope of the world, representing the hopes not only of women but of man. The curious thing was that although most of the pictures had been taken when she was not aware of the significance of what she was doing, she was touched with some quality which carried into the homes and the hearts and the hopes of people.

  And Palfrey explained what had happened and how they, the authorities, had selected Gloria as the focal point of the investigation, now and again he explained in non-clinical language the nature of the tests. And he kept saying one thing in many different ways.

  “If Mrs Adamson is proved to be free of any effects of radioactivity, then we can be reasonably sure that we all are . . .

  “We are of course carrying out hundreds of similar tests, we shall not be guided simply by this one . . .”

  There would be shots of nuclear research stations, of laboratories where radioactive dust was harnessed and used to create nuclear energy, of scientists at work – as Philip Carr had worked so often, handling the deadly substance through thick windows, wearing every kind of protection needed; and there were other pictures, showing the great green clouds in the sky, showing the dust drifting downwards until it covered the fields and the rooftops and the streets and the people.

  “We have to face the fact that if this dust, which is lying thick over a huge swathe cut through the agricultural and industrial heart of England, is radioactive then we the people, everyone touched by the dust, is in grave danger. The ultimate situation could be worse even than that in Hiroshima, when the first atomic blast was so decisive in the war in the Far East. At the moment, no tests show that it is except in very occasional places near the source of the explosion. We cannot be absolutely sure that the radioactivity will not spread; that there is no latent radioactive dust in the green.”

  There would be pictures of men in protective clothing collecting small quantities of the green dust, of it being conveyed to research laboratories, of the use of the geiger counters.

  “This particular sample, taken over a month ago from dust inside a nuclear reactor station in the north of England, is radioactive . . .”

  There were the slow, deliberate movements of a research worker moving a geiger counter over the samples, and the suddenly crackling sound, and it was as if the whole world held its breath, and did not breathe until the same man moved the same instrument over some of the green dust. There was a faint, very faint rattle of sound, and the people of the world seemed to gasp for breath.

  “The strength of the radioactivity in this sample is very low, almost negligible,” Palfrey said, “but we cannot be sure there are not stronger concentrations. Here, for instance, is the same test being carried out on dust which was taken from the main site of the explosion. You will see that it is less green . . .”

  The geiger counter’s crackle was much louder, and fear came back into the hearts and the minds of men. As if to hold it in check, the picture switched to Gloria again; to doctors taking blood from the vein in the bend of her left arm . . . of a tiny piece of skin being removed from the back of her hand, under a local anaesthetic . . . of saliva being taken by a plastic tongue depressor, of mucus from a nostril.

  “If any of these samples reveal the presence of radioactivity in any form then we will have to accept the fact that all who were exposed to the suspected contamination are affected . . . If there are no indications then we have every reason to believe that everyone is clean . . . I have information which tells that seventy other people, undergoing the same tests as these on Mrs Adamson, are yielding the same results.”

  Pictures flashed on and off the screen, of other people undergoing various tests. Yet more showed the faces of the doctors and scientists involved, of the eagerness, indeed the hope that showed in faces which had been set in anxiety when the tests began. There was a change, too, in Palfrey’s expression as some reports were brought into the studio from which he was broadcasting. He read five, silently, and then he looked straight out at the millions of people who were watching and said: “I will read this report, which is typical of all that have just come in . . . There are no traces of radioactivity contamination on any of the people selected for test . . . There is none on Mrs Adamson or her children. And all the authorities concerned declare that if the contamination existed the tests carried out would be positive by now.”

  All over the world there was a great relief in the tension; all over the world people began to move from their seats, to look at each other and even to talk. And Palfrey appeared to be smiling with a relief which touched everyone in the studio. Then suddenly his expression changed and his voice grew sharper and he went on with great precision: “The dust was radioactive at the scene of the explosion. It now appears that it spread as far as an invisible cloud of some other dust, or some form of wave induced by men whose identity is not yet known. This other dust, or wave, cleansed the atmosphere and in so doing turned the dust green. These unknown men have now demonstrated their power to control radioactivity; earlier, they demonstrated their ability to control sound. They have made discoveries which can be of inestimable value to mankind, such knowledge should belong not to a group of individuals but its advantages should be made available throughout the wo
rld.

  “What we have seen is a demonstration of great power.

  “What we now need from these men is a demonstration of goodwill, the sharing of that power with all mankind.”

  13: The Power

  The picture on the screens faded; Palfrey’s voice faded, too. Yet everywhere in the world those last words echoed, and carved themselves deeply in the minds of men. The intellectuals and the sophisticated understood and retained what he had said word by word. Those who at one time would have scoffed at his call for ‘goodwill to all mankind’, the cynics and the sages, did not scoff, for they had been as fearful as anyone during the telecast; had been able to project their minds to the horror that had threatened. Moreover, they caught the implications in the words and in the tone of Palfrey’s voice: that had the insulation by wave or chemical not been thrown around the site of the explosion then the horror would have become real.

  And it could still become real. In some places, it was.

  For already inside the area of The Project men and women and cattle were dying, and others were very sick. Great blood spots appeared beneath the skin, an hour aged some victims by years. Great sickness fell upon them all, dreadful fevers, awful vomiting, loss of all vigour, even of the strength to move.

  Yet only a few yards from some who suffered so, others were untouched; that protective wall, or wave, had worked a miracle.

  The intellectuals, then, understood this; and understood that Palfrey had declared his own helplessness, at least for the time being. As fervently as he, they wanted the demonstration of goodwill.

  The ordinary people understood the need with equal depth of feeling. Many had a sense of doom, but most of great relief. They had come over the years to trust Palfrey in time of great danger and his presence on the screen had given them even greater reason to trust him. Among the people of simplicity, the meek, the naive, there was deep trust in some power behind Palfrey. Some called this God, and others goodness and others could hardly define their feeling but only that there existed a protective arm, and that in some strange way Palfrey could call upon it for protection.

  Palfrey himself felt a strange mixture of relief and tension.

  He went with Gloria to a rendezvous already arranged with her husband, between Coventry and Nuneaton, in a farmhouse taken over by Z5. He was not surprised to find James Adamson a solid, stocky man with a jutting chin and very bright, direct eyes.

  “So it wasn’t a waste of time,” he said to Palfrey.

  “Nothing has ever been more valuable,” Palfrey said.

  “You won’t want Glory again, will you?”

  “I don’t expect to,” Palfrey said, “except for daily check-ups for a while.” He smiled faintly. “There will be no more demonstrations.”

  Adamson chuckled, tucked his wife’s arm beneath his, and turned towards the waiting car. Palfrey went back into the farmhouse, where he was in direct radio contact with Z5’s London headquarters. He called Joyce, and Stefan answered for her. “She’s sleeping, Sap,” he said. “I discovered that she hadn’t slept for nearly twenty-four hours. Do you need her urgently?”

  “Let her sleep,” Palfrey said. “What has the general reaction been?”

  “Uniformly good,” Stefan told him, and added with a chuckle in his voice: “Even the Kremlin sent a message of congratulation. But—”

  “They want to know more about the power of The Project and if there is one in Russia,” Palfrey interrupted.

  “You cannot imagine how desperately they want information,” answered Stefan. “They want to know how great the power is. They cannot quite conceive that any individual or any group of individuals possess as much power as these men seem to have.” When Palfrey didn’t answer, he went on: “I will study each report from overseas as it comes in, and have a precis ready for you when you get back. Do you yet know when I can expect you?”

  “No,” Palfrey said. “But within two hours, I hope. Stefan—”

  “Yes?”

  “Has there been any word at all from The Project?”

  Even as he uttered the words he knew the folly of them. Had there been the slightest hint of a message from the leaders of The Project, it would have been the first thing Stefan would have told him. He was asking for the moon, betraying his desperate need to meet and discuss the situation with the VIPs who had given such an overwhelming demonstration of their power.

  “None,” Stefan said, simply.

  “Is Philip there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is his reaction?”

  “Admiration for you and fear for his Janey.”

  “Ah,” Palfrey said. “Fear for her.”

  “He thinks that she must have died in the explosion,” said Stefan. “That only the most important people in The Project would have been taken to safety and he doesn’t see any reason why she should be considered of such importance. But he has rested, Sap, and is anxious to know what he can do.” When Palfrey didn’t reply, Stefan went on: “The vital need is to contact the leaders of The Project.”

  “Yes,” Palfrey said. “Yes. And the only hope seems to be finding out where they are. If they were so anxious not to have their secrets discovered that they destroyed the whole plant, and most of the brilliant men in it, we can be absolutely sure the research has been duplicated elsewhere. There are other plants and other research workers.”

  “Yes,” Stefan agreed. “It was always likely that there was more than one Project – unlikely that such experiments and research would depend on the security of one plant. And it was always probable that we were dealing with evil men. It did not take the cold-blooded murder of all who were at The Project here to tell us how ruthless they are.”

  “The question is, how much power do they have,” Palfrey said, heavily.

  An hour later, he started out for London.

  That was the time when Gloria was looking into her husband’s craggy face, feeling the warmth and weight of his arms. He was asleep, for half an hour and more he had been on the point of dropping off. The children were asleep in the room they shared, the excitements of the day forgotten.

  It was the time when the cordon of soldiers, police and civil defence workers reached the area of destruction; on one side of an invisible wall, there was no evidence of atomic radiation. On the other side the radiation was concentrated sometimes to over 1,000 rontgens. Experts from all over the world arrived at a base camp in a village which had escaped total destruction, but which had been evacuated.

  And it was the time when most of the people of England slept . . . The time when Philip Carr went over his written report time and time again . . . When messages began to come into the Operations Room of Z5 from different agents, with reports of the arrival of jet planes with vertical take-off and landing. One landed without permission at Boston airport and twelve passengers and crew, and took off at once in a privately owned conventional aircraft, also without control tower authority. All attempts to trace it by radar or reconnaissance aircraft failed. The report said: “Immediately after take-off, much sooner than usual, all sight and sound of the aircraft disappeared.”

  There was a similar report from Cape Town, South Africa; a third in Perth, Western Australia, one from New Delhi, another from Buenos Aires. In every case, landing was so fast and the transfer to the other aircraft so quickly done that the authorities could not even delay them.

  A report came from Siberia . . .

  Stefan was studying this as Palfrey was being driven through the streets of the West End of London, towards the Elite Hotel, in Piccadilly. Behind the new luxury hotel were the narrow streets, and the old and new buildings of London; across Piccadilly itself was Green Park, and beyond, Buckingham Palace and St James’ Park. His car pulled up outside the main entrance, in a side street off Piccadilly, and his Jamaican driver jumped out and opened the door.

  “Are you all right, Dr Palfrey?”

  “Fine, Miki, thanks.”

  “Do you know we’ve been followed?” The
Jamaican’s face seemed very shiny in the street lamp, his eyes were bright, but his voice was low-pitched and he hardly moved his lips.

  “And I think whoever is following me has been followed too,” Palfrey replied.

  “That’s one sure thing,” said the Jamaican, his teeth flashing. “You know what you’re doing, sir!”

  Palfrey smiled, and turned towards the hotel, and wondered. He had known that he might be followed, of course, and also that Z5 agents had tailed the following car. There was some comfort in the knowledge that Project workers were now watching him closely; it suggested that they might want to talk to him. He had uttered those last words on television in a near-desperate appeal: “Let us talk.” But there was not yet the slightest hint of response, unless it was that the cue had been followed.

  He went into the brightly lit foyer of the hotel. Pale-faced night porters stood about; a well-dressed man was dozing in an easy chair. The bar was still open but he saw only one man sitting at it. He walked to the elevators and stepped into one which took him to the second floor, stepped out, and entered another, opposite, which took him downwards. The general means of access to the headquarters of Z5 varied frequently, so that no one who discovered the entrance during one period could get access to it during another. He had not been followed into the hotel, but any of the porters or the man drowsing or the man at the bar might be an agent of The Project.

  The lift stopped at the first of three floors built deep into the earth. This was the main staff and offices floor, with some sleeping accommodation; the one below was the main Operations Floor, which had his own office and his apartment, as well as Joyce Morgan’s; and it was where Stefan would stay. Below were the laboratories. Some detention cells, waiting rooms: here the organisation had to use pressure force, even torture to win vital information. There were times when he would lie sleepless for hours debating the moral issues involved; but always he concluded that these hateful methods were necessary at times of extreme danger. What a sickening world it was!