‘Where d’you get the money from?’ she asked. ‘It’s more than I thought there’d be.’
He flicked to another part of the disc. ‘I suppose around £600 a year from subs – eventually. The rest comes from sponsorship or donations from local firms, and our charity shop. Half of everything we get goes straight to Headquarters in Bristol.’
‘You’ve got a charity shop? Whereabouts?’
‘Ashill,’ he said. ‘Of course, you don’t know Exeter, but it’s the grotty end.’ He went on, ‘There’s a pecking order in most towns – Oxfam always gets the best site, followed by Cancer Research, Save The Children, then local hospices, and so on. We’re at the bottom of the heap.’
‘You still make money, though,’ she said, studying the screen.
‘Nothing like as much as Oxfam,’ he said drily.
‘I must go and have a look. I’m a charity shop addict,’ she added, which was true, to an extent.
He showed her how the money was moved between accounts, then gave her the disks, chequebooks, paying-in books and all the correspondence from the bank.
‘So what did you make of us all yesterday?’ he asked.
She pretended to think… ‘Pretty good,’ she said. ‘I like the commitment, and the way you get things done, especially the forum on starvation and slavery. The only thing that bothered me…’ she hesitated… ‘was the vehemence over… Open Door, is it?’
He smiled thinly. ‘It’s our Achilles’ heel,’ he said.
She asked what he meant and he explained how it had threatened to split the whole movement, their branch in particular. ‘Most people don’t mind stumping up a bit for starving children, but try and link it to immigration and it’s a turn off. A controversy we can do without.’
He told her how every time they’d healed the rift and come to an agreement to be neutral on it, Open Door would make some new proposal, usually through Hannah, that the two groups work together on something. ‘I wish they wouldn’t, and I do wish she wouldn’t keep falling for it, sometimes I think they’re doing it deliberately –’
He broke off and changed the subject by asking her how she’d first got interested in Africa.
‘Bob Geldoff,’ she said.
‘Ah, the sainted Sir Bob – no,’ he said hastily, ‘I’m not knocking him… As he said Why is this man hungry? Why has he no food? To a country where we’ve got too much of it.’ He patted his own waistline self-consciously.
She said, ‘I was only a girl at the time, but we were learning about slavery at school and even then I could put the two together – we really owe them big time and anything I can do to help people see that…’
She tailed off as though embarrassed by her own vehemence, then said, ‘What about you?’
‘VSO,’ he said. ‘Voluntary Service Overseas. The things I saw there…’ his eyes slid away and the smile in them faded…
She waited to see if he’d elaborate, but he clearly didn’t want to, so she changed the subject again, asking him about his house was it from the thirties? She’d thought so from the fireplace. Did it have a big garden?
‘Almost too big. Takes a lot of time just to stop it reverting to jungle. Are you a gardener?’
‘I was – but you don’t get much garden with a flat, unfortunately.’
They chatted a bit longer, then he asked if she wanted some more tea, which she took as a hint to leave.
‘No thanks, but I wouldn’t mind the loo before I go.’
He led her to the hall. ‘Up there – hang on, the racket’s stopped, which probably mean’s Ruthie’s in the bathroom… Yes, come through here…’
He led her through the kitchen to the utility room. ‘In there,’ he said, pointing to a door.
She went in and locked it. Waited a few minutes, then pulled the flush and let herself out… Good, he’d gone.
She quickly explored. One room off, dusty, filled with bikes… another, filled with junk… she couldn’t see any others, and no cellar…
Back through the kitchen… no sign of any other rooms going off there… past the living room where Dawn was ensconced with the telly… she stood for a moment looking up the stairs… she could see a hatchway in the ceiling about two and a half feet square… loft, how big would it be… ?
She heard stirring from the dining room and went in. Alan had stood up from the computer.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
He told her she was welcome and saw her to the door. Like Marc, he stood in the doorway while she drove off.
So, she thought as she drove back, no secret lab downstairs (unless it was incredibly well hidden) and she couldn’t imagine one upstairs with Ruthie still at home and the others regularly coming back… unless it was in the loft… unlikely, she thought, which left the garden shed. She’d have to come back one night and look.
Back in her flat, she emailed the discs to Brigg, then phoned and told him what she’d learned, both from Alan and the snooping.
‘Bottom line is you don’t think there’s a lab hidden there?’ he said.
‘No, although I’ll check the shed later.’
‘What about this schism with Open Door, is that relevant?’
‘I can’t see how, and I can’t imagine our perps would want to draw attention to themselves by going on about it.’
‘You’re thinking about Hannah Bell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, as it happens, she’s got form.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, it seems that she was an active member of the Anti-Nazi Alliance at university – and I do mean active – she was arrested for organising an attack on a BNP rally.’
‘Well, no one likes the BNP.’
‘She really attacked them, and incidentally managed to knee one of our finest in the gonads while he was trying to pull her off. Bang on target, apparently.’
‘What did she get?’
‘Oh, she grovelled to the magistrates and was bound over.’
‘Must’ve been a good grovel. Anything more recent?’
There wasn’t. She told him she’d look at the charity shop tomorrow and he said he’d get the names she’d given him into the system.
*
The BTA charity shop was, as Alan had said, at the economy end of town. It was on a main road, but out of the centre, the sort of place only devotees or the impoverished would know about. Quality of wares and prices were commensurate.
The clothes were clean and sound enough, but had mostly been cheap in the first place. Bric-a-brac and ornaments were execrable in the main, and the paperbacks dog-eared. It was run by two middle-aged ladies called Rose and Mary. They seemed to be joined at the hip and Rebecca wondered if they were known collectively as Rosemary.
She introduced herself as the new treasurer and asked if she could have a look around. Rose said she thought it would be all right and Mary tentatively asked for some ID.
Suppressing a smile as she wondered what affect her warrant card would have, Rebecca produced a credit card.
‘You could always ring Marc Bell if you’re still not sure,’ she said.
They decided to accept the card and Rose showed her round. The two rooms at the back were used for storage and sorting, and there were also a small kitchen, loo and a back entrance that led to a yard. There were three cars parked in it.
‘It’s where we take deliveries,’ Rose said.
‘What’s that?’ Rebecca asked, pointing to a solid iron stairway going half way up the back of the house.
‘Oh, that’s the upstairs flat. The stairs inside have been sealed off, and that’s how they get in.’
‘Anyone living there now?’
‘Oh yes, a nice young couple with a baby.’
Rebecca wondered what ‘‘Elf ‘n’ Safety’ would think about carrying a baby up the steps, but didn’t say anything. They went back inside where Rose showed her the sealed-up door to the stairs. Opposite was another door, locked. She asked where it went. Rosemary looked at each other and Ma
ry said, ‘The basement, I think.’
‘Is it used?’ Rebecca asked.
They didn’t think so. Why?
Just curious.
She looked around a bit more. There was a keypad just inside the front door, presumably an alarm of the sort you have to mute after you’ve opened the door. She surreptitiously studied it, but it didn’t seem to have been used much.
She wandered to the back rooms again and looked at the door there… another keypad, but here, three digits were grubby – 0, 1 & 6.
1066, she thought. But why did they use the back to get in rather than the front? Because that’s where they parked their cars, dumbo…
There were two locks - a Yale and a conventional lock with the door handle. She bought a couple of books, declined the offer of tea, thanked them and left. She returned to the flat and called Brigg.
‘It’s ideal,’ she said. ‘Rose and Mary lock up in the evening, and the perps come in at night or on Sundays and work in the basement.’
‘What about the couple in the flat, are they involved?’
She hesitated… ‘You wouldn’t think so, not with a baby.’
‘No. Pretty dangerous anyway, isn’t it? Working on live smallpox in a basement…’
‘Maybe not if they’d got themselves vaccinated… I’ll talk to Herry.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll take a look.’
Chapter 7
After the SCRUB meeting on Monday, with banana skins in mind, I went through my Green Bag, since I’d told the others to make sure theirs were up to date. We all had a Green Bag, which held our personal protection equipment such as disposable gowns, gloves, masks, overshoes etc. I kept mine in my office.
The portable equipment for managing patients at the scene of an outbreak was kept in Red Bags, which were stored on Ward Seven – the isolation ward that had been designated in case of a smallpox outbreak. Roland, as Consultant in Infectious Diseases, was responsible for these, and I’d told him to make sure they were all checked. I’d check on his checking later.
I didn’t hear any more from Rebecca, so spent Tuesday and Wednesday catching up with my routine. My department handled all the medical virology investigations in the area, which made me responsible for all the reports we issued. When I was away, Caroline or James signed them, but when I was there, I went through them myself.
On Thursday afternoon, I was due to give a lecture to a group of housemen, and was looking through my notes and PowerPoints late in the morning when Rebecca phoned.
‘I need to see you,’ she said. ‘Can I come this afternoon?’
‘Difficult,’ I said, and told her about the lecture. ‘How about now?’
‘All right,’ she said, ‘half an hour. Can I be shown straight to your office? I don’t want to be seen hanging round.’
I told her yes, then went to arrange it with the receptionist.
She was punctual to the minute. She was wearing jeans and a rather nice coat. Not expensive nice, it just suited her rather well.
‘Sorry to be so cloak and dagger,’ she said when she’d sat down, ‘but it would be just my luck to be seen here by one of the BTA members.’
‘You could always say your doctor told you to bring in a sample.’
She smiled. ‘That’s exactly what I was going to say, but I’d rather not. Anyway, the list of virologists you gave me, I’ve compared them to the Exeter BTA membership list and didn’t get any hits. Have you got any more names from Tim yet?’
I told her he’d be bringing them in tomorrow.
‘Can you ring him now and ask?’
I got his answerphone and left a message.
She said, ‘While we’re waiting, can I pick your brains?’
I smiled. ‘Sure.’
She gathered her thoughts... ‘You told me on Friday that although Tim felt they were probably using a bona fide lab somewhere, you thought it just as likely they had a hidden lab of their own. Do you still think that?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘How big would it need to be?’
I looked round my room. ‘Oh, say half the size of this. Ten by ten.’
‘And that would hold all the equipment on the list you gave me?’
‘Just about.’
‘Is it all fairly easy to get hold of, or could you do without some of it?’
I found my own copy of the list and we went through it.
‘Incubator – that’s easy enough, they’re only glorified ovens. ‘Fridge, freezer, electricity to run them, and gas as well, for a Bunsen…’
‘Would bottled gas do?’
‘A camping stove’d do. They’d need a microscope, that’s fairly easy, but then it gets trickier – cell lines for growing the virus, cell growth media, but a virologist wouldn’t have much trouble getting hold of them.’
She said, ‘I thought the virus grew in hen’s eggs?’
‘It does.’
‘Then why the cell lines?’
I thought about how best to put it. ‘Viruses are parasites, all of them. They have to have a living cell to grow in. In nature, that’s us, or some other animal or plant. A fertilised egg’s a cell, but Variola’s quite unusual in growing in a hen’s egg.’
Her brow furrowed as she took it in.
I went on, ‘To grow viruses in any quantity, you first have to grow a layer of animal cells, on a slide or the inside of a test tube, and then infect that with the virus.’
‘So an egg won’t do?’
‘An egg’s fine to demonstrate the virus, but to grow it in any kind of numbers, you need to have a cell line.’
‘What kind of cells?’
‘Mostly from human or monkey tissue – I’ll show you if you like –’ I started to get up, but she shook her head.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘OK.’ I sat down again. ‘You’d also need a macerator, that’s something to chop up the cells and release the virus. At that stage, you’d really want a centrifuge to separate the virus out, although you could probably manage without. And then an aerosol producer of some kind to spread it – something like a hairspray would do.’
She stared at me… ‘So you’d just spray it around and people would breath it in and catch it?’
‘Oh, you’d want somewhere enclosed, like an office block or a nice crowded department store. You’d probably try and put it in the air conditioning, or something like that.’
‘But you could just spray it around?’
‘Sure, although some of the customers might wonder what you were up to.’
She thought about this, then, ‘OK, you’ve sprayed it around somehow, how long before people start going down with smallpox?’
At least ten days, I told her.
‘That long?’
‘And they wouldn’t even know they had smallpox at that stage, they’d think they’d got a bad dose of ‘flu. The spots don’t come out for another three or four days.’
‘So it would be two weeks before you saw any cases?’
‘At least.’
‘But meanwhile, other people could catch it from them?’
‘Oh, they could and would –’
The phone rang. It was Tim. He had a list of names and I wrote them down as he recited them. I asked how he was getting on.
‘Nearly done,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’
I rang off and gave the names to Rebecca, who put them in her bag.
‘I’ll check them later,’ she said. She picked up the equipment list again. ‘What about this? Safety Cabinet – is that what you were telling me about on Friday?’
I explained what it was and how it worked.
‘So that’s the only problem really with the hidden lab?’ she said.
‘It’s quite a problem, you wouldn’t want to try growing Variola in your kitchen – there’d be a real risk of infecting yourself, and your family, if you had one.’
‘What about a cellar?’
I said, �
��Yes, that’d probably work… d’you have one in mind?’
She nodded.
‘Where?’ I asked, and she told me about the charity shop and its locked up basement… It was the first time I could remember seeing her really animated, the thrill of the chase, I suppose. It made her face come alive.
‘So what will you do?’ I asked. ‘Raid it?’
A shake of the head. ‘If I was wrong, it’d warn them and they’d get the real place covered up. I’ve got to break in myself and have a look.’
‘How’re you going to manage that?’
‘Oh, getting in’s easy enough,’ she said. ‘The problem is knowing what to look for. That’s why I need you to come with me.’
I stared at her…
Chapter 8
‘Oh no,’ I said as it sank in. ‘No. You’re the spook, you do the breaking and entering. If you need help, use your colleague in Plymouth or wherever.’
‘They wouldn’t know what to look for any more than me.’
‘You’d recognise a microscope, surely?’
‘I really don’t know… and what if they didn’t leave it there? I might recognise an oven, and a “fridge/freezer”, but so what? There could be all sorts of reasons for them being there.’
I said, ‘I still think you’d recognise a laboratory if you saw one.’
‘Suppose I found something I thought was a laboratory, I’d still have to get you to come and see it… Look, it’s simply a matter of getting into the shop, going down to the basement and you taking a look –’
‘No,’ I interrupted her, ‘it’s not simply a matter of anything. For a start, you’d have to put on protective clothing before you went down there –’
‘Why? I’ve been vaccinated.’
‘Because you might bring something back up with you, that’s why.’
‘I rest my case.’ she said. ‘You’ve just given me a perfectly good reason why I need you there – I wouldn’t have thought of that. And I do seem to remember that you agreed with the boss to help me when I needed it…’
I stared at her for a moment… ‘When did you have in mind for this jolly?’
‘Tonight. I daren’t leave it –’
Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral Page 41