7

“Don’t be insubordinate, Sergeant!” Major Peterson said curtly. “This is a military operation and you’re still in the army. You will maintain the correct attitude, or else!”

Slocock straightened in his chair. “Yessir. Sorry sir,” he muttered.

Peterson glared at him then turned his attention to Wilson. “Dr. Wilson, permit me to introduce you to your traveling companions. Dr. Kimberley Fairchild and Sergeant Terence Slocock.”

Wilson gave them both a distracted nod. Slocock guessed he hadn’t recovered from the shock of the video tapes. That was understandable. Slocock didn’t feel too steady himself.

Wilson lit another cigarette and said to Peterson, “It all seems hopeless. A suicide mission. All three of us will get infected with fungi before we have a chance to try and find Jane.”

“Credit us with some foresight, Doctor,” said Peterson. “Various steps have been taken to provide you with as much protection against the fungus as possible. A special vehicle is being prepared on the mainland which will contain all the necessary equipment to maintain a sterile, fungus-­free environment. When you venture outside the vehicle you will wear an anti-­contamination suit with its own air supply.”

“Forgive me if I’m still not convinced. From what I’ve just seen and heard on those videos it’s practically impossible to prevent infection.”

Peterson cleared his throat and indicated Kimberley. “That’s where Dr. Fairchild enters the picture. If you’d care to explain, Doctor?”

“There have been some developments in the time since Carter made that recording. One discovery that’s been made is that a small percentage of people do seem to be immune to the fungi.”

“How small is the percentage?” asked Wilson skeptically.

“Less than one percent,” admitted Kimberley, “But even so that is encouraging.”

“Yeah, sure. It means that out of every hundred people less than one person has a chance of survival.” Wilson shook his head.

“What it does mean,” said Kimberley, “is that the human immune system is capable of overcoming the fungi. In only rare cases, admittedly, but it’s a hopeful sign. And it’s possible that injections of inosine pranobex will provide us with extra protection.”

Wilson frowned. “Inosine pranobex? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s new. It works by kicking the human immune system into action and produces an increase of T-­lymphocyte cells. It’s been found effective against certain forms of cancer.”

“But does it work against the fungus?”

“It’s being tested on the mainland. We don’t have any results yet.”

“Great,” muttered Wilson. He stubbed his cigarette out and lit another one.

“But that’s not all,” continued Kimberley. “There’s another drug we’ll be using. Megacrine.”

“I haven’t heard of that one either.”

“No way you could have. It’s just been developed by some colleagues of mine at Bangor University. It’s a chemically altered version of Mepacrine.”

“That I have heard of.”

“I haven’t,” cut in Slocock. He was beginning to feel excluded already. He had visions of having to listen to two egghead doctors discuss things he couldn’t understand all the way to London.

“Mepacrine is an anti-­malaria drug,” said Kimberley. “It kills the parasitic organisms that infest the blood of malaria victims. It works by inserting its molecules into the DNA material of the malaria merozoites and preventing gene replication.”

Slocock nodded, pretending he knew what the hell she was talking about.

“Megacrine has been genetically structured to do the same thing to the mutated fungus cells that enter the body,” said Kimberley.

“Sounds like a major breakthrough,” said Wilson. “But does it work?”

Kimberley’s reply was guarded. “Well, it’s worked on test animals at Bangor. And it’s been partially successful on the few human guinea pigs who have tried it so far.”

“Then why isn’t this stuff being manufactured in bulk and being distributed to everyone on the mainland?” demanded Slocock.

“Two reasons. One is that it’s not easy to synthesize. The second is that it’s highly toxic. The doses have to be very carefully regulated. That’s the main reason I’ll be coming along on this expedition. To make sure you get the correct dosage. You’ll need it injected intra-­muscularly every 90 minutes.”

Wilson regarded Kimberley suspiciously. “You said it was only partially successful on the human test subjects. What do you mean?”

Kimberley glanced at Major Peterson, then said reluctantly, “Of the four people it’s been tested on so far two have died from the side effects.”

“Shit,” said Slocock.

“What exactly are the side effects?” asked Wilson.

But before Kimberley could answer, Major Peterson said hurriedly, “We can go into all that later. Let’s continue with the briefing. Time is short. The boat taking you to the mainland leaves in just under an hour.”

“Boat?” said Wilson, surprised. “Why aren’t we going by plane?”

“Because the plane and aircrew would have to remain on the mainland. There’s a strict quarantine around all of Britain. Any aircraft trying to leave is shot down by French or German fighters. I’ve no doubt I could get volunteers to take you over, but it would still be too risky. The airspace between here and the mainland is full of trigger-­happy fly boys who often don’t wait to see which direction a plane is flying before they shoot it down.”

“I see,” said Wilson slowly. Then, “What are the Yanks doing about all this?”

“For the moment, nothing. They’re adopting a wait-­and-­see attitude. They aren’t supporting the French in their call for more drastic quarantine measures. Probably because they’ve got a lot of their own people trapped on the mainland as well. The airlift of personnel from the American bases outside the infected areas had to be halted when the quarantine was imposed. But if the fungus keeps spreading the Americans will have no choice but to join in the French plan to drop nuclear bombs on Britain.”

Wilson said nothing.

Peterson continued. “The boat will take you to Holyhead. From there you’ll be flown to Bangor where you will undergo tests with the Megacrine drug until it’s decided what doses you can tolerate individually. From there you’ll be flown to Wolverhampton where your vehicle and other equipment will be waiting. Hopefully Wolverhampton will still be outside of the area of infection. From there you will proceed south to London.”

“You make it sound easy,” said Wilson. “But earlier you told me the people in the first search team were presumably attacked by mobs. What makes you think we won’t suffer the same fate?”

“You’ll be well armed,” said O’Connell. It was the first time he’d spoken during the briefing. “Your vehicle will be fitted with both light and heavy machine guns.”

Wilson turned to him. “Yes, but I’m obviously going to have to leave the vehicle on occasion once we get to London. What happens then?”

“Sergeant Slocock will be responsible for your protection,” said O’Connell. Then he added with distaste, “He’s quite an expert at that sort of thing.”

Wilson gave Slocock a brief, curious glance.

“Once you reach the inner city,” continued Peterson, “you will then carry out the search for your wife. You must discover where she went after she removed all the records from her lab.”

“But you don’t know for certain that it was her. It could have been one of her assistants.”

The major nodded. “Carter mentioned them in his final radio message. Said there were three of them. Got their names but not their addresses. By that time it was impossible to obtain even basic information—the system had collapsed completely. Do you know these people and where they lived?”

“I’ve met all three, but I only know the address of one of them.”

“Which one?”

Wilson paused before answering. “Hilary Burne-­Smith. She has, or had, a flat in Islington. In Upper Street.”

Slocock, observing the vaguely uncomfortable expression on Wilson’s face, smiled to himself. Sounded as if the doc had been getting his rocks off with the triple-­barreled name case.

“Then check that out too,” said Peterson, standing up and gathering his papers together. “Sorry to rush you but it’s time you were leaving for the harbor. Captain O’Connell will escort you there. I wish you good luck on your mission.”

“Hang on,” said Wilson. “There’s one important thing you haven’t mentioned. Say we succeed; we find my wife or her notes and radio the information to you, but then what happens? How do we get back?”

Slocock laughed. “Haven’t you caught on yet, Wilson? There’s no return ticket. It’s a one-­way trip.”