MONDAY
DEBUSSY POINT
It was night, and down in the basement the mosquitoes were stirring. The covered trays were ranged on tiers of shelves and contained mosquitoes in every stage from eggs to pupae to maturity. Their ancestors had not lived in the wild for hundreds and hundreds of generations. Yet still the mosquitoes followed the same circadian rhythms as their cousins in Africa – active when the sun began to go down, resting during the day. The humidity and light in the room were controlled to mimic the cycle of the tropical day, half day and half night, with brief sunsets and dawns. Over the years, researchers and technicians had come and gone, but here the mosquitoes remained in their endless cycle of birth and death.
At night the only sound was the hum of the humidifier and every two hours the heavy steps of the security guard as he patrolled the corridor, pausing to check from the panel beside the door that the humidity and temperature were both at the correct level.
But tonight was different. It was around 1:30 a.m. – ten minutes after a visit from the security guard – that a second, lighter set of footsteps approached the insectary and someone appeared at the door, carrying an insulated box.
It was too risky to put on the light. That would show up on the central computer system and trigger an alarm. A torch would have to do. The beam settled on the shelves of plastic cages with mesh covers containing fully grown mosquitoes. One was selected and taken to the work surface, and an empty sterilized container was placed alongside it. From the equipment cupboard a pooter was taken, a suction device consisting of a clear glass tube covered at the mouth end by very fine netting. The other end was attached to a flexible plastic hose. The pooter was inserted through the mesh of the mosquito cage. It was easy enough to select a female and gently suck her into the pooter, partially blocking the end of the hose with a finger. Some people used a cotton-wool stopper, but what was the point when none of the mosquitoes in the insectary were infected? It was perfectly safe and the constant gentle suction kept the insect hovering in the tube. The torch threw up crazy shadows on the wall and gave a demonic cast to the face so intent on the work.
The next step was to insert the end of the hose through the mesh of the second, smaller cage and blow gently. The mosquito was wafted down into the cage, the hose pulled out of the mesh, and, voila, there it was: one perfect little insect all ready for the next stage of tonight’s work. The procedure was repeated until the cage contained five female mosquitoes. For research purposes more would usually be collected, but for tonight’s mission these would suffice. They wouldn’t be missed.
Time now to pick up the cage, put it in the insulated bag, switch off the torch, and open the door to the corridor. A pause for a moment on the threshold to listen and let the silence settle. Then a short walk along the corridor to the door to the containment level three lab.
The CCTV camera, fixed to the wall outside, was out of action, so even if someone did come down the corridor – very unlikely at this time of night – they wouldn’t know that there was anyone inside. Even if a check was made later, no one would be surprised that it hadn’t been working. It was always on the blink. And, in any case, the key card used to gain access belonged to someone else – a stroke of genius, that! – and so did the code.
The door to the first of three rooms seemed to take forever to swing slowly shut with a pneumatic sigh. That outer door had to shut before the second door into an ante-room could open, and it would be the same on the way out. Once inside the ante-room, a blue disposable lab gown was donned and paper bootees pulled on over shoes, then another code had to be punched into a pad to gain access to the secure lab.
Off to one side of the lab stood the incubator. It was just over a fortnight since a cage of uninfected mosquitoes had been brought into the Category 3 lab. At the same time, the parasite had arrived in infected blood in a vacuum flask at thirty-seven degrees, body temperature. Using a Perspex glove box – a sealed cabinet with rubber gloves that allowed the safe release of the insects – the mosquitoes had been introduced into a jar and given the warm, infected blood to feed on. After they’d been allowed to engorge, the jar had gone into the incubator cabinet. The mosquitoes had to be three days old before they would feed and it took around fourteen days for them to be infected.
The incubator was opened, the jar removed and held up to the light. There was no question of sucking up these little monsters by mouth or of working outside a glove box. Most if not all of them would be carrying falciparum malaria, the most deadly form of the disease – indeed, the most deadly parasite that affects humankind. Every year many hundreds of thousands of people die after being bitten by mosquitoes exactly like these. That was why they had to be contained in the security of a Category 3 lab.
The jar was taken over to the glove box and placed inside. A second empty jar was added, and lastly the cage with its five uninfected mosquitoes. A mechanical pooter was reached for now. It was safer than sucking them up the old-school way, though in unpractised hands it was easy for the insects to be damaged. But these particular hands – clad in a pair of surgical gloves to provide a second layer of protection – were not unpractised. Slowly, carefully, the five mosquitoes were transferred from the infected jar to the empty jar. Their place was taken by the uninfected mosquitoes from the insectary.
Now all that remained was to take the larger jar of mosquitoes out of the glove box and replace it in the incubator. It still contained fifty mosquitoes as listed on the label, but now five of them – indistinguishable from their relatives – were definitely free from falciparum malaria. In the other unlabelled jar, there now rested five insects from the infected jar. The infection rate was never a hundred per cent, so it was necessary to take five. It was virtually certain that some – with luck all of them – would be carrying the parasite. Yes, five should be enough, but even if it wasn’t, there were plenty more where they came from. There was always another night.
The clock on the wall indicated that it was twenty minutes until the security guard was due to make his next round. It was time to leave, time to put the jar in the insulated bag, time to pause for a moment on the threshold to check that all was just as it had been; that there were no signs of this clandestine visit. A sharp intake of breath – the cage brought from the insectary was still there on the counter. That had to go back to where it came from.
Out in the ante-room the paper robe and booties were thrust into the waste bag. Then through the door into the entry room. The door closed with frustrating slowness and the wait was irksome. But then a quick glance out into the corridor to make sure that no one was about and a swift walk back to the insectary. Replacing the cage, there was some hesitation – old habits die hard – because, really, it ought to be sterilized after use. But there was no time for that.
Again, a swift look round. Nothing out of place. Time to turn the light off and get out of there.
By the time the security guard appeared, yawning, on his next round, the thief, along with the deadly cargo, had vanished into the night.