Crisis

SIXTEEN

Their footsteps echoed along the corridor that took them to Seminar Room eight. There was no mistaking that they were in a hospital. Even if he had been blindfolded, Bannerman would have recognized the distinctive smells of anaesthetic and disinfectant that pervaded hospitals the world over.

‘In here, sir,’ said West as he opened the door and stood back to allow Bannerman to enter.

There were three men inside. They were seated at a plain wooden table but got up when Bannerman entered.

‘Good of you to come Doctor. Please sit down.’

Bannerman remained standing. He said, ‘You know who I am but I’m afraid you have the advantage of me.’

The two men in suits looked at each other and then said, ‘I’m Jackman.’

‘And I’m Mildrew.’

Mildrew indicated to the white coated man on his left, This is Dr Mellon of the poisons bureau.’

‘Are you Special Branch too?’ asked Bannerman.

‘No we’re not,’ replied Jackman.

‘Then who are you?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I can vouch for these gentlemen, sir,’ said Morris, attempting to defuse the tension.

‘I want to know who they are,’ said Bannerman, evenly.

‘We are from the Ministry of Defence,’ said Jackman with an air of reluctance.

‘Special Branch and the Ministry of Defence,’ said Bannerman slowly. Then presumably this is not in connection with a parking offence?’

Mildrew ignored the comment and said, ‘You are Ian Bannerman, consultant pathologist at St Luke’s Hospital in London?’

‘Correct.’

‘Last night you brought in a sample of sheep brain to the Poisons Reference Bureau and requested toxic analysis on it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Surely it’s a reasonable question, Doctor,’ said Jackman.

‘So is mine,’ said Bannerman.

‘Frankly, Doctor, I think I should warn you that if you continue to be obstructive you could be in very serious trouble,’ said Mildrew.

‘What did they find in the sheep brain?’ asked Bannerman. They did find something, didn’t they? That’s what this is all about.’

‘Where did you get it?’

The impasse continued in silence for a few moments before Bannerman said, ‘I’d like to make a telephone call.’

‘Do you think you need a lawyer, Doctor?’ asked Jackman.

‘I’m not calling one,’ said Bannerman. ‘I would like to speak to Mr Cecil Allison of the Prime Minister’s office.’

The Prime Minister’s office?’ repeated Jackman. ‘What do you have to do with the Prime Minister’s office?’

‘I’ve been carrying out an investigation on behalf of the Medical Research Council in conjunction with the PM’s office,’ replied Bannerman.

Mildrew and Jackman looked at each other and then at Morris who shrugged his shoulders. ‘We were unaware of this,’ said Jackman. There seems to have been a breakdown in communications somewhere.’ His look to Morris indicated where he thought it lay. ‘Perhaps Inspector Morris will place the call for you.’

Morris moved to an adjoining room and returned a few moments later to say to Bannerman, ‘Mr Allison is on the line, sir.’

Bannerman closed the door behind him and picked up the receiver.

‘I understand you are in a spot of bother, Doctor,’ said Allison.

Bannerman never thought he would be pleased to hear the sound of Allison’s voice, but he was. He told him about the sheep brain and about his having requested a chemical toxin analysis on it.

‘But what did they find?’ asked Allison. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

‘They won’t tell me and I won’t tell them where I found it, so we’re sitting here, looking at each other.’

‘Perhaps I should speak to them,’ suggested. Allison.

‘I’d be grateful.’

Mildrew spoke to Allison in private, then returned to the room and indicated to Bannerman that Allison wanted to speak to him again.

‘Bannerman, I suggest that you cooperate fully with Mr Mildrew and his colleagues,’ said Allison.

‘Without question?’ said Bannerman.

‘Yes.’

‘No way,’ said Bannerman, flatly. ‘I’ve not come this far to be fobbed off like this. I want to know what was in the sample.’

‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Allison. ‘I warned Mildrew you might. Mr Mildrew is prepared to tell you more but first you will have to sign the Official Secrets Act.’

‘Ye gods! What next,’ exclaimed Bannerman.

‘If you lab boffins had got this right in the first instance, none of this would have been necessary,’ said Allison and put down the phone abruptly.

‘Well thanks a lot,’ said Bannerman to the dialling tone.

‘Sign where I’ve marked it,’ said Jackman, handing Bannerman a copy of the Official Secrets Act.

Bannerman signed without comment and pushed the form to one side.

The brain sample you presented last night contained traces of a chemical called NYLIT,’ said Mildrew.

‘Nylit,’ repeated Bannerman. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘We would have been surprised if you had.’

‘Where does it come from?’

‘This is the cause of our interest, Doctor,’ said Mildrew. ‘NYLIT is not a by-product of any chemical process, as so many toxins are. It was a specific component of a biological weapon developed in 19 … some time ago.’

‘A weapon?’ exclaimed Bannerman.

‘It was one of a chain of compounds developed by our defence establishment.’

‘And it’s a powerful mutagen?’

‘Among other things, yes.’

‘So how the hell did it get into a sheep in the north of Scotland?’

‘That’s what we intend finding out, Doctor, with your help of course.’

‘I’ll give you all the information I have,’ said Bannerman.

It was after ten in the evening before Bannerman got back to the hotel. He was exhausted, having told Mildrew and Jackson every single detail he could remember about the investigation in Achnagelloch and Stobmor.

‘I’ve been so worried,’ said Shona. ‘What did they want?’

‘The sheep were exposed to a powerful mutagen,’ said Bannerman.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘We don’t know, but the best guess at the moment is that some canister was washed up on the beach at Inverladdie and through time it leaked and contaminated the ground. Grazing sheep which were incubating the Scrapie virus at the time were affected by it, and the rest you know.’

That still doesn’t explain how Colin Turnbull came to be affected,’ said Shona.

‘No it doesn’t,’ agreed Bannerman but there was a more pressing question on his mind. He was again considering why the brain sections taken from the dead men at Inverladdie had shown such perfect signs of classical Creutzfeld Jakob Disease when the sections from the poisoned sheep showed no brain degeneration at all? He feared that the answer to that must lie with the people responsible for the pathology on the dead men, Lawrence Gill who was dead and Morag Napier … who was not.

It was late and Bannerman did not want to voice his suspicions to Shona. Despite the fact that it was he who had finally worked out the puzzle he was smarting over his earlier certainty about the involvement of the Invermaddoch nuclear power station. He seemed to have been so wrong so often in this affair that he decided he would keep his thoughts to himself for the moment. He would go into the medical school in the morning and try out a little test of his own. He still had the samples of sheep brain. He would let Morag go ahead with the animal tests she had promised to do.

Bannerman had just left for the medical school when the phone rang and Shona answered.

‘May I speak to Dr Bannerman please?’ asked a female voice.

‘I’m afraid he’s just gone out. Can I give him a message?’

This is Morag Napier at the medical school. I wanted to remind him about the sample he said he would bring in for animal inoculation.’

‘I think he’s on his way to see you now, Dr Napier, with the news.’

‘What news?’

‘Apparently the sheep were affected by some poison on the land, but Ian will tell you all about it himself when he gets there.’

‘That sounds interesting, thank you,’ said Morag Napier.

‘Hello again,’ said Bannerman as he entered Morag Napier’s lab.

‘Good morning,’ smiled Morag. ‘You’ve brought the sample?’

Bannerman took out a small bottle containing sheep brain. ‘Here you are. Can I watch you do the inoculations?’

‘If you like,’ said Morag. She took the bottles over to a fume hood and switched on the extractor fan. It accelerated slowly into life and settled down to a steady hum.

Morag, now gloved and gowned, transferred the contents of the first bottle into the heavy glass reservoir of an emulsifier. She added sterile saline solution and fitted the cap which housed a sharp metal blade mounted on a long shaft that reached to the foot of the bottle. She clamped the reservoir to its platform and made the motor connection to the upper end of the shaft. She then switched on the power and the blade started whirling inside the glass, emulsifying the brain into a smooth, injectable solution.

Morag inspected it by eye and then gave it another couple of minutes. She then loaded the contents of the reservoir into two sterile plastic syringes. She fitted needles to both and said, ‘Shall we go down to the animal lab?’

There was still a vague smell of burning about the animal laboratory despite the fact that it had been completely reconstructed since the fire. It mingled with animal smells and that of fresh paint in an unpleasant cocktail which made Bannerman wrinkle up his nose as they went in. He noticed that Morag used her own key. There was no one inside.

‘I thought I would do six mice,’ said Morag.

‘Good,’ said Bannerman watching her every move.

‘I wonder, would you get me the experiment register from the office?’ asked Morag.

Bannerman went to the office but as soon as he turned the corner he turned back to look at what Morag was doing. He saw her take out two filled syringes from a drawer below the bench and replace them with the two she had brought down from upstairs.

‘Is that how you did it last time?’ asked Bannerman from behind her.

Morag jumped, but regained control quickly. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘It had to be you. You faked the brain sections and the animal tests to make it look as if the men in Achnagelloch had died from sheep Scrapie. Lawrence Gill must have found out what you’d done and tried to send true samples of the men’s brains to the MRC for proper analysis but he was murdered before he could say anything about it.’

‘He wasn’t murdered!’ insisted Morag with flashing eyes. ‘He fell from the cliff. It was an accident! The whole thing was an accident! If the farm workers hadn’t been so greedy the sheep would have been safely buried and none of this would ever have happened!’

‘How about Colin Turnbull, Morag? What did he do wrong?’

‘Perhaps I can answer that Doctor,’ said a foreign voice.

Bannerman turned round to see a man emerge from the animal food store. He was holding a gun. Bannerman felt himself go cold when he looked into the man’s eyes. He had seen them before. They had been above a ski mask up on Tarmachan Ridge. He’d only seen them for a second but now it all came back to him. There had also been two other occasions when he had seen this tall, fair, good-looking man. The first had been when he had been partially obscured behind Morag Napier when they had both come into the restaurant where he was eating in the Royal Mile and the second time had been in van Gelder’s car up in Stobmor on the night he had been assaulted in the car-park. ‘You’re van Gelder’s son,’ he said.

‘My fiance, Peter,’ said Morag. ‘We met and fell in love when I first went up to Scotland with Lawrence.’

Bannerman reckoned that Peter van Gelder had to be at least ten years younger than Morag and he was very handsome. ‘Really,’ he said.

‘We didn’t want any of this to happen,’ said Morag, who was now sobbing. ‘It was a simple accident. There was a leak of a chemical they use for treating the quarry stone and it killed a few sheep. It all stemmed from that, a tragic accident. That’s all it was. The company would have been forced to close down if the accident had been made public. There was so much resentment to their success among the locals. Peter’s father would have been ruined and we couldn’t have got married as we planned.’

Bannerman looked at Morag and shook his head. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Morag.

‘Will you tell her van Gelder, or shall I?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said van Gelder.

Bannerman turned back to Morag and said, ‘You’ve been used. The story about a chemical to treat stone is rubbish. They’re using the quarry as a dump for dangerous, illegal chemicals. The one that killed the sheep workers and Colin Turnbull was a powerful mutagen developed for biological warfare.’

‘Tell him it isn’t true!’ demanded Morag.

‘He also murdered Lawrence Gill,’ continued Bannerman, as he saw all the pieces start to fit. ‘He was the fair-haired man who pretended to be Gill at Cairnish post office. He even tried to push me off the Tarmachan Ridge and the only person who knew I was going there was you; I told you on the phone the morning before I left. You must have passed on that information to him.’

Bannerman could see by Morag’s expression that he was right. ‘You were the one who told him where Lawrence Gill was going because you overheard the conversation on the phone with Shona MacLean.’

‘But Peter just wanted to reason with Lawrence!’ protested Morag. ‘He just wanted a chance to explain why I had switched the slides.’

‘The slides came from Creutzfeld Jakob patients?’ asked Bannerman.

Morag nodded.

‘Why?’

‘I knew that Lawrence would make the connection with the official report of Scrapie in the sheep. All the affected sheep had been destroyed so I thought everyone would be keen to write it off as a freak accident and that would be the end of it. Unfortunately Lawrence found out about the switch.’

‘How?’

‘He overheard me talking to Peter on the phone.’

Bannerman stared at Morag in silence. ‘And now Peter is going to kill us,’ he added.

Morag looked bemused. She turned to van Gelder. ‘Tell him this is nonsense,’ she pleaded.

‘I’m afraid the man has a lot more brains than you, you stupid bitch,’ said van Gelder, matter-of-factly.

Morag looked stunned, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But we love each other …’ she said distantly.

‘Love?’ mocked van Gelder. ‘What do you think I could possibly see in you, you dried up old bitch? You were useful and now you are not. It’s as simple as that.’

Toxic waste is big business Morag,’ said Bannerman. ‘Governments pay through the nose to get rid of it. It’s an embarrassment and a political liability.’

Morag did not register having heard what Bannerman had said. She was staring wide-eyed and unblinking at van Gelder, the man who had just shattered all her dreams with one viciously unkind outburst. Van Gelder held her stare with an amused smirk on his lips. Bannerman used the opportunity to move his hands slowly along the bench behind him until he felt his fingers wrap round the thin, wire bars of a rat cage. He heard the rat scuttle about inside it and hoped it wouldn’t go for his fingers.

‘And now the end is near, as Mr Sinatra would say,’ smiled van Gelder.

‘I did everything for you,’ said Morag in a low whisper. ‘I lied and cheated. I let you …’

“That was a treat,’ sneered van Gelder.

‘You bastard!’

Van Gelder raised the pistol higher when he thought that Morag was going to rush at him, and she stopped. ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘But then you always did have trouble relaxing …’

Bannerman sensed Morag tense beside him. ‘And how do you plan to dispose of our bodies?’ he asked van Gelder.

‘I’m going to drive you both back up to Achnagelloch. You’ll be buried under a thousand tons of rock on the next blasting day, along with Turnbull.’

‘Why did Turnbull die?’ asked Bannerman.

‘He was doing some stupid little geological survey to impress us. Unfortunately he stumbled on to a cave where that greedy old bastard Sproat had hidden a pile of dead sheep because he was too mean to bury them properly. It was Turnbull’s own fault for ignoring the warning signs to keep out of the area. He must have contaminated himself when he examined the sheep.’

Morag snatched a scalpel up from the bench and started to move towards van Gelder. The look in her eyes said that she was not to be reasoned with.

‘Put it down!’ commanded van Gelder.

Morag kept moving towards him.

‘Drop it, you stupid bitch!’

The latest insult made Morag raise the scalpel above her head and lunge at van Gelder. The Dutchman fired and Morag was jerked backwards by the impact of the bullet. She collapsed like a discarded rag doll, a red stain spreading over the front of her white lab coat and an expression of surprise etched on her face.

‘And now you, Doctor,’ said van Gelder.

Bannerman swung the rat cage round and threw it hard at the Dutchman. It caught him on the face and knocked him over backwards, where he hit his head off the wall and slid to the floor. The cage burst open when it struck him and the rat was now perching on his face, sniffing around his mouth and nostrils.

Bannerman saw that van Gelder still had hold of the gun; he was not totally unconscious. He was groaning and lifted his left hand up lazily to brush the rat off his face as if it were a playful kitten disturbing his sleep on a sunny afternoon. Bannerman gambled on making a bid to get the gun, and failed. He was still a metre away when van Gelder opened his eyes and levelled the gun at him. ‘You’ll pay for that,’ he grunted, his eyes red with anger. ‘I’ll blow your bloody knees off first.’

There were four rat cages on the bench above where van Gelder lay. Bannerman reached up and shoved the one nearest to him so that it pushed the others off the end and down on to van Gelder. The Dutchman cursed and struggled to free his gun arm from the tangle while Bannerman made a lunge for the door. It was locked. He turned to see van Gelder getting to his feet. A rat was attacking his ankles. He kicked it across the room.

There were half a dozen animal watering bottles on the table next to the door. Bannerman started throwing them at van Gelder but the Dutchman avoided them with ease and they smashed harmlessly off the far wall. Van Gelder raised the gun and Bannerman closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard van Gelder let out a scream.

Morag Napier was on her feet behind him and she had just plunged a full syringe of emulsified sheep brain into van Gelder’s back. Bannerman had never seen such hatred in anyone’s eyes. It was clear that hate was the only thing that was keeping Morag Napier alive. Even as van Gelder hit the floor she kept pushing the plunger of the syringe into his back.

When the entire contents had been injected into the prone Dutchman she looked up briefly at Bannerman and smiled enigmatically. It only lasted a split second before her eyes glazed over and she fell backwards to the floor.

Bannerman approached van Gelder’s body cautiously. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was dead or not. It was possible that Morag had managed to hit something vital with the needle and kill him or it may just have been shock that had caused the Dutchman to pass out. The gun was lying about half a metre from van Gelder’s right hand. He reached down slowly to pick it up. His fingers had almost touched the butt when van Gelder’s hand shot out and clamped Bannerman’s wrist in a grip of iron. One look at van Gelder told Bannerman that he was totally deranged. He deduced that the contents of the syringe must have been injected directly into his spinal canal, giving the agent immediate access to his brain. Van Gelder’s eyes had a quality that filled him with fear. People in this state could sometimes command superhuman strength. Bannerman swung his foot round and thumped it into van Gelder’s chest to provide a firm base to pull his arm free. He did so with difficulty and staggered backwards as he broke away.

Van Gelder’s body jerked in muscle spasm as he tried to get to his feet. He writhed and scratched himself as if plagued by an itch. Bannerman was pleased to see that he no longer had an interest in the gun, but he backed away as van Gelder’s gaze settled on him. He was appalled at the sight of the Dutchman. What had been a handsome man a few minutes before was now a feral monster.

Bannerman’s plan was to circle round the bench keeping van Gelder coming after him. If he kept moving in a clockwise direction, as he was doing, he would come back to the spot where the gun lay on the floor. He reckoned he could pick it up and fire before the Dutchman reached him.

Van Gelder, or whoever the deranged creature in van Gelder’s body was, grew tired of edging forwards and made a lunge at Bannerman. Bannerman moved easily out of range but stumbled over one of the animal cages behind him on the floor. He fell over backwards and lay spreadeagled and helpless. Above him, van Gelder loomed into view. He threw himself at Bannerman.

Bannerman felt his hand touch something metal on the floor. He brought it round between van Gelder and himself. It was the scalpel that Morag Napier had tried to attack van Gelder with earlier. The Dutchman impaled himself on it.

Bannerman had to struggle to free himself from the dead weight lying on top of him. The first thing he did when he had finally got to his feet was to rush to the sink and be sick. He sluiced cold water up into his face again and again until the horrors of the last few minutes stopped threatening his sanity. When he could breathe evenly again he picked up the telephone and called for help.

Bannerman enjoyed three days of rest and relaxation with Shona in Edinburgh before Special Branch, in the shape of Inspector Morris, called on him again.

The scale of the operation took our breath away,’ admitted Morris. They were bringing the stuff in by sea to the terminal at Inchmad. Ostensibly they were loading road stone on to the ships but in reality they were unloading toxic waste from the ships and bringing it by rail up to the quarry in containers disguised as fuel trucks. God knows what we’re going to do with it all. We’re not even sure if we’ve found all the underground dumps.’

‘I think I can help you there,’ said Bannerman. He brought out Colin Turnbull’s survey charts from his bag and said, ‘A young man named Colin Turnbull prepared these geological charts of the area. I think they’ll help.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ said Morris. ‘I’ll pass them on.’

‘When you’ve finished with them, see that they are returned to Julie Turnbull; she’s the primary school teacher in Stobmor. I think she’d appreciate knowing what a help they’d been.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Morris.

‘What about Sproat and the vet, Finlay,’ asked Bannerman.

‘It’s pretty much as you suspected,’ said Morris. They both knew about the chemical leak from the quarry which happened about a year ago. Van Gelder came clean at the time and bought their silence. He had to, because the chemical killed the sheep nearest to the leak outright. When the others developed a form of Scrapie a year or so later and started dropping like ninepins they suspected that the chemical had been involved. Van Gelder bought them off again. The new cars were a dead give-away.’

‘Bastards,’ said Bannerman. ‘That’s why the Sproats sent May Buchan away on holiday. Conscience money.’

‘Take a look at life again soon,’ said Morris.

‘Can I go now?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Not exactly,’ said Morris.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I have a message for you from Mr Allison. He says that he would like to see you in London as soon as possible.’

‘I see,’ said Bannerman.

‘And one more thing, sir, he says to remind you that you signed the Official Secrets Act and that everything to do with this affair is covered by it.’

‘Why?’ snapped Bannerman angrily. ‘A bloody Dutchman starts using Scotland as a dump for all the world’s shit. A sheep virus starts killing people and Whitehall wants to keep it an official secret!’

‘Best discuss that with Mr Allison, sir,’ said Morris.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Shona, when Bannerman emerged from his conversation with Morris.

‘I have to go to London,’ said Bannerman.

‘Have to?’ asked Shona.

‘I’m not running away,’ said Bannerman softly. The establishment wants a word with me.’

‘And then what?’ asked Shona quietly.

Bannerman looked at Shona and said, ‘I feel as if I’m walking a tight-rope and I’m going to fall at any moment.’

‘But the important question is, on which side?’

‘Come with me?’ said Bannerman, taking her into his arms and resting his cheek against her hair.

Shona remained silent in his arms for a few moments and then drew back again to smile and shake her head. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I’m beginning to miss my island. I’m going home.’

Bannerman nodded and said softly, ‘I’ll call you.’

Shona just smiled as she turned away. Take care,’ she whispered.

The taxi carrying Bannerman across London ground to a halt in heavy traffic for the umpteenth time. ‘A bit busy today,’ smiled the driver.

Bannerman smiled at the blind optimism that prevented the driver from seeing that it was like this every day. ‘Park Crescent you said?’ ‘The Medical Research Council.’ ‘Doctor, are you then?’ ‘A pathologist.’ ‘Like that, do you?’

Bannerman found himself lost for words. It was a simple question but there seemed to be no simple answer. ‘It’s a living,’ he smiled.

‘Just like me mate,’ said the driver. ‘Life begins when you clock off.’

Bannerman ripped the driver well and returned his wave as he drove off. He sighed as he looked at the official Rover parked near the entrance to the MRC. It was Allison’s car.

‘My dear Doctor Bannerman, how nice to see you,’ exclaimed Allison when Bannerman was shown in,’ He rose to shake Bannerman’s hand warmly. John Flowers and Hugh Milne got up to do the same.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful we are to you for clearing up this awful business,’ said Allison.

Flowers and Milne sat quietly while Allison conducted the proceedings. Bannerman watched the government man’s eyes. The rest of him was animated and exuding bonhomie but his eyes remained cold and calculating.

‘I know it sounds strange in view of the terrible circumstances up north but Her Majesty’s Government is profoundly relieved.’ ‘Relieved?’ exclaimed Bannerman in surprise.

‘That the deaths had nothing to do with natural Scrapie.

‘Natural Scrapie?’ repeated Bannerman.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Allison, waving his hands. ‘These poor men died from this mutant monster thing that the chemical created.’

‘But nevertheless it was created, Mr Allison. There is now a form of Scrapie which will infect people.’

‘But the government has seen to it that every sheep on Inverladdie Farm has been slaughtered and disposed of by incineration. There is no further source of the agent.’

Bannerman was lost for words for a moment. He couldn’t believe the aura of complacency about the man. ‘But it’s what happened before we found out the truth that matters!’ he exclaimed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that sheep carcasses were lying around all over the place because Sproat was too mean to dispose of them, and for God knows how long!’

‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ said Allison condescendingly.

‘One bird feeding off one infected carcass a few weeks ago will by now have spread the virus to another part of the countryside. Sooner or later a new flock will become infected and just maybe a few infected lambs will make it to market before the regulations step in. Then what happens?’

‘I feel we are moving in to the realms of fantasy here Doctor,’ said Allison. ‘You can’t seriously be suggesting that we quarantine every sheep in the land?’

‘I’m suggesting that you tighten up the regulations immediately. You make Scrapie a notifiable disease and you offer compensation to farmers for infected sheep at a level above market value so there will be no “slipping through the net” before notification.’

‘If we do that then it will appear that something is wrong,’ said Allison.

‘Something is wrong!’ insisted Bannerman.

Allison thumped his hands angrily on to the table. ‘No,’ he exclaimed. ‘This is over the top! You’ll be suggesting next that we ban people from crossing the road so that road accident figures will drop!’

Bannerman recognized Allison’s attempt at blustering to gain the initiative. He remained calm and said. That is not the same thing and you know it.’

Allison changed tack. He suddenly became reasonable. ‘Look Doctor, we both know that very little is known about the spread of slow virus infection. A lot more research needs to be done. Her Majesty’s Government has agreed to fund an extensive programme of research. The programme will be administered by the Medical Research Council who will set up a new board specifically for that purpose. We would all be delighted if you would chair that board.’

Bannerman felt as if he was being swept along by a freak wave. He shook his head and looked down at the table in silence.

‘At least think about it,’ said Allison, getting to his feet.

Bannerman held up his hands arid said, ‘Not so fast.’

The silence that ensued could have been cut with a knife. ‘You have not said one word about the business at the quarry,’ said Bannerman.

‘What’s there to say?’ asked Allison. ‘Thanks to you we’ve been able to put a complete stop to it.’

‘What about charges, Mr Allison? A foreign company has been using our country as a dump for some of the most dangerous substances on earth and there has not been one mention of it in the papers or on the radio or on television. Why not?’

For the first time Allison displayed real vulnerability. He sat down again slowly and Bannerman noticed a small smile flicker across the lips of Flowers, who had remained silent throughout.

‘Frankly Doctor, the government believes that it would be in the best interests of the people of this country if the full extent of this outrage was not made public. Don’t you agree?’

‘No, I do not!’ said Bannerman forcefully.

‘Doctor, you force me to remind you that …’

‘I signed the Official Secrets Act. Yes, I get the picture and “D” notices will fly like confetti while you and your cronies conduct yet another cover-up of what really goes on in this country!’

‘We have to do what we think best,’ said Allison.

‘Why Allison? Tell me that. There’s got to be more to it than “the best interests of the people”. Just tell me why?’

Allison laced the fingers of his hands together in front of him and took a deep breath. Even then, there was one false start before the words started to come out. ‘The waste … the toxic chemicals …’

‘Yes?’

‘They were British.’

‘British?’ exclaimed Bannerman in disbelief. He saw that Milne and Flowers had already been told this.

‘The government awarded a disposal contract to a Dutch company we believed to be reputable. As it turns out they were not.’

Bannerman’s mouth fell open as he realized what had been happening. ‘You mean that you were loading it on to ships at one end of the country and unloading it at the other? God, what a farce! So to save your blushes, you hush it all up?’

‘There’s more,’ said Allison, avoiding Bannerman’s eyes. The chemicals were manufactured in this country at a time which puts us in contravention of an international agreement banning such work. The Dutch company knows this.’

‘My God,’ said Bannerman, shaking his head.

‘The Russians broke the agreement, the Americans too; everyone knows they did,’ said Allison.

Though it was never proved,’ said Bannerman. ‘But if you pursue the Dutch they’ll crucify you on the world stage. Am I right?’

‘More or less.’

‘I need some fresh air,’ said Bannerman, getting to his feet.

Flowers and Milne shrugged their embarrassment at him.

‘You will think about that offer I mentioned earlier,’ said Allison. ‘You are the man for the job.’

Bannerman left without replying. He returned to St Luke’s and called Shona from his office. She answered after the third ring.

‘I’ve fallen off the tight-rope,’ he said.

‘On which side?’

‘Can I come up?’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ laughed Shona.

‘Do you think the island could use a GP?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Shona. ‘But we’ll talk about that later. When are you leaving?’

‘Now,’ said Bannerman. ‘I love you,’ said Shona.

‘I’m so glad that you do,’ said Bannerman softly.

‘Get a move on.’

Bannerman put down the phone and cleared out his desk. Without looking back he left the building and was nearly at the front gate when he heard his name being called. It was the hospital psychiatrist, David Drysdale. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages,’ said Drysdale.

‘Really?’ asked Bannerman.

‘It’s about that problem you had, you know, with the nightmares and the feelings of uncertainty and lack of confidence.’

‘What about it?’

‘We all thought it was down to mid-life crisis at the time but it wasn’t. I’ve finally worked it out. You may find it hard to believe but … you don’t like being a pathologist. You never did. It’s just unfortunate that you’re so good at it. It never occurred to you to change.’

Bannerman broke into a broad smile. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said as he walked away and out through the gates.

As the train slid out of the station for the long journey north Bannerman took out his newspaper and started to read. The lead story concerned a man in a Norfolk village who had slaughtered his entire family with an axe before taking his own life. There were family snaps of his wife and three small children at the beach. ‘In happier times,’ said the caption. ‘He was a quiet man,’ said one of the neighbours. ‘He kept himself to himself,’ said another. Everyone in the village was stunned by what had happened, said the story.

‘Tragic,’ said the man across from Bannerman who had been reading the same story. ‘Seems to happen a lot these days.’

Bannerman nodded and put away his paper to look out of the window. You ain’t seen nothing yet, he thought to himself.