White death

NINE

The words hit Steven like a body blow. He mumbled a request to be kept informed if and when the lab came up with anything and hung up. He uttered a series of expletives as he thought things through. Surely Trish Lyons’ infection could not possibly be the same as Keith Taylor’s. If it was, it meant that his logical supposition that the BCG bacillus had somehow rampaged through the boy’s body because his immune system had been compromised was wrong. As far as he knew, there was nothing wrong with Trish Lyons’ immune system and for two children to have reacted the way they had to a vaccine that had been safely in use for fifty years seemed highly unlikely. Some other factor was involved, possibly something that Scott Haldane had recognised… and had been murdered to keep him quiet?

Steven spoke to John Macmillan first thing next morning. ‘I’m sorry, there’s much more to it than we first thought.’ He told Macmillan about Keith Taylor being given BCG vaccine when his immune system had been suppressed, something that brought a frown to his face which was quickly followed by a droop to his shoulders when Steven mentioned that Trish Lyons might also be suffering from the same infection.

‘Bad to worse,’ complained Macmillan.

‘There’s more. The lab at the children’s hospital in Carlisle should have grown the bacterium if it had been the BCG bacillus to blame but their cultures were all negative even after fourteen weeks. Trish Lyons’ cultures are also negative to date. There’s a chance that it’s a different infection altogether, a vicious, flesh-eating bug that the kids picked up at Pinetops that we can’t identify in the lab and can’t treat with antibiotics.’

‘Just what we need,’ sighed Macmillan. ‘How exactly are we proposing that the children got this infection — if it should turn out to be the same one?’

‘Actually there are several more children on the green sticker list who are complaining about skin problems.’

Macmillan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead against the palm of his hand in a slow sideways motion. ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.

‘The only thing they have in common is the fact that they attended Pinetops school camp together and that they all received BCG vaccine while they were there.’

‘And of course, the reason they were given it in the first place,’ added Macmillan cryptically.

Steven looked at him questioningly.

‘They were all exposed to possible infection from Anwar Mubarak.’

‘Which was straightforward TB with no clinical problems according to the lab report…’ said Steven, his voice fading as he saw what Macmillan was suggesting.

‘But against which, as your friend pointed out, the authorities saw fit to vaccinate the whole camp — apparently without reference to medical history or background of any of the children,’ said Macmillan.

‘Maybe we should call a Code Red on this one?’ suggested Steven.

Macmillan nodded somewhat reluctantly but said, ‘I agree.’

The change to Code Red signified that a preliminary investigation by a Sci-Med investigator was about to turn into a full-scale investigation with all the powers that entailed. Steven would be able to request help and assistance at any time of the day or night through a specially manned switchboard set up at Sci-Med. He would have access to funds through special credit accounts set up in his name. He would have the authority to request assistance and information from the police authority in any area he was operating in with full backing from the Home Office. He could even request that he be armed should he feel that the situation warranted it. None of this would seem to be necessary in his current assignment but it was reassuring to know that everything was in place should he need it — or would be when Jean Roberts was told.

Macmillan pressed his intercom button and said, ‘Code Red on Steven’s assignment, please, Jean.’

‘What do you plan to do?’ Macmillan asked Steven.

Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘I’m going up to Leicester to visit Anwar Mubarak. I want to see the boy; I want to see the cultures they grew and I want to see the drug sensitivity results from the lab. I need to be absolutely certain we’ve been told the truth.’

‘And if we have?’

‘Assuming the London lab dealing with the Keith Taylor specimens fail to grow anything, we’ll have to accept the possibility that we’re dealing with a new infection — probably viral as it seems to be resistant to antibiotics and nothing’s coming up on bacteriological culture media.’

‘And the first thing to do with a new infection…’ intoned Macmillan.

‘Is to establish the source of it,’ completed Steven.

Steven drove up to Leicester, hoping that at least, by the end of the day, one of the variables would be removed from the investigation, giving him a clearer sense of direction. There were just too many possibilities floating around at the moment: he was beginning to feel as if he’d been dropped in the ocean and wasn’t sure in which direction to swim. The receptionist at the children’s hospital didn’t help much.

‘We have no one here by that name,’ she replied after a brief examination of her screen, apparently not at all concerned that she couldn’t help. Steven wondered what it was about the British that so many people who disliked dealing with the public ended up in jobs entailing constant contact with them. He asked her to check again.

‘Still nothing,’ said the woman, peering over the top of her ornate glasses at the screen.

Realising that Mubarak’s name not being on the admissions register might have something to do with the authorities’ desire for secrecy over the affair, Steven showed her his ID and asked to speak to the Medical Superintendent.

‘Professor Lang is away until tomorrow. He’s at a conference in Geneva.’

‘Well, his deputy.’

The woman sighed and picked up her phone.

Steven was shown to a bright, modern room on the second floor. The name on the door said Dr N. Simmons. ‘Dr Simmons will be with you shortly,’ said the junior assistant who had led him up. ‘Please take a seat.’

Steven sat down, feeling slightly ill-at-ease staring at an empty chair on the other side of the desk. As the minutes passed, he thought about picking up and flicking through the copy of the British Medical Journal that lay there but then thought better of it. It might be construed as an invasion of personal space. As the wait extended to eight minutes, he considered getting up and going over to look out of the window but finding someone wandering about your office could also be intimidating. He sat tight until the door opened behind him and he turned to see an attractive dark-haired woman standing there. She seemed out of breath. ‘Hi, I’m Natalie Simmons, Professor Lang’s senior registrar. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. My bleeper went off as I was coming along the corridor and I had to go back to the ward.’

Steven smiled and shook hands with the woman. ‘No problem. I’m Steven Dunbar.’

Natalie Simmons plonked herself down behind her desk and pushed her hair away from her face. She took a moment to examine Steven’s ID card before saying, ‘Well, Dr Dunbar, I’m afraid I’ve never heard of the Sci-Med Inspectorate but I’m sure you must have every right to be here and this all seems terribly official so what can I do for you?’

Another push of the hair and a big smile revealing even white teeth accompanied this.

Steven decided that he liked her. Natalie Simmons seemed open, friendly but blessed with beautiful green eyes that also somehow suggested an understanding of just how the world worked — a quality that could ultimately lead to cynicism or, as he suspected in her case, to a comfortable acceptance and amused detachment regarding the workings of the human race. He assured her that she wasn’t alone in not having heard of Sci-Med and told her briefly what they did.

‘I see, and where do we come into that?’

‘I need to speak to someone about one of your patients, a boy named Anwar Mubarak.’

‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘He’s got TB.’

‘Really?’ exclaimed Natalie, sounding surprised. ‘I wasn’t aware we had any TB patients.’

Steven considered, but only for a moment, whether or not he should take Natalie Simmons into his confidence before saying, ‘He’s a recent immigrant. He attended a school camp up in the Lake District before they found out he had TB. The authorities are keen to keep this under wraps.’

‘I can see why — taking our houses, our jobs and giving our kids TB. Well, the authorities seem to have done it very well because I know nothing about this child at all.’

Steven felt that familiar sinking feeling come on. ‘Is there anyone else who might?’

‘I’d be pretty annoyed if there was,’ said Natalie. ‘I’m acting head of the Infectious Diseases Unit while Ralph is away. I’m supposed to know about these things. Bear with me.’

Natalie made a succession of phone-calls, which all ended in negatives. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Dunbar. None of my colleagues knows anything about this either.’

Steven shook his head. ‘Bizarre,’ he said. ‘There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding but it’s my problem, not yours.’ He got up to go. As a last resort he asked, ‘I don’t suppose Professor Lang could be treating the boy somewhere privately because of the circumstances?’

Natalie made a face. ‘Frankly, I’ve never come across circumstances like this before,’ she said. ‘So your guess is as good as mine. He certainly didn’t mention it to me.’

‘Maybe I’ll call back tomorrow and ask him.’

‘Will that involve you making an overnight stop you didn’t plan on?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Look,’ said Natalie. ‘I have a number for Professor Lang. It’s supposed to be for emergencies but I’ll ring and ask him.’

Steven said he was grateful. He waited while Natalie called Lang but without success. ‘His phone’s turned off. Look, leave me your mobile number and I’ll try again later. I’ll let you know what he says and if it’s not too late you can still get off back to London.’

‘I’m much obliged,’ said Steven.

Steven didn’t know Leicester. He drove around for a while, getting a feel for it before finding somewhere to park and going for a walk. He found it easier to think on the move. He decided to save some time and phone John Macmillan before he left the Home Office for the night. He asked him to double-check on the whereabouts of Anwar Mubarak.’

Natalie called him at 5.30 p.m. ‘I’ve just spoken to Ralph; he was in a meeting earlier. He doesn’t know anything about this boy. At least, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘My fault, I’m afraid. I didn’t think you’d want me blurting out the question over the telephone in view of its sensitive nature so I got into rather a mess, asking about possible recent immigrant children being admitted with a disease starting with “t” that I didn’t know about but he might.’

Steven had to put his hand to his mouth to avoid laughing.

‘I think Ralph must have thought I was drunk at first but then I told him that it was an inspector from Sci-Med asking the question and he caught on. The bottom line is that he knows nothing at all about it.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Steven. ‘I’m very much obliged to you.’

‘Not at all. I suppose there must have been some kind of mix-up somewhere?’

‘There’s not another children’s hospital in Leicester, is there?’

‘No.’

‘Would you care to have dinner with me?’ asked Steven, surprising even himself.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘No, I’m sorry. I asked if you’d have dinner with me without thinking. You’ve probably got a husband and children waiting for you at home.’

‘No… I haven’t as it happens,’ said Natalie.

‘Then the offer still stands.’

‘I thought you were anxious to get back to London.’

‘No, you thought I was anxious to get back to London,’ said Steven. ‘I’ve contacted Sci-Med about the confusion. There’s little point in me going anywhere until I hear back from them and that’ll probably be tomorrow — Whitehall goes home at five o’clock.’

‘I see, well, in that case I’d be delighted to have dinner with you.’

Steven booked himself into a small hotel, had a shower and changed, using the ‘just in case’ travel bag he kept in the back of the car. He met Natalie at the restaurant she had suggested, arriving five minutes before she did.

‘This is an unexpected surprise,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember the last time I spent an evening alone with a complete stranger.’

‘Just means there’s so much more to talk about,’ said Steven. And there was.

During the course of the next two hours, Steven learned that Natalie — ‘Tally’ to her friends — had been born and brought up in Bromley, in Kent. She was thirty-five years old and had studied medicine in Sheffield. She’d got married at twenty-seven to Rupert Giles, now an orthopaedic surgeon in London, but they divorced three years later when it was discovered that she couldn’t have children. ‘That wasn’t the only reason,’ said Tally. ‘But it was quite a big factor. Let’s say, it undermined what little foundations we had.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven.

‘Don’t be,’ said Tally. ‘Now I have more children in my life than I can handle. Your turn.’

Steven told her about his army background, his marriage to Lisa and her subsequent death. He told her about his daughter Jenny and her life in Scotland. ‘I’m very much a weekend dad — in fact, an every-second-weekend dad if truth be told.’

‘It must be difficult being so far apart.’

‘It doesn’t help,’ agreed Steven.

‘You couldn’t get a transfer?’

‘Sci-Med is a very small unit. We don’t have northern outposts,’ said Steven with a smile.

‘Tell me about Sci-Med.’

Steven told Tally about Sci-Med and the sort of investigations it carried out as the waiter replenished their coffee cups for the third time.

‘Sounds exciting,’ said Tally. ‘Very James Bond.’

‘Not really,’ said Steven. ‘Much of the work is just routine investigation work — like clearing up a misunderstanding about the location of a child patient…’

Tally smiled. ‘I suspect it has its moments.’

‘Once in a while perhaps.’

‘You didn’t tell me why you wanted to see this boy,’ said Tally. Then, seeing the indecision on Steven’s face, she added, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. This is none of my business. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘No, Sci-Med isn’t the secret service,’ said Steven. ‘Although we do like to operate discreetly. Anwar Mubarak having TB was the reason given by sources in the Department of Health for giving BCG vaccine to over a hundred children at a school camp. One of these children is now dead and another is seriously ill because of an infection which the labs are having great trouble in identifying. Several other children in that group have reported ill. I need to be sure that it is TB the boy Mubarak is suffering from and not something else.’

Tally’s eyes opened wide. ‘Like what?’ she said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But surely if a government source says it’s TB…’

Steven smiled. ‘It must be TB?’

‘Well, yes. I mean, they wouldn’t lie about something like that… would they?’

‘Not without considering they had good reason to,’ said Steven.

‘What does that mean?’

‘There is a long tradition in government of not telling the public what they don’t want them to know. They imagine they’re doing it to avoid causing fear and alarm among the population or out of security concerns — another favourite of theirs — but it’s not true. They do it because it’s second nature to them. Their automatic response to any unusual problem arising is to pretend there isn’t a problem at all: No cause for fear or alarm.’

‘But you work for them.’

‘Sci-Med’s attached to the Home Office but we have a mandate to operate independently of any government department.’

‘Doesn’t that lead to conflict?’

‘From time to time.’

‘What’s to stop the government getting rid of you if you start biting the hand that feeds you?’ asked Tally.

‘Her Majesty’s Opposition would start asking awkward questions if they did.’

‘Well, well,’ smiled Tally. ‘Who would have thought…’

‘Sorry, I’m boring you.’

‘Far from it!’ exclaimed Tally. ‘It’s been fascinating. The trouble with working in a hospital is that all your friends tend to do the same. You become isolated in an enclosed community without even realising it so it’s good to meet people outside the circle — even if you happen to be a doctor yourself.’

‘It’s been a while,’ said Steven.

‘But you were a doctor in the army?’

‘Field medicine.’

‘Medicine under fire? Gosh, you have led an exciting life.’

‘That was yesterday,’ said Steven. ‘Now I ask questions for a living.’

‘I’d like to hear the answer to these questions — about the boy, I mean,’ said Tally. ‘Or is that not possible?’

‘I’d like to see you again so let’s make it possible,’ said Steven. ‘How about lunch tomorrow. I should have heard back from London by then.’

Tally laughed at the suggestion. ‘You’ve obviously not worked in the NHS for a long time,’ she said. ‘Lunch is a sandwich grabbed at my desk if I get the chance.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll call you anyway?’

‘That would be nice… and thank you for a lovely evening.’

Steven paid and left a big tip for the staff in deference to the fact that they were the last two to leave the restaurant, something he’d only just noticed. He’d only had eyes for Tally.

There was a taxi rank across the road with two cabs waiting. ‘Obviously isn’t London,’ said Steven as he beckoned one.

‘Obviously isn’t raining either,’ said Tally.

Steven saw her to the door of her apartment building where she thanked him again for a nice evening. Steven kissed her on the cheek and took the cab back to his hotel.