Alien Virus (2 page)

I thought the Police must
know what
had
happened to
Peter’s
body – and I was right. We showed the duty
officer our press badges and asked about the accident. We were told
Peters had been taken to
the Fulham
General
hospital, and there would
probably be an autopsy.

“
So why would a hit and
run case interest Mind2Body magazine?” the polic
e
man asked.

“
Mr
Peters was a bit of a health fanatic,” I
said
, w
hich was
not so far off the mark.

“
Didn’t help him
much
then,” replied the officer
sarcastically.

At the hospital, we managed to
bluff our way into the office of a Doctor Adams, who knew about
Peters. I told the doctor we were researching an article on the
dangers of salt and had heard that Frank Peters had a high sodium
level. The doctor was very amenable and friendly and happy to talk
about the case.

“It really was a tragic accident. Frank was
suffering from sodium poisoning and had only weeks to live. The
poisoning had affected his nervous system and entered the brain,
causing a mental imbalance with delusional tendencies. He must have
been in considerable pain – and it’s not inconceivable that he
could have walked out in front of the car knowingly.”

“
Suicide
?” Sandi asked.

“It’s possible. Either that or his mental
state caused him to be totally unaware of the traffic. We’ve seen
this sort of thing before.”

“Not a hit–and–run case then?”

“No, not at all. The driver was very upset,
of course. But I understand from the Police that there will be no
charges pressed. A very regrettable accident.”

We left the hospital in reflective mood. I
suggested we stop and have a coffee before going back. It was too
late to call it at the office anyway, and we’d hit the rush hour if
we tried to get home now. After a bit of arm twisting, she gave
in.

As we waited for our cappuccinos, Sandi
gazed out of the café window and I gazed at Sandi. She seemed
oblivious to my stare. How I missed not having her at home, in my
life, in my bed. Sure, it had been difficult. Working in the same
office eight or ten hours a day and then spending the rest of our
life with each other. One thing had to give, and unfortunately it
was our personal relationship. If we’d had children, if might have
been different. We’d have told ourselves we’d have to stay together
for the kids… but it would have been a lie. And anyway, neither of
us wanted children. Well, I didn’t.

The coffees arrived and we smiled at the
waiter, then at each other.

“So, what did you think of Dr Adams – truth
or bluff?” I asked her. Sandi looked at me, then out of the window
for a moment, as if thinking how to reply. Then back to me.

“I wonder sometimes why I go along with your
hair–brained ideas, Kevin. I thought what the doctor said was
perfectly reasonable. Much more convincing than ‘aliens
infiltrating the known Universe’.”

“Planet Earth, Sandi – alien viruses taking
over our planet – taking over
us.”

“Whatever. It’s still light years off the
scale of sensible compared to what the doctor said.” It was my turn
to look out of the window. I knew I wasn’t wrong. I reached for the
salt, but Sandi caught my arm.

“Don’t Kevin – it’s bad for you, remember?
Look what happened to Frank Peters.” I prized her fingers off, and
took a good lick of the white granules. I moved closer to Sandi and
spoke softly, but urgently.

“Listen Sandi, I know you don’t believe me.
But you’ve got to trust me. I know something is going on, and I’ve
got to find out what it is. Until I do that, I can’t rest, I can’t
work. You know me – you know how I’ve got to see things through to
the bitter end. I’m going to find Frank Peters’ next of kin. There
must be someone that knows him. I’ve got to know for certain
whether he’s a crackpot or has come across the greatest danger
mankind has ever faced. If I don’t do this, I’ll never be able to
live with myself. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded. “Okay.
When we’ve had our coffees, I’m going to take a couple of days off,
and I want you to cover for me…”

“Kevin, no… you can’t! If Trevor finds
out...”

“It’ll be all right. Tell him I’m
researching a story on the Health benefits of living in
Scotland.”

“Why Scotland?”

“Frank Peters had a Scots accent – his
family probably still live up there.
Please
Sandi?” After a
shrug of the shoulders and a big sigh, Sandi capitulated.

“But if I get sacked, you’re in BIG
trouble.”

*

The next morning, I returned to the Police
Station and managed to get the name and address of Frank Peters’
mother. Scotland was right – Edinburgh in fact. I had no phone
number or email address, so the only option was to visit in
person.

The 8.40am train from Euston got into
Edinburgh Waverley at 1.40pm. It was years since I’d been to
Edinburgh, but I still loved the city. The place I gained my first
adult experiences of life – and lost my virginity.

From the station, I took a taxi to Mrs
Peters’ first floor flat in Colinton Road, Morningside. There were
no lights on from the outside, and no answer at the door.
Neighbours on the same floor said she kept herself to herself –
they didn’t know much about her. They asked if she was in any
trouble. I lied that I was a relative and had just returned from
overseas to visit her.

Writing a quick note saying I’d met Frank
Peters in London and would like to talk to her, I added my mobile
number and pushed the folded paper through the letter box. Then off
to find a bed & breakfast for a night or two.

*

The Kingsway Guest House in East Mayfield
suited me fine. I paid cash and settled down for the night in front
of the TV with a bottle of the Chilean Merlot I’d bought from a
little off–licence round the corner. The sedative effect of the
wine, combined with the warmth of the room, almost had me drifting
off to sleep – until I was jogged back to consciousness by BBC News
24.

“
A report by leading scientists states
that in addition to contributing to coronary heart disease, a link
between the intake of salt and several forms of cancer has now been
established. The Prime Minister, talking at a press conference
today, intimated that in light of these new findings, the
government intends to push through new legislation as soon as
possible to ban the use of salt in all cafes and
restaurants
.
”

I was naturally stunned. All the research
I’d unearthed showed conclusively that salt was essential to good
health: without it we would die. To say it caused cancer was like
saying that drinking water makes you an alcoholic. It really looked
like Frank Peters could be right about salt. But could the Earth
really be attacked by an alien virus?

***

Three

The next morning, I groped in the dim light
attempting to silence the alarm clock – then realized it was my
phone ringing.

“Mr Lee?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Speaking – who is this?” I tried not to
sound like I’d just woken up.

“It’s Mrs Peters – I got your note.” The
voice was distinctly Edinburgh, though more Tollcross than
Morningside.

“Great – can we meet up today?”

“Yes – but not at the house. I’ll give you
the address of my brother – we can meet there. Have you got a pen
and paper handy?” I pulled the curtains open and grabbed the
hospitality note–paper and pen from a drawer.

“Sure – fire away.”

The address Mrs Peters gave me was a farm
some way along Colinton Road, past the University’s playing fields.
It didn’t take me long to get dressed, grab some breakfast and
leave the hotel. The farm was only a few minutes’ drive away and I
found it pretty quickly.

I parked the car near the main house. The
whole place seemed deserted and knocking on the front door brought
only echoes. I tried the adjoining barn, calling out Mrs Peters’
name. And then everything went blank. The next thing I felt was
cold water in my face – a bucketful of it thrown by someone. And
that’s when I realized I was tied to a chair; both my hands and
feet were bound with strong rope. As the water cleared from my
eyes, I could see three figures in black balaclavas over the heads
with only slits for eyes. They all wore ill–fitting boiler jackets
in matching worn-out blue. Two were standing – one with a table leg
in his hands, the other with the empty bucket. The third person was
sitting at an old desk, writing something. He stopped and looked
up.

“Who sent you?”

“No–one sent me.”

“How do you know Mrs Peters?”

“Is that know in a biblical sense?” The one
with the club stepped forward and hit me across the shoulder.
“Jesus!” Pain shot through me. It was no time for
humour
. “I met her son Frank in a bar in
London…”

“Which bar?”

“My local – the Bells in
Fulham
. He just started talking to me.”

“What about?”

I didn’t want to say anything more – I
didn’t know these people, and I didn’t know if I could trust them.
The one in the chair was getting impatient.

“Answer the question! What did Frank talk
about?” The one with the club took a step towards me. I didn’t feel
like being a hero and decided that the truth was the best
option.

“Aliens – he talked about aliens. Well, an
alien virus, anyway. He said we’re all infected – practically the
whole of mankind. But he had some sort of immunity – because of his
high sodium level. He said that salt neutralizes the virus.” The
figures looked at each other. The one with the stick took a step
back and the seated one spoke again.

“And did you believe him?” They were all
watching me intently now.

“At first – no. But when he mentioned salt,
I thought there might be something in what he said…”

“Something for a good story?” the seated one
asked, picking up my Press–card.

“I already had a good story – an article
ridiculing the ‘salt is bad for you’ myth. But my editor binned
it.”

The seated one motioned the other two to his
desk and they talked quickly in low voices. One voice was
definitely a woman’s. After a couple of minutes, the seated one
spoke to me again.

“You’re a journalist, Mr Lee, and we don’t
trust the press. There’s only one way to find out whose side you’re
on. He nodded towards the one who had been holding the bucket – the
one I took to be a woman. She picked up a white dish from the desk
and approached me. I soon realized that the dish contained a
syringe and I stiffened. The big man with the stick held me down in
the chair whilst the other one untied of my arms. I struggled at
first, but when I saw the big un’ look over to the table leg, I
relaxed. They pulled back my sleeve so the woman could find a vein
on my right arm. She quickly pushed in the needle, and then slowly
extracted some blood.

She left the room and one of the men tied me
up again whilst the other went back to his desk. Who were these
people? Were they working for the government? What was their
connection with Frank Peters – and where was Mrs Peters?

The female returned after what could only
have been a few minutes with another woman, a grey–haired lady in
her late sixties or early seventies with no balaclava or boiler
suit. The older woman spoke.

“I believe him.”

“He’s clean,” said the one with the syringe,
removing her headgear. The two men followed suit, removing their
own hoods. One of them came over to untie me.

“We had to be sure, Kevin, we had to be
certain,” he said.

*

The grey–haired woman was Mrs Peters. She
invited me back to her house, and I accepted. I wanted to find out
about these people. Three of them went in a four–by–four with
tinted windows, and I followed in my car with one of the guys.
Inside Mrs Peters’ house, we sat at a table and the younger woman
brought in coffee and a bottle of single malt whisky. I was ready
for a drink, I can tell you. The one who had been sitting in the
chair at the farm, Tony, seemed to be the leader of the group. He
was in his mid–fifties with cropped hair. University educated and
English. The other man, Gareth, was a big Welshman who could have
probably drunk the bottle of Scotch on his own. He was very
apologetic about the table–leg intimidation and said, “You can’t be
too careful, y’know.” The younger woman who had held the syringe
was a Scot called Kate. Born on the South Side of Glasgow to
wealthy parents, she’d recently graduated in Biochemistry from
Glasgow University. And she was a beauty. It wasn’t only my blood I
wanted to give her. Auburn hair and green eyes betrayed her Irish
roots, and her youthfulness and vigour mesmerized me. I struggled
to keep my eyes off her.

Mrs Peters – Audrey – was a lovely lady with
great feelings for what was right. She knew about the death of her
son, but was taking it remarkably well. With coffee and whisky we
chatted amiably for a while. Then, after about half an hour, Tony
turned to me in a more serious mood.

“Kevin – I know Frank gave you an outline of
his findings, but there’s a bit more you should know. Frank was a
great man, and we’re all going to miss him – particularly Audrey of
course.” He looked across to the old lady. “Frank was passionate
about telling people about the virus…”

“It’s true then?” I interrupted. Tony
nodded.

“I’m afraid so – everything that Frank told
you is true. He left for London because he became a little
frustrated with the group.” Kate looked at Tony without smiling. He
caught her gaze and continued. “Well, mostly with me, I’m sorry to
say. Since we discovered the virus, I’ve always been ultra careful
about how we publicized our knowledge – thinking that in the wrong
hands it puts us all at risk. Frank understood this, so he went off
on his own.” He smiled at Audrey. “Just like Frank, eh Audrey? He
had his strong beliefs – stubborn at times – but he’d never drop
his mates in it. He never mentioned anything to you about us, did
he Kevin?”