The Fall (24 page)

The Thames, Lambeth Bridge, London, 1893. (15)

— day 89 —
 

T
he smoking room was filled with men. James still looked a little weary from his trip. I stepped towards him. The sight of Moran stopped me.
 

‘Anna, let me introduce our guests to you,’ James said. ‘You have met Colonel Moran before.’

That was an understatement. The man’s name alone was worth a nightmare or two. I swallowed my fear and put on a timid smile. Moran took the bait, stepped forward and lifted my hand to his lips. ‘Should you ever again try to touch more than my hand,’ I said, ‘I will castrate you.’ He paled and dropped my hand. The others coughed, but didn’t seem particularly surprised a woman would utter this wish to the Colonel.

James cleared his throat. ‘Colonel Dr Colbert Brine from the Veterinary Military Academy.’ The man took my hand without hesitation.
 

‘Mr Jaran Ridgley from the Foreign Office.’
 

He merely nodded. ‘My pleasure.’

‘Mr Erving Hooks, a talent in finding useful friends on the continent.’

Hooks stepped forward, kissing my fingers, smiling widely. The word
espionage
brushed my mind.

‘And Mr Garmyn Whitman,’ finished James without mentioning the function of said man.

‘Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce our bacteriologist Dr Kronberg to you.’

After a short moment of silence, the men started chuckling. ‘Outstanding!’ cried Whitman. ‘We had already heard you were a woman, but seeing it with my own eyes is quite different, I must confess.’

None of them appeared shocked. Perhaps, James had forbidden any depreciative remarks on my sex. But then, all were gentlemen and any such thing would surely take place behind my back. I gazed at James, wondering whether he would join in once I had left the room. Maybe not today, but one day for certain.

We took our seats. It appeared to be a casual meeting. The guests stretched their feet out and James stood leaning against the mantelpiece, seemingly relaxed. How odd, my presence did not seem to bother them. Yet I was certain that whatever I’d say or do tonight would be scrutinised, compared, and measured. If I didn’t prove sharper than the average male (which wasn’t too hard to accomplish), I could just as well be dumb as a cabbage. If I were too sharp, though, they’d probably be shocked if not outright scared. I would bite my tongue once in a while, I decided. That would at least give the impression there was a woman inside this dress, and their world wouldn’t be turned upside down just yet.

‘Would you do us the honour of introducing our work to these gentlemen?’ James said, offering me his silver case. I noticed his gaze as he bent close to light my cigarette. He seemed appreciative, maybe even proud.
 

I wiped the confusion away, deciding I would mostly observe now, then analyse later tonight when I was alone. ‘May I ask how much the gentlemen know about our project?’

‘They know the essentials. You won’t need to introduce the concept of germ warfare, for example.’ James answered while I watched the faces in the room. They were either very good at lying, or genuinely interested in bacteriology.

‘Very well. The purpose of our work is to spread disease among equines and soldiers. We isolated glanders and anthrax germs and tested them on mice. More than eighty percent of the rodents showed symptoms of the disease. We are now about to test our germs on mules.’

A head went up. ‘Why these two diseases? Why not use only one? Both types of germs can infect and kill men and mules alike.’

‘You are correct, Dr Brine. I chose both for different reasons. Disease and death are only the
results
of germ warfare, but the success of our weapons is greatly determined by how well we can store them, how easily untrained men can handle them, how fast the disease spreads, and how controllable the entire process is. I would be betting on only one horse if I had isolated but one bacterium.’

The men nodded appreciatively, which usually happened only when I was disguised as one of them.

‘Can you give us any details on the factors you mentioned? Have you tested storage conditions, for example?’ asked Brine.

‘Yes, but please keep in mind that the results are preliminary. When it comes to long-term storage, glanders germs need a bit more care. One needs to keep them relatively fresh. A two-months-old culture infects only ten percent of our test mice. That means one can keep a stock of glanders for months, but before transmission, one would have to make a fresh culture. This is uncomplicated and adds a mere two or three days to the entire procedure.’

‘Why use glanders at all?’ interrupted Moran. ‘Anthrax kills in less time. I have seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Yes, glanders is less dangerous for men. But I urge you to see germ warfare as a chain of events. Glanders has a great advantage at the very beginning of that chain — the isolation is simple, diseased specimens are easy to procure. The only issue, compared with anthrax, is the storage. But does one need to store them at all if one can isolate them whenever one needs to? The advantages towards the end of the chain are even more important. Glanders is primarily an equine disease. It spreads quickly among horses and mules but rather reluctantly between men. That means that men handling the germs are less likely to get infected. If they were — how easy do you think would it be to find men to spread it for us? Do you think anyone would willingly handle a bacterium that will surely cause him large, painful boils and a dreadful, prolonged death?’

The faces darkened. ‘A good soldier doesn’t ask such questions. He does what he’s told.’

‘My apologies. I understand little of a soldier’s mentality and motivations,’ I said to Moran. ‘All I know is that when fear is involved, men tend to make mistakes. The more dangerous the disease, the greater the fear and the greater the potential for errors.’

‘Soldiers are not to fear death! What does a woman know about that, anyway?’

‘Sebastian, please control yourself,’ interrupted James.

‘I know precisely what you are talking about, Colonel Moran.’ I said. ‘But please believe me, if you gave soldiers the choice between dying of these terrible diseases or being gutted with a bayonet, every single one would choose the latter. I’m not talking about the fear of death, I’m talking about the fear of prolonged and excruciating suffering.’

Silence fell, interrupted only by the crackling of fire and singeing of tobacco as air was pulled through pipes and cigarettes.

‘Men will bleed from their anuses and vomit blood if they contract intestinal anthrax. The mortality rate is eighty percent. They will bleed from their lungs when sick with pneumonial anthrax. The mortality rate is very close to one-hundred percent. We are talking about one of the most cruel ways to kill.’

They looked at me as if seeing me in a different light. Did they see themselves differently as well? None of these gentlemen appeared to have spent time considering
not
using germs in warfare.

‘Can you tell us more about anthrax germs?’ asked Ridgley, the man from the Foreign Office.

‘Anthrax is more complicated to obtain, but very easy to store. Anthrax bacteria form resting stages called
spores
. These spores can be stored for years in a dry place. In fact, spores can contaminate soils and pastures for decades and every time cattle graze there, they will come down with anthrax. It might seem like an advantage, because you can spread the disease and infect people and animals for years to come. But this, gentlemen, is in fact a great disadvantage. Claiming anthrax contaminated territory comes close to suicide.’

Frowns showed hesitation.

‘That would indeed render this germ much too risky,’ said Ridgley, tapping his front teeth with his pipe. ‘But you are the bacteriologist. Shouldn’t there be a way to kill spores or develop a cure for anthrax?’

‘Reading a pile of scientific books doesn’t make me a magician.’

Chuckling, followed by consideration and silence.

‘Dr Kronberg was thinking of developing a vaccine against anthrax,’ said James, and this time it sounded as though he considered it to be a good idea.

‘How long will it take, and what are the costs involved?’ Ridgley again. Was he the man pulling the purse strings?

‘I can only provide a rough estimate. Pasteur’s vaccines took months to develop and test. I suppose we would have to double our budget.’

Ridgley nodded without hesitation, and I willed my breath to come regularly. The vastness of their financial resources was shocking. I hoped my face did not betray my excitement and relief. Prolonging the project, delaying the production of biological weapons for the sake of vaccine development was precisely what I had wished for.

I noticed that Mr Hooks had remained silent, all the while listening and observing, not taking part in the discussion at all.

Later that night, in the pitch dark, with only a sliver of a moon chiselling faint outlines, I lay next to James who had just quenched his greatest thirst.
 

Mine, however, was still burning — curiosity.

‘You have been staring at me for the last ten minutes. What is it, Anna?’

‘You have been away for eight days and have not spoken a single word about your trip.’

‘I forbade you to ask me about it.’

‘And I did not ask,’ I replied.

‘I am certain you are entertaining your own theories,’ he said, apparently bored and tired.
 

How could he not see how obvious his plans were? The government, the military, a man
who knows how to find friends on the continent
and a trip to Brussels — did he think that mounting me drained my mental powers? James had formed a secret organisation that extended into all vital parts of Britain to serve in her defence. If he were were even to
try
arresting James and his men, Holmes’s life and reputation would be at stake.

‘Indeed,’ I copied his tone and turned away, showing him my back and pulling the blanket over me. I heard his breath catch. ‘But I herewith forbid you to ask me about it.’ I added.

He slid his hand down my back. ‘Tell me.’

‘I’m just about to doubt my judgement,’ I answered, my voice softening.

‘You cannot possibly think I visited a mistress?’ His breath ran down my back, as did his kisses.
 

I must dispatch a message to Holmes tomorrow, I thought, before closing my eyes.

— day 90 —
 

I
awoke in my own bed. Each night I shared James’s, then left soon after we were done with each other. Neither of us had the need to sleep afterwards. He usually went back to his study, while I went to my room to think my own thoughts, unaffected by his presence and the need to pretend.
 

A sudden commotion in the corridor brought Holmes to my mind. Since our last meeting, I had wondered how and when he would try to sabotage the laboratory. It appeared as though he had just done so. It was probably Durham who rushed up the corridor towards James’s room. Soon thereafter, James knocked on my door.

‘What is it?’ I called.

He stepped in, looking ruffled and wild. ‘Something happened at the warehouse. Get dressed. We will be leaving in five minutes.’

The door snapped shut. I propelled myself out of bed and into my walking dress. Hingston held out a cup of tea and a sandwich for me as I strode through the entrance hall. James was already waiting in the brougham. The whip cracked and the brougham made a lurch.

‘What happened?’ I said, wide-eyed from the fear of being discovered, and trying to conceal it as anxiety for our project. Soon, I wouldn’t even notice when I was selling one emotion for the other.

‘Moran’s men walked their routine round this morning at five. The warehouse appeared normal, but they heard noises coming from within. As they unlocked the door, they found mules scattered throughout the laboratory, glassware shattered, alcohol fumes saturating the place.’

‘A burglary?’

‘We will see upon our arrival.’

Only a few minutes later, the carriage stopped. Four burly men were guarding the warehouse entrance.