Thrice upon a Time (38 page)

Murdoch was somewhat puzzled by these announcements. According to Anne only the evening before, no hope for a cure was even remotely in sight. But the Governor of California had stated only hours later that a vaccine had been sufficiently developed for mass distribution to commence. Murdoch was convinced that if Anne had known of the vaccine, she would have mentioned it, even if only in general terms. The implication was, therefore, that she hadn't known about it. But if she was a doctor who worked at one of the places where interest in the disease seemed to be focused, why would she be kept in the dark about something like that? It didn't make sense.

The other thing that puzzled Murdoch was the Governor's alleged statement that work on the vaccine had been going on "for some time." How long was some time? Anne had said that the Burghead victims were among the earliest reported; but the cases at Burghead had appeared only in the previous couple of weeks. Murdoch was not an immunologist, but he found it difficult to believe that a drug to combat a hitherto unknown strain of virus could be developed, tested, and put into volume manufacture in so short a time. Therefore "for some time" meant a lot more than merely a couple of weeks, which suggested that somebody, somewhere, had been expecting something like this to happen. Who? Where? What the hell was going on?

But although Murdoch was concerned, his main fears were not for lots of potential victims, most of whom he didn't know, but for one particular already confirmed victim in an isolation unit in Glasgow. The more he brooded about it, the more the vague thought that had begun to form the evening before when he was driving back from Burghead took shape. Whatever had caused the disease was already fact; there was one possible way, however, by which that fact might be changed. Murdoch voiced it at last to Cartland after they had finished making calls and monitoring the news, and had sat down for breakfast. Charles had gone to Burghead early that morning and was not available to be consulted.

"The
machine?"
Cartland repeated incredulously. "You want to use the machine to change it?"

"Why not?" Murdoch demanded. "Even if they have come up with a vaccine, it can't fix the damage that's already been done. It can't help people like Lee. The only way to help them now is to go back and catch what started it. Only the machine can do that."

"But… we can't!" Cartland protested. "We agreed that we weren't going to fool around with it for things like that—not for a while anyway."

"Screw what we agreed!" Murdoch shouted suddenly. "For Christ's sake, the guy is dying! Are you saying we just sit on our asses here and do nothing when the way to stop it might be right down there under our feet in the goddam basement?"

Cartland blinked uncertainly, momentarily taken aback by Murdoch's outburst. "How?" he asked. "It's all very well to say catch what started it, but as far as I can see, nobody seems to know what
did
start it. So exactly what are you proposing that we change?"

"I don't know," Murdoch admitted, at the same time calming down somewhat. "But I'm pretty sure there are people around who know a hell of a lot more than they're letting on about. This guy Fennimore, for instance—we've got to get at him and find out more of what he's up to. Then maybe we'll be able to figure out where we go next."

Cartland sat back in his chair and thought about it. At length he nodded decisively to indicate that he was prepared to go along with what Murdoch had said. "So how are we going to do that?" he asked, looking back up at Murdoch. "We don't even know where Fennimore might be this morning."

"We don't," Murdoch agreed. "But I know somebody who might. I'll call her first thing after breakfast."

Murdoch called Burghead fifteen minutes later and asked for the Medical Department. Anne was not there. The blue-eyed nurse was unable to tell him where Anne was, and put him through to Waring instead.

"I'm afraid that Sir Giles is traveling to the United States this morning," Waring told him in answer to his question. "Dr. Patterson has gone with him to assist. Their plane should have left two hours ago from Edinburgh."

Murdoch was stunned. "Nobody said anything about that yesterday," he said.

"I see no reason why they should have," Waring replied in a not-too-friendly voice. "But as a matter of fact they didn't know yesterday. It was only decided at the last moment very early this morning." Murdoch had a good idea what the sudden visit to the States was in connection with, but he was hardly in a position to talk about it. Waring's tone had already as good as told him that it was none of his business.

"Have you any idea how long they're likely to be gone?" Murdoch asked instead.

"No, I haven't," Waring replied. "But there's no reason why you should want to speak with Sir Giles anyway. He is a consulting specialist and does not carry prime responsibility for the patient… I assume you're calling to inquire about Mr. Walker. That now rests with the Royal Infirmary at Glasgow. The physician in charge there is a Dr. Fisher, who, I understand, has already spoken to your Mr. Cartland. Also, Mr. Walker's next of kin in the United States have been notified and will be informed should any change occur. For further information I must refer you to Dr. Fisher. I really can't be of more help than that, I'm afraid. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am extremely busy."

"I see. Thanks anyway," Murdoch said, and cut the call.

"Finnicky bugger," Cartland commented from where he had been watching on the far side of the room. "Why didn't you try pumping him a bit harder?"

Murdoch shook his head. "It wouldn't have done any good. You won't get any more out of him." He turned away from the vi-set and frowned as he tried to think. "Who else do we know who might give us a lead on it?" He turned back to face Cartland. "What about Grandpa's pals in London? There must be somebody among them who's got connections with whatever part of the Government Fennimore's mixed up with."

"Probably, but I'm not sure that's the best way to go about it," Cartland said dubiously. "You'd need months to fight your way through that lot, especially since you don't have anything in the way of real facts to wave around." He thrust his hands into his pockets and paced slowly over to the window, where he stood staring out for a few seconds. "A better way would be to start nearer home."

"Where?" Murdoch asked.

Cartland turned to face into the room again. "Burghead surely, I'd have thought. If there is something peculiar going on behind the scenes, this fellow Fennimore and that bloke you were talking to a minute ago can't be the only ones there who know about it, can they? I mean, they can't be running some kind of private venture inside a place like that, with nobody else having an inkling of it. Surely Courtney must know something about what Fennimore's doing there. Good God, he
is
supposed to be running the show, after all."

"That's a thought," Murdoch agreed. "But do we know him well enough to just go walking in and demanding answers to something like this? If the whole thing's being hushed up for some reason, Courtney might know about it, but why should he talk to us?"

"Well, you were about to try to get Fennimore to talk a few minutes ago, and you don't know him at all," Cartland pointed out. "But if it bothers you, why not try approaching Courtney through Elizabeth?"

"Of course!" Murdoch snapped his fingers. "What's wrong with me, Ted? I'll call her now and see if she can get me in there today. Do you think I should contact Grandpa there and get him in on it too?"

"I wouldn't at this stage," Cartland said. "Wait until you've got some answers. Save your big guns until you've got something worthwhile to fire at. If you do need to get involved with London later, that would be the time to wheel in Charles. But if Liz can arrange something and you feel you need some moral support, I'll come along to Burghead too. How about that?"

"Fine," Murdoch said. "Thanks. I think maybe I'll be needing some."

"I'm sorry, but what you are asking would be grossly irregular and a flagrant breach of professional confidence," Courtney declared from behind his desk later that same day. In front of him Murdoch, Cartland, and Elizabeth listened solemnly. Elizabeth's warning of Courtney's initial response was proving to be accurate. Courtney went on, "Some weeks ago, I was approached by the Ministry and asked to agree to Sir Giles Fennimore's participation in certain investigations that our own medical people were conducting. It was, and still is, my understanding that Dr. Waring contacted London in the first instance, and on his own initiative to seek professional advice, which of course is his prerogative. Naturally I agreed to that request. I do not concern myself with day-to-day details of an issue that has no direct bearing on the operations of the facility. And even if I did, I would hardly feel obliged to divulge such information to persons whose responsibilities lie outside that area entirely." He punctuated his words with a cool glance in Elizabeth's direction, conveying in no uncertain terms that the matter had nothing to do with her or with anybody from Storbannon, and she should have known better than to have imagined otherwise.

"I understand your position," Cartland replied from his chair on one side of Elizabeth. He kept his voice calm, but at the same time managed to preserve a note of underlying urgency. "But, believe me, we do have valid reasons for asking you this, and they are important. It's impossible to believe that Fennimore just happened to appear here by chance just after the first cases were reported. He knew what he was looking for, which means that somebody had reason to believe that something like this was going to happen sooner or later somewhere. In other words, whatever caused this epidemic that's just starting has been known about for some time. It's vital that we find out who it was that knew about it, and where to contact them. They must have been involved in Fennimore's coming here, and it seems only reasonable to assume that they would have given you at least a hint of why. And that's why we've come to you."

Impatience flickered across Courtney's face for the first time. "Mr. Cartland," he said. "You must understand that matters discussed between myself, acting in my capacity as managing director of this facility, and a department of the Government have to be treated with considerable discretion. I'm sorry, but I have nothing further to add."

Elizabeth stood up and stepped forward to plant her hands on the edge of the desk. Courtney's face registered surprise.

"Lee is
dying,"
she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "So are eight people employed by this facility. So are several thousand people in America and other places, and who knows how many a week from now. If you know
anything
more than you've indicated, which you
must,
Ralph,
please…
we have to know what it is."

"Naturally you have my sympathy about Lee," Courtney said in a milder voice. He glanced at Murdoch and then looked back up at Elizabeth. "And I'm sorry about the others too. But aside from that,
if
I knew any more than I've already told you, I fail to see what connection it would have with anybody here apart from reasons of, if you'll pardon the expression, morbid curiosity. And
if
I knew anything more, that would certainly not constitute a sufficiently good reason for me to break the confidence that my title imposes. As I have already stated, I have nothing further to add."

Elizabeth backed off, sat down again, and closed her eyes wearily. Beside her, Cartland frowned at his feet, unable to find a continuation. Murdoch gripped the sides of his chair tightly in his effort to contain his rising irritation at all the verbal niceties. None of it was getting them anywhere.

"Look, why don't we stop all this fencing around," he growled, looking directly at Courtney. "We're seeing the first stages of an epidemic that shows every sign of taking hold worldwide. We don't know what caused it, but we think there are people around who might. If we knew more about it, there's a chance we could stop it from ever having started in the first place. We could use the machine at Storbannon." With that he sat back and scowled as he waited for his words to take effect. Next to him, Elizabeth stiffened visibly. On her far side, Cartland pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

Courtney's face remained a mask of composure, devoid of any trace of reaction or emotion. For a moment, Murdoch thought that he hadn't heard; then he saw that Courtney's eyes had taken on a strange and distant fixation. Elizabeth raised her head and watched, suddenly with hope showing in her eyes. She had seen that look on Courtney's face before, and knew that behind those eyes, his mind was already racing through all the permutations and variations with the speed and precision of one of her department's computers; within seconds every alternative and implication would have been sorted, categorized, and neatly slotted into place. Murdoch and Cartland waited in silence, unsure of what exactly was happening, but sensing that a new, subtly different atmosphere had crept into the room.

At last Courtney brought his fingers together and raised them to his brow, held the pose for a few seconds, then slowly lifted his head until his fingertips were brushing the underside of his chin. He exhaled a long breath, and began speaking slowly and deliberately, his eyes focused on some distant point behind them.