The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 21
“We can have the police appeal over their loudspeakers. I’ll see that the Army moves in and makes a door to door search. I’d better get onto Gomcent straight away,” Sir Joseph reached the car and leaned across the seat for the radiophone. This was going to cause one hell of a flap in London, he knew. Combs would have to find some troops and damned quick. And in the back of his mind was another problem. Things were beginning to get out of hand, even for him.
“Is he all right?” asked Trevor.
“The boy?” Thomas replied. “Yes, I think so.”
“It’s horrible, isn’t it, Major? Why do people do it?”
“You mean experiment with these things?”
He nodded.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Trevor. It’s just part of our world.”
“But you do it. You should know why you do it.”
“Yeah, I should. But I don’t.”
Trevor tried to understand and failed.
“Anyway,” began Thomas, walking him away from the car, “when you grow up maybe you will see all this in a clear light…Maybe by then people will have stopped all this.”
“You think so?”
He hesitated. “Maybe. Just maybe.”
Trevor stopped and looked at the hospital buildings. His mind wandered far away, and perhaps he was thinking of home.
“They’ve had three more sightings—all within the perimeter,” Sir Joseph was saying as the Bentley rumbled along towards Stoke Poges. “But that’s not the worse. Combs has found out about your American Officers taking over tomorrow. He’s threatening to resign.”
“From the Army?”
“No—from the government. You know of course that he’s the military adviser for all this.”
“Judging from his reputation I’d say that’s a nice quiet way of going.”
Sir Joseph looked at him. “That’s just it. If Combs resigns, he won’t be quiet about it. He’ll make it as public as the front lines of the Times. And he’ll make sure everyone knows why he’s resigned. It’ll make us look rather foolish if it were known how much we’re depending on you chaps, but worse than that it’ll blow the lid off everything. The ruddy world will know it was you who invented this dust and not our men?”
“Where’s Combs now?”
“Storming up and down the corridors of Whitehall last Chadwell saw of him. Murray tried his best to cool him off, but you know how he feels about Murray. No one dares go near him the way he is now.”
Thomas was worried. This placed the whole operation in jeopardy and he knew if the Americans were at all suspicious that the truth might be revealed, they’d recall the dust and put a stop to everything. His stomach suddenly went queezy as he stared through the glass partition at Trevor and Randall. “Can’t Lord Tenningly do anything?”
“The only person who can do anything is the PM and that’s top secret.”
“What’s top secret?”
Sir Joseph hesitated. He had known that he would have to tell the Major at some time in the uncertain future, but he had held back. He wanted nothing to jeopardize the American offers of help. “There are only two people who know this, Glen—Lord Tenningly and myself. It must go no further. The Prime Minister is dead. They found his body last night. The whole railway carriage was crushed. He never had a chance. If this gets out on top of the anthrax scare, well, there’ll never be an England again. Besides—in answer to your question —Combs hates Tenningly. Always has. Combs had been after a Cabinet position—Minister of Defense, but the most he got was an advisership. Tenningly got in ahead of him. Combs had made the mistake of telling everyone it was a sure thing—he was dead certain he would catch that job. When Tenningly moved in, Combs was made the laughing stock and he’s always hated him for it. It’s as if he blamed Tenningly. Christ, it wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t as if Tenningly did it intentionally. It was the PM’s choice. Anyway, that’s why Combs took over this operation so damned quick. It was his one chance of glory. If he could lick the anthrax, he’d walk over Tenningly. Now it’s whipped out from under him—by the Americans of all people. No offense, Major, but you can see the implications.”
“Can’t Combs be replaced—I mean put another CO in his place and if Combs starts to bitch, deny whatever he says?”
“Too risky. Besides, the press would lap the scandal up. By the time Whitehall had finished denying everything, the damage would have been done.”
“Transfer him to another country. Say Albania?”
“Still wouldn’t work. We’d never get away with it.”
“Then give him what he goddam wants. Tell him he’s being taken off this job so he can be a Cabinet or whatever the hell it is. Bribe him if you have to. It’s been done before.”
“That’s exactly what he does want.”
“Then do it. Which do you want—Combs as a Minister or the withdrawal of American support troops? You know damn well what the conditions are and if Washington smells a rat, they’ll recall the lot. Me included.”
“If Combs gets in as Defense Minister, he’ll have England out trying to regain the Empire. You’d have British warships cruising around Massachusetts Bay just like a couple of hundred years ago. Nobody’d be safe from him. That’s why he’s never been anything but an adviser— and most of his advice was ignored anyway.”
“Then why the hell did you put him on this job in the first place?” He lit another cigarette. They were beginning to taste foul again.
“I didn’t. It was his job—his position as Colonel. How the devil were we to know what this would turn into?” “Let’s be honest then. If this happened in America, the party would be dumped at the next election. They’d probably call for a referendum anyway. Nothing could save it. Not even a Jesus Combs. Something like this is going to crucify any government, right? Well, how long has this party got left? A year—two at the most?”
“And?”
“Stick the bastard in. Rome wasn’t built in a day and it’ll take a hell of a lot longer for Combs to stick the British Empire back together—even if he’s enough of an idiot to try. Let him have his goddam post. The government will take months to recover from this disaster—they won’t be ready for another.”
“Try telling that to some of the Ministers. They still think they’ve got a chance at winning the election. At least some of them can stand on their own. They all know Combs too well to let him go meddling about in the Cabinet. They’d resign first. And don’t tell me to let them resign, either. There’s some damn fine men in the Cabinet, Lord Tenningly for one. He might not be all that good to you, Glen, but underneath he’s what the country needs.”
“There’s only one alternative, then,” Thomas’ said coldly.
“What’s that?”
“Get rid of him for a while. All we need is a couple of weeks.”
“I suppose in America—”
“Screw America,” he snapped. “Doesn’t matter one hill of beans what we do in America or anywhere else. We’re in England now and however good and true your sense of fair play is, you’re going to have to bend the rules a bit for this one. Sister Charlotte was right, though not the way she thought. It’s not the people who should see cases like John in there—or Michael and Ralph or Trevor. It’s your bastards who’re running everything. Has Combs even put a foot out of Whitehall since this whole thing began? Has he seen anybody infected with this stuff—or killed by the nerve gas. Look how bad Chadwell was—a real pompous idiot of the first order. He refused to believe any of it could happen. And it took first hand experience to change his mind. He had to see the mess before he saw the light.
“As bad as the Yanks are—and I do admit we sometimes seem pretty bad—when there’s trouble where our own people are concerned, we do everything to help them. Right now I’m sick and tired of all this petty bureaucracy and poo-pooing all over the damn place while your people are dying. I feel like pulling out of this thing and heading for home. Christ almighty, I stick my neck out to get this dust crap over here, I offer to put up with all this ridiculous playing about, and what do you do? The whole operation is jeopardized because you won’t play ball with some meglomaniacal Colonel who’s got his head screwed on the wrong way. What the hell can I do. Or can the American government do when they put their biggest secret up for open use in England and you risk the whole thing? Damn it, the only thing that keeps me here is seeing things like that little kid in there, half dead and suffering God knows what— and Trevor there who’s lost his parents and Christ knows how bad he is underneath. It’s not their fault, but by God they’re suffering for it. It’s our mistake which is killing these people off,”
Trevor sensed something was wrong though he and Randall could hear nothing. He frowned and glanced up at Randall. Randall only smiled reassuringly and drew his attention to some cows and sheep in the fields alongside the road.
Thomas tried to relax. “Look, Sir Joseph, England won’t be the first country to dump someone who’s causing trouble. It’s not like you’re going to kill him—just keep him out of the way for awhile. Not long. Just long enough for us to dust the land and leave. I mean what else can you do? What exactly would you do if you were in my boots?”
“Probably pack up and leave, like you said. After all, it’s not your fight. But I probably would have had the sense not to get involved in the first place—at least not to the extent to which you’re involved. Whether you like it or not, you’re up to your neck and over in this. You’ve got three planes arriving now and another lot tomorrow. You’ve put yourself right in the middle and you know exactly what would happen if you called the whole thing off—you’d be no better than old Combs. Combs is worried about one thing—himself. He’s nursing an old grudge. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re fed up. because nobody plays ball, as you call it. You won’t get anything out of this except perhaps a clap on the back from our people and an honour from the Queen. What’s that to an American? Nothing. But you haven’t come through hell and back just so you can pack your bags and depart. Think of your new son up there and the responsibility you have to him. I agree with you, Glen—the whole thing smells—it’s all wrong, But we’ve got to do something about it. You’ve come this far and you know ruddy well you won’t quit. Save your steam for Combs—why don’t you go down to Whitehall and tell him all this? It might do some good there.”
Thomas drew in his lips and clenched his fists. He could feel the anger pulsing through every fibre of his muscles, and his ears sang with pounding blood. He gazed icily out upon the sodden countryside, and he heard the swishing of rain chasing the tires. The clouds were oppressive, and though the rain had taken a rest, the roads were soaked, the fields heavy with water and the air close enough to strangle him. The moisture and the cigarette smoke and the heated car stifled him, and he could think of nothing but the pounding tension. The lack of sleep and tense meetings had been building up. He had been expecting it. Someone had to pull out the plug so he could let go. Now he had to extricate himself from the predicament in which he was placed by his own anger. It was the Yanks against the Limies, and he knew he would have to step down from his horse and throw in his sword before the English would. He was one man against a government. His teeth clenched and his muscles rippled. A peal of thunder rolled in the distance, there was a flash, and Randall switched on the windscreen wipers in anticipation of the coming storm. He turned to Sir Joseph who was looking out the window, but who knew the Major’s eyes were upon him.
“Well, Major…What is it to be?” he asked quietly.
“How do you use this thing?” he replied, picking up the handset of the radiophone.
Sir Joseph looked at him. He took the receiver. “Seven zero Juliet Whiskey here.”
“Comcent clear down,” replied a voice from London.
“Major Thomas wishes a word with you,” and he passed the phone.
“Can you locate Mr. Chadwell for me? He is? Good. Yes, I’ll wait.”
In the silence that followed, Thomas kept his eyes fixed on the back of Trevor’s neck, though he felt that he was being watched. He felt tricked, but he didn’t mind. Sir Joseph played a mean game of chess, but he had done it to protect his country. “Hello? Chadwell? Thomas here. Listen, I’ve heard all about Combs latest and I want you to tell him something. Tell him it came from me on behalf of the Yanks. Tell him he can keep his job as C-in-C and that it was all a mistake. Say we realized how valuable having a man like him on our team would be. Tell him, tell him anything but make it believable. Just keep him happy for a while until we can sort something out.”
“You know what this means, Major?” Chadwell asked.
“Yes, I know. Never mind. I’ve got a plan I think. You just do as I say and I’ll see you when I’m in again.”
“Right-O, Major. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Chadwell, but you’ll need the luck.” He placed the receiver down and smiled faintly.
“And what exactly does all this mean?” Sir Joseph asked. “What are you going to tell your people tomorrow?”
“Nothing. Combs can sit in Whitehall and think he’s directing operations. But he won’t be. I’m setting up shop at Ruislip. You can arrange for a carbon-copy of exactly what Combs has—a link-up with Comcent, maps —all the stuff we’ll need to direct operations ourselves. As long as Combs sits tight in London, he won’t have the slightest idea that he’s being double-crossed. All his instructions will be received and acknowledged—and promptly ignored.”
“But you can’t just direct the Air Force to do one thing while Combs is telling them to do another. They’ll pick it up on radar for one.‘He’s sure to suspect.”
“Your Air Force, Sir Joseph, will be doing what Combs tells them only they won’t be dropping the dust. I’m getting our boys from Detrick over in the special dusters, and while Combs thinks the RAF is flying the dust, ours will be doing the job. If you want, your planes can do whatever the hell Combs tells them to so long as they don’t mind wasting a lot of fuel.”
“And you think you can pull it off—getting your own dust I mean?”
“You just watch. I’ll pull it off. Leave it to me.”
Sir Joseph left Thomas to his own thoughts until the car pulled into the long drive which led to his country residence just beyond Stoke Poges. Somehow he felt that things were returning to normal, that he could once again rely upon the American support. It has been a close call. He had sweated out the long minutes the Major took to make up his mind, somewhat confident that he would come to the right decision. And when he had made the call to Chadwell, Sir Joseph felt relief. Though the rain had come, the air was cleaner. The tension was gone.
Whitehall. 18:55 Hours
Combs’ fist was thundering down on the table map when Chadwell entered. Admiral Downing-Wright was cowering in his chair beneath a tirade of derision aimed primarily at the Americans while Air Marshall Coff grinned to himself as the carefully plotted markers bounced across England.
“Message from Comcent—from Major Thomas, Sir,” Chadwell offered meekly.
“Confound Major Thomas,” Combs shouted. “No doubt he’s behind all this. Never did like the man.”
“He’s made an apology, Sir. There was a mistake.”
“Mistake—what mistake?”
“He apologizes for any information which you may have misconstrued to mean you were being relieved of your command of this operation,” he replied as he had rehearsed it.
“Misconstrued? Me? Nonsense. I distinctly heard that the Americans were going to take command.”
“Maybe they changed their minds, Colonel,” the Air Marshall grinned. “Perhaps they feared the wrath of the British Army.”
“Let me get this straight, Chadwell. You mean that I’m still in charge of this project—perimeter and all?”
“Not exactly, Sir. You direct the attack. We’re still using the Americans’ powder, but you will have command of the operation. The actual dispersal. After all, you know best where to drop it.”
“Dust,” he spouted, though somewhat more complacent. “That miserable powder instead of disinfectant. Never work. Never. How can a few tons of falling powder do more than ground to ground and air to ground disinfecting?”
“Never mind, Colonel,” said the Air Marshall. “You still have your command. That’s all you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Now see here, Chadwell, you better not be pulling any fast ones. I’ve been in the service too long to be crossed, you know. I can smell a rat. Why should the Americans suddenly back down?”
“Perhaps there was nothing to back down from,” he replied. “Perhaps they never meant to assume control in the first place. After all, Major Thomas did say—”
“Damn the Major. Anyone would think he’s running the show. It’s a British problem and the British should fight it—win or lose. Shouldn’t have those bloody Yanks in England anyway. I was always against having colonials marching around our research plants getting all our ideas. No wonder they’re so keen to help. You’d think they have enough what with Vietnam and all.”
“That’s precisely it,” Chadwell began. “They do have enough. It’s damned fine of them to offer to help. They don’t have to, you know. And the Americans are not exactly foreigners. They have their finger in half the British pie already, or didn’t that occur to you?”
“Of course that occurred to me,” he snapped viciously. “And it’s damned sickening. Why, we should kick them out once and for all. You act as if there’s no England left. There is, damn it,” he shouted, once again rendering a blow on the map and again rearranging the markers. “And there’s enough of her left to stand on her own two feet. It’s the British Army, man. And the Air Force and the Navy. You mean to say that our combined forces aren’t good enough for the job?”
