‘Good, that probably means there was minimal splashing and aerosol formation. I’m going to ring off now Simone. George and I will be with you soon.’
Malloy put down the phone and turned to Ferguson. ‘You heard?’
Ferguson nodded.
‘What d’you think.’
‘Piece o’ piss. Puddle on the floor, no aerosols. You could deal with that with a mop and some Dettol.’
Malloy smiled. ‘Probably, but we’d better put on a show for the lieges. There is one worrying thing though. Sounds like young White is throwing a wobbly. We don’t want him making a charge for the door as soon as we get in there.’
‘Maybe you could get Simone to keep him out the road till we do the needful?’
Level 3 was almost deserted when Malloy and Ferguson entered from the stair well. Their footsteps didn’t quite echo but were certainly audible as they walked along the corridor to the ante room to the outer door leading to the high level containment facility. Two bio-safety suits had been left outside along with a pressurised container of decontaminating fluid with a hose and steel spray head attached. The corridor phone rang; Ferguson who was nearest picked it up.
‘Put me on to Dr Malloy,’ said Hutton’s voice.
‘Herr Direktor,’ said Ferguson, passing the phone.
‘Steven, The engineers have decreased the air pressure on Level 3 so there can be no outflow.’
‘Right,’ said Malloy.
‘A comfort,’ whispered Ferguson.
‘Good luck, you two.’
‘Thanks,’ said Malloy.
Ferguson made a face.
Malloy dialled Simone and got an engaged tone. ‘Fuck!’ he said.
‘It’ll be Herr Direktor trotting out sterling British claptrap,’ said Ferguson. ‘We’re all with you Simone, although I’m three floors below heading for a taxi.’
Malloy thought about phoning someone else to tell Hutton to clear the line then decided against it. Instead, he banged on the outside door of the suite, figuring Simone would understand. The phone line cleared.
‘Simone, we’re about ready to come in. Can you make sure you’re both well back from the door?’ He stressed the word, both.
‘Of course.’
The two men suited up in silence and checked each other before closing their hoods and again checking the seals. Malloy sprayed the exterior surface around the door they were entering through and turned the handle.
The slight rush of air into the lab which caused several pieces of paper on a notice board to flutter was taken as a comforting sign. If air was flowing into the lab, nothing was flowing out.
Simone Clary and the student, White were sitting together at the far end of the lab. Simone had her arm round the shoulders of the young man as he sat, round-shouldered, staring at the floor. Simone obviously mentioned the entrance of the newcomers because he looked up and regarded the presence of Malloy and Ferguson like a rabbit seeing an advancing car.
‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ yelled Malloy, trying to overcome the sound deadening of the hood he was wearing. He realised just how difficult it was to persuade someone who wasn’t wearing a space suit like his that this was the case. ‘Just stay still and wait till we clear up the mess.’
Simone’s hands tightened on White’s shoulders to stop him getting up. Ferguson remained in front of the door to block any panic-fuelled rush. White seemed to settle so Ferguson joined Malloy in walking into the BL3 lab where they both saw the wet patch on the floor interspersed with broken glass.
‘No problemo.’ announced Ferguson. He poured concentrated disinfectant into the puddle and then sprayed the surrounding area with the pressurised disinfectant spray. Are we having an encore?’ he asked.
‘Suppose we better,’ replied Malloy.
‘One grenade or two?’
‘Better make it two. Give everyone their money’s worth.’
‘That old yen for show-business, eh?’
Ferguson prepared two disinfectant gas shells and then waited while Malloy finished checking inside the BL3 lab before retreating to the exit and giving Ferguson a nod. Ferguson pulled the toggles on both shells and stepped back smartly to join Malloy as the first spiral of gas escaped. They closed the airlock behind them allowing the gas to fill the interior and destroy any rogue virus particles that might have escaped the decontamination fluid.
‘Shower time folks,’ announced Malloy as they rejoined Simone and Wright. All our clothes stay here for decontamination. We’ll use the surgical smocks in the cabinet to the right of the shower room. You first Simone. Simone appeared reluctant to leave White but Malloy nodded reassurance and she relinquished contact slowly with White and made for the shower.
‘You’ll be next Gregor,’ said Malloy.
‘What’s the point?’ mumbled White. ‘We were exposed to concentrated HIV virus for Christ’s sake!’
‘It didn’t splash on your skin and you’ve no obvious cuts or grazes it could have got in to so what’s the problem? HIV’s a bastard but it’s not that easy to catch in a lab situation. Just thank your lucky stars it wasn’t something like typhoid or plague you were working with.’
‘You’ve got suits on haven’t you?’
‘We like making a drama out of a crisis,’ announced Ferguson, taking his hood and visor off. If you catch AIDS son it’s because of what you’ve been doing with your dick not because of that wee puddle in there.’
The comment forced a wan smile from White.
‘Go have your shower,’ said Ferguson, seeing that Simone had emerged from the shower room, wearing a white surgical smock and nothing else. Her wet, black hair hung round her face making her appear younger and more vulnerable than before.
‘What happens now? she asked.
‘When we’ve all showered, we’ll bomb this place too and leave it for a while. You and Gregor will be seen by the university health people and probably put on AZT treatment for a few months as a precaution. You’ll probably be offered counselling as well.’
‘You get that if someone as much as farts in the same room as you these days,’ interjected Ferguson.
You’ll be blood tested for HIV right now and then again in a few months time but chances are you’re perfectly okay. I’d put money on it.’
‘Thanks Steve and you too George,’ said Simone.
FIVE
It was raining in Manchester when Dewar got off the train but he’d expected it would be. That was the thing about reputations, once acquired, justified or not, they tended to stick. The thought led him to think of one head of a university department he’d known, now retired, who was not remembered for any of the work he’d done in his professional life but solely for the fact that he’d used other people’s used tea bags in the common room rather than contribute a few pence a week to the fund himself. Dewar was convinced that Manchester would not get the Olympic Games it craved, not for any locational or logistical reason, nor for any lack of facilities but because people had an image of runners splashing through rain water.
The taxi driver asked if he’d seen ‘the game’ last night on television. Replying that he hadn’t ensured that he got a ball by ball account until they reached the university some ten minutes later. Standing out in the rain was suddenly a welcome experience.
‘I’ve an appointment to see Professor Kelman,’ he said to man behind the reception desk after shaking the rain from his hair.
‘Third floor.’
With apparently no more information on offer, Dewar took the lift to the third floor and found what he needed to know on a board facing him when he got out. It even had personnel photographs on it. He was now looking for a bald man in room 317/18.
‘Can I help?’ asked the woman who occupied the outer office (317) and whose severe features suggested that helping anyone was the last thing on her mind.