‘There’s more. The lab at the children’s hospital in Carlisle should have grown the bacterium if it had been the BCG bacillus to blame but their cultures were all negative even after fourteen weeks. Trish Lyons’ cultures are also negative to date. There’s a chance that it’s a different infection altogether, a vicious, flesh-eating bug that the kids picked up at Pinetops that we can’t identify in the lab and can’t treat with antibiotics.’
‘Just what we need,’ sighed Macmillan. ‘How exactly are we proposing that the children got this infection — if it should turn out to be the same one?’
‘Actually there are several more children on the green sticker list who are complaining about skin problems.’
Macmillan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead against the palm of his hand in a slow sideways motion. ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.
‘The only thing they have in common is the fact that they attended Pinetops school camp together and that they all received BCG vaccine while they were there.’
‘And of course, the reason they were given it in the first place,’ added Macmillan cryptically.
Steven looked at him questioningly.
‘They were all exposed to possible infection from Anwar Mubarak.’
‘Which was straightforward TB with no clinical problems according to the lab report…’ said Steven, his voice fading as he saw what Macmillan was suggesting.
‘But against which, as your friend pointed out, the authorities saw fit to vaccinate the whole camp — apparently without reference to medical history or background of any of the children,’ said Macmillan.
‘Maybe we should call a Code Red on this one?’ suggested Steven.
Macmillan nodded somewhat reluctantly but said, ‘I agree.’
The change to Code Red signified that a preliminary investigation by a Sci-Med investigator was about to turn into a full-scale investigation with all the powers that entailed. Steven would be able to request help and assistance at any time of the day or night through a specially manned switchboard set up at Sci-Med. He would have access to funds through special credit accounts set up in his name. He would have the authority to request assistance and information from the police authority in any area he was operating in with full backing from the Home Office. He could even request that he be armed should he feel that the situation warranted it. None of this would seem to be necessary in his current assignment but it was reassuring to know that everything was in place should he need it — or would be when Jean Roberts was told.
Macmillan pressed his intercom button and said, ‘Code Red on Steven’s assignment, please, Jean.’
‘What do you plan to do?’ Macmillan asked Steven.
Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘I’m going up to Leicester to visit Anwar Mubarak. I want to see the boy; I want to see the cultures they grew and I want to see the drug sensitivity results from the lab. I need to be absolutely certain we’ve been told the truth.’
‘And if we have?’
‘Assuming the London lab dealing with the Keith Taylor specimens fail to grow anything, we’ll have to accept the possibility that we’re dealing with a new infection — probably viral as it seems to be resistant to antibiotics and nothing’s coming up on bacteriological culture media.’
‘And the first thing to do with a new infection…’ intoned Macmillan.
‘Is to establish the source of it,’ completed Steven.
Steven drove up to Leicester, hoping that at least, by the end of the day, one of the variables would be removed from the investigation, giving him a clearer sense of direction. There were just too many possibilities floating around at the moment: he was beginning to feel as if he’d been dropped in the ocean and wasn’t sure in which direction to swim. The receptionist at the children’s hospital didn’t help much.
‘We have no one here by that name,’ she replied after a brief examination of her screen, apparently not at all concerned that she couldn’t help. Steven wondered what it was about the British that so many people who disliked dealing with the public ended up in jobs entailing constant contact with them. He asked her to check again.
‘Still nothing,’ said the woman, peering over the top of her ornate glasses at the screen.
Realising that Mubarak’s name not being on the admissions register might have something to do with the authorities’ desire for secrecy over the affair, Steven showed her his ID and asked to speak to the Medical Superintendent.
‘Professor Lang is away until tomorrow. He’s at a conference in Geneva.’
‘Well, his deputy.’
The woman sighed and picked up her phone.
Steven was shown to a bright, modern room on the second floor. The name on the door said Dr N. Simmons. ‘Dr Simmons will be with you shortly,’ said the junior assistant who had led him up. ‘Please take a seat.’
Steven sat down, feeling slightly ill-at-ease staring at an empty chair on the other side of the desk. As the minutes passed, he thought about picking up and flicking through the copy of the British Medical Journal that lay there but then thought better of it. It might be construed as an invasion of personal space. As the wait extended to eight minutes, he considered getting up and going over to look out of the window but finding someone wandering about your office could also be intimidating. He sat tight until the door opened behind him and he turned to see an attractive dark-haired woman standing there. She seemed out of breath. ‘Hi, I’m Natalie Simmons, Professor Lang’s senior registrar. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. My bleeper went off as I was coming along the corridor and I had to go back to the ward.’
Steven smiled and shook hands with the woman. ‘No problem. I’m Steven Dunbar.’
Natalie Simmons plonked herself down behind her desk and pushed her hair away from her face. She took a moment to examine Steven’s ID card before saying, ‘Well, Dr Dunbar, I’m afraid I’ve never heard of the Sci-Med Inspectorate but I’m sure you must have every right to be here and this all seems terribly official so what can I do for you?’
Another push of the hair and a big smile revealing even white teeth accompanied this.
Steven decided that he liked her. Natalie Simmons seemed open, friendly but blessed with beautiful green eyes that also somehow suggested an understanding of just how the world worked — a quality that could ultimately lead to cynicism or, as he suspected in her case, to a comfortable acceptance and amused detachment regarding the workings of the human race. He assured her that she wasn’t alone in not having heard of Sci-Med and told her briefly what they did.
‘I see, and where do we come into that?’
‘I need to speak to someone about one of your patients, a boy named Anwar Mubarak.’
‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘He’s got TB.’
‘Really?’ exclaimed Natalie, sounding surprised. ‘I wasn’t aware we had any TB patients.’
Steven considered, but only for a moment, whether or not he should take Natalie Simmons into his confidence before saying, ‘He’s a recent immigrant. He attended a school camp up in the Lake District before they found out he had TB. The authorities are keen to keep this under wraps.’
‘I can see why — taking our houses, our jobs and giving our kids TB. Well, the authorities seem to have done it very well because I know nothing about this child at all.’
Steven felt that familiar sinking feeling come on. ‘Is there anyone else who might?’
‘I’d be pretty annoyed if there was,’ said Natalie. ‘I’m acting head of the Infectious Diseases Unit while Ralph is away. I’m supposed to know about these things. Bear with me.’
Natalie made a succession of phone-calls, which all ended in negatives. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Dunbar. None of my colleagues knows anything about this either.’
Steven shook his head. ‘Bizarre,’ he said. ‘There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding but it’s my problem, not yours.’ He got up to go. As a last resort he asked, ‘I don’t suppose Professor Lang could be treating the boy somewhere privately because of the circumstances?’