Thrice upon a Time (27 page)

"Glad it worked out," Murdoch said. "I guess they're not so mad now about having their time wasted yesterday, huh?"

"No. They see things a bit differently now. Well, we'll see you when we see you."

"Sure. Have a good trip. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Aye, thanks a lot, Murdoch," Charles called out as he moved back inside to make room for Cartland. "I don't know when we'll be back. It all depends on how it goes." Cartland climbed in. The pilot closed the door and disappeared in the direction of the nose. A minute later the engine started, its sound swelled to a loud note, and the VTOL lifted off. Murdoch and Robert watched as it climbed and turned southward across the glen, and then they turned and began walking back to the house.

As soon as they got inside, Morna informed Murdoch that Anne was holding on the vi-set in the sitting room. Murdoch went on through and saw that Anne was wearing a white coat and was framed by the familiar background of her office at Burghead.

"Still working?" he asked in surprise.

"It's been absolutely hectic all day. That's why I didn't call back earlier," she told him. "I'm just about to leave. Is everything still okay for tomorrow?"

"It's all changed. Things have been hectic here too. Grandpa and Ted have had to make a rush trip to Belgium. In fact they just left here a few minutes ago in an EFC jet. I guess dinner tomorrow's off. There's no reason why you shouldn't still come down though."

"Yes, I'd like to," Anne said. "In fact, if your grandfather and Ted are away, maybe we could go out somewhere tonight. You've had a hard day, and I've had a hard day. Why don't we both relax and have a break?"

"Great idea. I could use one. Where? Any suggestions?"

"How about that place in Tomatin we tried the other week? It's about halfway in between. And why not bring Lee as well? It would be better than leaving him stuck on his own down there."

"Okay. I'll have to wake him up later. He's been burning it at both ends lately and has gone to sleep it off. We'll see you at about what… eight, say?"

"Just what I was going to say." Anne smiled suddenly and looked pleased. "I'll have to go home and change first. See you at eight." She blew him a kiss, and the screen went blank.

"It seems to be some kind of sudden deterioration of the myelin insulating sheaths around the nerve fibers of the brain and spinal cord," Anne said, keeping her voice low. "The same kind of thing happens with multiple sclerosis, but that usually takes years to develop. Whatever this is takes hold in a week or two." Murdoch listened from across the booth while he finished his soup. Beside him Lee, who had declined a starter, was staring morosely at the wall and saying very little.

"And nobody's got any clues what's causing it?" Murdoch asked.

Anne hesitated for an instant longer than was natural before shaking her head. "Not as far as I'm aware anyway," she said.

Murdoch caught the curious inflexion of her voice. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"There's something very strange about the whole business," Anne replied, speaking in a low, confidential tone. She paused. Murdoch said nothing. She went on, "I don't know… I just get the feeling that there's more to it behind the scenes than is being talked about."

"How come?"

"Strange things happening lately… such as lots of scrambled calls coming in for Dr. Waring from various government departments that shouldn't be interested in anything like this."

"Like who?"

"Oh… " Anne thought for a second. "Eurospace Medicine at Farnborough, NASA at Washington… the Soviet Aerospace Ministry. Why would people like that be interested in a small-scale outbreak of an unidentified sickness in Scotland?"

"Search me." Murdoch shook his head and spread his hands helplessly.

"See the kind of thing I mean," Anne said. "And then we've got a mysterious visitor who keeps turning up to talk to Dr. Waring. And he spends a lot of time at the Infirmary in Glasgow, which is where the cases were sent."

"What kind of visitor?" Murdoch asked, becoming more baffled by the whole thing.

"His name is Sir Giles Fennimore. He's quite famous—a specialist in viral DNA manipulation and an advisor to the Government on genetic engineering legislation. Why would somebody like that be involved with this?"

Again Murdoch could only shake his head. "And that's all you know? No other clues at all, huh?"

"There was one thing I was going to ask you," Anne replied. "What's the Centurion satellite? Have you heard of it?"

"Centurion?"

"That was what it sounded like."

"I've no idea," Murdoch confessed. "Why? Where does that come into it?"

"It was something I accidentally heard them talking about yesterday," Anne said. "They mentioned something that sounded like
Centurion Satellite.
I was curious about what it was."

"What did they say about it? Anything more?"

"I didn't hear any more. It was just a split-second before they closed the door."

"It's a pity Ted isn't here," Murdoch remarked. "He'd know for sure."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Anne looked quizzically at Lee, but he seemed lost in a world of his own and made no response. She looked back at Murdoch.

"Anyhow. I'm tired of being cross-examined," she said. "Now it's your turn. You haven't told me what's going on in Belgium yet. What's this sudden panic all about?"

Murdoch frowned to himself and bought time by breaking a roll and buttering one of the pieces. He didn't want to say anything about the black holes yet, at least not until he had some firm answers from the analysis running in the datagrid. "It was something to do with the erosion in the reactors," he said at last. At least, that wasn't really a lie. "The fusion products at the high energy-densities attained in the tests weren't exactly what they were supposed to be." That certainly wasn't a lie either. "They've gone to the EFC HQ in Brussels to tell the Consortium scientists about the latest findings."

Anne looked at him suspiciously. "Is that all? I wouldn't have thought that your grandfather would have anything to do with something like that." She went quiet for a few seconds. Murdoch chewed a piece of roll and said nothing. "The only work that your grandfather is involved with these days is the machine," Anne went on, talking half to herself. "How could that have any connection with the reactors at Burghead?… " Her voice trailed away for a few seconds. She fingered a button on the front of her dress, and her eyes narrowed slowly. "Unless, maybe, the machine somehow picked up something that the reactors radiated… But how could that be? The machine picks up time waves."

Murdoch looked away in despair; she was ninety percent of the way there already. His eye fell upon a group of four men talking around the table in one of the corner booths. Two of the faces were familiar; the other two were not.

"Don't look around," he murmured.

"What is it?"

"There are some mutual friends in the corner… pal Trevor and one of his buddies. They're with a couple of other guys I don't know."

"There's no reason why they should bother us," Anne said.

"I know," Murdoch replied. "But why risk making it look like an invitation?"

"I can see them in the mirror on the end wall," Anne remarked after a few seconds. "The other one is Nick. I don't know who the other two are. I'm sure they're not Burghead people though."

"Trust them to pick this place."

"They know we're here," Anne said, still watching the mirror. "Trevor just pointed in this direction while he was talking." Murdoch moved his head so that he could watch from the corner of his eye without staring directly. One of the strangers turned his head to look back over his shoulder for a moment, then faced back toward Trevor and nodded. Murdoch kept his eyes averted.

"Raincoats," Anne mused absently.

"Huh?"

"There are raincoats on the seat next to them."

"So?"

"On a day in May like this? I'd say they're traveling quite a long way from home… probably for the whole day, wouldn't you?"

"Who cares?" Murdoch said with a shrug.

"And we're right on the main road going south," Anne went on, taking no notice. "I bet those two have been at the plant today. They could be on their way back to Edinburgh, maybe to the airport. Trevor and Nick both live near here. They probably arranged to meet them here for some reason. One of them has been using a pocket recorder too. I can see it under his elbow."

"Aw, lay off," Murdoch told her. "Who cares what the hell somebody in—"

"Ah hah!" Anne said suddenly. "I bet I know what it is. Do you remember Sam, that other friend of Trevor's, who was in the Bull that night Lee was getting mad? He was one of the eight who were hospitalized in Glasgow. I bet those two are reporters from somewhere, looking for the inside story."

"Save it," Murdoch said. "They're coming over."

The first of the pair was overweight, and strode toward the booth with a ponderous, self-assertive gait. He sat down and squeezed in next to Anne without waiting to be asked, smiling broadly and flashing a press card. His partner was smaller, thin-faced, and had a curt, no-nonsense air about him; he moved a nearby chair across and sat down at the end of the table.

"You don't mind if we join you for a minute, do you," the first opened. His voice was firm and presumptuous. "Joe Gowling, United News Services, London. This is Harry Squires. We're covering the story of what's gone wrong at Burghead… the
real
story from the inside," he added with a knowing wink. "I understand from your friends back there that this lady is a doctor at Burghead." He turned to Anne, still smiling. "Is that right? Miss Patterson, isn't it? Or can we all be friends and make it Anne?" Gowling saw Anne catch her breath and raised a hand to stifle her protest. "Don't worry. It'll only take a minute or two. That's not much to ask out of anyone's life, is it?"

Anne shook her head and looked imploringly at Murdoch. "Oh, not now," she said. "I've had more than enough of this whole thing all week."

"Sorry," Murdoch said shortly. "This is a private party. We're done with work now."

Gowling's smile only broadened further. "I understand, lads. We don't want to take up your whole evening. Just five minutes, okay?" He turned to face Anne again. "Now, Anne, you must have been one of the first to see every new case. What kind of symptoms did these people have when they were first brought in? Were they dizzy, sick, anything like that… or what? Were there any external signs of the kind you'd expect from radiation—rashes, burns, or anything similar?" At the end of the table, Squires switched on the recorder he was holding and set it down on the corner between himself and Murdoch.

"The official spokesman on medical matters at the facility is Dr. Waring," Anne said wearily. "You should speak to him on Monday. I'm not in any position to give you any official quotes."

"But you must know," Gowling insisted. "All we want—"

"Look, I've already said this is private," Murdoch cut in. "We haven't got anything for you. Why not just do as she says and let us enjoy our meal."

"You can't get near Waring," Gowling replied. "We tried today. He won't even take calls about it."

"That's tough," Murdoch said. "Maybe when he's got something to say, he'll say it. You can quote us on that. Now would you leave us alone, please." He sounded impatient.

Gowling's smile faded. "Aw, come on, pal," he said. "Be reasonable. We've got a job to do too. The public has a right to know the facts. If it's all been a bit exaggerated, this is a chance for you to help straighten things out. If it hasn't been exaggerated, the people should know. If you don't say anything, that makes it all sound as if there
is
something to cover up. Know what I mean?"

"BURGHEAD DOCTOR FAILS TO DENY FUSION RADIATION HAZARD," Squires shot at them, looking up suddenly. "See, it doesn't sound good. You're better off telling us about what you do know, even if your account does have some gaps in. We'll worry about filling those in. That's our job."

Gowling had stretched out an arm and was about to take a cracker from the dish in the center of the table. Murdoch moved the dish away pointedly and set it down out of reach. "I don't seem to be getting through to you two," he said. "I've already told you twice that this is private, and we're not answering questions. I'll say it plainer: Beat it. You're annoying us."

Gowling's expression darkened. He didn't reply, but turned his head away to talk directly to Anne, making it plain that he considered the conversation to be none of Murdoch's business.

"You're a doctor," Gowling said. "You understand all about obligations, right? Well, you've got an obligation to the public who pay your salary. You owe it to them to— What the… ?" He swung his head around sharply as Murdoch picked up the recorder from the corner of the table, ejected its magnetic cartridge into his hand, and held it over the candle flame, destroying whatever was stored on it.

Squires snatched frantically to retrieve the tape but was too slow. "You had no right to do that!" Squires snapped angrily.

"That information was public property," Gowling seethed. "Can't you see how bad this will read now? Use your head. You've still got a chance to put it straight."