Crisis

Gelder raised the gun and Bannerman closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard van Gelder let out a scream.

Morag Napier was on her feet behind him and she had just plunged a full syringe of emulsified sheep brain into van Gelder’s back. Bannerman had never seen such hatred in anyone’s eyes. It was clear that hate was the only thing that was keeping Morag Napier alive. Even as van Gelder hit the floor she kept pushing the plunger of the syringe into his back.

When the entire contents had been injected into the prone Dutchman she looked up briefly at Bannerman and smiled enigmatically. It only lasted a split second before her eyes glazed over and she fell backwards to the floor.

Bannerman approached van Gelder’s body cautiously. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was dead or not. It was possible that Morag had managed to hit something vital with the needle and kill him or it may just have been shock that had caused the Dutchman to pass out. The gun was lying about half a metre from van Gelder’s right hand. He reached down slowly to pick it up. His fingers had almost touched the butt when van Gelder’s hand shot out and clamped Bannerman’s wrist in a grip of iron. One look at van Gelder told Bannerman that he was totally deranged. He deduced that the contents of the syringe must have been injected directly into his spinal canal, giving the agent immediate access to his brain. Van Gelder’s eyes had a quality that filled him with fear. People in this state could sometimes command superhuman strength. Bannerman swung his foot round and thumped it into van Gelder’s chest to provide a firm base to pull his arm free. He did so with difficulty and staggered backwards as he broke away.

Van Gelder’s body jerked in muscle spasm as he tried to get to his feet. He writhed and scratched himself as if plagued by an itch. Bannerman was pleased to see that he no longer had an interest in the gun, but he backed away as van Gelder’s gaze settled on him. He was appalled at the sight of the Dutchman. What had been a handsome man a few minutes before was now a feral monster.

Bannerman’s plan was to circle round the bench keeping van Gelder coming after him. If he kept moving in a clockwise direction, as he was doing, he would come back to the spot where the gun lay on the floor. He reckoned he could pick it up and fire before the Dutchman reached him.

Van Gelder, or whoever the deranged creature in van Gelder’s body was, grew tired of edging forwards and made a lunge at Bannerman. Bannerman moved easily out of range but stumbled over one of the animal cages behind him on the floor. He fell over backwards and lay spreadeagled and helpless. Above him, van Gelder loomed into view. He threw himself at Bannerman.

Bannerman felt his hand touch something metal on the floor. He brought it round between van Gelder and himself. It was the scalpel that Morag Napier had tried to attack van Gelder with earlier. The Dutchman impaled himself on it.

Bannerman had to struggle to free himself from the dead weight lying on top of him. The first thing he did when he had finally got to his feet was to rush to the sink and be sick. He sluiced cold water up into his face again and again until the horrors of the last few minutes stopped threatening his sanity. When he could breathe evenly again he picked up the telephone and called for help.

Bannerman enjoyed three days of rest and relaxation with Shona in Edinburgh before Special Branch, in the shape of Inspector Morris, called on him again.

The scale of the operation took our breath away,’ admitted Morris. They were bringing the stuff in by sea to the terminal at Inchmad. Ostensibly they were loading road stone on to the ships but in reality they were unloading toxic waste from the ships and bringing it by rail up to the quarry in containers disguised as fuel trucks. God knows what we’re going to do with it all. We’re not even sure if we’ve found all the underground dumps.’

‘I think I can help you there,’ said Bannerman. He brought out Colin Turnbull’s survey charts from his bag and said, ‘A young man named Colin Turnbull prepared these geological charts of the area. I think they’ll help.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ said Morris. ‘I’ll pass them on.’

‘When you’ve finished with them, see that they are returned to Julie Turnbull; she’s the primary school teacher in Stobmor. I think she’d appreciate knowing what a help they’d been.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Morris.

‘What about Sproat and the vet, Finlay,’ asked Bannerman.

‘It’s pretty much as you suspected,’ said Morris. They both knew about the chemical leak from the quarry which happened about a year ago. Van Gelder came clean at the time and bought their silence. He had to, because the chemical killed the sheep nearest to the leak outright. When the others developed a form of Scrapie a year or so later and started dropping like ninepins they suspected that the chemical had been involved. Van Gelder bought them off again. The new cars were a dead give-away.’

‘Bastards,’ said Bannerman. ‘That’s why the Sproats sent May Buchan away on holiday. Conscience money.’

‘Take a look at life again soon,’ said Morris.

‘Can I go now?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Not exactly,’ said Morris.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I have a message for you from Mr Allison. He says that he would like to see you in London as soon as possible.’

‘I see,’ said Bannerman.

‘And one more thing, sir, he says to remind you that you signed the Official Secrets Act and that everything to do with this affair is covered by it.’

‘Why?’ snapped Bannerman angrily. ‘A bloody Dutchman starts using Scotland as a dump for all the world’s shit. A sheep virus starts killing people and Whitehall wants to keep it an official secret!’

‘Best discuss that with Mr Allison, sir,’ said Morris.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Shona, when Bannerman emerged from his conversation with Morris.

‘I have to go to London,’ said Bannerman.

‘Have to?’ asked Shona.

‘I’m not running away,’ said Bannerman softly. The establishment wants a word with me.’

‘And then what?’ asked Shona quietly.

Bannerman looked at Shona and said, ‘I feel as if I’m walking a tight-rope and I’m going to fall at any moment.’

‘But the important question is, on which side?’

‘Come with me?’ said Bannerman, taking her into his arms and resting his cheek against her hair.

Shona remained silent in his arms for a few moments and then drew back again to smile and shake her head. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I’m beginning to miss my island. I’m going home.’

Bannerman nodded and said softly, ‘I’ll call you.’

Shona just smiled as she turned away. Take care,’ she whispered.

The taxi carrying Bannerman across London ground to a halt in heavy traffic for the umpteenth time. ‘A bit busy today,’ smiled the driver.

Bannerman smiled at the blind optimism that prevented the driver from seeing that it was like this every day. ‘Park Crescent you said?’ ‘The Medical Research Council.’ ‘Doctor, are you then?’ ‘A pathologist.’ ‘Like that, do you?’

Bannerman found himself lost for words. It was a simple question but there seemed to be no simple answer. ‘It’s a living,’ he smiled.

‘Just like me mate,’ said the driver. ‘Life begins when you clock off.’

Bannerman ripped the driver well and returned his wave as he drove off. He sighed as he looked at the official Rover parked near the entrance to the MRC. It was Allison’s car.

‘My dear Doctor Bannerman, how nice to see you,’ exclaimed Allison when Bannerman was shown in,’ He rose to shake Bannerman’s hand warmly. John Flowers and Hugh Milne got up to do the same.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful we are to you for clearing up this awful business,’ said Allison.

Flowers and Milne sat quietly while Allison conducted the proceedings. Bannerman watched the government man’s eyes. The rest of him was animated and exuding bonhomie but his eyes remained cold and calculating.

‘I know it sounds strange in view of the terrible circumstances up north but Her Majesty’s Government is