“I don’t understand,” said Saracen, totally bewildered by Braithwaite’s air of hopelessness.
It was MacQuillan who replied. He said, “We’ve had a bit of bad news. Porton Down say that the vaccine we have been using is useless against the Skelmore strain.”
Braithwaite added, “I cannot in all conscience ask my staff to continue working without any protection at all.”
“Of course not,” murmured Saracen.
“So what happens now?” asked the hospital secretary to break the ensuing silence.
“We start general quarantine measures. We close all schools, all shops and businesses that are not essential and we tell people to stay indoors. We back it up with the police and the army if necessary.”
“Are Porton working on a new vaccine?” asked Saracen.
“Of course,” replied MacQuillan. “And an antiserum but it will take a little time.”
“Does Col. Beasdale know about all this?” Saracen asked Saithe.
“I told him earlier. I’m awaiting his reaction. Why don’t we all wait together?”
They did not have long to wait before Beasdale called over their special communications link to announce the new measures for the town. From noon Skelmore would be placed under conditions of generalised quarantine as advocated by his medical advisors. Schools, cinemas, businesses, non essential shops would be closed as from mid day. People would be requested to remain indoors although not ordered to do so at this stage. Public gatherings of any sort would be forbidden.
News of the new measures would be given on local radio at eleven thirty after which the radio station would be used exclusively for advice and information on the emergency. The public would be invited to telephone the station with questions which would be dealt with by a panel comprising an army officer, three civilian administrators and the medical superintendent of the County Hospital. “Are there any questions?”
“Have your men been told that their vaccination against plague was ineffectual?” asked Saracen.
“Not in so many words,” replied Beasdale. “But I will have to reverse my original decision about their wearing protective clothing. They will now wear it for all duties in the town. The public will be told that they are trying out the suits as part of an exercise.”
“Let’s hope they are dumb enough to believe it,” said MacQuillan.
“You don’t believe that they will?” asked Beasdale.
“Would you?” retorted MacQuillan.
“Perhaps not,” conceded Beasdale evenly. “But that’s the way it’s going to be.”
Saracen smiled at having discovered that the velvet glove was not empty.
“Now gentlemen,” continued Beasdale. “You have presented me with facts and figures. What I need now is an explanation. Twenty eight people all die together and eight new cases appear during the night. What’s going on?”
MacQuillan said, “The deaths at Palmer’s Green were… unexpected in an epidemiological sense in that they do not fit into the expected pattern of events. I think we have to treat it as a tragic, one-off occurrence. I would think that the Archers were almost certainly to blame but the exact mechanism of the infection is for the moment unknown and, for that matter, academic. Our main concern must lie in the fact that four of the new cases were not on our list of contacts. This means that we can expect yet more cases.”
“Is the situation out of control?” asked Beasdale directly.
“No,” replied MacQuillan.
“Is it under control?” asked Beasdale.
“No.”
“Then things are still in the balance?”
“Very much so.”
“Thank you gentlemen. Keep me informed and tell me when the General is ready to admit plague cases will you?”
“Of course,” said Saithe.
Saracen inspected the newly completed reception area at two o’clock. He was accompanied by Jenkins, the hospital secretary. It was clean and functional, thought Saracen and the whole area was bedecked with warning signs forbidding entry to the unauthorised. He examined the restored access to the stairs leading to the ward above and saw that Jenkins had been right. There was plenty of room for stretchers.
“It seems fine,” said Saracen.
“Then the General can go on line?” asked the secretary.
“We can go on line.” said Saracen.
When Jenkins had left Saracen phoned Moss at the County Hospital to tell him personally.
“About bloody time,” said Moss.
“Knew you’d be pleased,” said Saracen. “How are things going?”
“Three more this morning.”
“Known contacts?”
“Not on Braithwaite’s list.”
“Not good.”
“To say the least.”
“You’ve heard about the vaccine?”
Moss said that he had.
At four in the afternoon, with the town stunned into enforced idleness, Saracen received the first plague alert for the General. An ambulance was on its way with a forty-five year old male suspect. Saracen checked the name against Braithwaite’s list. It was not there. He swore under his breath.
Saracen donned his protective clothing and headed for the new reception area. One nurse accompanied him, also in full protective gear. They familiarised themselves with the details of the patients while they waited. The man was married with two children and worked for the Water and Drainage Department of the Council. He had no known contact with the Maxton Estate. The sound of a siren in the distance said his arrival was imminent. When the siren stopped Saracen put on his face mask. There was a hospital rule about turning off sirens within a quarter of a mile of the hospital.
The ambulance pulled up outside and its two volunteer attendants, clumsy in plastic suiting, unloaded their patient on to a trolley and brought him inside. The stood by while Saracen examined the man. It did not take long. Saracen’s fear that he might be presented with an atypical case and have trouble reaching a firm diagnosis did not materialise. The patient presented as a classical, text book pneumonic plague.
Saracen nodded to the attendants who, in contravention of normal working practice, had agreed to take all confirmed cases up to the isolation ward. This obviated the need for volunteer porters who would normally have done the job. In a way Saracen was glad that the patient was too ill to realise what was going on around him. Gowns and visors, gloves and scarlet danger signs would not have reassured him. By eight in the evening the General had admitted six patients to Ward Twenty, the County Hospital had taken in another two.
The next day was Friday and at nine thirty, when the medical committee met, there were fourteen patients in Ward Twenty and twenty two in the County’s isolation unit. Saracen phoned to find out how Jill was just before leaving for the meeting but Sister Lindeman, who answered, said that she had gone off duty and was probably asleep.
“Don’t you ever sleep Sister?” asked Saracen.
“When I have to Doctor.”
MacQuillan was rattled. “I don’t understand it, I just don’t understand it,” he complained. “So many people not on Braithwaite’s list. It’s as if there was a spread of random contacts all over the town that we know nothing at all about.”
“Where is Dr Braithwaite this morning?” asked Saithe, looking at his watch.
“I understand he is not too well,” said MacQuillan. Eyebrows were raised around the room prompting
