'Dusseldorf.' Kaufman repeated the one word and the muscles of his face tightened.
Gamboul ignored him, listening to the tape. 'At this moment great storms are raging over the Atlantic, sweeping towards Europe. We need your help to check the course of events.'
The voice was drowned in a welter of noise. Gamboul switched off the recorder. 'That's where we began jamming,'
she explained.
'What I want to hear from you, Kaufman, is how they know that we are concerned with it.'
Kaufman looked blankly at her. 'Dusseldorf,' he repeated.
'It was my home. My old father...'
'We are supposed to have a good security service,' snapped Gamboul. 'And you are in charge of security, Herr Kaufman.'
He roused himself as if from a dream. 'We have done our best,' he said stubbornly.
Gamboul shrugged. 'It's no matter now. As soon as Dawnay has the new strain of bacteria we will make ourselves safe here. After that we will make it available to others - on our own terms.'
'And meanwhile,' said the German slowly, 'the rest of the world wait and die? You do not care? You think other people are not caring?'
She failed to notice the hatred in his eyes. 'The world must wait,' she agreed. 'I know what has to be done. Others don't.'
Kaufman was still looking fixedly at her. At long last she felt a little uneasy under his gaze.
'Remember, Herr Kaufman,' she said. 'You and I are not other people.'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TORNADO
True to her word, Janine Gamboul arranged priority for any order Dawnay gave. The resources of Intel were such that even in the chaotic conditions of Europe the materials were located, purchased and brought to Azaran by air. Even more remarkable was the speed with which young and brilliant chemists were found, specialists in bacteriology or the molecular construction of nucleic acids. Two were newly graduated students from Zurich, one a girl chemist from the research department of Germany's biggest drug firm. Questioning by Dawnay showed that they had come quite voluntarily, tempted not merely by the lavish salary but for the chance of doing what they had been told was an exciting new channel of research, in what they hoped was a less tempestuous part of the world. They had no idea of the true purposes of Intel, or of the potential nightmare that lay behind the weather disaster. The public everywhere still hoped that the worst would soon blow over.
Dawnay told her helpers the facts of the situation as it was; but she omitted the theories about the origin of the bacteria.
She worked them to the limit of endurance. They caught the sense of urgency and became her devoted servants. She was at work when they turned up in the morning, and was still there when they wearily went to their rest in the evening.
Results began to show sooner than Dawnay had dared hope.
Precisely ten days after they had begun in earnest the first droplet of synthetic bacterium was sprayed on a minute copper screen and placed in the electronic microscope. It was a dramatic moment as Dawnay adjusted the magnification, her assistants standing around her. Up to 500,000; then to a million. One and a quarter million. It was there: a many sided formation, spiked, symmetrical. And it wasn't an inert crystal. It lived.
Silently she motioned to her staff to look. One after the other they shared in the triumph. Life, infinitely tiny, had been created.
Almost diffidently Dawnay had to bring herself and her assistants back to reality. This was really no more than a scientific curiosity. The real test lay ahead. The bacterium had to be bred in its billions - enough to fill a test tube. And then it had to be sent into battle against the organism which was its pre-destined enemy.
The precious and all too few droplets were sprayed into a dozen different culture soups. For six long hours there was nothing to do but wait. Tests showed dead bacteria in nine of the tubes; the other three had reached maximum saturation.
From these three, larger cultures were started. They all flourished. It was past midnight when Dawnay decided the real test could begin.
Dawnay drew a test tube of opaque bacteria-sodden sea water from the tank. It was sealed with a sterile rubber stopper. An assistant filled a hypodermic from the culture and handed it to Dawnay. The needle pierced the rubber stopper and the fluid produced a tiny swirl as it flowed into the opacity.
'Now another wait,' said Dawnay. Only a slight tremor in her voice indicated the tension she felt. 'So let's have some coffee.'
She had not told anyone outside the laboratory how close she believed she was to success, dreading the risk of anticlimax.
But Abu Zeki, drawn by the blaze of light from the laboratory windows, came over when the waiting period was almost over.
'Come in,' Dawnay said, 'you're in time to share in a success or help us find excuses for a failure.'
'It's working?' he asked hopefully.
Dawnay laughed uncertainly. 'In theory, yes. In practice - well, we'll know in a moment.'
She crossed to the bench where the test tube had been clamped inside a sterile cabinet. Gingerly she withdrew it and held it to the light as the others grouped around her.
Two-thirds of the water was clear and sparkling. She kept it aloft, staring, and even as they watched a few tiny heads of freed gas rose jauntily to the top of the tube.
Dawnay shook herself, bringing herself back to reality.
'It's been in the tube for precisely sixty-three minutes,' she murmured. 'Now we will test it in the tank.'
No need for sterility precautions or niceties of measurement now. Two tubes of culture were poured into the tank, and they all gathered round again to watch. Gradually little pools of clear water appeared, while fat, lazy bubbles appeared on the surface, burst, and were replaced by new bubbles.
'That's the nitrogen being released,' Dawnay said. 'The air pressure's altering.'
It was true. The barograph needle was moving up slowly but steadily.
'You haf done it!' exclaimed the girl from Zurich.
'We've done it,' Dawnay corrected. 'The rest is simply mechanics. Producing on a large enough scale. We must get an hour or so's rest and then check growth rates, the effects of temperature and salinity.' She turned to Abu. 'They'd better start planning mass production. Go and see Gamboul or Kaufman. Tell them I must have an interview as soon as possible tomorrow - I mean - this morning.'
She had no need to go into Baleb to see Gamboul. The Intel chief came to her, arriving at Dawnay's quarters while she was snatching a hurried breakfast. Gamboul asked merely for instructions, as if she were a secretary.
The result was that an hour later the Intel short-wave radio system was transmitting a long stream of orders to the cartel's headquarters in Vienna. Bulk chemical supplies of phosphates, proteins, and amino acids were to be sent by plane and ship irrespective of cost or country of origin.
Engineers were to be recruited to work on the Azaran oil installations, clearing the tanks of petroleum and making them ready as breeding tanks. Old pipelines were to be adapted, and new ones laid, to pump the anti- bacteria straight into the Persian Gulf.
The message was merely acknowledged. There were no queries, no promises nor excuses. That night the first squadron of transports flew to Baleb with engineers and cargoes of chemicals. Two of them had crashed in a violent air storm over the eastern Mediterranean and a third blew up when a miniature whirlwind caught it just as it was touching down. The rest got through.
The air lift went on the next day without respite, and the first ocean freighter, hurriedly loaded at Capetown, radioed her estimated time of arrival.
