by John Creasey
“Good,” Palfrey said. “I’ll be in my office.” He put the telephone down sharply, and stood up. “Time we made a move,” he said over his shoulder, and the others followed him, Andromovitch towering over Joyce, although she was not small for a woman. Palfrey held the door of his office open for them and then went across to a crescent-shaped desk. Behind him on the wall was a projection of the world so that the hemispheres and the main continents were shown. Here he could receive messages from Z5 agents everywhere, and could also send messages to all agents. The main control was in the Operations Room, this was a kind of extension of that.
Palfrey said: “Should you telephone Moscow, Stefan?”
“Yes, at once.”
“I’ll take Washington first, you take Moscow,” said Palfrey. “All we need give them are brief reports. Joyce, love – while I’m talking to Washington will you take it down? We’ll use it as a basis for a general call.”
Joyce came to the desk, with a notebook and ballpoint pen, and at the same time switched on a tape recorder attached to the telephone. Palfrey leaned forward and pressed a button, and a tiny green light showed on the spot where Washington appeared on the map. Almost at once he was talking to Jonathan Keller, Z5’s chief agent in Washington, whose office was only a hundred yards from the White House.
“Jonathan,” Palfrey said. “There’s a red alert.”
“I was afraid this call might mean trouble,” said Keller. “The Pentagon was on to me only ten minutes ago asking if I knew anything about a nuclear blast in Britain. Have you had a major disaster?”
“We don’t know for certain what it is,” Palfrey replied. “We do know that there was an explosion below ground at The Project. We’ve some reason to believe there are other Projects in the United States and elsewhere. We also know that eighteen silver-grey vertical take-off jets left the area before the explosion, and some might be headed your way. There’s at least a chance they could change colour en route, so anything unusual wants watching closely. Can you have an alert at every airport, and from as many possible landing places as practicable?”
“Yes, of course,” Keller said.
“Fine. Call me if there’s word.”
“Yes,” Keller said again. “Sap—”
“Well?”
“Is the radioactive dust over your Midlands area?”
“In places, yes.”
“Then millions might be contaminated already,” Keller caught his breath.
“We’ll soon find out,” replied Palfrey, grimly. He put down the receiver, and immediately pressed for his chief agent in Calcutta, and gave the report. By the time he had finished, Joyce pushed a slip of paper in front of him. It read:
“Suggested red alert to each divisional headquarters and all senior agents, to read: “Refer all previous reports related to The Project. Stop. Eighteen vertical take-off jets coloured silver-grey without marking left The Project in Midland area of England around 4.40 p.m. Keep close watch for arrival of any such aircraft or any strange and unidentified aircraft and trace to final destination which may be another major or possibly a secondary Project. Stop. Immediately after take-off a major subterranean explosion occurred and caused extreme damage up to five miles from the explosion source. Explosion could be nuclear leading to severe radioactive fallout over a conurbation covering millions of people. Stop. Your military authorities and all who are connected with the treatment of such fallout should be alerted at once since there could be other explosions. Stop. Radioactive dust could by now have reached Manchester and London airports and jet transatlantic aircraft as well as aircraft to all parts of the world could be contaminated. All arriving from London Heathrow or Ringwood Manchester should be quarantined and checked.”
Palfrey read this slowly, transposed the word ‘jet’ so that it followed the word ‘transatlantic’ put the word ‘secretly’ after the word ‘trace’ and then handed it back. Joyce went immediately to the Operations Room, and within seconds the message was going out to thousands of agents. By the time Palfrey had finished Stefan came off the Moscow call.
“Problems?” Palfrey asked.
“They want to know if we have any reason to believe there is a Project in Russia,” Stefan replied. He was smiling faintly; and that curious saintlike expression was more marked than ever. “Sap, these crises have one good effect: they give all the big nations a common cause.”
“Through common fears,” said Palfrey drily. “Is that so good?” He began to play with a few strands of hair again as he went on: “If this dust is fully radioactive, then—” he broke off, as if he could not face the simple truth.
“Then a huge area of Britain will be wiped out,” Stefan observed in a curiously flat voice.
“If not more,” Palfrey said in an expressionless voice. He moved to a television set and was immediately switched on to a scene in Coventry. A small ambulance was in the main square, and a woman with two children, one in a pushchair, one standing by it, was looking down at the child in the pram. She looked shocked.
“He—he’s turning green,” she said hoarsely. “He—” then she looked up into a sky coloured green, instead of pale blue.
Palfrey said gruffly: “I must talk to Philip,” and lifted the telephone.
Her name was Adamson – Gloria Adamson.
She was a sunny-natured woman, and much much happier than most. She was married to a shop steward at one of the big car factories, and still in love with him. She had the two children: George, named after her husband, and Lucy, named after her mother. In a welfare society she needed nothing and even had money over for extras and special pleasures. Since her marriage, seven years ago, she had known no great tragedy or unhappiness, and she suffered less than most mothers from the problems of baby and childcare because both the children had her own even temperament. Except when teething or when physically hurt, George had seldom cried and Lucy had only occasional fits of crying.
Now, Gloria Adamson was scared.
“He—he’s turning green,” she said, and looked up towards the sky.
It was green, too.
An ambulance drew up alongside her, and she noticed it but was still marvelling – awestruck. Other people nearby had a dusting of green on their clothes and even on their hands and faces. The driver of the ambulance and one attendant came from the car, wearing shiny-looking suits which might be of white oilskin, and masks; gas masks.
Gloria Adamson gasped: “It’s gas!”
“No need to worry,” the driver reassured her. “But we’ll get you to the hospital quickly.” He helped them in, the other man lifted the pushchair in beside them, and almost at once the ambulance was driven off, tyres going over a faint green powdering of dust.
“It’s like green snow,” a man remarked.
“I heard that woman say it was gas.”
Another woman cried out: “Is it poisonous? Is it?”
“Mummy, don’t—” a child with her began.
“It is, it’s poison gas!” the woman gasped.
An old man said in a quavering voice: “It’s phosgene, that’s what it is. A killer. Phosgene’s green.”
Almost on the instant there was a rush for the shops, and in a few seconds the rush became a stampede. Men and women were pushing each other, two children fell and were trampled underfoot, their mothers screaming as they tried in vain to help them. The words: “Poison gas – phosgene – a killer; poison gas – phosgene – a killer,” floated above the heads of the crowds as the green dust floated gently down.
“Philip,” Palfrey said into the telephone, “are you sure there was radioactivity at The Project?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Philip answered. “It was undoubtedly the main source of power.”
“There couldn’t be any mistake?”
“Not the slightest chance. Why—” Philip broke off, and in a moment his voice rose. “What’s happened?”
Palfrey hesitated, but only for a moment. Philip had to be told sooner or later, and delay mi
ght make him feel even worse about Jane Wylie. So Palfrey said: “They’ve blown the place up.”
“They’ve done—” Philip broke off again, and after what seemed a long time, he breathed: “Oh, God. Janey!”
“No shadow of doubt,” said one of the research workers close to the great hole where The Project had been. “It is radioactive. We must warn the VIPs.”
The geiger counters rattled away as if they were trying to cackle a warning to the men who used them.
12: The Tests
Gloria Adamson stood in a small room, naked, with a peculiar glow shining on her from all sides and from the ceiling. It was like having a shower without water. There was a big square of glass in one wall and she could see the children, sitting in chairs which were too big for them. George was eating a bar of chocolate, so he was happy; and Lucy had an ice lollipop in her left hand and the red water ice was smeared over all her lips and chin, she couldn’t be happier. Two nurses and a young, coloured doctor were with her.
No one was with Gloria.
She stood as still as she could, fidgeting a little, feeling as if she were being watched all the time. She had her arms folded in front of her, shielding her breasts. At one place on her hip there were the shimmery stretch marks on the skin which had come after she had carried George.
Suddenly, a man said as if he were inside the room: “All right, Mrs Adamson, thank you. If you’ll open the door you’ll find a dressing gown behind it. Put that on and then come through the shower room – we want to wash everything off you – wash your hair as well, if you will, and use plenty of soap. Then come through the second door.”
“Am I all right?” she cried.
The man appeared not to hear her.
She was trembling as she did what she was told. The shower was pleasant and she soaped herself freely, then rinsed and dried, but once that was over she slid her arms into the voluminous white towelling dressing gown, and began to shiver. When she opened the second door she was in the surgery of the doctor she had seen just before coming in here, but this man was different; tall, slim, nice looking.
“You’ve got to tell me!” she cried. “Are my children all right?”
The man said reassuringly: “As far as we can judge, yes.”
“Was it gas?” she cried.
“Mrs Adamson,” the man said, “we aren’t yet sure. But it wasn’t one of the conventional gases, I can assure you of that. I am in charge, my name is Dr Palfrey, so I would be the first to know.”
“It won’t matter whether it was conventional or not if it kills me or my children,” Gloria said. Dressed in white with the collar tight about her neck and her dark hair curly and dishevelled, she looked most attractive, and her eyes glowed bright as glass. “I want to know what it was.”
“As soon as we know for certain we’ll tell you.”
“I want to know what you think it might be!”
Dr Palfrey did not answer, but a change came over him, and his expression softened. He stretched out his hand in a kind of appeal, and then said huskily, and very slowly: “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All right,” he said. “We think it possible that you and your children have come in contact with radioactivity. There have been traces here and there, although radiation does not appear to be everywhere in the dust. We are applying all known tests, to try to make sure, and we are using all known cleansing and decontamination methods.”
She seemed to recoil.
“There was an accident at a nuclear power station,” he told her, and that was as near the truth as anything could be. “I promise you that we are doing everything we possibly can.”
She seemed to choke.
“You mean—that green dust was radioactive?”
“Parts were. All of it could have been, but there are some most encouraging signs,” the doctor replied.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “My children.”
“We’ve done everything—” the doctor began, but she silenced him by an imperious wave of her hand, and with something more – her expression. She was not beautiful, and until this moment he had not even thought her striking-looking or attractive. She took on some quality which he hadn’t noticed before, as she said: “But there were thousands.”
“Thousands of what?” he asked, as if puzzled.
“People,” she said.
“You mean in Leofric Square?”
“Everywhere – everywhere the green dust fell.”
“I know,” the doctor said.
“Who’s helping them?”
Dr Palfrey moved towards her with a hand outstretched, and this time she did not back away. His face was very close to hers now, she saw the delicacy of his features, sensed his understanding and compassion. He did not actually touch her as he said: “They are going through the cleansing stations as fast as we can get them through: civil defence is really in action. And the streets and houses are being washed with a newly discovered decontaminating agent as fast as it can be done. Meanwhile, you are being a great help, Mrs Adamson.”
“But I can’t help them!” she cried.
“Yes you can,” insisted the doctor, and for the first time she felt that she had seen and heard him before. “We are checking your skin – your blood, your saliva, your urine, everything which might indicate whether you have been contaminated. Every modern test has been applied both to you and your children. If you and your children are free from contamination then everyone else is free from it. And once the people know that, it will be a great help, because there is much fear and despair abroad.”
She put out her hand, in turn, and touched his gloved hand. He did not shrink away, for fear of contagion; he seemed completely at ease, and so put her at her ease.
“But how will that help?” She wanted to know.
“I want you to go on television,” Palfrey said quietly. “I want you to be interviewed and I want you to be photographed undergoing all the tests you’ve already done, and others in addition. And I want to tell everybody in England that you are—”
“A guinea pig,” she exclaimed.
Palfrey laughed: “In a way. You’ll be wonderful for their morale if you will just be yourself.”
“I expect I’ll be terribly self-conscious,” she remarked.
“Will it help to know that you’ve been televised since you stepped into the ambulance?” asked Palfrey. “What we’ve just said is on tape and can be broadcast with the picture.”
She threw up her hands, and exclaimed: “You devil!”
Palfrey laughed again, and asked mildly: “May we show the pictures?”
“But I was in the altogether!”
“And a very nice altogether, too,” rejoined Palfrey. “Mrs Adamson, what we need is someone to behave naturally, like you do, to show fear at times but not to be terrified or hysterical. The country has suffered what might be a devastating blow and if the worst comes to the worst – well, few of us will live much longer. But there are some encouraging signs. You and your children came through the skin test very well – there are no signs of radiation damage. And the geiger counter – do you know what a geiger counter is?”
“Of course I do,” she retorted. “Do you think I’m daft?”
Palfrey chuckled. “If you’re daft, the rest of the world is absolutely crazy! I—” there was a faint buzzing sound behind him, and although he didn’t look round, he stood up. “Just stay there and watch and listen, please,” he said, and went to the door and then pressed a button.
A man said: “We’ve found Jimmy Adamson, Sap.”
“What did he say?” gasped Gloria.
“Is he with you, Stefan?” asked Palfrey.
“No, but he’s on the telephone.”
“Have you put him in the picture?”
“Yes. He would like to talk to his wife.”
“Put him through to me, first,” Palfrey asked, and he beckoned with his free hand to Gloria, who came hurrying, tripped over
the loose belt of the towelling robe, fell, and grabbed at Palfrey to save herself. In that moment she seemed to be clinging to a lover.
A man said: “This is Jim Adamson,” in a strong north-country accent.
“Jimmy!” cried Gloria.
“Mr Adamson,” Palfrey said, easing her away from him. “Your wife has undergone a number of examinations including one in which she was bathed, while completely unclad, in a ray which is a new and very stringent test for radioactive contamination of the skin. We would like to broadcast the pictures on television because we think they will show all other people who might be affected that every conceivable check has been made. If they can be positively assured by morning that all the tests have proved negative, they will be greatly reassured.”
There was a short pause before the man spoke again.
“Why did you have to choose my wife, can you tell me that?”
“She was available at exactly the time a Civil Defence unit in Coventry was ready to make the tests. May we go ahead?” Palfrey’s left arm was bent, the telephone in his hand, the other arm was round Gloria’s shoulder, restraining her from grabbing the telephone. “May we—”
“I want to talk to her myself,” Jimmy Adamson declared.
“She’s standing by me,” Palfrey said, and let her go at last.
The odd thing was that when she had the telephone in her hand she was very quiet, and when at last she said: “It’s me, Jimmy,” her voice was hardly audible. But Adamson’s was brisk and clear.
“Do you know what they want to do, lass?”
“Yes, dear,” she answered.
“Don’t let them make you do it if you don’t want to,” he said.
“What about whether you mind?” she asked.
“You do what you think you should,” he said, in that forthright north-country voice. “If any of the lads at work make any cracks I’ll smack their heads together.”
