'Indent for all the equipment you need, Professor. I assure you that there will be no restrictions about that.'
A portable projector had been rigged up in the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street. The Prime Minister, a few of his senior colleagues including the Minister of Science, and Osborne were sitting at one end of the table watching the screen.
The Prime Minister raised his hand. 'That's enough,' he said wearily. 'Put the lights on, will you?' The scene of a waste of water over what had once been Holland's most fertile farmland faded.
'The point is, sir, do we release it to the T.V. nets?' The Home Secretary enquired.
'Why not?' asked the Premier. 'People who can do so, might as well see. Perhaps there'll be some sort of wry comfort in knowing that Europe's even worse off than we are.
Anyway, not many will see them. I doubt whether a tenth of the country now has any electricity.'
He fingered his pipe, then laid it down; smoking was almost impossible with breathing so difficult. 'Any news from Neilson?' he enquired.
'Not yet, sir,' Osborne replied. 'Another report from Professor Dawnay brought on an Intel transport. It's a technical message the Director of Research is studying. But briefly, she claims that the bacterium is a bio-chemical thing put out by the Thorness computer.'
'Is she doing anything?'
'She says she's working on it, sir. We're hoping she will give Neilson a lead and he can help her.'
'Couldn't this Arab aviator or whatever he is smuggle Neilson back once there are some facts to work on?'
Osborne coughed deferentially. 'I'm afraid the calculations would have to be done there, sir; they have the computer.'
The Prime Minister gave Osborne a keen glance. 'Thank you for reminding me of that,' he snapped with uncharacteristic sharpness. 'And what about the computer's minions, the fellow Fleming, and the girl?'
'They're both there,' the Minister of Science told him.
'They're under guard.'
The Prime Minister got up and walked to the head of the great table. 'Perhaps it's time we moved in,' he said quietly.
'This isn't a Suez. We would have support from other quarters.'
The Minister of Science shifted uneasily. 'My experts have made an appreciation of the eventuality, sir. They advise against it. You will understand, sir, that the computer...'
'... Has built them the sort of defence set-up it built us,'
the Prime Minister finished for him. 'So we'll have to try appealing to their better nature, won't we?'
'Yes, sir,' muttered the Minister of Science.
'Not a very profitable policy, I suspect,' said the Premier.
'But I doubt whether we or the Opposition can think up any other. I'll get the C.O.I. to draft something for the B.B.C. I suppose there's still some transmitter or other which can pump it out?'
'Daventry is still on the air, sir,' the Minister of Science said. 'The army's there with a group of mobile power units.
We can reach Azaran on short-wave all right.'
The special bulletin was broadcast in English and Arabic at hourly intervals throughout the night. Most of the first transmission got through to Azaran. After that, on Gamboul's personal orders, it was jammed.
She summoned Kaufman to her office to hear a tape transcription. The German sat impassively while the tape was played.
'This is London calling the government and people of Azaran,' came the far-off, static-distorted voice. 'We need your help. The continent of Europe has been devastated. The whole world is threatened by a series of climatic disturbances which have already begun to reach your own country. The air we breathe is being sucked into the sea. Within the next few weeks millions will die unless by some enormous effort it can be arrested. Tens of thousands are dying now. This country has been badly hit. Three quarters of Holland are inundated. Venice has been largely destroyed by a tidal wave. The cities of Rouen, Hamburg, and Dusseldorf no longer exist.'
'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.