Ken McClure - Crisis

Bannerman said that a stained brain section was a first priority. Subsequent tests would depend very much on that.

‘Call me when you know,’ said Morag. Bannerman said that he would.

Bannerman spoke into the grille at the side of the entrance door and said who he was. The electric security latch was energized, arid he was allowed to enter. At the top of the stairs he met Hector Munro, who was waiting to greet him.

‘Whatever happened to you?’ exclaimed Munro, when he saw Bannerman’s face.

‘A long story,’ said Bannerman, ‘and it would do me no good to relate it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.’ He handed over the polystyrene package containing the sheep samples.

This is exciting,’ said Munro. ‘Will you wait for the brain section report?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ smiled Bannerman. The samples were taken away by two technicians who had been briefed on what was to be done to them.

‘Coffee?’ asked Munro. ‘Please.’ As the two men sipped their coffee in Munro’s office, Bannerman broached the subject of the MRC report on brain disease. He told Munro what Milne had said about classifying the Achnagelloch agent as a new virus. Munro smiled and said, ‘I suppose he’s right in a way. We can hardly classify this thing as a slow virus if it has an incubation time of two to three weeks.’

‘But the point is that it is a form of Scrapie’ insisted Bannerman.

‘We’ve yet to prove that,’ said Munro.

‘Agreed,’ conceded Bannerman. ‘But if your tests show that to be the case, can I count on your support in making the point forcibly to the government?’

Munro looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee cup. Take on the government?’ he said. ‘And the farmers? You’re not asking much are you.’

‘All I’m asking is that we tell the truth,’ said Bannerman.

‘Ah yes, the truth,’ said Munro slowly. ‘Wouldst it were so simple.’

‘Isn’t it?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I don’t think it is. We have to consider what is right in this case as well as what the truth of the matter is. We are talking about half-a-dozen deaths here, probably as a result of some freak, biological accident. Against that, we have the whole future of the meat trade in this country.’

‘But if it has happened once it could happen again.’

‘Maybe,’ said Munro, looking down at his desk.

‘Then I can’t count on your support?’

‘Look around you, Doctor; this unit exists on government grants …’

Bannerman smiled ruefully.

‘Let’s wait and see what the tests tell us,’ said Munro.

Bannerman nodded with an air of resignation.

The buzzer on Munro’s internal phone sounded. He answered it and held a brief conversation before saying to Bannerman, ‘Excuse me, there’s a problem.’

Munro returned ten minutes later and stood in the doorway of his office. He said, ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this.’

Bannerman turned to face him.

‘My people have done a couple of brain sections …’

‘And?’ asked Bannerman.

‘They’re quite normal. No sign of Scrapie damage at all.’

‘But that’s impossible!’ protested Bannerman. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

Munro led the way through to a laboratory where one of the sections was set up under the microscope. Bannerman sat down and examined the preparation for himself. It seemed perfectly healthy. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ he murmured.

‘We’ve also carried out an antibody test for Scrapie associated fibrils. It was negative.’

‘Shit,’ said Bannerman, feeling utterly deflated.

‘Sorry,’ said Munro, removing the slide from the microscope. ‘Back to the drawing-board.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ stormed Bannerman.

‘I think you have to,’ soothed Shona. ‘Unless you are going to suggest that Dr Munro is part of the conspiracy to cover this thing up.’

Bannerman looked at her and Shona regretted having said it when she saw Bannerman was seriously considering the possibility. ‘The other samples!’ he said.

‘What other samples?’ asked Shona.

‘I kept some back to give to Morag Napier at the medical school for ethical reasons. I could do some preps myself!’

‘Aren’t you being a little paranoid about this?’ ventured Shona.

Bannerman thought for a moment before saying, ‘I just cannot believe that three men died after eating this sheep and the sheep had nothing to do with it.’

Shona conceded that he had a point. ‘Do what you have to do,’ she said.

It was just after eight in the evening when Bannerman drove into the quadrangle at the medical school. He was counting on the fact that most of the staff would have left by now and probably only the duty technicians and perhaps a night security man would be around. He did not want to explain why he was repeating tests that Munro’s people had already carried out.

Having been a recent visitor, the technician who answered the bell recognized him and let him in without question. ‘Working late, Doctor?’ the girl asked. She hadn’t realized that he had been away.

‘A couple of hours,’ smiled Bannerman.

Bannerman turned the corner at the end of the ground floor corridor and found himself face to face with Morag Napier.

‘Dr Bannerman?’ she exclaimed. This is a surprise.’

‘I was hoping I might catch you,’ said Bannerman, recovering well from his shock.

Morag had on her coat and was obviously just about to leave. ‘What can I do for you, Doctor?’ she asked.

Bannerman came clean about the tests. ‘Munro’s people found no sign of Scrapie infection at all,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to be absolutely sure.’ ‘I’ll help you,’ said Morag, taking off her coat. “There’s really no need,’ insisted Bannerman. ‘I can manage if you don’t mind me using your lab?’ Bannerman felt uncomfortable, knowing that Morag must have worked out that that was what he had intended doing anyway.

‘It’s no trouble,’ said Morag. ‘It’ll be quicker if I help, and I wasn’t doing anything this evening anyway. My fiance is away at the moment.’

That’s very kind of you,’ said Bannerman. ‘I appreciate it.’ He removed the brain sample vial from his pocket and handed it to her. They walked back to her lab and she laid the sample down on the bench while she donned her lab coat and put on surgical gloves. Bannerman felt a tingle of anticipation grow inside him as he watched Morag prepare the section. ‘I just find it so hard to believe that there was no sign of infection,’ he said.

‘Are you sure this came from one of the infected sheep?’ asked Morag. ‘Yes,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Then we’ll see,’ said Morag.

Bannerman grew nervous as they waited for the final staining procedure to complete. After a few minutes the electric timer sounded and Morag rinsed away the stain with fresh distilled water. He was pleased to see her hasten the drying procedure by placing the slide under the bulb of an anglepoise lamp for a couple of minutes instead of allowing it to dry naturally in the air like all the books said.

‘Now then,’ Morag murmured, as she set up the slide under the microscope and adjusted the focus. ‘Let’s see what we have here …’

It took less than thirty seconds for the feelings of excitement to die inside Bannerman. He read the expression on Morag’s face as she got up to let him take a look for himself. Each new field he turned to confirmed what Munro had said. He was looking at normal, healthy brain tissue.

Bannerman had been angry and confused when Munro’s people had come to this conclusion, but now he was just thoroughly fed up. He jettisoned the slide into a contaminated-waste container and let his head slump forward on his chest for a moment while he thought.