CHAPTER 1

A little late, I pulled my Ferguson Cross-Country '62 into the space reserved for me and stepped out. The clouds were low and moving fast but the rain was soft on my bare grey head. The dark walls of the Laboratory rose close by. I felt the mass of it blocking off the light wind and, with the wind, the chill wetness of an autumn morning. It was good to be back, I thought, back to the quiet excitement of research, the prideful interest in my students, the comforting presence of my friends.

A female figure splashed by me hurriedly, her arms full of large brown envelopes. I half turned. "Lottie," I started to say ... it was the Lab's messenger girl ... but she was gone already. "Funny," I mused, "she's usually ready to stop and chat at the least excuse." I turned back towards the Lab and almost collided with another woman, also loaded with what looked like case reports. "What the Hell!" I muttered to myself, but she was gone too. I quickened my pace, ran up the stone steps two at a time and passed through the big glass doors that open on the main hall of the Laboratory Building.

As the electronic eye closed them behind me I shrugged off my raincoat. I dropped a dime in the news vendor and the paper popped up in its waterproof wrapper. The headline printed on the outside caught my eye as I started to shove it into my pocket. "New Epidemic Increases Hourly." New epidemic? What was the old one? Well, I'd find out soon enough. Maybe that explained Lottie and the case reports. I turned to go up the stairs to my office.

Behind the counter of the appointment desk Rosie, our senior receptionist, was watching me. Her bright black eyes and pert old face set under thick grey curls reminded me of a little bird curiously inspecting some strange new animal. Her high chirping voice completed the illusion.

"Good morning, Doctor Macdonald," she said and moved the sign on the arrival and departure board to show I was in.

"How was the vacation? Pat's in," she went on without waiting for an answer. "She says she ran into you a couple of times up in the Powell River Country."

I finished folding my raincoat before I looked at her.

"Yes, we did meet," I admitted cautiously but didn't explain further.

"I don't know how you manage that boat of yours all by yourself. Seems to me I'd want company to sail away up there in that rough water," she paused. "I hear Pat's a good sailor."

"You talk too damn much, Rosie," I growled and started along the hall. All the way up the stairs I remembered the twinkle in her eyes as I went past her.

* * * * *

The ground floor of the Laboratory is occupied by the Administration Office and Clinical Pathology Section. Shut off at the back are the white tiled walls and monel metal tables of the Autopsy Rooms. On the first floor the Tissue Pathologists sit at their microscopes and study the pretty blue and red stained slides of human and animal tissues which come from the batteries of Technicon machines and the skillful microtomes of the laboratory technicians. Here too are the Medical Library and the Hematology Section, where blood from thousands of patients is smeared on slides, stained, and examined for signs of disease. I was just rounding the banister at the top of the stairs when, coming out of the Serology Room, I saw the long thin slow-moving figure and wavy blond hair of Harry Cope, the hematologist. He saw me at once and waved a languid hand.

"Hello, John! How was the holiday?" he said in his soft English voice.

"Pretty good, Harry. Keeping you busy?"

"Not in my own shop," he said. "But Dr. Hallam will certainly be glad to see you back. I've had to give him a hand the last day or two."

"Why, what's up?" I was surprised. Harry knew quite a bit about Virology and had kept up his interest in it even though hematology was his specialty. However he seldom worked for us unless there was a real emergency.

"I'd better let the Director tell you himself, old man. I have an appointment just now. See you later." He moved down the hall, as quiet and impassive as usual.

A little worried now, I went up the stairs to the second floor, passed Bacteriology and poked my head into the Virology Section. The routine work on virus diseases goes on here. The Research Lab, Dr. Hallam's pet project, is in a specially designed penthouse on the third floor, alongside the animal house, and is never used for ordinary tests.

In the Tissue Culture Room, Pat was already busy with the specimens and had time only to wink at me. No hope for enlightenment there! I looked back at her trim figure as I moved away and, at the door of Electron Microscopy, ran head on into Polly Cripps, our electron microscopy technician and Harry Cope's fiancee. Even at thirty-five she was still good looking in a bold way, with white gold hair waving over deep blue eyes, a full mouth and a full figure to go with it.

When I recovered my breath after bouncing off that pneumatic form, I started to speak but, as usual, she beat me to it.

"My Goodness, John, you Northerners are always in a hurry," she gasped. "You almost mashed me flat."

"Ah caint see no difference honey," I parodied her Alabama drawl. "Say, Harry tells me something big is happening."

"It surely is," she said, "I've taken more pictures in the last two weeks than in the six months before that. I took a whole mess of them to Dr. Hallam this morning."

"Maybe I'd better go find out for myself. See you later, cutie." As I went by I gave her a friendly pat on her well rounded posterior and got the back of my head clipped for my temerity.

"You keep your cotton-pickin' hands to yourself, boy," she said, but she was smiling.

* * * * *

The time was late autumn. Because of a special project, I hadn't been able to take my summer vacation. Patricia Delaney, our senior virology technician, had worked with me and, as the days went by, it looked as if neither of us would get a break. The fall is the season for respiratory viruses to start causing trouble and we couldn't afford to take time off if even a minor outbreak appeared. But the weather stayed dry and finally, one lovely Indian summer day, Dr. Hallam had shoved us both out of the office for ten days' rest.

I stopped on the front steps of the Lab and looked at Pat, standing beside me, her brown curly head, topped by one of the new round space satellite hats, bent over as she fumbled at her handbag.

"Now what do we do?" I felt at a loss, a little tired and let down. I hadn't expected to get time off and consequently had made no plans for spending the next ten days. The sun was bright, the clouds were small and fluffy, the air was warm. It was autumn at its best. Surely it would be a shame to waste such wonderful weather.

Pat was speaking, her clear grey eyes thoughtful behind the heavy-rimmed glasses. The soft Louisiana voice was a treat after the harder northern accents of the Canadians.

"I don't know. I haven't made plans to do anything."

"Well then, let's go have some coffee and talk it over."

She nodded and fell into step beside me, her long legs, long for her medium height that is, keeping up with my short ones. In her high heeled shoes she stood as tall as I, her broad shoulders and slim but prettily rounded figure contrasting nicely with my stocky frame. We make a good pair, I thought, she, the American of Irish descent and I, the immigrant Irishman, educated in Canada and naturalized American during the Korean War. She had come to British Columbia just a year ago, when her marriage had broken up, to make a fresh start. The year before that I had returned to Canada to join the staff of the Civic Hospital as a pathologist.

We crossed the parking area to the main hospital building and went into the restaurant through the back entrance.

"How about this table?" I said and pulled out a chair for her. I tipped my head to the girl behind the counter and held up two fingers. The coffee came, not too strong, but at least it was hot. Pat shrugged out of her mackintosh, reached for the Players I held out to her and dragged at the battery match flame. I watched her as she leaned forward over the lighter. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes, the slightly deeper lines of her mouth, marked her as a woman of thirty, mature, a little worldly, but still attractive. Delightfully so to me, I thought, since, at thirty-five and a casualty of the divorce mill too, I was no longer interested in young girls, good to look at but unseasoned by life.

She sat back in her chair and looked at me quizzically.

"Did I pass inspection?" she said.

I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious. It was a little disconcerting, even after dating her frequently in the last six months, to have my thoughts read the way she seemed to do.

I smiled at her. "I'll have to have a closer look to be sure."

"I don't know about that," she said teasingly. "I wouldn't trust you too far."

"How far would you trust me," I asked quickly, an idea growing hopefully behind my bantering tone.

She looked at me and her smile slowly faded. Again her intuition was right and the fear of getting emotionally tangled up with a man, the reluctance to bare her heart again so soon after it had been lacerated by another male, was obvious in her caution.

"It depends on what you want to do." She laid the cigarette down. It burned untouched as she watched my face.

"The satellite weather forecast is for good weather the next ten days," I said. "This looks like a perfect chance for a long cruise up the coast in my boat." I paused and looked straight at her, "but it takes two to work it properly."

She had been on one day cruises with me before this and was learning quite quickly how to sail. I knew she would love to go but....

"Where do we stay at night?" she said.

"I didn't figure on any definite itinerary. We could sleep on the boat, there's plenty of room."

"I know that, but there's only one cabin."

"I won't bite you."

"Strictly platonic?"

"You call the tune, I'll play it."

She stood up abruptly and reached out her hand to me. "We're wasting time," she said. "Let's go!"

* * * * *

I was thinking over those pleasant days and too platonic but still exciting nights as I came to the door of the Director's office. Dr. George Hallam, that straight backed old soldier, was sitting at his desk when I walked in. He was shuffling a pile of black and white photographs and, as they riffled over, I saw that they were some of Polly's electron microscope pictures of elementary particles. Hallam was a large man, but not fat, with black thinning hair combed straight back. Ordinarily a pleasant expression rested in the light brown eyes behind his rectangular spectacles, and a slight smile brightened his round, firm-fleshed face. Today he was definitely not happy, and under the white lab coat his big shoulders hunched forward determinedly like a fullback ready for a plunge through the line. I was wondering what bothered him until I caught a glimpse of the headlines in the "Sun" lying on the desk. EXTRA! Greatest Epidemic Ever! I noted the edition was later than the one I had bought. Flu Epidemic Spreads Through B.C. it said.

"Good morning, sir."

He nodded at me and I waved at the paper.

"What goes on since I left?"

"Five thousand cases of Flu." Bang! He slapped the desk. "Just like that. In one day!" He ran one big hand over his chin and was silent, leaning on his elbows.

I picked up the paper to read the lead as he spoke again.

"That was a week ago. For three days the cases rose to a peak and then eased off. We've been working on it and I think we've isolated the virus." He looked up at me. "Didn't you know about it?"

"Chief," I said reproachfully, "You don't think I'd have stayed away if I'd known."

"No ... no, of course not. I haven't had time to think much about it. But we could have used you and Pat. I'm damned glad you're back."

"We ... ah ... I didn't look at a paper for the whole time. Went for a trip in my boat. I even turned off the television."

"You must have had interesting company." He grinned at me slyly.

"Yeah, I had a good crew," I said and changed the subject. "But what about this epidemic?"

The fun died out of his eyes. "We've been expecting the second wave to hit anytime. Judging by the headlines we have it ... and it's a corker. The Department of Health tells me it's spreading faster than a dirty story both north and south of the border."

"You say you have isolated it?"

He picked out several of the photographs and passed them across to me. I looked at them for a moment.

"But these particles are irregular, and too big!"

He nodded.

"What about the agglutination tests?"

"It isn't A, B or C," he said. "It's a new virus, or at least one I've never heard of. There doesn't seem to be a relationship to any other flu virus ... and probably no immunity to it either."

"Then how do you know it is flu?"

"Only by the way it acts clinically. It fits the flu syndrome better than any other disease we can think of. Odd thing about this stuff," he mused, "as you can see, these first electron pictures don't look like flu and the Biochemistry Section also reports some unusual components in its chemical structure."

He stopped to light his pipe. "You remember how I broke up those simple plant viruses a few years ago and tried putting different pieces of them back together to make new ones?" He mumbled around his pipestem, blowing a little cloud of blue smoke with each word.

I hadn't been at the Civic at that time but I nodded in affirmation, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

"Well, this virus isn't the same of course, but it seems to be a relatively simple one and of such a peculiar composition it makes me wonder. Certainly, so far, it doesn't fit in with any of the natural viruses I've handled."

"Maybe it's an exotic variety brought in from overseas," I ventured. "Vancouver does handle a lot of foreign shipping. Or maybe it's a wild mutation from some ordinary flu virus. Look what happened in 1957 with that A prime mutation. Perhaps this thing has gone even farther away from the family tree."

"I thought of that, but I'm not convinced." He shook his head in exasperation. "Damn it, man, there's something queer in this whole thing ... and I can't put my finger on it!"

"What does the bug do to people, aside from the usual stuff?"

"They all get a sharp attack of the flu, lasting three or four days. The picture is typical as a rule, but on the mild side. Some of them act as if they had the mumps too."

"H'm, that's nice," I said. "Has there been much orchitis in the male patients?"

"Who else could get it?" he gibed. "Now that you mention it, I believe there have been some cases," he said drily, "but I've been more concerned with organic chemistry than with organs. By the way, how was your holiday?"

"The sly old dog," I thought. "He probably figures I've been having myself a time with Pat." Out loud I answered, "Just fine, Sir." I turned to go out. "Guess I'd better get started back to work. At least I got a good rest."

"Really, John, you call that a rest?" He was still chuckling as I shut the door behind me.

* * * * *

I changed to a white coat in my own small office. There was no definite job assigned to me now and I had no classes to teach this semester. I rambled around the office for a while, straightened out my desk and then decided to go down to Records and look up the case histories of the flu patients. It was partly idle curiosity but I knew that, sooner or later, the Old Man would have me working on it.

The girls in Records were full of questions about my vacation. That Pat and I were practically engaged was no secret, and the fact that someone had seen us together on my sloop was providing plenty of gossip.

"The hell with them," I thought. "Let them think what they want." At least it was not malicious gossip. We had a friendly crew in the Lab and the ribbing I was taking was all good natured.

I went back to my office with a large bundle of case summaries loading me down. With the tremendous interest aroused in virology and the nature of protein molecules, because of the polio research of the Fifties, the drive to investigate the virus theory of cancer and the flu epidemic of 1957, a great deal of money had been spent to make the Civic Hospital a first class research centre. Under Dr. Hallam's guidance and the sponsorship of the University of British Columbia, the Research Laboratory had become one of the best in North America. The Department of Health of B.C. cooperated enthusiastically in the field work and I was able to get from our files the most detailed case histories prepared by their trained investigators. I spread out the charts, picked one at random, and began to study it.

Three hours later I was beginning to get the picture, at least up to date. Most of the cases gave a routine history. A few hours before the fever began they had noticed a mild head cold. This was followed by aching in the limbs and back, headache, fever, lack of appetite, and feeling generally ill and depressed. Some had swelling along the sides of their neck or under the chin, but that was not a prominent feature of their complaint. Several of the males also reported slight swelling of the testicles, less than is usually the case in mumps, and it did not seem to incapacitate them at all. The occasional female reported abdominal pains which could have been due to inflamed ovaries, but it is difficult to make such a diagnosis with certainty. In inquiring about the movements of the patients before they became ill, the interrogators had turned up a few odd stories.

One woman reported that she had been standing in a crowded bus a few days before she got the flu when a man standing beside her had dropped a glass ball.

As she told it, "It looked like one of them souvenir things--you know, the kind that has a snowstorm inside it when you turn it upside down, or maybe it was a Christmas tree ornament. It broke just like you dropped a light bulb or somethin'. I thought I saw a kind of a cloud, like smoke, but it was only for a second. The man was nice about it, he apologised to me right away for scaring me. He was one of them D.P.'s I'm sure because he couldn't talk good English. That stuff that came out of it made my nose kinda itchy ... made me sneeze. But I have hay fever and sinus, you know, had it for years. Maybe there was nothing to it."

The tape record of a male patient's report was also peculiar. I played it back, in part, on my own Dictape.

"I was sitting in the Automatic lunch, the big one on Granville. Well, it was full to the doors, just after twelve, and this guy comes in and gets a seat that another man had just left. He wasn't very tall but sort of husky and he reminded me of a guy I know who comes from Slovakia or one of them countries down in Europe. This guy, the friend of mine I mean, he works for Baden Brothers in the Foundry.... Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to the point in a minute. Well, as I was telling you, this fella who looks like my friend has a pile of parcels and he's trying to manage a cup of coffee at the same time so I give him a hand.... I'm just about finished with my pie. We get the parcels down O.K. but he upsets one of the bags with his foot on the floor. I start to pick it up and he tries to beat me to it. These guys from Europe fall all over themselves to be polite. Anyway he grabs an insect bomb that fell out and somehow, I can't for the life of me figure it, he gets the thing stuck and the spray starts to go out all over the place. We couldn't shut it off but it didn't last long. He told me it was a new kind--good for one time only, so it was made cheap. I dunno if that stuff had anything to do with this flu but I know it made my nose itch for a while. Maybe that did it.... I knew a guy one time that...."

I shut off the tape and turned to another report.

* * * * *

"I was in the Paramount," she said, "watching that new Tri-Di movie they call _High Time_ ... it's a sort of a Western and musical all mixed up. It's a real good movie but that three dimensional stuff scares you when they show a fight. I don't think that's too good for little kids, do you? It was the part where the hero, what's his name, oh yeah, Bert Blaine, is getting romantic with Nellie Golding just before he rides away to catch the killer. It's kinda sad too and all of a sudden my eyes started to water. Well, I'm sentimental, you know, but I don't cry that easy and anyhow I hadn't felt like crying just yet if you know what I mean. It was more like an itch. I looked around in the dark to see what might be wrong and then I noticed a hissing noise like a radiator leaking. I leaned over to ask the man in the next seat if he heard it too but right about then it stopped and he got up and left. I don't know how he could have anything to do with it but I know my eyes and nose were itchy for a long time. I'll just tell you that I must have got the flu from that. My mother says that's nonsense but I don't care."

The rest of the reports were routine. Some noted exposure to colds but none to mumps. The three unusual stories I dismissed as having no real connection with the epidemic. Aerosol sprays of all shapes and sizes are so common nowadays that they are used in every kind of commodity which can be packed that way. I know of no disease caused by the gases they contain unless it be allergy to the various insecticides and other chemicals spread by the gases. People often have peculiar ideas as to what starts a cold. The statisticians had run off the figures, including the odd possibilities, on the Minicalculator at the Department of Health and their report stated there was no significance in such stories. So I guess that settled that in this mathematically minded era. Sometimes I wish that medicine were the art it used to be instead of the statistical science it has become. But I never did like mathematics.

Shortly after noon I gave up and strolled down to the Culture Room, looking for Pat. I found her busy with a dentist's drill, in the old fashioned way, cutting holes in the shells of fertilized eggs and transferring virus cultures from old eggs to new. Between the cap and mask only her cool grey eyes were visible, intent on the thin membranes that pulsated above the tiny heart of the young chicken. Her fingers were quick and sure as she injected the virus then released the opening with scotch tape, or sometimes with a glass coverslip, sealed around the edges with vaseline. Hallam wasn't too keen on the new short wave cutter and plastic film technique. When she paused for a moment to flame her needles I rapped on the glass partition to catch her attention and then made eating signs. She nodded and, a few minutes later, we sat over sandwiches and coffee in the hospital restaurant.

"How did the morning go?" she said, finishing her sandwich and starting on a second cup of coffee.

"The old man was needling me the way you needle those eggs of yours," I grumbled. "We don't have the private life of goldfish around here. The girls were hinting for information too."

"What do you expect," she laughed. "After all, you're the most eligible bachelor in the place."

I wandered over to the counter for a pack of Exports. The noon Sun was out and I saw the lead story. "Flu Epidemic Disorganizes Seattle, Tacoma, Portland." I bought the paper and went back to Pat.

"We're not much ahead of the news hawks," was all she said.

As we passed the front office, on the way back to Virology, Rosie waved at me.

"Dr. Macdonald, you're wanted in the Conference Room right away. And you too, Pat! There's some sort of big pow-wow. Tissue Path., Biochem., Bacteriology, Public Health, and all the clinical services too!'

"O.K. Thanks, Rosie," I said.

We went on up the stairs. The Director didn't like the elevators used, except for freight, so we all had to walk. Probably it was better for us too, I thought, comparing the slight shortness of breath I noticed on second floor with the way I'd hiked over the hills around Kumwha during the Korean truce talks of 1951, when there was nothing to do in my Battalion Aid Station but take morning sick call. But I'd sat in a lot of chairs since then.

* * * * *

The Conference Room, next to Dr. Hallam's office, was already crowded and he waved at us. "John, you find a spot somewhere along the wall. I'm afraid we can't seat everyone and I want department heads at the table. Pat, would you mind taking notes? Sit here beside me." He winked at her. "That is, if John trusts me."

The few remaining spaces were now filled and the Director stood up.

"Gentlemen, some of you know why I have arranged this meeting but the rest of you are still wondering. You may or may not agree with what I shall have to say, but, because of its unusual nature, I must have your promise that you will not repeat, outside of this room, what you will hear in the discussion that follows. Is that clear?" He paused and looked around the room. "Anyone who does not wish to give such a promise will please leave now, before we start."

I could see their faces from where I stood by the windows. Joe Armstrong, Chief of Medical Services, sat on Hallam's right. His dark, heavy-featured face was calm as he looked straight ahead. He knows, I thought. Beside him, Bruce Thompson, Chief of Surgery, lifted his bushy eyebrows and turned to whisper a quick question at Joe. Obviously he didn't know the secret, whatever it was. I looked on around the table. About halfway, I saw Ray Thorne, one of the best obstetricians in town and an old friend of mine. He caught my eye and winked. The Chief of Ob. and Gyn. wasn't there. Ray must be standing in for him. I wondered what the boss would have to say that could interest their department.

Hallam was talking again. "About a week ago, here in Vancouver there was a sudden outbreak of disease which, aside from a few unusual occurrences, seemed to be influenza. Now, in the past two days, we are confronted with thousands of new cases. You have seen the reports in the newspapers, I'm sure. I have been in contact with the public health authorities here, and also in the States of Washington and Oregon. The situation down there, especially in Seattle, Tacoma and Portland, is every bit as bad as it is here." He paused for a full five seconds. "Gentlemen, I believe this is no ordinary epidemic. I believe this may well be a man-made disaster!"

"For the love of God, George!" I don't know who said it, but it echoed all our thoughts. I could see the astonished and incredulous looks on the faces of all the experts as they watched him, standing there so straight and solid and sane.

My mind was racing about, trying to find reasons for his amazing assertion. Maybe he wasn't really serious, I thought, only to dismiss the idea immediately. Another look at that stern and sober face and I knew he meant it. And only a few moments ago he had been laughing and joking with Pat. I remembered a story I'd heard about him in World War II, how he had been in a Field Hospital with his New Zealand countrymen at Cassino and, during a heavy bombardment, had sat quietly joking with patients who could not be moved to safety. So, it could be true. If he could make jokes in the face of death, he could laugh during a disaster.

The buzz of conversation ceased as the Chief went on. "As of this morning there were fifty thousand cases in Vancouver city alone, with no tallies in, as yet, from Burnaby and New Westminster. More are being reported every minute. The hospitals are filling up even though they take only those with complications; and there seems to be no end of it so far. It's like the 1918 pandemic all over again but with some very peculiar differences." Again he stopped and turned to Dr. Armstrong. "Joe, do you see any differences clinically?"

Armstrong got to his feet. "Yes, I do, George," he said, in his slow careful way. "For one thing, it is the most explosive epidemic I have ever seen. Usually they start with a few cases and, after an incubation period of two or three days, a fresh batch of victims appears, growing in number each time. Here we have hundreds, all at once, then none for about five days or so, then thousands. It does look almost as if something or somebody had infected them all at the same time."

"My God," I thought, "not you too, Joe! Not old steady-boy down-to-earth Armstrong! Shades of the flying saucers!"

He continued. "The time lapse between the first outbreak and this new surge of cases is approximately five days, which is just a little longer than usual for influenza. Also, as Dr. Hallam has already mentioned, there are some peculiarities in the clinical picture. For instance, we are seeing patients with enlargement of the salivary glands ... not many of course ... and a few with orchitis. We even have the occasional female with what could be inflammation of the ovaries. That makes me think of mumps except that the time between the first and second waves is much too short, and anyway most of these people tell me they had mumps as a child."

One of the public health men down the table broke in. "I remember back in 1956 there was some sort of epidemic pleurisy, or Q-fever, in California, in which there were cases with involvement of the salivary and sex glands. It was quite an unusual thing but I don't remember the outcome. And there were miscarriages in the '57 flu epidemic, so the ovaries were probably involved in some cases. Nobody can say those weren't natural epidemics."

"Yes, that sort of thing does happen from time to time," Armstrong agreed. "We have to postulate a mutation in the virus. Even today we haven't classified them completely and this one could be a new variety with an odd life cycle. There's one good thing about this," he concluded, "although it seems to be far more infectious than anything we've ever seen before, it isn't anything like as dangerous as the 1918 flu, or even the 1957 pandemic. We haven't had anyone die yet. Most of them are well in three or four days after the fever begins. Maybe that's because we have the antibiotics to take care of the secondary bacterial invasion. That's what caused most of the pneumonia and all the other complications that killed so many people in 1918. Frankly I'm not worried, even though I talked it over with George, here, before the meeting. I think probably everyone will get it since people who have had the ordinary types of flu or flu shots do not appear to be immune. But it's no worse than a cold. When almost everybody has had it, it will die out. I don't agree with Dr. Hallam. I think it is a natural epidemic."

He sat down, the tension in the room already eased by his calm and sensible summary of the facts.

"What do you say to that, George?" Thompson sliced the silence with his question in the same decisive manner as he made his surgical incisions.

The Chief smiled at him. "Right now I can't prove a thing, Bruce. All that I have is suspicion ... call it a hunch if you will. That's why I don't want any loose talk. The whole pattern of this epidemic, and of the virus that seems to be the cause, is foreign to my experience. The electron microscope pictures that we have, so far, show a particle that is different in shape and size to our known influenza viruses, and to any other ordinary disease virus. Our serological tests don't identify it. The Biochemistry Section has been working on it twenty-four hours a day. As yet they haven't got too far, but far enough to show that there are definite differences in the molecular pattern between this virus and influenza as we know it. It seems to be a simpler than usual pattern, reminiscent of the synthetic viruses we made some years ago. There are some amino acid groupings like those of the mumps virus too, which could possibly account for its affinity for the salivary glands. I think it will prove able to transmit its characteristics indefinitely from one generation to the next--it has, so far. We have it growing in chick embryos right now but it's to soon to be definite about anything. If it continues to transmit all its characteristics, that would be a possible argument against my theory that this is a man-made epidemic." He paused for a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

"Would you care to elaborate on your theory?" Smith, the tissue pathologist interrupted, his long narrow chin thrust forward and his deep-set eyes intent on the speaker.

"Be glad to, Tom," Hallam agreed. "I believe this is a man made epidemic, as I said before. The timing is too orderly, too sudden, to be natural. I suspect, because of its unusual structure, especially the resemblance to previous experimental viruses, that this is a synthetic virus, made up either from relatively simple chemical compounds or perhaps from particles of natural viruses recombined in a different pattern. As you all know, it has been possible for years now to take a virus apart, so that it will not reproduce, and then put these parts together again, not from the same culture, but just as if you took parts of a motor from the stock bins and assembled an engine. When it is reassembled with parts similar to the ones it was originally made up of, it will reproduce again just like the natural virus. We have also been able to crystallize many viruses and then start them growing again by putting the crystals in the proper nutrient solutions. Recently it has been possible to combine amino acids and other chemicals into simple forms that act much like viruses but are not quite the same. But there is one obstacle that we have not yet overcome. Whether we have recombined different parts of various viruses or whether we have made up amino acid combinations, it has not been possible to have this synthetic virus transmit all its characteristics from generation to generation. It breaks up; it is not stable."

* * * * *

"But you all know this." He stopped to light a cigarette, gathering his thoughts as he watched the end glow. He exhaled little gusts of smoke as he spoke again. "As far as I can tell now, this virus is unchanged through each passage in the egg, which might put it out of the synthetic class. Mutations have been induced artificially by using chemicals such as the sulfonamides to interfere with the life cycle. This has turned some disease viruses into harmless types, but, unless the Americans in their Biological Warfare Center have done it, and they aren't talking of course, the reverse is not true. Certainly I know of nobody in the democratic world who has made such a virus."

There was no mistaking his emphasis. Again Smith spoke up.

"Are you implying that the Communists may have produced such a virus?"

The answer came slowly. Hallam was frighteningly serious now.

"Yes, I believe it is possible. In the last few years there has been a tremendous amount of research on viruses and nucleoproteins in Russia. Kaganovich and his associates have published some very advanced work on the synthesis of proteins and Magidoff is an outstanding virologist by any standards."

"Ay, that's true." Ian Gordon, the little sandy haired biochemist burst out in his broad Scots brogue. "And I wouldna think they've been puttin' out all they know either, if I'm to judge from what they said at the last International Conference in Stockholm."

"But where's the point in all this?" Joe Armstrong exclaimed. "This stuff isn't deadly; it isn't even serious, now we have the antibiotics to prevent complications. As a secret weapon it could have no more than nuisance value. Personally, I think old George may be chasing something red, but it will turn out to be a red herring instead of a Communist."

There were smiles all around the table. Even Hallam grinned. He and Joe had been great friends and sparring partners for years.

Joe went on, "I believe this is just one of those wild mutations that crop up occasionally and cause big epidemics. True, I can't explain the amazing suddenness of its onset, but to call it bacteriological warfare is just ridiculous."

"I can't deny what Joe says, but he can't prove I'm wrong either," Hallam retorted. "I hope I am but I wanted you all to know what I think so you will keep alert for any evidence for or against my theory. On the face of it, as Joe says, it seems ridiculous that any enemy would bother with such a harmless weapon. But it could be a trial run for something much worse. I have tried to keep my emotions out of my appraisal of the facts and when I do I still say that this thing is not natural. Once more I would remind you not to talk about this outside. It could start up a lot of trouble. That's all, thank you, gentlemen."

I was going out at the tail end of the crowd when the Chief lifted his chin at me in the come-hither sign. I stayed. Pat stayed too when he put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"I suppose you think I'm way out on a limb, John," Hallam said quizzically.

"Frankly, sir, I thought Joe Armstrong had already sawed it off."

"Then I take it you aren't in favor of the virus warfare idea."

"Well, I did get a bit tired of B.W. talk in the U.S. Army. Down in the States they scare little kids with the word red, but after a while it loses its shock value."

"You'll have to admit this is a very unusual epidemic," he countered.

"True, but as Dr. Armstrong said, what possible purpose is there?" I lifted my shoulders and turned up my palms to emphasize my doubt. "Suppose the Reds are responsible. They wouldn't do it just to annoy us and I doubt if they would make a trial run in North America before letting the real disease loose. They are much too cautious for that."

"Maybe we haven't found the real reason," Pat broke in. "If this virus is the weapon it must be doing something that hasn't shown up yet ... some long-term effect."

"I think you've hit it, Pat," Hallam brightened up again. "And that's why I kept you two back here. I want you and John to drop everything else and work with me up in the Research Lab. We'll run a series of tests on our experimental animals until we find out what this virus really does. It may be too late by then to do anything about it but we must work night and day until that time comes. There's plenty of food in the penthouse kitchen. I got it stocked up yesterday. And we will have to use the bedrooms too, if Pat doesn't mind sleeping up there at night with two handsome chaps like you and me." He ogled her like the villain of an old melodrama.

"But sir," she said, playing her part, "I've never slept three in a bed before. Isn't it crowded?"

"Maybe we can arrange to push John out," he laughed. "But let's get up there now. There's no time to lose."