The Satan Bug Part 3

The orderly turned to go, but a big sergeant rose to his feet and stopped him.

"It's not necessary, sir. Ferguson's a fool. It's bound to come out. He was at the switchboard having a smoke and a cup of cocoa with the gatehouse communications number. I was in charge. Never saw him there, but I knew about it and didn't worry about it. Ferguson always left Rollo in number one-and that dog's a killer, sir. It was safe enough."

"It wasn't, but thanks. You've been in the habit of doing this for some time, haven't you, Ferguson?"

"I haven't." He was scowling, sullen. "Last night was the first--"

"If there was a rank lower than private," I interrupted wearily, "you'd stay in it till the end of your days. Use what little sense you have. Do you think whoever arranged this decoy move and was standing by with his pliers ready to break in did it unless unless he knew for certain you wouldn't be on patrol at that particular time? Probably after Mr. Clandon finished his 11 p.m. rounds visit to the main gate every night you went straight into the gatehouse for your smoke and cocoa. Isn't that it?" he knew for certain you wouldn't be on patrol at that particular time? Probably after Mr. Clandon finished his 11 p.m. rounds visit to the main gate every night you went straight into the gatehouse for your smoke and cocoa. Isn't that it?"

He stood staring down at the floor in stubborn silence until the sergeant said sharply, "For G.o.d's sake, Fergie, use your loaf. Everybody else here can see it. So can you."

Again silence, but this time a sullen nod of defeat.

"We're getting someplace. When you came here you left your dog-Rollo-behind?"

"Yes, sir." Ferguson's days of truculent defiance were over.

"What's he like?"

"He'd tear the throat out of any man alive, from the general downwards," Ferguson said with satisfaction. "Except me, of course."

"He didn't tear out any throats last night," I pointed out. "I wonder why?"

"He must have been got at," Ferguson said defensively.

"What do you mean 'got at'? Did you have a look at him before you turned him into his compound last night?"

"Look at him? 'Course not. Why should I? When we saw the cut outer fence we thought whoever done it must have caught sight of Rollo and run for his life. That's what I would have b.l.o.o.d.y well done. If--"

"Fetch the dog here," I said. "But for G.o.d's sake muzzle him first." He left and while he was away Hardanger returned. I told him what I'd learned, and that I'd sent for the dog.

Hardanger asked, "What do you expect to find? Nothing, I think. A chloroform pad or something like that would leave no mark. Same if some sort of dart or sharply tipped weapon with one of those funny poisons had been chucked at him. Just a pinp.r.i.c.k, that's all there would be."

"From what I hear of our canine pal," I said, "I wouldn't try to hold a chloroform pad against his head if you gave me the crown jewels. As for those funny poisons, as you call them, I don't suppose one person in a hundred thousand could lay hands on one of them or know how to use them even if they did. Besides, throwing or firing any sharp-tipped weapon against a fast-moving, thick-coated target in the dark would be a very dicey proposition indeed. Our friend of last night doesn't go in for dicey propositions, only for certainties."

Ferguson was back in ten minutes, fighting to restrain a wolf-like animal that lunged out madly at anyone who came near him. Rollo had a muzzle on but even that didn't make me feel too confident. I didn't need any persuasion to accept the sergeant's word that the dog was a killer.

"Does that hound always always act like this?" I demanded. act like this?" I demanded.

"Not usually." Ferguson was puzzled. "In fact, never. Usually perfectly behaved until I let him off the leash-then he'll go for the nearest person no matter who he is. But he even had a go at me this afternoon-half-hearted, like, but nasty."

It didn't take long to discover the source of Rollo's irritation. Rollo was suffering from what must have been a very severe headache indeed. The skin on the forehead, just above eye-level, had a swollen pulpy feeling to it and it took four men all their time to hold the dog down when I touched this area with the tips of my forefingers. We turned him over, and I parted the thick fur on the throat till I found what I was looking for-two triangular jagged tears, deep and very unpleasant looking, about three inches apart.

"You'd better give your pal here a couple of days off," 1 said to Ferguson, "and some disinfectant for those gashes on his neck. I wish you luck when you're putting it on. You can take him away."

"No chloroform, no fancy poisons," Hardanger admitted when we were alone. "Those gashes-barbed wire, hey?"

"What else? Just the right distance apart. Somebody pads his forearm, sticks it between a couple of strands of barbed wire and Rollo grabs it. He wouldn't bark-those dogs are trained never to bark. As soon as he grabs he's pulled through and down onto the barbed wire and can't pull himself free unless he tears his throat out. And then someone clouts him at his leisure with something heavy and hard. Simple, old-fashioned, direct and very very effective. Whoever the character we're after, he's no fool."

"He's smarter than Rollo, anyway," Hardanger conceded heavily.

CHAPTER THREE.

When we went up to "E" block, accompanied by two of Hardanger's a.s.sistants newly arrived from London, we found Cliveden, Weybridge, Gregori and Wilkinson waiting for us. Wilkinson produced the key to the heavy wooden door.

"No one been inside since you locked the place after seeing Clandon?" Hardanger asked.

"I can guarantee that, sir. Guards posted all the time."

"But Cavell here asked for the ventilation system to be switched on. How could that be done without someone going inside?"

"Duplicate switches on the roof, sir. All fuse-boxes, junctions and electrical terminals are also housed on the roof. Means that the repair and maintenance electricians don't even have to enter the main building."

"You people don't miss much," Hardanger admitted. "Open up, please."

The door swung back, we all filed through and turned down the long corridor to our left. Number one lab was right at the far end of the corridor, as least two hundred yards away, but that was the way we had to go: there was only the one entrance to the entire block. Security was all. On the way we had to pa.s.s through half a dozen doors, some opened by photo-electric cells, others by handles fifteen inches long. Elbow handles. Considering the nature of the burdens that some of the Mordon scientists carried from time to time, it was advisable to have both hands free all the time. we had to pa.s.s through half a dozen doors, some opened by photo-electric cells, others by handles fifteen inches long. Elbow handles. Considering the nature of the burdens that some of the Mordon scientists carried from time to time, it was advisable to have both hands free all the time.

We came to number one lab-and Clandon. Clandon was lying just outside the ma.s.sive steel door of the laboratory, but he wasn't any more the Neil Clandon I used to know- the big, tough, kindly, humorous Irishman who'd been my friend over too many years. He looked curiously small now, small and huddled and defenceless, another man altogether. Not Neil Clandon any more. Even his face was the face of another man, eyes abnormally wide and starting as one who had pa.s.sed far beyond the realms of sanity into a total and terror-induced madness, the lips strained cruelly back over clenched teeth in the appalling rictus of his dying agony. And no man who looked at that face, at the convulsively contorted limbs could doubt that Neil Clandon had died as terribly as man ever could.

They were all watching me, that I was vaguely aware of, but I was pretty good at telling my face what to do. I went forward and stooped low over him, sniffing, and found myself apologising to the dead man for the involuntary wrinkling distaste of nose and mouth. No fault of Neil's. I glanced at Colonel Weybridge and he came forward and bent beside me for a moment before straightening. He looked at Wilkinson and said, "You were right, my boy. Cyanide."

I pulled a pair of cotton gloves from my pocket. One of Hardanger's a.s.sistants lifted his flash camera but I pushed his arm down and said, "No pictures. Neil Clandon's not going into anyone's morgue gallery. Too late for pictures anyway. If you feel all that like work why don't you start on that steel door there? Fingerprints. It'll be loaded with them-and not one of them will do you the slightest d.a.m.n' bit of good."

The two men glanced at Hardanger. He hesitated, shrugged, nodded. I went though Neil Clandon's pockets. There wasn't much that could be of any use to me-wallet, cigarette case, a couple of books of matches and, in the left hand jacket pocket, a handful of transparent papers that had been wrapped round b.u.t.terscotch sweets.

I said, "This is how he died. The very latest in confectionery-cyanide b.u.t.terscotch. You can see the sweet he was eating on the floor there, beside his head. Have you such a thing as an a.n.a.lytical chemist on the premises, Colonel?"

"Of course."

"He'll find that sweet and possibly one of those b.u.t.terscotch papers covered with cyanide. I hope your chemist isn't the type who licks his fingers after touching sticky stuff. Whoever doctored this sweet knew of Clandon's weakness for b.u.t.terscotch. He also knew Clandon. Put it another way, Clandon knew him. He knew him well. He knew him so well and was so little surprised to find him here that he didn't hesitate to accept a b.u.t.terscotch from him. Whoever killed Clandon is not only employed in Mordon-he's employed in this particular section of 'E' block. If he weren't, Clandon would have been too d.a.m.n busy suspecting him of everything under the sun even to consider accepting anything from him. Narrows the field of inquiry pretty drastically. The killer's first mistake-and a big one."

"Maybe," Hardanger rumbled. "And maybe you're oversimplifying and taking too much for granted. a.s.sumptions. How do you know Clandon was killed here? You've said yourself we're up against a clever man, a man who would be more likely than not to obscure things, to cause confusion, to cast suspicions in the wrong place by killing Clandon elsewhere and then dragging him here. And it's asking too much to believe that he just happened to have a cyanide sweet in his pocket that he just happened to hand to Clandon when Clandon just happened to find him doing what he was doing."

"About the second part I don't know," I said. "I should have thought myself that Clandon would have been highly suspicious of anyone anyone he found here late at night, no matter who he was. But Clandon died right here, that's for sure." I looked at Cliveden and Weybridge. "How long for cyanide poisoning to take effect?" he found here late at night, no matter who he was. But Clandon died right here, that's for sure." I looked at Cliveden and Weybridge. "How long for cyanide poisoning to take effect?"

"Practically instantaneous," Cliveden said.

"And he was violently ill here," I said. "So he died here. And look at those two faint scratches on the plaster of the wall. A lab check on his finger-nails is almost superfluous; that's where he clawed for support as he fell to the floor. Some 'friend' gave Clandon that sweet, and that's why I'd like the wallet, cigarette case and books of matches printed. There's just a chance in a thousand that the friend may have been offered a cigarette or a match, or that he went through Clandon's wallet after he was dead. But I don't think there's even that chance in a thousand. But I think the prints on that door should be interesting. And informative. I'll take a hundred to one in anything you like that the prints on that door will be exclusively of those ent.i.tled to pa.s.s through that door. What I really want to find out is whether there's been any signs of deliberately smearing, as with a handkerchief or gloves, in the vicinity of the combination, time-lock or circular handle."

" There will be," Hardanger nodded. "your a.s.sumption that this is strictly an inside job is correct, there will be. To bring in the possibility of outsiders."

"There's still Clandon," I said.

Hardanger nodded again, turned away to watch his two men working on the door. Just then a soldier came up with a large fibre case and a small covered cage, placed it on the floor, saluted n.o.body in particular and left. I caught the inquiring lift of Cliveden's eyebrow.

"When I go into the lab," I said, "I go in alone. In that case is a gas-tight suit and closed circuit breathing apparatus. I'll be wearing that I lock the steel door behind me, open the inner door and take the hamster in this cage in with me. If he's still alive after a few minutes-well, it's clear inside."

"A hamster?" Hardanger turned his attention from the door, moved across to the cage and lifted the cover. "Poor little beggar. Where did you acquire a hamster so conveniently?"

"Mordon is the easiest place in Britain to acquire a hamster conveniently. There must be a couple of hundred of them within a stone's throw from here. Not to mention a few thousand guinea-pigs, rabbits, monkeys, parrots, mice and fowls. They're bred and reared on Alfringham Farm-where Dr. Baxter has his cottage. Poor little beggar, as you say. They've a pretty short life and far from sweet one. The R.S.P.C.A. and the National Anti-Vivisection Society would sell their souls to get in here. The Official Secrets Act sees to it that they don't. Mordon is their waking nightmare and I don't blame them. Do you know that over a hundred thousand animals died inside these walls last year-many of them in agony. They're a sweet bunch in Mordon."

"Everyone is ent.i.tled to his opinions," General Cliveden said coldly. "I don't say I entirely disagree with you." He smiled without humour. "The right place for airing such sentiments, Cavell, but the wrong time."

I nodded, acknowledgement or apology, he could take it how he liked, and opened the fibre case. I straightened, gas-suit in hand, and felt my arm gripped. Dr. Oregon. The dark eyes were intense behind the thick gla.s.ses, the swarthy face tight with worry.

"Don't go in there, Mr. Cavell." His voice was low, urgent, almost desperate. "I beg of you, don't go in there."

I said nothing, just looked at him. I liked Gregori, as did all his colleagues without exception. But Gregori wasn't in Mordon because he was a likeable man. He was there because he was reputed to be one of the most brilliant micro-biologists in Europe. An Italian professor of medicine, he'd been in Mordon just over eight months. The biggest catch Mordon had ever made, and it had been touch and go at that: it had taken cabinet conferences at the highest levels before the Italian government agreed to release him for an unspecified period. And if a man like Dr. Gregori was worried, maybe it was time that I was getting worried too.

"Why shouldn't he go in there?" Hardanger demanded. "I take it you must have very powerful reasons, Dr. Gregori?"

"He has indeed," Cliveden said. His face was as grave as his voice. "No man knows more about number one lab than Dr. Gregori. We were speaking of this a short time ago. Dr. Gregori admits candidly that he's terrified and I'd be lying if I didn't say that he's got me pretty badly frightened, too. If Dr. Gregori had his way he'd cut through the block on either side of number one lab, built a five foot thick concrete wall and roof round it and seal it off forever. That's how frightened Dr. Gregori is. At the very least he wants this lab kept closed for a month."

Hardanger gave Cliveden his usual dead-pan took, transferred it to Gregori, then turned to his two a.s.sistants. "Down the corridor till you're out of earshot, please. For your own sakes, the less you know of this the better. You, too, Lieutenant. Sorry." He waited until Wilkinson and the two men had gone, looked quizzically at Gregori and said, "So you don't want number one lab opened, Dr. Gregori? Makes you number one on our suspect list, you know."

"Please. I do not feel like smiling. And I do not feel like talking here." He glanced quickly at Clandon, looked as quickly away. "I'm not a policeman-or a soldier. If you would--"

"Of course." Hardanger pointed to a door a few yards down the pa.s.sage. "What's in there?"

"Just a store-room. I am so sorry to be so squeamish-"

"Come on." Hardanger led the way and we went inside. Oblivious of the "No smoking" signs, Gregori had lit a cigarette and was smoking it in rapid, nervous puffs.

"I must not waste your time," he said. "I will be as brief as I can. But I must must convince you." He paused, then went on slowly. "This is the nuclear age. This is the age when tens of millions go about their homes and their work in daily fear and dread of the thermo-nuclear holocaust which, they are all sure, may come any day, and must come soon. Millions cannot sleep at night for they dream too much-of our green and lovely world and their children lying dead in it." convince you." He paused, then went on slowly. "This is the nuclear age. This is the age when tens of millions go about their homes and their work in daily fear and dread of the thermo-nuclear holocaust which, they are all sure, may come any day, and must come soon. Millions cannot sleep at night for they dream too much-of our green and lovely world and their children lying dead in it."

He drew deeply on his cigarette, stubbed it out, at once lit another. He said through the drifting smoke, "I have no such fears of a nuclear Armageddon and I sleep well at nights. Such war will never come. I listen to the Russians rattling their rockets, and I smile. I listen to the Americans rattling theirs, and I smile again. For I know that all the time the two giant powers are shaking their sabres in the scabbards, while they're threatening each other with so many hundreds of megaton-carrying missiles, they are not really thinking of their missiles at all. They are thinking, gentlemen, of Mordon, for we-the British, I should say-have made it our business to ensure that the great nations understand exactly what is going on behind the fences of Mordon." He tapped the brickwork beside him. "Behind this very wall here. The ultimate weapon. The world's one certain guarantee of peace. The term 'ultimate weapon' has been used too freely, has come almost to lose its meaning. But the term, in this case, is precise and exact. If by 'ultimate' one means total annihilation."

He smiled, a little self-consciously.

"I'm being melodramatic, a little? Perhaps. My Latin blood shall we say? But listen carefully, gentlemen, and try to understand the full significance of what I'm going to say. Not the General and Colonel, of course, they already know: but you, Superintendent, and you, Mr. Cavell."

"We have developed in Mordon here over forty different types of plague germs. I will confine myself to two. One of them is a derivative of the botulinus toxin-which we had developed in World War II. As a point of interest, a quarter of a million troops in England were inoculated against this toxin just before D-Day and I doubt whether any of them know to this day what they were inoculated against."

"We have refined this toxin into a fantastic and shocking weapon compared to which even the mightiest hydrogen bomb is a child's toy. Six ounces of this toxin, gentlemen, distributed fairly evenly throughout the world, would destroy every man, woman and child alive on this planet to-day. No flight of fancy." His voice was weighted with heavy emphasis, his face still and sombre. "This is simple fact. Give me an airplane and let me fly over London on a windless summer afternoon with no more than a gramme of botulinus toxin to scatter and by evening seven million Londoners would be dead. A thimbleful in its water reservoirs and London would become one vast channel house. If G.o.d does not strike me down for using the term 'ideal' in this connection, then this is the ideal form of germ warfare. The botulinus toxin oxidises after twelve hours exposure to the atmosphere and becomes harmless. Twelve hours after country A releases a few grammes of botulinus over country B it can send its soldiers in without any fear of attack by either the toxin or the defending soldiers. For the defending soldiers would be dead. And the civilians, the men, the women, the children. They would ail be dead. All dead."

Gregori fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette. His hands were shaking and he made no attempt to conceal the fact. He was probably unaware of it.

I said, "But you used the term 'ultimate weapon', as if we alone possessed it. Surely the Russians and Americans..."

"They have it too. We know where Russia's laboratories in the Urals are. We know where the Canadians manufacture it-the Canadians were leaders in the field until recently- and it's no secret that there are four thousand scientists working on a crash programme in Fort Detrick in America to produce even more deadlier poisons, so hurried a crash programme that we know that scientists have died and eight hundred of them fallen ill over the past few years. They have all failed to produce this deadlier poison. Britain has succeeded which is why the eyes of the world are on Mordon."

" Is it possible?" Hardanger's tone was dry but his face was set. "A deadlier poison than this d.a.m.n' botulinus? Seems kind of superfluous to me."

"Botulinus has its drawback," Gregori said quietly. "From a military viewpoint that is. Botulinus you must breathe or swallow to become infected. It is not contagious. Also, we suspect that a few countries may may have produced a form of vaccine against even the refined type of drug we have developed here. But there is no vaccine on earth to counteract the newest virus we have produced-and it's as contagious as a bush-fire." have produced a form of vaccine against even the refined type of drug we have developed here. But there is no vaccine on earth to counteract the newest virus we have produced-and it's as contagious as a bush-fire."

"This other virus is a derivative of the polio virus-infantile paralysis, if you will-but a virus the potency of which has been increased a million times by-well, the methods don't matter and you wouldn't understand. What does matter is this: unlike botulinus, this new polio virus is indestructible-extremes of heat and cold, oxidisation and poison have no effect upon it and its life span appears to be indefinite, although we believe it impossible-we hope it impossible- that any virus could live for more than a month in an environment completely hostile to growth and development; unlike botulinus it is highly contagious, as well as being fatal if swallowed or breathed; and, most terrible of all, we have been unable to discover a vaccine for it. I myself am convinced that we can never discover a vaccine against it." He smiled without humour. "To this virus we have given a highly unscientific name, but one that describes it perfectly-the Satan Bug. It is the most terrible and terrifying weapon mankind has ever known or ever will know."

"No vaccine?" Hardanger said. His tone wasn't dry this time but his lips were. "No vaccine at all?"

"We have given up hope. Only a few days ago, as you will recall, Colonel Weybridge, Dr. Baxter thought he had found it-but we were completely wrong. There is no hope, none in the world. Now all our efforts are concentrated on evolving an attenuated strain with a limited life-span. In its present form, we obviously cannot use it. But when we do get a form with a limited life-span-and its death must must be caused by oxidisation-then we have the ultimate weapon. When that day comes all the nations of the world may as well destroy their nuclear weapons. From a nuclear attack, no matter how intense, there will always be survivors. The Americans have calculated that even a full-scale Soviet nuclear attack on their country, with be caused by oxidisation-then we have the ultimate weapon. When that day comes all the nations of the world may as well destroy their nuclear weapons. From a nuclear attack, no matter how intense, there will always be survivors. The Americans have calculated that even a full-scale Soviet nuclear attack on their country, with all all the resources at Russia's disposal, would cause no more than seventy million deaths- no more, I say!-with possibly several million others as a result of radiation. But half the nation would survive, and in a generation or two that nation would rise again. But a nation attacked by the Satan Bug would never rise again: for there would be no survivors." the resources at Russia's disposal, would cause no more than seventy million deaths- no more, I say!-with possibly several million others as a result of radiation. But half the nation would survive, and in a generation or two that nation would rise again. But a nation attacked by the Satan Bug would never rise again: for there would be no survivors."

I hadn't been wrong about Hardanger's lips being dry, he was licking them to make speaking easier. Someone should see this, I thought. Hardanger scared. Hardanger truly and genuinely frightened. The penitentiaries of Britain were full of people who would never have believed it.

"And until then," Hardanger said quietly. "Until you have evolved this limited life-strain?"

"Until then?" Gregori stared down at the concrete floor. "Until then? Let me put it this way. In its final form the Satan Bug is an extremely refined powder. I take a salt-spoon of this powder, go outside in the grounds of Mordon and turn the salt-spoon upside down. What happens? Every person in Mordon would be dead within an hour, the whole of Wiltshire would be an open tomb by dawn. In a week, ten days, all life would have ceased to exist in Britain. I mean all life. The Plague, the Black Death-was nothing compared with this. Long before the last man died in agony ships or planes or birds or just the waters of the North Sea would have carried the Satan Bug to Europe. We can conceive of no obstacle that can stop its eventual world-wide spread. Two months I would say, two months at the very most."

"Think of it, Superintendent, think of it. If you can, that is, for it is something really beyond our conception, beyond human imagination. The Lapp trapping in the far north of Sweden. The Chinese peasant tilling his rice-fields in the Yangtse valley. The cattle rancher on his station in the Australian outback, the shopper in Fifth Avenue, the primitive in Tierra del Fuego. Dead. All dead. Because I turned a salt-spoon upside down. Nothing, nothing, nothing nothing can stop the Satan Bug. Eventually all forms of life will perish. Who, what will be the last to go? I cannot say. Perhaps the great albatross for ever winging its way round the bottom of the world. Perhaps a handful of Eskimos deep in the Arctic basin. But the seas travel the world over, and so also do the winds: one day, one day soon, they too would die." can stop the Satan Bug. Eventually all forms of life will perish. Who, what will be the last to go? I cannot say. Perhaps the great albatross for ever winging its way round the bottom of the world. Perhaps a handful of Eskimos deep in the Arctic basin. But the seas travel the world over, and so also do the winds: one day, one day soon, they too would die."

By this time I felt like lighting a cigarette myself and I did. If any enterprising company had got around to running a pa.s.senger rocket service to the moon by the time the Satan Bug got loose, they wouldn't have to spend all that much on advertising.

"What I'm afraid of you see," Gregori went on quietly," is what we may find behind that door. I have not the mind of a detective, but I can see things when they lie plainly before me. Whoever broke his way into Mordon was a desperate man playing for desperate stakes. The end justified by any means-and the only ends to justify such terrible means would be some of the stocks in the virus cupboard."

"Cupboard?" Hardanger drew down his bushy brows "Don't you lock those d.a.m.n germs away somewhere safe?"

"They are safe," I said. "The lab walls are of reinforced concrete and panelled with heavy-gauge mild steel. No windows, of course. This door is the only way in. Why shouldn't it be safe in a cupboard?"

"I didn't know." Hardanger turned back to Oregon. "Please go on."

"That's all." Gregori shrugged. "A desperate man. A man in a great hurry. The key to the locker-just wood and gla.s.s-I have in my hands here. See? He would have to break in. In his haste and with the use of force who knows what damage he may not have done, what virus containers he might not have knocked over or broken? If one of those had been a Satan Bug container, and there are but three in existence... Maybe it's only a very remote chance. But I say to you, in all sincerity and earnestness, if there was only one chance in a hundred million of a Satan Bug container having been broken, there is still more than ample justifcation for never opening that door again. For if one is broken and one cubic centimetre of tainted air escapes--"

He broke off and lifted his hands helplessly. "Have we the right to take upon ourselves the responsibility of being the executioners of mankind?"

"General Cliveden?" Hardanger said.

"I'm afraid I agree. Seal it up."

"Colonel Weybridge?"

"I don't know, I don't know." Weybridge took off his cap, ran his hand through the short dark hair. "Yes, I do now. Seal the d.a.m.n' place up."

"Well. You're the three men who should really know what they are talking about" Hardanger pursed his lips for a moment, then glanced at me. "In the face of expert unanimity, it should be interesting to hear what Cavell thinks."

"Cavell thinks they're a pack of old women," I said. "I think your minds are so gummed up with the idea of the Satan Bug on the loose that you're incapable of thinking at all, far less thinking straight. Let's look at the central fact- central supposition, rather. Dr. Gregori bases all his fears on the a.s.sumption that someone has broken in and stolen the viruses. He thinks there's one chance in a thousand that one of the containers may have been broken, so if that door is opened there's one chance in a thousand of menace to mankind. But if he has actually stolen the Satan Bug, then the menace to mankind becomes not one in a thousand-but a thousand to one. For heaven's sake take the blinkers off for a moment and try try to see that a man on the loose with the viruses presents an infinitely greater danger than the remote chance of his having broken one inside those doors. Simple logic says that we must guard against the greater danger. So we to see that a man on the loose with the viruses presents an infinitely greater danger than the remote chance of his having broken one inside those doors. Simple logic says that we must guard against the greater danger. So we must must get inside the room-how else can we begin to get any trace of the thief and killer, to try to guard against the infinitely greater danger? We must, I say." get inside the room-how else can we begin to get any trace of the thief and killer, to try to guard against the infinitely greater danger? We must, I say."

"Or I must. I'm dressing up and taking that hamster in there. If the hamster survives, good and well. If he doesn't I don't come out. Fair enough?"

"Of all the d.a.m.ned arrogance," Cliveden said coldly. "For a private detective, Cavell, you have an awful lot of gall. You might bear in mind that I'm I'm the commandant in Mordon and I make all the decisions." the commandant in Mordon and I make all the decisions."

"You did, General. But not any more. The Special Branch has taken over-completely. You know that."