Crisis by Ken McClure Read Free Book Online Page A

Research Council by special delivery. He opened it and found three microscope slides and a covering letter. The letter was from the coordinator of the MRC’s Survey on Degenerative Brain Disease, Dr Hugh Milne. It asked if he would mind examining them and reporting his findings as quickly as poss ible. There was also a message to say that Stella had phoned; it was nothing important but he was to be reminded that he couldn’t call her back because she would be in theatre all afternoon.
    Bannerman took the slides to his personal micro scope and removed the dust cover. He clipped the first to the stage and adjusted the tungsten light before focusing on the stained section of the brain. There had been a marked lack of details with the package and no indication about the source of the material, save for the fact that they were brain sections. There was an air of anticipation about him as he scanned around to find the clearest fields. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for - unequivocal evidence of degenerative disease.
    It was so obvious that Bannerman was puzzled to the point of feeling mildly annoyed that he had been asked for his opinion on something so clear-cut. He had rarely seen spongioform areas so well marked. This was the kind of slide that could be used for illustrating text books. The second and third slides were almost identical to the first. ‘What on earth are they playing at?’ he muttered as he removed the last slide and turned off the lamp. He asked Olive to get him the MRC coordinator on the phone.
    ‘Dr Bannerman? Good of you to call,’ said Milne after a short wait. ‘I take it you received the slides?’
    ‘I’ve just had a look,’ said Bannerman.
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I think I’ve just looked at three perfectly prepared brain sections from the same patient. He or she would be in their mid to late seventies and has just died of Creutzfeld Jakob Disease.’
    ‘You’d be wrong,’ said the coordinator.
    ‘What?’ exclaimed Bannerman.
    ‘What would you say if I told you that each of the slides came from a different patient, all were under thirty and none had been ill for longer than three weeks?’
    ‘I’d say there had been a mix-up in the slides,’ said Bannerman.
    ‘We are assured that there has been no mix- up.’
    ‘ I find that incredible,’ said Bannerman.
    ‘Suppose I was to add that the three dead patients worked with infected sheep?’
    ‘What?’ exclaimed Bannerman. ‘You’re not suggesting that they died of Scrapie by any chance?’
    ‘I wish I wasn’t. Can we meet to discuss this further?’
    ‘When?’ asked Bannerman.
    ‘I think it had better be as soon as possible,’ said the coordinator.
    ‘Why me?’ ventured Bannerman.
    ‘Your reputation, Doctor. Your work on degen erative brain disease is second to none and right now we need the best we’ve got. I’ll explain more when I see you. Would tomorrow at eleven be a possibility?’
    Bannerman checked his diary before saying that it would.
    ‘Did you see about taking time off?’ asked Stella when Bannerman saw her later.
    Bannerman brushed the question aside and told her about the call from the MRC. ‘I saw the slides Stella! They were classic Creutzfeld Jakob but Milne said they came from three men who had been working with Scrapie infected sheep!’
    ‘You mean the men died of Scrapie not Creutzfeld Jakob?’ exclaimed Stella.
    ‘That’s what Milne seemed to be saying.’
    ‘But that can’t happen surely? Scrapie is a dis ease of sheep. It can’t pass to man. There’s a what-do-you-call-it?’
    ‘A species barrier,’ said Bannerman. ‘Last year cows, this year people …’
    ‘What was that?’ asked Stella.
    ‘ I was just thinking that last year Scrapie was shown to have passed from sheep to cows through the food chain
    ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that it could do the same to humans?’
    ‘Up until today I would have said that there was no chance of that at all,’