The Fog - James Herbert [63]
‘And what do you intend to do once you’ve found it?’ Sir Trevor Chambers, Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for the Department of the Environment asked dryly. It was a question that had been on all their minds. What could be done against a drifting, insubstantial mass? How could it be confined? How could it be destroyed?
‘There are methods,’ replied the Minister for Defence. ‘Some were developed in the war by the RAF, but the progress of radar has made it unnecessary for this day and age. But the old methods are still usable.’
‘Let’s find it first,’ the Home Secretary said impatiently. ‘I want to know in which direction it’s heading and I want its path cleared of people.’
‘My God,’ said Sir Trevor, ‘that’s going to be a massive operation.’
‘I’m well aware of that, but what would you suggest?’ He allowed no time for an answer. ‘Mr Holman, I want you to put yourself at the disposal of the Department of Health’s Medical Research Department. You are one victim of the fog who has recovered. I want to know why. It could save the lives of countless others.’
‘Er, might I suggest that our chaps from Porton Down work in collusion with the Research Department?’ asked the Under-Secretary for the Army.
‘Porton Down?’ Sir Trevor Chambers raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, our Chemical Defence and Microbiological Research Establishments are based there.’
‘Porton Down, Salisbury?’ Sir Trevor persisted.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘This whole thing is beginning to smell bloody fishy to me!’
The Home Secretary held up his hands to dispel any arguments that might take place. ‘Gentlemen, I’ve asked James for a full report on his work in Salisbury and I will not tolerate any disputes amongst ourselves until I have read that report. For the moment, there are more urgent matters to be put in hand. Now then, we will use the Chemical Defence and the Microbiological Research boys – we’ll use anyone who can be of the slightest help in our efforts to combat this menace. Is that understood?’
For the next forty minutes plans were made to deal with the extraordinary situation, plans of action were laid down for the evacuation of people in the path of the threat, and ways of dispersing the fog were discussed. Men left to carry out their urgent duties, others were called in to receive instructions that puzzled them, but which they carried out anyway. The Commissioner was handed a slip of paper and interrupted the proceedings.
They’ve located the fog,’ he announced sombrely. ‘It’s moving back north. Towards Winchester.’
12
Captain Joe Ennard took his seat in the cockpit of the giant Boeing 747, greeting his flight officers with a forced grin.
‘How was your day off?’ his Flight Engineer called out.
‘Terrific,’ Joe said without enthusiasm. He thought of his day with Sylvia, the day that had started so well and ended so miserably, while he ran through the checks before take-off. Pressing his transmit button, he asked Departure Control for permission to start his engines. He was acknowledged and permission granted. He began pulling switches with his First Officer and the jumbo jet rumbled into life. The noise increased the dull ache he had at a point just above his eyes.
He had spent the previous day in the New Forest with his wife in an attempt to recapture some of the zest they’d had for each other earlier in their marriage. She’d always known about his casual affairs over the past few years but had tried to accept them because of her own shortcomings. At thirty-eight his sexual drive had hardly diminished from the time he was twenty-five. Whether it would have been the same if their marriage had taken a normal course, he didn’t know, but the fact that she was so repulsed by the sex act had seemed to strengthen his demand for fulfilment rather than diminish it, despite the fact that he still loved her, he had been forced to look elsewhere for the important missing part of their marriage.
The irony was that he felt the guilt. She never spoke of his unfaithfulness, never blamed him for his misconduct. Often he found her quietly weeping,