The Amazon Experiment (4 page)

Spyforce agents began streaming through the canteen doors for dinner. There was a heaviness in the air as if everyone was moving through water. Quiet footsteps made their way to the food counter and low-level whispering circled around them like fireflies.

Steinberger stared at the palm computer clutched in his hand as if he was waiting for an answer, an explanation to what seemed an impossibility. After Dretch had been handcuffed and taken away he'd stayed completely still.

‘Steinby?' Irene asked quietly.

He didn't move.

‘Steinby?' She gently placed a hand on his arm.

‘Mmm?' He looked up.

‘What happened?'

Steinberger drew a deep breath. ‘Dretch's fingerprints were found all over the cabinet.' Max could tell he was having trouble believing what he'd just said. For her part, though, she'd always known Dretch was bad.

‘Maybe he'd been there recently just to look at the book,' Irene offered, certain that Dretch was not involved. She turned to see that the line-up for food had grown longer. She stood to go and help. ‘Steinby, you and I know he didn't
do it. It'll all get sorted out sooner than you know. Now I'm going back to work.' She paused before adding, ‘At least food still makes sense.'

‘Do you really think Dretch did it?' Linden asked as agents swarmed around them in silent, hungry groups.

Steinberger let out a long sigh. ‘No.' He let his forehead fall into his hands. ‘But with the discovery of his fingerprints there was nothing else Harrison could do except order his arrest.'

‘What about the security cameras?'

Steinberger's palm computer lit up with a message. He looked wary. ‘That'll be the footage from the cameras now. I asked CRISP to mail it to me as soon as they had it.'

Steinberger pressed a few buttons to open the attachment. The vision revealed the foyer outside Harrison's office, with the untouched cabinet sitting solidly in the middle. The view flicked to different angles, all with the book as its central concern. Then they saw Dretch. He walked straight to the cabinet and pressed his hands against the glass for fingerprint identification. After a small green light was seen at the base of the cabinet he lifted the heavy glass, took out the book
and tucked it under his arm, then replaced the glass as if it was something he did every day.

Max and Linden stared at each other.

‘So he did do it,' Max declared.

‘But he said he didn't.' Linden thought Dretch had sounded sincere, but now that he'd seen the footage, it seemed Dretch was guilty.

‘You'd think he'd at least be clever enough to dismantle the cameras,' Max scoffed.

Steinberger turned off his computer, his saddened eyes still fixed on the screen.

‘I'm sorry, Steinberger.' Linden wanted to make him feel better. ‘Just let Max and me know what you'd like us to do.'

Steinberger offered him a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Linden.' He stood slowly. ‘I'd better get back to it.'

A metallic clang and crash of crockery was heard from the kitchen. Steinberger, Max and Linden ran to see what had happened. On opening the door, they saw Irene kneeling next to an agent who was lying on the floor, a mess of plates and pots surrounding her.

‘What happened?' Max asked.

‘It's Agent Steeple, my assistant. She just fell down. I noticed she was looking off-colour earlier, but when I asked if she was okay she said it was just
the worry about the book. That's the thing about Spyforce personnel, they never give up.' Irene looked protectively at her assistant. ‘I've called Finch,' she added as she placed the agent in the recovery position.

Finch was the Spyforce doctor, and he responded immediately to Irene's call. Within minutes he and two assistants barged through the kitchen doors, their hands gloved in latex and their white coats flying behind them. Finch swooped to the floor to examine the fallen agent.

Max, Linden, Irene and Steinberger waited nervously for his diagnosis. Finch worked quietly, checking the patient over, his serious face not giving anything away.

Steinberger frowned. After what had happened today, a sharp feeling in his stomach told him this latest incident was not unrelated to the stolen Spyforce manual.

Finch paused in his examination and looked into the expectant faces of the agents surrounding him.

‘What is it, Finch?' Steinberger knew by his expression that the prognosis wasn't good.

‘I've seen this only once before while I was working in the jungles of Africa. Of course I
will need to do tests, but from what I have gleaned from my initial examination, I'd say it could only be one thing.'

He looked down at the agent with a forlorn look but before Steinberger could ask what that one thing was, another commotion was heard from outside. Max ran to the door. ‘Another agent has collapsed!'

Finch ran outside and examined the second fallen agent, then turned to his assistants. ‘Take these agents to the infirmary and place them under quarantine.' The assistants immediately unfolded portable stretcher beds on wheeled stands and carefully lifted the agents onto them.

‘Well, what is it?' The doctor's silence was twisting Steinberger's stomach into impossible knots.

‘Come with me,' Finch called as he followed his assistants out of the canteen. ‘I can tell you when I know more.'

A stillness fell over the canteen as the agents were left in an ominous silence. Max, Linden and Steinberger hurriedly followed in the stretchers' wake. Max clenched and unclenched her hands, hoping the sick feeling in her stomach would be driven away by Finch's diagnosis, but somehow she knew things were about to become very serious.

The observation room was separated from the rest of Finch's infirmary by a large, reinforced window. It gave a perfect view of the agent lying on the table. She was young and fit but unmoving, and with a grey pallor sweeping across her lifeless face, it seemed she'd been frozen in time. Since Finch had started his examination, several more agents on stretchers had been rushed into the infirmary.

Finch slowly lifted his stethoscope from the patient's chest and exhaled through his surgical mask. He looked up through the observation window towards the troubled faces of Max, Linden, Harrison and Steinberger. He gave instructions to his medical staff before leaving the table and climbing the stairs to join them.

He lowered his mask, a growing disquiet marking his every move. ‘Her heart is very weak,' he announced with a grim face. ‘I'd only completed her regular check-up last week. She rated brilliantly in every category.'

He looked away sadly as if he was somehow to blame.

‘What is it, Finch?' Harrison had left his office the moment he heard the news. He was prepared for the worst.

‘It's either Trypanosomiasis or Chagas' Disease,' Finch answered.

A heavy pause fell between them.

‘What's that?' Max asked.

‘Sleeping sickness,' Harrison translated.

‘Sleeping sickness is a real disease?' she asked with raised eyebrows.

‘Most definitely. And not only is it real, but if left untreated, it can also be fatal.' Finch took a deep breath. ‘Normally the disease is caused by a blood parasite that is transmitted by bites from the tsetse fly in Africa or the triatoma bug from South America.' He looked to Steinberger. ‘Have any of the infected agents been near either continent in the last few months?'

Steinberger looked up the list of agent files in his palm computer. ‘In the last year, the areas covered were the Swiss Alps, the caves of Cappadocia, the Black Forest in Germany and the glaciers of New Zealand.'

‘Nowhere near Africa or South America,' Finch spelt out, almost to himself. ‘This could be more difficult than I thought.'

Harrison turned to Steinberger. ‘Try and find a link between all the agents who have been struck down so far. Run a search on everywhere they've
been and ask questions of their families that may give us some clue as to how they may have become ill.' He softened his voice. ‘And Steinberger … be careful not to alarm them.'

Harrison felt a loyalty towards each Spyforce member as if they were family, and when any one of them was in peril his heart ached as if a small knife had cut into it.

‘It's also possible that whatever caused the disease has made its way inside the Force,' he speculated. ‘Contact maintenance and have them check all the air-conditioning units, and have Dretch check all vehicles and equipment for any foreign matter.'

There was an awkward pause as Steinberger looked up from his note-taking.

‘I mean, coordinate Dretch's team to do it.' Harrison wasn't yet used to his friend being detained. He turned to Finch. ‘How many are there now?'

‘We have seven agents under our care at present. Three field agents and two more from the kitchen staff.'

Harrison looked through the glass at Agent Steeple on the observation table. ‘Will they all be okay?'

‘They're stable for now. I've given them an injection of one of Frond's Plantorium products which will stop the symptoms of the disease from getting worse. I've also put them on respirators as the illness is very taxing on the lungs, but it won't last forever,' he warned. ‘We have to discover the exact cause in order to provide a real cure. Otherwise …'

His unfinished sentence hung in the air with a deathly quiver until Harrison turned away from the glass and laid out his plan of action.

‘Finch, contact Frond and tell her all you know. If there's anyone who can work out an antidote it will be her. Steinberger, you and I will need to start formulating a mission to locate and retrieve the Spyforce manual and get a brief to Quimby as soon as we can.' He then turned to Max and Linden. ‘With the spectre of sleeping sickness in our midst, I'm afraid you won't be able to return home yet.'

Max stood taller. She wouldn't have left even if they'd tied her to a seat in the Invisible Jet and tried to fly her away.

‘I'll contact Ben and Eleanor and ask them to cover for you while you're here.'

‘What would you like us to do, sir?' Max almost saluted.

Harrison smiled. ‘I know it may not sound very exciting, but with all the kitchen staff who have fallen ill, Irene will need your help.'

Max's heart lurched. She would have preferred to have gone with Harrison, to be in the front line for whatever was destabilising the Force.

Two more patients were wheeled into the surgery. The medical team swept into action as Finch offered a small nod, refitted his mask and went to their assistance.

Harrison approached the glass again and looked down on the infirmary. Max started to say goodbye but the look of quiet despair on his face stole her words from her. Linden gently touched her on the arm and they left in silence.

The waterlogged mop came down in a splashing frenzy just as Max entered the canteen doors with Linden.

‘That's not good.' Linden winced as the grey soapy water soaked into Max's shoes.

Irene held the dripping culprit guiltily. Her face was red, her apron damp and her chest heaving with her cleaning effort. She looked tired and rumpled, with her usual Irene shine hidden behind a nervous frown. ‘I'm so sorry, Max.' There was the smallest crack in her voice that made Max want to reach out and wrap her in a hug.

‘It's okay, Irene. We've come to help.'

Irene breathed deeply. ‘And I'll be glad to have your company,' she replied with a flash of her old self as she picked up her bucket and led the way into the kitchen. ‘Max, yours is the tea towel, and Linden, you get to put away.' Irene turned to a sink loaded with dishes and began a jovial whistle, but Max and Linden could tell her cheerfulness was just a cover.

‘What do you think is responsible for all this sleeping sickness, Irene?' Linden asked.

‘I've been thinking about that so much I think I've almost worn out a part of my brain.' Irene's attempt at a joke drew a sad smile onto her lips.
‘Those agents are like my own kids. If anything was to happen to any one of them …' She turned back to the sink and began scrubbing a giant pot even harder.

‘Finch reckons it's something they've come into contact with in the last few weeks. Flies or bugs that are normally found in Africa or South America.' Max picked up a large saucepan and began drying it with her tea towel.

Linden continued for her. ‘All the agents it has struck have come from different units, have been on different assignments and none of them have been anywhere near those two continents.'

Irene turned to them with her eyebrows flipped high.

‘Then it might be something inside Spyforce?'

‘Harrison thinks it might be,' Max explained. ‘He's having the place fully checked out.'

Linden picked up a casserole dish and made for a large shelf. ‘So far they haven't found any common factor.'

Irene breathed a deep, resonating sigh.

‘Well, at least among all this commotion there's one thing we can be sure of.' She took off her gloves and moved towards the ovens. ‘I'm going to make sure everyone has lots of good food to eat.'

Something struck Max about what Linden and Irene had just said, as if her brain was trying to tell her something but she wasn't sure what. She watched as Irene took a tray of rich plum tarts from a cooling rack and assembled them on a plate.

‘See what you think of these,' Irene said proudly. ‘I've added a little something special to it that I'll bet my best pair of shoes will knock your socks off.'

Linden fell into his usual food-zombie mode at the sight of food. His mouth fell open and his tongue ran along his bottom lip wondering which one he should try first. He reached slowly forward and picked up a tart, still warm, full of thick overflowing plummy syrup.

But then something else happened in Max's brain. Something that told her Linden shouldn't eat the tart.

She leapt forward and swiped it out of Linden's hands, sending it skidding across the shiny floor like a jellied discus, leaving a red trail and a lilting disappointment in Linden's eyes.

‘I know I should be thinking of things other than my stomach, Max, but honestly, my brain works better after I've eaten.'

Max
was
worried about Linden's stomach, but not in the way he thought.

‘Not happy with the menu, Max?' Steinberger had just avoided the flying tart as he walked through the kitchen doors. ‘Usually people can't get enough of Irene's food.'

Max's brain jolted again. ‘I know,' she answered, before turning to Irene. ‘Have there been any changes in the kitchen in the last few weeks?'

‘Changes? Why do you ask?' Irene folded her arms across her chest, miffed that Max had thrown one of her prized creations across the floor.

‘It's just an idea I have. Have there been any new staff? New cleaning products? New ingredients?'

Irene didn't like where Max's questions were headed.

‘No, only the usual high quality, organic …' Irene stopped and her face paled to the colour of flour. She slowly spoke her next thoughts. ‘Except for the new spice from Venezuela.'

‘A new spice?' Steinberger felt a tremor of warning. ‘Where did you get it?'

‘It came with the last delivery of supplies from Susoka and Sons.'

Susoka and Sons was a food supplier that had been checked out by Spyforce and given the all clear to be their official supplier.

‘They'd sent it as a new sample to try out.'

‘Did you have it tested?' Steinberger asked.

Irene paused. ‘I usually give everything new I receive to Frond for testing, but I got so busy … and it was from Susoka so I thought … I never …' She bit her lip, unable to finish.

‘What have you used it in?' Steinberger continued.

Irene was lost in trying to remember. ‘The prawn soup, the mango muffins, the strawberry flambé …' She broke off.

‘Do you know if the sick agents ate any of those dishes?' Linden asked gently, hating to see Irene so sad.

‘I … I …' she began.

‘Here's a list of agents.' Steinberger called up the files and photos of the sick agents on his palm computer and showed it to her.

Irene's floury complexion became even whiter. ‘Yes.' She paused. ‘All of them.'

‘Are you sure?' Linden asked.

‘I have a photographic memory for that kind of thing. I like to know the dishes each agent is partial to.'

‘When did the ingredient arrive?' Max asked.

‘About a week ago,' Irene whispered.

Max turned to Steinberger. ‘When did Suave arrive?'

Steinberger's mouth went dry. ‘Now, Max, I think it might be best not to jump to conclusions. It does happen that Agent Suave arrived a week ago, but with all the training and the security checks, he couldn't possibly have anything to do with …' His words fell away. With all that had happened in the last few hours, anything was suddenly very possible.

They stood in a silence laced with confusion. Spyforce was impenetrable. In all the years since it had been established, no-one had ever managed to infiltrate it. Blue had come close but was stopped due to the efforts of the Wall of Goodness, which detected his evil intentions and caused him to be ejected from the Force.

‘I'm sorry … I …' Irene's lower lip trembled. ‘What have I done?'

‘You haven't done anything,' Max said firmly. ‘But someone else certainly has.'

‘Is there any of the sample left?' Steinberger gently touched Irene's hand.

Her eyes only became sadder. ‘I used it all up.'

‘Do you still have the packet it came in?' Linden asked.

‘Yes. It was a plain canvas bag. I kept it so I could reorder it.'

‘Excellent,' Steinberger said. ‘Hopefully there will be enough residue to complete a test. We don't have any time to lose. We must get it down to … to …' His eyes smouldered like two kerosene lamps and a quiet gasp passed his trembling lips. ‘Frond … for analysis.'

Steinberger's hopeless crush on Frond, the head of the Plantorium, again sent his brain into a wordless wilderness.

‘I'll get it straight away.'

Irene's voice jolted Steinberger back to reality. ‘Yes. Yes.' He tapped on his palm computer. ‘I'll get someone onto Susoka and Sons. Maybe they can give us some clues as to where this mysterious sample came from.'

Max and Linden watched as his fingers sped across the keys of his palm computer.

‘Steinberger?' Max asked the question that was in both their minds. ‘Spyforce is going to be okay, isn't it?'

The Administration Manager stopped typing and turned to the two young agents. ‘Of course it is. Spyforce has thwarted many threats and dangers in the past and so we will this one.'

Even though his words were delivered with a calm confidence, Max couldn't help noticing Steinberger's eyes, which were marked by a deep glow of apprehension.