"Do it,' Steiger said to Neilson. "Set your warp disc for a thirty-second clot: Muck. I want that chromosome analysis now."
"Yes, sir," said Neilson. He programmed his warp disc and disappeared, clocking ahead to TAC headquarters in the 27th century.
He reappeared exactly thirty seconds later, looking tired and needing a shave. He looked slightly ill. Temporal transition often produced nausea and dizziness and some soldiers never became accustomed to it.
Well?" said Steiger.
"There's no doubt about it, sir," said Neilson, for whom hours had passed. "I've been up all night, going over the results. I had them run the samples three times to verify the results. They came out the same each time. The chromosome maps of the samples show definite hybridization with lupine genetic material. probably virally fixated. It's got our genetics people tremendously excited. They say it's extremely sophisticated engineering, very trick. They're guessing that there's a hormonal trigger, which would make the change cyclical. Most of the time, the infected person probably looks completely normal, but once the hormonal cycle triggers expression of the lupine genes. a definite physical change would occur. It looks like we've got a real live werewolf on our hands, sir."
Damn," said Steiger. "We've hit pay dirt. Good work. Neilson. You've earned some rest. Go next door and get some sleep."
Neilson grimaced wryly. "Are you kidding? Who could think of sleeping at a time like this?"
"I want you to get some rest," said Steiger. "I'm going to need everybody at a hundred percent from now on. We can't afford any mistakes. A genetically engineered werewolf is bad enough. Conan Doyle's involvement raises the stakes. This could get real tricky."
"What about Wells?" said Delaney. "All things considered, we'd better keep tabs on him, too."
"Right," said Steiger. "It's not a wild goose chase anymore. Neilson, you follow Conan Doyle's involvement in the case down at the police lab. Keep me informed of Inspector Grayson's progress. I want to he notified the minute any similar killings occur. Rizzo, I want a report from the Public Record Office on all recent real estate leasehold transactions within the last six months. Ransoms, ditto with recent depositors at the Bank of England, anyone who opened accounts containing significantly large sums. Drakov likes to high roll. If he's here, you can be sure he's got a pile of money with him. I want those two lists compared as soon as possible. Brant, you're assigned to H. G. Wells. I want him under twenty-four- hour surveillance as of now. Private Craven will relieve you. You'll work in shifts. Quit your cover jobs, I'll want you completely mobile from now on. Andre, you take Conan Doyle when he's not down at the police lab. Be careful, we know he's highly observant, so don't get spotted. Finn. you relieve Andre. Davis and Larson, I want you two to continue covering Fleet Street. You know what to look for. If any of this breaks, try to get assigned to the stories. I want to be kept up to date on anything the newspapers get a hold of, before they get the information."
"Sir, if the story does break in the papers." said Davis, "we'll be expected to write something. How do you want us to handle the coverage?"
"Keep it reasonably straight," said Steiger. "Abo
ve all else, I want to avoid any sensational coverage that comes too close to the truth. Cooperate with the police. They'll appreciate reporters working with them for a change. That should give you an inside track. I don't want anybody writing stories about werewolves.
Play the other reporters off against each other. Do whatever you can to keep a lid on this."
"Yes. sir."
"All right. Drakov is here. probably somewhere in London. I want him nailed this time. The command post will he manned around the clock. I want that creature found and neutralized. but Drakov is the first priority. If you find the creature, don't kill it unless you absolutely have to. It could lead us to Drakov."
Neilson cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, sir, but with all due respect. I think we'd better concentrate on taking out the creature first. As soon as possible." I understand your concern. Neilson." said Steiger. "but Drakov has to be stopped and we're not going to be getting any reinforcements. Considering the crisis, we were lucky to get you people. We can try to minimize the loss of life, but there's no avoiding the fact that we're going to have casualties."
"I don't think you understood me, sir." said Neilson. "I'm sorry. I'm a little tired; I guess I didn't make it clear. Loss of life is not the only problem. There was just enough of the viral genome left in the lupine hybrid to render it infectious. This creature is contagious. sir. If any of its victims should happen to survive, there's a good chance they'll come down with a serious case of lycanthropy.'
Steiger stared at him. "Infectious DNA?"
Delaney gave a low whistle, "Trust Drakov to come up with a real nightmare. Anybody know where we can get a good supply of silver bullets?"
"Why do you even bother to ask me for my opinion'?" said Ian Holcombe, the Yard's chief of forensics. "Why not simply trot down to Baker Street and ask Mr. Sherlock Holmes? He'll look at the soil markings on the dead girl's petticoats and tell you in which cow pasture she had her last assignation. He'll smell her handkerchief and trace down her lover through the chemist's where he bought her perfume. And then he'll examine the callosities on the lover's hands and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the blackguard strangled her and there you'll have your case solved, neat as a pin. What do you need with me?"
"Steady on, Holcombe." Grayson said wearily. "I merely asked Dr. Doyle for his opinion on the case. Don't get your back up. I should think you'd be glad for the help. It's not as if you lack for things to do."
"Wolf hairs, indeed!" said Holcombe. "Wolves in London! Next I expect he'll he telling us that Westminster Abbey is infested with vampire hats!"
"Ian, just tell me what caused this young woman's death and I'll cease troubling you." said Grayson. "I've had a long night and I am very tired. I haven't even had an opportunity to cat breakfast this morning."
"Well, I beg your pardon," Holcombe said with exaggerated courtesy, snorting through his thick moustache. "You're not the only one who's overworked, you know. My assistant hasn't shown up yet and I'm trying to do twenty things at once. Tell me, do you think you could manage to bring me a corpse that expired in some ordinary manner, shot or stabbed or hacked to pieces with an axe, perhaps? Why do you insist on finding people who have been torn to pieces by wild animals or drained of all their blood?"
"Holcombe, what in Heaven's name are you talking about?" said Grayson.
"This girl," said Holcombe. gesturing at the sheet-shrouded body on the table. "She died from shock brought about by a profound loss of blood. Insult to the system, you know. It's astonishing that she had the strength to move about at all."
"What caused it?" Grayson said.
"Undoubtedly, she was bled by Sweeny Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street." Holcombe said sarcastically. "Perhaps it happened when she went in for her shave. Or some Styrian countess gave her a love bite. how should I know? Why not call Le Fanu and ask him? Better yet, call Robert Louis Stevenson. Maybe Mr. Hyde was in need of a transfusion."
"Ian. please…" said Grayson, shutting his eyes.