I make a careful judgment call and decide to exceed my lawful authority. Just this once, in order to facilitate the speedy investigation of a major threat—that’s what I’ll tell the Auditors if they haul me onto the carpet. Doing it by the book, I should go and round up a committee or a herd of managers to agree with me first—diffusion of responsibility, it’s called—but I honestly don’t think there’s time for that right now. Thirty thousand deaths a year corresponds to seven hundred a week. (Just sitting on it for the extra day it’d take to convince a committee could result in . . . let’s not go there.) “Whose authorization do you need?” I ask.

“Professor Everett can sign off on the paperwork to pull the patient records, but I’ll need to persuade him in turn that the Department of Health are happy about this.” She bites her lip. “K syndrome is a special case, of course, but this, this is . . .”

“This is suspected K syndrome, or a K syndrome-related condition of, um, what’s the right medical term?”

“Unknown etiology. Yes, that should do it. I need authorization to access medical records of deceased patients suffering from a spongiform encephalopathy of unknown etiology that is possibly associated with K syndrome. In writing. Preferably signed in blood. Can you get me that?” She does the tilt-shift thing again, like she’s trying to view me as a miniature diorama.

“Yes. I’ll email you a memo as soon as I get back to my office. Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” She stands. “Better pray to whatever nameless horrors you believe in that you’re wrong, Mr. Howard. If twelve people died of a new sudden-onset form of K syndrome in London in the last month, then you’d better hope it was just a group of cultists who got lucky. Because if it wasn’t, we’re in worse trouble than you can possibly imagine.”

6.

RENFIELD PLC