Pandora's Helix

EIGHTEEN

“How many?” yelled the fireman.

“Two of us.”

“Are you together?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to have to get cutting equipment to get nearer,” shouted the man through cupped hands. He pointed to the tangled window frame.

“No time!” shouted Neef in reply.

The fireman and Neef both looked at the gap between the building and the ladder. It was not an encouraging sight.

“I’ll get the woman,” cried Neef. “She’s not heavy.”

Neef disappeared briefly back inside the blazing room and reappeared with Mrs Little at the window. He prepared to pass her over to the fireman. At first there didn’t seem to be a problem. Neef could support Mrs Little, who was still in shock, quite easily. He was holding her with one arm and leaning out to bridge the gap when she suddenly came to her senses and all at once realised where she was. She screamed when she looked down and saw that there was nothing beneath her feet. She began kicking and struggling, suddenly and dramatically increasing the burden on Neef’s arm.

“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” yelled the fireman as he leaned out as far as he could and caught hold of the writhing woman. “Let go of her!”

Neef let go and Mrs Little appeared to pass safely into the fireman’s care. At the last moment however, she kicked out hysterically with both legs and broke free of his grip. She slipped from his grasp and for a moment hung suspended from her skirt which the fireman to his credit had managed to grab a handful of. There was an agonising moment when it seemed the situation might be saved before the material suddenly gave way and Mrs Little spiralled down to her death.

“Jesus Christ!” yelled the fireman, putting a hand to his visor, as he looked down at the spread-eagled body below. He looked across at Neef, his face contorted with anguish and remorse in the firelight. “Was that your...?”

“No,” cried Neef above the noise of the fire. “And it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do!” He watched as the fireman took a few moments to compose himself then quickly the man was back on top of his job.

“Think you can make it?” he shouted to Neef.

“Yes,” replied Neef, knowing that he had no option. He hoisted himself up into the gap left by the window frame and felt his senses reel as he looked down. His eyes sought desperately for reference points.

“Take your time,” yelled the fireman. “Prepare yourself!”

Just as Neef had worked up the courage to jump, an old sofa in the room behind him exploded and a great cloud of black smoke engulfed him, burning his eyes and throat with toxic fumes. He steeled himself to remain motionless, trying not to breathe until the air had cleared. When he found he could breathe again he slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times to clear them of tears.

“Are you OK?” shouted the fireman.

“Yes,” replied Neef. “I’m coming across.”

This time, as he prepared to jump, the ladder suddenly swung away from him, increasing the gap by yet another half a metre.

“Just the wind!” yelled the fireman. “It’ll come back.”

Neef’s nerves would not take any more. He watched the ladder swing gently back and then launched himself across the gap. He landed with both feet firmly on the ladder platform and the fireman’s arms around him. He stood there for a long moment in a bear hug with the fireman.

“Does this mean we’re engaged?” asked the fireman.

“I just can’t begin to thank you enough,” gasped Neef.

“No need,” said the fireman. “Think you can make it down on your own?”

“Yes,” replied Neef. He started out on a descent that seemed to take for ever.

When he reached the ground and turned to look at the jumble of hoses, vehicles and flashing blue lights circled there, he felt totally disorientated until ambulance personnel reached him. “Any injuries sir?”

“No, I’m fine,” replied Neef, shrugging off the blanket that was being draped round his shoulders. He looked around for Mrs Little’s body and spotted a stretcher between two of the fire appliances; it was covered by a tarpaulin but there was an unmistakeable human shape underneath. He walked towards it.

“I really don’t think you should, sir,” said a policeman, putting a restraining hand on his arm.

Neef freed himself saying, “Just give me a moment, will you.”

Assuming that Neef must be in some way related to the dead woman, the police and fire-fighters remained in a huddle in the background while Neef knelt down and drew back the cover from Ann Little’s broken body. Surrounded by the emergency vehicles, she seemed so small and insignificant, just like a rag doll. Neef was consumed with anger. Farro-Jones had come into this woman’s life, conned her into trusting him and used her only daughter as a guinea pig to further his research career. He had murdered her daughter just as surely as he had murdered her, the bastard. But such a gentleman... he really cared about the patients... he had even turned up at Susan’s funeral... such a nice man. Neef stood up and took a deep breath. He felt he knew where Farro-Jones must have gone.

An ambulance technician appeared at his elbow. “Are you ready now sir? It’s best if you come along and have a check-up even if you feel OK right now.”

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” said Neef without taking his eyes off Mrs Little.

The ambulance man moved back to be replaced by a policeman. “I’m afraid we need to ask you a few questions sir, if you feel up to it?”

“Can it wait?” said Neef. “I’m going up to the hospital for a check up.”

“Of course sir. Maybe just your name and address for the time being?

Neef complied.

“You’re a doctor?”

“At St George’s.”

As the policeman put his notebook back in his pocket and turned to walk back to his colleagues, Neef saw that, for the moment, no one was actually looking at him. He seized the opportunity and moved swiftly round the back of one of the fire appliances. Shielded from view by it, he started running to the car park where he’d left his car. He was relieved to find the Discovery still with all its wheels. It started first time and he was on his way, tyres squealing in protest.

He felt sure that Farro-Jones would have gone straight to Pathology at St George’s to look for the letter he had lied about sending to Frank MacSween. The fact that it didn’t exist meant that he’d probably still be hunting for it down in MacSween’s office. In all probability he would be under the impression that he and Ann Miller had died in the fire.

The sight of Farro-Jones’ car outside Pathology at St George’s brought a knot of fear to Neef’s stomach. It was only a car but it seemed to symbolise much more than that. For the first time in his life he felt that he was coming up against real evil. He should have realised something earlier but he hadn’t. There was only one explanation for Farro-Jones trying to kill him and Ann Miller at the flat the way he had. He was mad. This was not a comforting thought to nurture as he made his way downstairs to the pathology lab.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened for a moment. He couldn’t hear a thing. Frank MacSween’s compassionate leave and Charlie Morse’s death had meant that hospital pathology work was temporarily being carried out over in University College Hospital. The St George’s technicians had been sent over there too. Neef looked along the basement corridor and saw a light coming from under Frank MacSween’s door. He stared at it, a thin horizontal strip of light in the darkness that said he had been right. Farro-Jones was here.

Neef noted the broken lock and pushed open the door, his bulk almost filling the doorway.

“You!” exclaimed Farro-Jones. He was sitting in Frank MacSween’s chair and had been rummaging through the pile of papers that had been accumulating in MacSween’s absence.

“You won’t find it. I sent it to his home address.”

Farro-Jones got up slowly from the desk and moved backwards, his eyes looking left and right as if to assess his options. He only had one and that was to open the connecting door behind him that led directly to the PM room. This he did.

“It’s over,” said Neef, moving towards him. “The police are on their way and you, you bastard, are going to prison for the rest of your life.”

Farro-Jones spread his hands in front of him as if to appease Neef’s anger. “Like I said, Neef, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was all just bad luck, that’s all. It all went wrong; I panicked and everything just seemed to get worse.”

“You treated the Littles as if they were lab animals. They trusted you and you destroyed them! And you call it bad luck!”

“So Ann Little is dead,” said Farro-Jones. His eyes had taken on a different look as if he had just realised something. “And you expect me to believe that if the police were coming they would have let you come on ahead on your own? Come on Neef. You’re playing the Lone Ranger. You are the only one who knows.”

“That’s enough,” said Neef, still stalking Farro-Jones. They had passed the PM tables and were backing towards the body vaults.

“You know what Neefy old son? I don’t think there’s any letter either. Fancy your chances? Come on then.”

Farro-Jones had now adopted an aggressive stance. He had stopped backing off and was prepared to fight it out with Neef. Neef had the advantage of height, weight and probably strength but Farro-Jones had the build of a natural athlete. He was light on his feet. Farro-Jones made a feint to the left and Neef blocked the move. He was gradually backing Farro-Jones into the far corner of the room where there would be no escape. Farro-Jones could see it. He dummied a move to the right then corrected and came straight at Neef. Neef was ready; he side-stepped and caught Farro-Jones on the side of the face with a vicious right hook. Farro-Jones went down. He remained on his knees, rubbing his cheek.

If Neef had known anything about street fighting he would have gone for Farro-Jones with his feet and finished the fight there and then but it wasn’t in his nature. He waited for Farro-Jones to concede. Farro-Jones remained on the floor until he had got his breath back and then pretended to get up. “All right, Neef. You win,” he said as he started to rise. Neef relaxed ever so slightly and Farro-Jones lunged at him, head first. He caught Neef in the midriff and knocked the wind out of him as his back was slammed against the doors of the body vault. Neef, to his credit, recovered quickly and slammed both his fists into Farro-Jones’ ears at the same time. He tried to finish the move off by raising his knee into Farro-Jones’ face but missed as Farro-Jones backed off.

There was still no way that Farro-Jones could get round Neef and his headlong assaults were not paying dividends. He looked around him with darting glances as Neef waited for him to try again. His eyes fell on a jar of lubricant that the mortuary porter used for the hinges on the body vault doors. It was sitting on a window-sill to his right. He quickly averted his eyes lest it alert Neef and started circling in that direction. Two or three feinted moves later he was within range. Without taking his eyes off Neef, he shot out his arm behind him, grabbed the jar and let fly with it. Neef simply moved his head a little to the left and it sailed harmlessly past to shatter on the body vault door and fall to the ground. For the first time, Neef saw defeat in Farro-Jones’ eyes and it lifted his spirits. It even made him a little careless. He had avoided the flying missile with such ease that he had overlooked the fact that its contents had spilt out on to the floor behind him. Farro-Jones saw what had happened and the look in his eyes changed again. Neef did not have time to work out why before Farro-Jones faked a lunge towards him and made him step backwards into the spreading puddle of lubricant. His feet slid away from him and he toppled over backwards against the body vault door. As luck — or no luck, would have it, his head hit the heavy metal clasp securing the door and he almost lost consciousness for a few moments. It was enough for Farro-Jones to seize the initiative. He was on Neef in a flash, raining in blows to his head until Neef was lying supine on the floor in a black world of his own.

When Neef came round he was bound hand and foot with surgical tape. Farro Jones was in the far corner of the room looking at the paperwork clip hanging above three coffins that sat in readiness for residents of the body vault. He saw Neef move, out of the corner of his eye, and came over.

“Well Neef, this is a sad day for you; you are being cremated at four thirty this afternoon.”

Neef felt his insides turn to water. The look on Farro-Jones’ face said that he wasn’t joking.

“For Christ’s sake, man, you can’t hope to keep getting away with killing people. Common sense should tell you that. Where is killing me going to get you?”

Neef’s appeal to reason only brought a smile to Farro-Jones’ face. “With you and Ann Little out of the way, no one can prove anything. No one who knows me saw me at the flats today and no one will ever see you again after you take the place of...” Farro Jones looked at the wad of papers he was holding. “James Henry Todd... at his cremation this afternoon. Come on!”

Farro Jones put his hands under Neef’s armpits and dragged his body across the floor towards the wooden trestles where the three coffins sat. “It’s going to be a tight fit; Mr Todd was a good bit shorter than you, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Neef was still groggy from the blows to his head but panic was bringing life to his limbs. He strained at the tape that secured him but could make no impression on it.

“I thought you’d be unreasonable about this,” sneered Farro-Jones so while you were out cold I nipped out and got a little something to calm you down. Farro Jones started to fill a syringe. “Nothing too drastic. I wouldn’t like you to miss your own funeral.”

There was nothing Neef could do to stop the injection going ahead. Almost immediately he felt his muscles go weak and his resolve slip away. He was not truly unconscious just too weak to move. Farro-Jones forced some tissue into Neef’s mouth and then gagged him with surgical tape. He removed the lid of the coffin intended for James Todd and propped it up against the vault door. “In you go,” he grunted as he struggled to lift Neef’s apparently lifeless body and finally loaded him untidily into the coffin.

“As I thought,” said Farro-Jones. “A bit tight.” He bent Neef’s legs this way and that until he had them both inside the coffin. Finally he packed the area around Neef’s head with surgical gowns so that he was held totally immobile even if he had been capable of moving which he was not.

Farro-Jones could see from his eyes that Neef was still conscious. “Good” he said. “You’re going to experience the whole bit, Neef. The drive to the crematorium, the service, the organ music, the hymns — What’s the betting it’s the twenty-third psalm, eh? You may even hear a few tears being shed before that electric motor starts and you feel yourself sink down to where the ovens are. The clank of the fire door opening and then... in you go.”

Farro-Jones lifted the lid of the coffin and Neef was aware of its shadow coming over him before all the light disappeared and he could hear Farro-Jones insert the screws one by one in their pre-drilled holes. He could already feel the temperature start to rise. He felt his own breath rebound off the lid against his face. The air supply must be limiting, he thought. With any luck it would run out before a live cremation became a possibility. It all depended on whether or not Farro-Jones was going to screw the lid down or not. Please God let him screw it right down. Asphyxia must be by far the better option.

“I’ll just leave you a little gap, Neef” he heard Farro-Jones say. “Wouldn’t like you to smother before the big event.”

Neef could see a thin chink of light where Farro-Jones had left the lid loose and wedged it open with the screwdriver he’d been using.

Neef’s nightmare situation was now beginning to threaten his sanity, so great was his sense of absolute terror. Why in God’s name had he not let the police handle it? He hadn’t even told anyone where he was going! No one knew where he was and no one would ever know what had happened to him. True, there would be a bit of a scandal when the mortuary attendants discovered that they still had the body of someone named Todd, who should have been cremated but by then it would be too late to wonder who or what had really been in the coffin that had been consigned to the flames. He could hear Farro-Jones moving about; he heard the sound of the body transporter trolley being raised and lowered as Todd’s body was returned to the vault.

“Soon be time, Neef. The hearse will be here in a few minutes,” said Farro Jones. “Then all my troubles will be over and it’s back to the rigours of the research lab. You know, I thought it was a hellish quirk of fate when Frank MacSween’s grandson became infected but if he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been able to tidy up things here so nicely. When all’s said and done the number of people who’ve died might be said to be unimportant when you think about the benefits my research could bring when the teething troubles have been sorted out. Don’t you think?”

The gag in Neef’s mouth prevented any kind of reply to the ramblings of the madman outside. The muscle relaxant Farro-Jones had used on him was beginning to wear off a little and his limbs were now racked with pain at being crammed and twisted into such a confined space. Cramp was already threatening in his calf muscles.

“Time to batten you down, old son,” said Farro-Jones. “They’ll be here any moment now.”

Neef saw the crack of light disappear as Farro-Jones removed the screwdriver from the crack and started screwing the lid down. His voice was further away now. Suddenly there were other voices.

Neef’s terror soared to almost unbearable heights as he imagined that the undertakers had arrived. If they were here this soon, he was going to be conscious throughout. His brain was screaming instructions to his limbs but they refused to respond. He had no way at all of alerting the people outside.

Neef felt the coffin rock slightly on its trestle. Someone had touched it. He waited for it to be lifted, his eyes wide with fear in the darkness. There was an agonising silent pause when nothing at all happened then Neef realised that the lid screws were being undone. As the lid was slid away, he blinked against the light and looked up into the face of a policeman.

Neef was helped up into a sitting position. He saw Farro-Jones being held between two uniformed policemen while another in plain clothes cautioned him.

“How on earth?” he gasped as his gag was removed.

“I told them,” said Eve appearing at his side and putting her arm around his shoulders.

“But how did you know I was here?”

“When I looked out the window earlier to wave good bye to the firemen who’d been to visit Neil I saw your car parked outside Pathology. David’s car was parked beside it. That worried me. Ann Miles told me that you had gone out so I thought it odd that your car was back but you weren’t. I was about to phone the police when they arrived; they were looking for you in connection with a fire?”

“It’s a long story,” said Neef, rubbing his forehead weakly at the thought of it. He suddenly felt awfully tired and couldn’t fight the feeling. The effects of the injection Farro-Jones had given him and thoughts of what had so nearly happened to him conspired to make him lose consciousness.

Within minutes of waking up in a small side ward in the hospital, Neef was having an argument. He had declared himself fit and wanted to leave but this apparently was not an option open to him. The nurse present when he woke up had no wish to enter into any real argument with a consultant physician so she called the doctor who had dealt with Neef’s admission.

“A few nasty bumps on the head and probably a hang-over from what was injected into you but apart from that, no damage.”

“Good,” said Neef. “Now I’d like to go. I’ve got lots to do.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible yet sir. The police and some Ministry people are insisting that you stay where you are until you are, debriefed, I think the word was.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“They’ve been informed that you’ve come round, sir. It shouldn’t be long.”

“Look I have to at least phone someone,” said Neef, making for the door and opening it. There were two policemen standing outside. Neef closed the door again.

“Sorry,” shrugged the doctor. “They’ll probably be here soon.”

The young doctor was right. Four men wearing civilian clothes but showing warrant cards arrived within ten minutes and spent the next four hours questioning Neef. He was both exhausted and exasperated by the time they were through.

“Can I please go now?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not sir, not just yet,” replied one of he policemen.

“Why the hell not?”

“We’d like you to wait here until we’ve found Dr Pereira.”

“Pereira? Where the hell does he come into this?”

“We’ve had an APB out on him for some time sir. It shouldn’t be long before we find him and then we can sort this whole thing out.”

Neef saw that further argument was useless. He watched as the four men left and resigned himself to more waiting.

It was almost midnight before a commotion outside the door said that something was happening at last. When the door finally did open, Neef got up to welcome Max Pereira.

“What the hell’s going on Mike?”

“I’m not sure myself,” replied Neef. He told him about the fire and Farro-Jones’ subsequent arrest.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Pereira. “You’ve had quite a day.”

“Farro-Jones had been experimenting with an unlicensed virus,” said Neef. “He was using one of the cystic fibrosis kids as a guinea pig.”

“I know about the virus,” replied Pereira but he didn’t elaborate.

One of the policemen who had interviewed Neef earlier came in to say that a meeting had been convened down in the pathology lecture theatre. The two of them were ‘requested’ to attend.

Neef and Pereira accompanied the policeman in silence, their footsteps echoing through the deserted corridors at that time of night. When they got to the lecture theatre they found that chairs had been brought in and positioned round the long table that normally sat in front of the blackboard for student demonstrations. Klein sat at the head with Waters to his right. The other ten places or so were taken by ministry and police officials. Neef and Pereira were placed together at the foot of the table facing Klein.

Klein welcomed them and said, “Gentlemen, I’m sure we all regret the happenings of the last twenty four hours. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we must do all in our power to minimise the resulting damage.”

Neef and Pereira exchanged glances.

“But however awful the experiences have been — particularly for Dr Neef, I understand, we must keep a sense of proportion and priority, so first I have some good news. We appear to have contained the cancer outbreak. There have been no new cases reported among the contacts we have been keeping in isolation. One more week and I think we can confidently raise the restrictions and consider this outbreak over.”

“Good,” said one of the ministry people.

“I’m sure everyone will be glad to get back to normal so it’s just a question of how we can put all this behind us as quickly and as painlessly as possible and with minimum lasting damage to all parties.”

Neef and Pereira exchanged another glance.

“I’m talking about a damage limitation exercise, gentlemen,” said Klein. “I’m sure you will all agree with me that it serves no real purpose to prolong this unfortunate business with lengthy enquiries, the preparation of reports and the encouragement of prurient press interest which will only serve to promote fear and alarm in the general public.”

“Perish the thought,” thought Neef. It’s keep your mouth shut time again. He saw Pereira had reached the same conclusion.

“Frankly, I am asking for your cooperation in putting an end to this business,” said Klein, looking at Neef and Pereira.

“What exactly are you proposing, Dr Klein?” asked Neef.

“In return for your cooperation and silence, we in turn, will take no further action in bringing a prosecution against Menogen.”

“What?” exploded Pereira. “You know damn well that Menogen had nothing whatever to do with it!”

“Absolutely!” agreed Neef, equally angry. “It was all down to Farro-Jones and his damned ambition.”

“Unfortunately Dr Farro-Jones cannot be here to defend himself,” said Klein.

“Only because he’s in police custody!” stormed Neef.

“I understand that Dr Farro-Jones has undergone some kind of mental breakdown. He has been transferred to hospital. It may be some time before we can question him but of course, we accept your assertion that he has been engaged in illegal experimentation on Susan Little,” said Klein. “Most reprehensible and most regrettable but there is no actual evidence that links these experiments to the cancer deaths.”

“Jesus!” said Pereira.

“Susan Little was the link between Melanie Simpson and Jane Lees,” said Neef, exasperation in his voice. “They both visited her.”

“But there is no actual evidence to show that Susan Little died of lung cancer at all,” said Klein.

“Farro-Jones had the pathologist, Miller cover it up,” said Neef.

“The pathologist in question being unfortunately dead,” said Klein acidly. “And I must remind you that no virus has yet been found to be responsible for the deaths. We still feel that the most likely event was the escape of some unidentified infectious agent from the premises of Menogen Research. We are prepared to accept that this was in no way due to negligence on the part of the staff at Menogen, and that it was a one off occurrence that no one could have foreseen. That is why we are prepared not to prosecute in return for your cooperation.”

Neef could hardly believe that Klein was being so obtuse.

“No deal,” said Pereira quietly.

It had much more effect than if he had said it angrily. Neef had the distinct impression that Pereira had been holding something back. A number of men moved uncomfortably in their seats. Klein seemed more discomfited than most. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “But you leave me no alternative...”

“You know, don’t you?” interrupted Pereira. He was looking at Waters who had remained silent throughout.

The down-turn to Waters’ lips quivered slightly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Yes you do,” said Pereira. “You’re a virologist like I am, a good one too otherwise you wouldn’t be at the Porton fun factory.”

“I really must ask you to come to the point, Doctor Pereira,” said Klein.

Neef could see that he was rattled. He felt himself relax as he realised Pereira must be holding some kind of ace up his sleeve.

Pereira said to Waters. “You saw the virology reports just as I did. You took Charlie Morse’s body away for investigation. What you didn’t know is that I had a sample from Douglas Cooper’s lungs to work on.”

Waters and Klein looked at each other. This was clearly unwelcome news to them. Klein swallowed. “What are you suggesting?” he asked, as if he feared the answer.

Pereira said, “The routine virology reports on the dead patients showed the presence of Rhino virus, Adeno virus and para-Adeno virus, all viruses that you might expect to appear in any virology report on a patient with pneumonia but the para-Adeno virus caught my attention. I analysed it as best I could in the time available. It wasn’t an ordinary example of para-Adeno virus at all. It was obviously one that had been modified for use as a Gene Therapy vector. The technicians who were looking for a new virus wouldn’t have realised this at the time. I think Farro-Jones created a virus vector, based on para-Adeno virus, that would carry the CF gene into the host cells of cystic fibrosis patients and integrate it into their chromosomes but it’s my guess that wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to go one step better and give the vector a specific target site on the DNA. Unfortunately it seems the target he came up with happened to be a proto oncogene. When the virus integrated it caused the cell to become cancerous. Somewhere along the line he had the double misfortune of the disabled virus becoming active again. In short, he created a virus that turned lung cancer into an infectious disease.”

“So that’s why some people were immune to it,” said Neef. “If it was based on an ordinary virus like Adeno virus, lots of us would have antibodies to it.”

“Depending on when you last had a cold or flu,” said Pereira.

“But some of us wouldn’t,” said Neef.

“Presumably why our friend from Porton Down is interested in it,” said Pereira, “and why these guys are now doing their best to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Klein interrupted. “If what you say is true, Dr Pereira we really must insist that you hand over your isolate of this virus immediately.”

“Menogen Research does not use para-Adeno virus as a vector. It never has,” said Pereira flatly. He said it as a challenge.

Klein cleared his throat and said, “I think we can accept in the light of this... revelation that Menogen Research were in no way to blame for this unfortunate outbreak.”

Pereira kept staring at Klein.

“And that we were perhaps precipitate in revoking their license...”

Pereira stared on. “It’s cost us a bundle.”

“And that perhaps financial compensation for their losses might be in order.”

“Good,” said Pereira quietly. “We’ve started talking to each other. Now, would you really like me to hand over this virus that you’ve already got down at Porton or will I just chuck it in the sterilizer?”

“We would like the virus,” replied Klein, refusing to admit anything to Pereira. “Some of these gentlemen will accompany you when you leave here.”

“Just as you like,” said Pereira, enjoying his moment. “And our license?”

“Will be restored in the morning.”

“Along with a press release clearing us of all blame?”

“Yes,” said Klein as if he’d said the word without opening his mouth. “There will be no other kind of press release,” added Klein coldly.

The tone of Klein’s voice told Neef that he would rather not know about the threat behind it. Pereira had pushed his luck as far as it would go. He looked at Pereira who was about to rise to the bait and interrupted first. “I’m sure that Dr Pereira and I would be the last people on earth to wish to cause unnecessary fear and alarm to the general public. You can be assured of our complete silence.”

“Good,” said Klein. “Public peace of mind is so important.”

Outside the room, Pereira lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“You did well in there,” said Neef. They were talking together while two police officers waited to accompany Pereira to the lab where he had propagated the virus.

“I had to,” replied Pereira. “Didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” admitted Neef thoughtfully. “When I first met you I thought you were filled with a totally unnecessary cynicism. It appears I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Pereira smiled. “When I first met you, I thought there was no such thing as a genuinely dedicated doctor who always put his patients first. I was wrong. I’m sorry too.”

The two men shook hands and Neef watched as Pereira left with the policemen.

Neef yawned and made his way back to his unit where he found Lawrence Fielding catching up on some paperwork at his desk. The unit was on night lights. Fielding was working in a pool of light from his desk lamp.

“Hello,” said Neef wearily, “How are things?”

“You look like you’ve been in the wars,” said Fielding, seeing the mark on Neef’s head where the ashtray had hit him earlier.

“You could say,” agreed Neef. “More than that I cannot say.”

Fielding nodded his understanding. “I gathered something’s been going on. Can I assume that the cancer scare has now been resolved?”

“You can,” said Neef.

“Well, that’s the main thing I suppose.”

Neef nodded and asked, “How’s Neil?”

“Good,” replied Fielding. “We’ll have to include the Fire Brigade in our list of recognised therapies. Their visit did him the world of good. He’s found a new grip on life.”

“Good. How are the four we restored to the trial? Any ill effects?”

“They seem OK for the moment. They should certainly make it through to the gancyclovir treatment.”

Neef nodded his satisfaction. “Any other news?”

“John Martin is doing really well on Antivulon. I think we could up his dose.”

“Excellent. I think we might have lost him by now on conventional treatment.”

“All in all things are looking pretty good at the moment,” said Fielding.

“Can’t ask for more than that,” smiled Neef. “But tomorrow is another day, as they say. Seen Eve?”

Miss Sayers went home about ten. She said you should call her if you turned up. She’s been worried sick about you.”

“I’ll phone her.”

Neef called Eve from his office.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed when she heard his voice. “No one would tell me anything about you except that you were helping the police with their enquiries.”

“I’m free now,” said Neef. “I’m at the unit.”

“Can you come over?”

“On my way.”

Neef held Eve in his arms for a long time. It was just so good to touch her and smell her perfume, feel the softness of her hair against his cheek.

“Your poor face,” said Eve reaching up to touch his bruised forehead.

“It’s nothing. I owe you my life,” said Neef.

“You can’t tell me about it, can you?” said Eve, sensing a slight awkwardness about Neef.

“Max and I had to agree to keep silent but you know most of it anyway. Please God I never have another day like this one in my entire life,” said Neef with obvious feeling.

“Did you see Neil?”

“I saw him before I left the unit. Lawrence tells me he’s come through the crisis thanks to you and the fire brigade.”

Eve nodded with a smile. “They were a big success. What do you think his chances are now?” she asked.

“It’s all going to be up to the Menogen vector now,” replied Neef. “But it’s going to be given a fair chance to do its stuff. We’ll start him on Gancyclovir the day after tomorrow. I’m optimistic.”

“You have to be,” smiled Eve.

“Apart from that.”

“I’d give anything for the three of us to have another picnic like the one we had down at the mill.”

Neef agreed, holding Eve closer. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “If Neil should come through this he’s still going to need love and support, ideally in a real family background. I was thinking maybe you and I...”

“Yes?”

“Well, you know, maybe we could...”

“What?”

“You know.”

“Not good enough, Neef.”

“All right,” said Neef. He took both Eve’s hands in his. “It’s true that when I first met you I was still in love with my wife Elaine.”

“Your wife?” prompted Eve.

“My dead wife,” conceded Neef. “Elaine is dead and gone. I’ll never forget her or what we had together but that’s all in the past. This is the present and I’m alive. I’m also very much in love with you. I just can’t bear to contemplate a future without you. I would be the happiest man alive if you’d be my wife.” Neef brought Eve’s hands up to his mouth and kissed each in turn. “What do you say?”

Eve smiled.

“Yes,” she said.