Resurrection

FOURTEEN

Sellars left Dewar alone with Sandra and the machines that monitored her every breath, their gentle bleeps and clicks creating a soothing background, the coloured LEDs complementing the subdued night-lighting in the room. He moved a chair up to side of the bed and sat down facing Sandra with his elbows resting on the edge.

‘Sandra, do you remember me?’ he asked. Unlike Sellars he didn’t raise his voice; his face was very close to hers.

Sandra’s eyes flicked open then closed again. A good ten seconds passed before she replied, ‘Dewar.’

Dewar felt elated. There was nothing wrong with Sandra’s long-term memory. There was of course, still the possibility that accident trauma had wiped out memory of the incident with the car and possibly for some time before it. This was very common.

‘Sandra, do you remember what happened to you?’

Again Sandra’s eyes flickered open momentarily then closed again as if she’d found her eyelids too heavy. ‘Hospital,’ she said slowly.

‘Do you know why you’re in hospital?’

Sandra made a sound as if she were about to answer then she stopped and exhaled. She did the same twice more then uttered, ‘No.’

So there was memory loss. This was bad news. If she couldn’t remember anything about the accident right now, there was no guarantee she ever would. It was impossible to predict what might happen in cases like this. She might remember everything within a couple of days or nothing at all for the rest of her life. The big question now was, how much of what had gone on before the accident could she remember?

‘You had an accident on your bicycle, Sandra.’

‘Bike,’ repeated Sandra. The word did not seem to trigger any special memory for her.

‘You don’t remember?’

‘Bike. No.’

‘Do you remember Pierre, Sandra? Pierre in the lab.’

‘Pierre, know Pierre … French.’

‘That’s right. He’s French. Tell me what else you remember about him.’

‘In the lab. He was in the lab.’ Sandra moved her head uncomfortably. Dewar felt encouraged. He’d pushed the right button.

‘When was he in the lab, Sandra? The last time you were there?’

‘Last time … yes.’

‘I think you came across him doing something wrong in the lab, Sandra. Is that right? What was he doing?’

‘The sequence,’ replied Sandra as if she was recalling something unpleasant. She frowned and tried opening her eyes again. This time she managed a few seconds before closing them again.

‘What sequence?’

‘DNA … Smallpox DNA. Not ours.’

Dewar felt his throat tighten a little with excitement. ‘Not yours?’ he said gently. He desperately didn’t want to upset Sandra’s train of thought.

‘Not our fragments.’

‘How did you know that, Sandra?’ he asked. ‘How did you find that out?’

‘Computer … Pierre left sequence in computer. I ran … database check. Not our smallpox.’

‘Let me see. You found a DNA sequence in the computer. It had been entered by Pierre and it was the sequence of a smallpox fragment that your lab was not supposed to have. Have I got that right?’

Sandra nodded her head on the pillow. She seemed pleased and relieved to have got it across successfully.

Dewar had understood what she’d said but he didn’t quite understand the implications. He frowned and said, ‘But the sequence of the smallpox virus is available to all scientists. Anyone can access it in the DNA database. ‘What was odd about finding a bit of it on the computer?’

This time Sandra shook her head as if to signify a misunderstanding. ‘Pierre’s sequence,’ she said. ‘Not from database.’

Suddenly Dewar realised what she meant. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a sequence he’d taken from the database, it was a DNA sequence that he’d put in. Something he’d got from an experiment he’d done in the lab. It was you who checked it against the database to find out what it was?’

A relieved nod from Sandra.

‘So Pierre was working in the lab with smallpox fragments that he shouldn’t have had access to?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you confronted him about it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Angry … told me … keep mouth shut.’

‘He wanted you to keep quiet about what he was doing?’

A nod.

Dewar could sense from Sandra’s restlessness that unpleasant memories were starting to flow back at an unwelcome rate. The bleep rate on the heart monitor had started to increase but he had to keep questioning her before she tried to shut them out.

‘What was he doing with the fragments, Sandra? Where did he get them from?’

‘Ali’s.’

‘They were Ali Hammadi’s fragments?’

‘Pierre found illegal fragments when … he cleaned out Ali’s fridge … lied to Steve … said nothing there. Pierre wanted … to use them.’

‘Was Pierre trying to make live smallpox virus, Sandra?

Sandra opened her eyes wide as if shocked by the idea. She looked directly at Dewar. ‘Nooooo,’ she replied in along sigh. Even in her debilitated state she managed to convey that she thought this a ridiculous notion.

‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’

A nod. ‘Pierre found … the fragments he needed for his research … the ones you wouldn’t let him have. Said I could have them too but I said it was wrong and I was going … to tell Steve.’

Dewar thought for a moment before asking any more. If what he was hearing was true, then there was no connection between Le Grice and the Iraqis. Le Grice had simply stumbled across the fragments given to Ali Hammadi and being the ambitious sod he undoubtedly was, he had decided to say nothing and use them to further his research in breach of regulations. Le Grice hadn’t been feigning ignorance of the Iraqis; he’d really had nothing to do with them. He must have panicked when Sandra said she was going to tell Steve and tried to save his career by running her down.

‘Were there any other smallpox DNA fragments apart from the ones he used?’

‘Pierre said … a lot.’

‘What happened to them, Sandra? The other fragments Ali left behind?’

Pierre destroyed them … too dangerous to keep.’

‘That’s what he told you?’

A nod.

‘And you believed him?’

‘Didn’t know what … to believe …’

Dewar could sympathise. He didn’t know what to believe either. ‘Did you try telling Steve?’ he asked.

‘I tried … phoning but it was difficult … couldn’t make him understand with Pierre …there.’

‘Did Pierre threaten you at all?’

‘Tried to persuade me … not to tell Steve. Very angry. Called me stupid. Said I was … ruining my career before it had even started…. I said I would think about it overnight but I just wanted away from him … I was going to tell Steve in the morning anyway.’

But Le Grice knew that, thought Dewar. ‘So you set off for home on your bicycle?’

‘Ye..s,’ said Sandra as if unsure.

‘On your bicycle.’

‘Dark.’

Yes, it was dark but you had your lights on.

‘Dark.’

Dewar knew he’d reached the limit of Sandra’s recollection. He got up from the chair and drew it back from the bed.

‘I’m going to let your mum and dad come in now, Sandra and then you must get some sleep,’ said Dewar. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’ Dewar gave the back of her hand a little rub and left the room.

‘Well?’ asked Grant.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Dewar, thoughtfully.

‘She couldn’t tell you anything?’ exclaimed Grant.

‘Oh yes, she said quite a lot. It was pretty much as we thought. Le Grice was working with smallpox fragments that he shouldn’t have had but he told Sandra they belonged to Hammadi. According to him, he found them in a fridge he was clearing out after Hammadi died. He was using a couple of them to help with his research on an AIDS vaccine, not to make live smallpox with. He told Sandra he had destroyed the ones he didn’t need. He never had any direct connection with the Iraqis at all.’

‘D’you believe it?’

‘Don’t know. Mind you, a lot of it would fit. Le Grice didn’t seem to know what I was talking about when I tackled him about working for the Iraqis. I thought he was feigning ignorance but maybe not. Then there’s Malloy. He insisted Le Grice would never be so stupid as to try making live virus. Maybe he was right.’

‘So why have the Iraqis stayed on? Why are they still here?’

‘Back to square one,’ said Dewar. ‘I don’t know.’

‘So that’s it,’ said Grant. ‘We’re not going to get any more information from Ms Macandrew, I take it?’

‘I think she told me everything she knew,’ said Dewar.

‘Where does that leave us?’

‘The Iraqis obviously gave smallpox fragments to Hammadi but I don’t think he did anything with them. I think I’m inclined to believe that Le Grice wasn’t trying to make live virus either. He just took the opportunity to steal a couple of DNA fragments for his own ambitious ends. That stopped him reporting the finding and blinded him to the consequences should he be found out and he was, but I think he probably did destroy the fragments he didn’t need.

‘So there’s no danger to anyone?’

‘Maybe we should reserve judgement on that until we see what Porton comes up with but I’d bet a month’s salary against them finding live smallpox virus in any of the tubes.’

‘Call off the police guard on Sandra?’

‘I think so,’ said Dewar.

‘All right if we question her tomorrow about the accident?’

‘Sure.’

‘And the Iraqis?’

‘MI5 are calling the shots on that one.’

Dewar checked his watch. It was 3am. The streets were quiet and the wind had dropped. He left the infirmary and crossed the top of Forest Road on his way back to the car. As he did so he caught sight of someone about fifty metres to his left steeping back into the shadows. He smiled; it would be one of Barron’s people keeping watch on the Iraqi student association. At least it wasn’t raining.

Dewar paused as he reached the car. He still had to decide whether he should drive back to North Berwick or stay the night at his hotel instead. If he went back to Karen’s mother’s place it would mean waking up Karen — or worse still, Karen’s mother. That and the earlier embarrassing scene swung him in favour of the hotel. It was the easy way out but he was too tired to take on any other.

Dewar called Karen first thing in the morning. ‘It was after three when I left the hospital,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t want to wake anyone up.’

‘Very thoughtful,’ said Karen coolly. ‘And now you’re going to tell me you’re going to be tied up all day?’

‘Certainly not,’ replied Dewar, sounding aggrieved.

‘I thought we might take Mother out to lunch?’

‘Good idea,’ said Dewar, trying to sound convincing.’

‘Good. And we are going to be on our best behaviour, aren’t we?’

‘Yes dear.’

As Karen had predicted, her mother said no more about the events of the previous evening. Dewar was so relieved that he allowed her to rant without interruption all through lunch at the Grey Walls Hotel in nearby Gullane. He only permitted himself a slight raise of the eyebrows occasionally in Karen’s direction so that she would raise her napkin to her mouth, covering a smile with a pretended cough.

Dewar stayed overnight and went for a walk along the beach with Karen on the following morning. Despite a blustery wind and white horses on the waves they stayed out for nearly two hours during which they decided they would travel back to London together after Dewar had been up to the hospital in Edinburgh to see Sandra Macandrew one last time.

‘So the danger’s past?’ said Karen.

‘For the moment,’ agreed Dewar. ‘But it does seem likely that the Iraqis have managed to get their hands on most — maybe even all of the DNA fragments they’d need to make live virus.’

‘Presumably that would be much harder now with everyone on their guard,’ said Karen.

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Dewar.

On the following Wednesday, Dewar saw a copy of the report from Porton Down. He had been called into the offices of Sci-Med to discuss it with Macmillan. The people at Porton had been working round the clock and had succeeded in identifying several tubes containing DNA from the smallpox virus. Only two tubes were found to contain DNA not registered to be held by the Institute of Molecular Sciences. Dewar checked their identity. They were the exact two fragments that the people in Malloy’s lab had wanted to continue their research on an AIDS vaccine, the two that Le Grice said he’d taken from those left by Hammadi.’

‘This more or less confirms what Le Grice told Sandra Macandrew,’ said Dewar. ‘He really must have destroyed the other fragments as he said. All he was interested in were the ones he needed for his research.’

‘Good,’ said Macmillan. ‘There’s an end to it.’

‘Have you heard anything from MI5 about Siddiqui and Abbas?’ asked Dewar.

Macmillan frowned. ‘Nothing, apart from the fact they’re still there,’ he said.

‘Still a worry,’ said Dewar.

‘Maybe you’re reading too much into it,’ suggested Macmillan.

‘I’d feel a whole lot better if they’d just get the hell out of there.’

‘MI5 will continue to monitor their every move and if they’re carrying any of these damned fragments when they do finally leave, we’ll be destroying the lot and bringing their actions to the attention of the UN as well as WHO.’

Dewar nodded. He had hoped he’d feel better about the whole affair when Porton came up with their report but somehow, in spite of the fact that they seemed to have confirmed what Le Grice had told Sandra, he didn’t. He was in danger of becoming paranoid about the continuing presence of the Iraqis in Edinburgh, but part of that paranoia at least was due to Simon Barron who’d said at the outset that their behaviour suggested that they were waiting for something. As to what it was, the question still remained and it still haunted him.

Dewar was given the following week off as terminal leave. This was usual when Sci-Med staff completed assignments. Although Karen still had to work, they made the most of their evenings together, eating out and seeing shows and generally just being together rather than communicating by telephone.

‘I could learn to like this life,’ said Karen when they returned to Dewar’s flat on Thursday evening after a concert. ‘This must be what normal people do?’

‘No, they watch television and go to bed early,’ said Dewar.

‘One of these sounds all right,’ said Karen.

‘Good to hear it.’

‘I was talking about television,’ teased Karen. ‘Anything on?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Dewar, taking her in his arms. ’But I’m afraid we can’t have an early night.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s already gone midnight.’

The phone rang at half past three. Telephones always seemed louder at that time in the morning, fracturing dreams and silence like an alarm. Dewar fumbled the receiver off the bedside table and brought it clumsily to his ear, half expecting a wrong number apology. Macmillan was on the other end. ‘I’m in my office. I want you over here right now.’

The phone went dead before Dewar had had a chance to say anything at all in reply. He looked at the phone as if it were responsible for the incident.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Karen, who’d rolled over on to her front and was sleepily rubbing here eyes.

‘I think that’s a safe yes,’ replied Dewar. ‘But God knows what. That was Macmillan. He wants me over there.’

‘I thought it was too good to last, said Karen pushing her hair back from her face. ‘They’ve got another assignment for you. I knew it.’

Dewar wasn’t so sure. ‘I’ve never known one start off with middle-of-the-night dramatics,’ he said. ‘Something must be awfully wrong if they got Macmillan out of bed at this time in the morning. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so rattled.’ He dressed hurriedly and kissed Karen good-bye while checking his pockets for keys and wallet.

He raced through quiet streets, anxiously turning over the conversation with Macmillan in his mind and searching for reasons. A barge was approaching the bridge as he crossed the Thames; its lights seemed friendly in the darkness and the dull monotonous thump of its engine contrasted with the rasp of his own as he accelerated away at the lights change. He was at the Home Office in under fifteen minutes.

There were four other men in Macmillan’s office when he entered, Frobisher, Macmillan’s deputy, looking grave, two he didn’t recognise but who were introduced as being from the Department of Health and the Public Health Service respectively, and a third man he did recognise. It was Hector Wright from the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, the man who’d briefed him on

smallpox at the outset. It was Wright’s presence that alarmed Dewar most. His first thought was that there had been some mistake in the report from Porton on the contents of Steven Malloy’s lab; they must have come up with something really alarming.

‘We’ve had some very bad news,’ said Macmillan.

‘About the contents of the tubes?’ asked Dewar.

Macmillan looked puzzled then he understood Dewar’s train of thought. ‘If only! Worse than that, a lot worse than that,’ he said. ‘There’s a case of smallpox in Edinburgh.’

Dewar felt as if he’d been hit in the stomach then he started to feel stupid and finally angry. In spite of all the protests he’d heard about no one being irresponsible enough to attempt reconstruction of live smallpox virus, it now appeared that one of them had actually done it. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ he asked.

‘There’s no doubt,’ continued Macmillan. ‘A twenty-six year old man, he’s been in the city’s Western General for over a week; they didn’t know what was wrong with him at first but they do now. They’ve done all the tests and they’re positive; he’s been moved to the hospital’s isolation suite.

Dewar tried to think who at the institute might fit the patient’s description but his mind was doing cartwheels. He couldn’t concentrate. ‘Which one of them’s gone down with it?’ he asked.

‘It gets worse,’ said Macmillan. The patient is not one of the institute staff. As far as we can ascertain, he has no connection with the institute at all.’

Dewar couldn’t believe his ears. ‘But there must be a connection,’ he protested.

‘You’d think so,’ agreed Macmillan. ‘Common sense demands it but if it’s there, we can’t find it.’

‘Our people have drawn a complete blank,’ said the Public Health official.

‘So who is this man?’

Macmillan read from the sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Michael Patrick Kelly, aged 26, currently unemployed, last job, site labourer for J.M. Holt and Sons, known to the police, one conviction for theft, two more for drugs related offences. Divorced four years ago, current partner, Denise Banyon, also known to the police, drugs offences. They live in the Muirhouse district of the city, an area of high unemployment and drug problems.

‘But there just has to be a connection with the institute,’ insisted Dewar, although he had to admit that it wasn’t blindingly obvious.

‘Can you see it?’

‘Not at first glance,’ conceded Dewar. ‘Maybe he has friends at the institute?’

The doubting glances became infectious. ‘All right, I agree, doesn’t seem likely. Maybe he carried out some work there? What does this firm, Holt and Sons do?’

‘The people on the ground up there looked at that,’ said the man from the DOH. They’re house builders. That’s all they do. They’ve never done any kind of contract work for the university.’

‘Well you said he’s unemployed at the moment. Maybe he’s been working as a window cleaner?’ suggested Dewar, clutching at straws.

‘They’re looking into that sort of thing at the moment,’ said Macmillan. ‘Getting information from the circle of people he moves in isn’t proving easy.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Dewar.

‘You don’t know the half of it. This is going to be a Public Health nightmare. Can you imagine what isolating the contacts is going to be like when most of them are anti-social drug addicts?’

‘It’s got to be done,’ said Wright, speaking for the first time.

‘Easier said than done,’ said the DOH man.

‘You’ve got to get these contacts off the street,’ said Wright. ‘You’ve got to isolate them and then vaccinate everyone else for miles around.’

‘I think we have to leave the logistics of the operation up to the people on the spot,’ said the DOH man.

‘Christ, I hope they know what they’re doing,’ said Wright, whose intensity was making everyone else in the room feel uncomfortable. This included Dewar but he felt uncomfortable for a different reason. He understood that Wright knew what he was talking about. If he was afraid of the consequences of screwing up the Public Health operation, there was every good reason for everyone else to feel the same way, if only they knew it.

‘Have these people ever been involved in something like this before?’ asked Wright.

‘They were involved in the E.coli outbreak last year.’

‘There’s no comparison!’ exploded Wright. ‘Most people could sprinkle E.coli on their cornflakes and neither be up nor down. It’s only the old and infirm it’s a major problem for. It’s not in the same league as smallpox when it comes to killing people.’

‘I don’t think there’s any need to over-dramatise the situation, Dr Wright,’ said the man from the ministry.

‘Over dra … ‘ exploded Wright. ‘Sonny, we are talking about the most deadly disease the world has ever known

‘We’ve put in a request for vaccine,’ said Macmillan, attempting to defuse the situation.

‘You mean they don’t have any up there?’ asked Dewar.

‘Or anywhere else apparently,’ replied Macmillan. ‘Large stocks haven’t been kept routinely for some years.’

Wright shook his head and cursed under his breath. ‘The WHO hold the only substantial stocks of it. It’ll have to come from Geneva. More time wasted. Shit!’

‘Do we know what strain of smallpox it is?’ asked Dewar.

Macmillan looked down at his desk before saying, ‘I understand it’s been typed as Variola major.

‘The worst kind,’ said Wright. Fifty percent mortality.’

‘So we’ll have to isolate all Kelly’s contacts and establish the link between Kelly and the institute,’ said Dewar ‘Anything else would be an unbelievable coincidence.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way,’ said Macmillan. ‘Because that’s what you’re going back up there to establish.’