The Anvil

SEVEN

Tansy seemed much recovered after a good night’s sleep. She was even keen to discuss what Vernay had told MacLean.

‘Why would Lehman Steiner be involved in politics?’ she asked.

‘Big business is always interested in politics,’ replied MacLean. ‘They have to be. Politicians control the environment in which they operate. They set the levels of taxes and subsidies and make the conditions that affect company profitability. It’s not at all unusual for companies to donate money to whatever party will create the best environment for them to trade in.’

‘But why would Lehman Steiner be interested in the politics of other European countries? Surely they couldn’t hope to influence every country’s affairs?’

‘They’re an international company,’ said MacLean.

‘So what’s the connection with Cytogerm?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said MacLean. ‘Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it’s just that the company uses the same bullyboys for a variety of reasons.’

‘I’ve been thinking about Cytogerm,’ said Tansy.

‘And?’

‘I think they’re still using it.’

‘And hiding the corpses?’ said MacLean sceptically.

‘I didn’t mean using it generally. I meant for special purposes.’

MacLean could see that Tansy had some ‘special purpose’ in mind. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Well, since right-wing politics have been mentioned… it occurred to me that Cytogerm might be being used for plastic surgery on criminals.’

‘Criminals?’

‘Nazi war criminals,’ said Tansy quickly.

MacLean looked at Tansy as if she had said something funny. He was trying to suppress laughter and she felt mildly annoyed at not being taken seriously.

‘Tansy, do you realise how old these war criminals are?’ asked MacLean.

‘I suppose they must be getting on a bit,’ Tansy conceded.

‘They are geriatrics! No one would recognise them now anyway! That’s assuming they’re still alive and even that’s doubtful,’ said MacLean. ‘But if they are, they will be broken, old men stumbling towards their graves with every prospect of eternal damnation looming before them. Being made to look like Tom Cruise isn’t going to help!’

‘All right,’ conceded Tansy, feeling foolish. ‘How about international criminals. Surely they would pay a lot to have their looks changed? And with Cytogerm it could be done in a matter of a couple of weeks, you said so yourself.’

‘I don’t question the feasibility of it,’ said MacLean. ‘It’s just that it wouldn’t make sense for a giant like Lehman Steiner to be involved in something like that. There can’t be that many Mr Bigs needing the treatment.’

Tansy agreed in silence.

‘Sorry,’ said MacLean, ‘But if Cytogerm is involved in anything it would have to be something really big, something worth many millions of pounds.’

Tansy nodded and dropped the subject. She walked over to the window and looked out at the sunshine. After a few moments she turned and asked, ‘Feel like a walk?’

MacLean kept his appointment with Vernay at eight that evening. The afternoon walkers had all gone home leaving the towpath to the gathering dusk and the occasional stray dog. The air was still but there was a suggestion of a blue haze and a smell of burning leaves. MacLean guessed that it came from the house about a mile further along the canal. It had a large beech hedge round it and with beech, falling leaves were always a bigger problem in the spring than in the autumn. It had been a fine day; the owners had probably spent it tidying up the garden.

Vernay was waiting for him when he arrived at the bridge. They shook hands and started to walk slowly along the towpath. MacLean had his hands in his pockets; Vernay kept his behind his back like a Royal personage. MacLean told him of his time at Lehman Steiner, the euphoria over the early results with Cytogerm and the bitter disappointment that was to come with the death of Elsa Kaufman.

‘Four of us died after the project was wound up,’ he said. ‘Kurt Immelman, Max Schaeffer, Lisa and Jutte who died instead of me.’

‘Then you must feel the same way towards the company I do,’ said Vernay.

MacLean could sense that the question was loaded. ‘There was a time,’ he admitted, ‘when I was desperate for revenge. Like you, I thought I could take on Lehman Steiner and win because… ‘ MacLean paused and smiled wryly. ‘Because right was on my side and good always triumphed over evil.’

‘What changed your mind?’

‘Three years of hell. I lost everything. Jutte, my home, my job, my friends and, in the end, I… simply lost hope.’

‘That explains your behaviour in Glasgow,’ said Vernay.

MacLean nodded and said, ‘But thanks to you I survived. Now I have a home, a job and happiness with Carrie and Tansy. I am no longer interested in the past, only the future. If you expect me to wrap a prayer scarf round my head and go crashing into the might of Lehman Steiner on some kamikaze mission you can forget it. I loved Jutte but she’s dead and nothing can bring her back. Tansy and Carrie are alive and they need me that way. They are the only things I will fight for now.’

‘And that explains your reaction at the bridge yesterday,’ said Vernay rubbing his arm and touching the graze on his cheek.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were from the company,’ said MacLean.

‘I could have been,’ said Vernay.

‘That’s why we mustn’t meet again,’ said MacLean.

‘And Jutte is to go unavenged?’

MacLean did not rise to the bait. ‘I told you, I am not interested in revenge.’

‘I understand you wanting to defend what you have,’ said Vernay, ‘But the best method of defence is attack, is it not?’

‘Not with the odds loaded as they are in this case,’ said MacLean.

‘Do you think you can hide forever?’ asked Vernay, changing tack.

‘Maybe they won’t look for ever,’ replied MacLean.

‘Two of their agents died not sixty kilometres from here.’

MacLean wished that Vernay had not said that.

‘So you won’t help?’

‘I’ve told you all I can. I want you to go now,’ said MacLean.

Vernay shrugged his shoulders in a peculiarly Gallic way and said, ‘Well, at least I know that my sister’s death had something to do with Cytogerm. Maybe I will be able to forge a link between it and Der Amboss. What do you think Doctor?’

‘I wish you luck,’ said MacLean.

Vernay took out a pack of cigarettes, conceding defeat. He lit one and asked, ‘Will you do me one last favour?’

‘Depends what it is.’

‘Will you meet me one more time?’ Vernay held up his hand to divert the refusal he sensed on MacLean’s lips. ‘The last time, I promise. I still have some contacts in the police force back in Geneva. I’d like to ask them what they can come up with on Cytogerm. They may request more information and for that I would have to ask you. What do you say?’

MacLean was reluctant. He had already played out the scene in his head where he went back to Tansy and told her that Vernay had gone, they could now get on with their lives.

‘It’s not much to ask,’ prompted Vernay.

MacLean imagined the unspoken rider, “And I did save your life.” ‘All right,’ he said, ‘But somewhere well away from here. I don’t want you anywhere near this area again. Understood?’

‘Agreed,’ said Vernay. He gave MacLean details of where he was staying. He had rented a small flat in the city. They agreed to meet there in eight days time.

‘I always seem to be doing this,’ said Tansy as she welcomed MacLean back with a big hug.

‘I’m not complaining,’ said MacLean.

‘He’s gone?’ asked Tansy, expecting a ‘yes’.

‘Not quite,’ confessed MacLean. ‘I agreed to see him again.’

‘But why?’ Tansy was disappointed.

‘It seemed the least I could do,’ said MacLean quietly. ‘I owe him my life.’ He told her the reason for the second meeting.

They sat in silence for a while before Tansy asked, ‘You are not having second thoughts about helping Vernay take on Lehman Steiner are you?’

‘No!’ exclaimed MacLean. ‘All I really want is for everyone to go away and leave us alone!’

Tansy was left in no doubt as to the sincerity of what MacLean had said. She said, ‘I need you to be sure. If you fought and won you could become a doctor again and that would mean a lot to you.’

MacLean was still adamant. ‘I’m happy as I am!’ he insisted. ‘I don’t want anything to change. I’ve never been more contented in my life. It’s what goes on inside your head that really matters.’

‘Fireside philosophy,’ smiled Tansy.

‘I’m serious,’ said MacLean. ‘You and Carrie have become so precious to me. You’re all that I care about now.’

Tansy’s expression softened. She said, ‘I’ve noticed Carrie adopting you as her new father.’

‘Do you mind?’

Tansy smiled and said, ‘I’m delighted.’

‘And you?’

Tansy took MacLean’s face between her hands and said, ‘Let’s take everything as it comes?’

MacLean agreed with a grin and said, ‘OK.’

‘You woke me up, ‘ said Carrie appearing in the doorway.

‘Sorry,’ said MacLean.

‘Can I have a drink of water please?’

‘Of course. Would Mr Bear like one too?’ he asked.

Carrie was pleased. ‘Yes please,’ she said.

MacLean took Carrie back up to bed and tucked her and Mr Bear under the covers. He kissed Carrie gently on the forehead and got up to go.

‘And Mr Bear,’ said Carrie.

MacLean kissed the bear and switched out the light.

The following week passed uneventfully but the weather was abysmal throughout. Continual drizzling rain dampened everyone’s spirits and kept Carrie indoors when she would much rather have been outside. When Sunday came and the sun shone. MacLean and Tansy decided to take her to the zoo.

Carrie chattered to the monkeys, walked like the penguins and stood uncertainly in front of the tigers at feeding time. She had a ride on an elephant and learned how to milk a goat in the children’s farm. She drank lemonade and ate ice cream and generally scampered around to the delight of both Tansy and MacLean.

‘I think this counts as the first family outing since Keith died,’ said Tansy as they watched Carrie try to attract the attention of a lion who seemed more interested in sleeping on a rock.

‘First of many,’ said MacLean and Tansy squeezed his hand.

They watched the polar bears dive for fish in their pool and Tansy said they made about as much mess as Carrie at bath time. They all laughed. It was that kind of a day. The coming meeting with Vernay was not mentioned until late that evening. Tansy asked, ‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’

‘I’ll be glad when it’s over,’ admitted MacLean. ‘I can’t really tell him any more about Cytogerm than what I’ve done already.

‘You’re going straight from work?’

‘Yes,’ said MacLean. ‘I should be home by seven.’

MacLean knew from the address that Vernay had given him that it was a predominantly working-class area. He would not look out of place coming directly from the building site in work clothes. He found the number he was looking for and walked straight past. He crossed the road a little further up the street and came back down on the other side. It was a simple precaution that Doyle had taught him. He was in luck; there was a fish and chip shop almost opposite Vernay’s building. He went in and bought something to eat. Using this as an excuse he was able to keep an eye on the entrance across the way for nearly ten minutes. Nothing happened to arouse his suspicions: he crossed the road and entered the building.

Vernay’s flat was on the third floor. MacLean rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened so he rang once more and then a third time. He heard a door open on the landing below and cautiously looked over the railings. An old woman was looking up at him. She seemed disappointed when she didn’t recognise him. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I thought it was Mr Vernay.’

MacLean thought she sounded distraught. Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Mr Vernay must have a leak,’ said the woman. ‘Water’s coming through my ceiling.’

Alarm bells went off in MacLean’s head. His first thought was to break down the door but the woman was a problem. He made sympathetic noises and asked if she had a screwdriver he could borrow. Anticipating some remedial action the woman went off to find one.

As soon as she was out of the way MacLean took a couple of steps back from the door then, lifting his foot he crashed it into Vernay’s door just below the Yale lock. He leaned his shoulder against the door and it swung slowly open.

It was dark inside. There were no windows in the hall and all the room doors were closed. MacLean could hear the sound of water pattering on to the floor. He followed it. He called out Vernay’s name but knew there would be no reply. He did it to release some of the tension that was building inside him. The floor was wet beneath his feet and the sound of the waterfall was becoming louder. He took care not to slip on wet linoleum as he opened the bathroom door.

The room was lit solely by the light coming in from a street light. Vernay was in the bath. His huge dead eyes stared up at him from below the surface of the water. MacLean swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and leaned over to turn off the water. He recoiled as he saw that two of Vernay’s fingers had been cut off from his right hand.

‘Yoo hoo! Are you there?’ came the old woman’s voice from the hall. MacLean suddenly realised that she was coming in and it shook him out of his trance. He came out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He stood in front of it as the woman came towards him. ‘I’ve found the trouble,’ he said. ‘My stupid friend left the taps running in the bath and the overflow seems to be blocked. I’ll have a strong word with him when he gets back and tell him in no uncertain terms that he is responsible for the damage to your ceiling.’

The woman seemed pleased at the attention MacLean was giving her. She offered to help him clear up the mess.

MacLean ushered her to the door kindly, ‘I’ll have it cleared up in no time,’ he insisted, breathing a sigh of relief when the door was closed behind her. He steeled himself to examine the other rooms of the flat. He needed to understand what had happened.

There was no evidence of a struggle in any of the rooms. Vernay must have been taken by surprise, thought MacLean. He found nothing out of the ordinary until he went over to the kitchen sink and saw the wooden chopping board with Vernay’s missing fingers on it. MacLean turned away for a moment and suppressed the urge to retch. He looked back and saw with a professional eye that something heavy had been used to cut them off, an axe or a meat cleaver.

It was clear that they had tortured Vernay to make him talk. He would have told them everything he knew. Lehman Steiner knew about Tansy and Carrie. They could even be on their way to the bungalow right now.

A gun! He had to have a gun! Vernay had carried one. Maybe it was still in the flat. MacLean started searching like a man possessed. He pulled open drawers and threw open cupboards until he found what he was looking for under a mattress. The pistol was still in Vernay’s shoulder holster. MacLean took off his jacket and slipped it on. The gun was under the wrong armpit for him but it didn’t matter. It was much more important that he was armed.

MacLean took the stairs three at a time and burst out on to the street. A taxi driver looked the other way when he tried to flag him down. His dress and the way he was behaving said that he was a bad risk. A second one stopped but looked sceptical. He was waiting to hear if MacLean sounded drunk.

‘Craiglockhart canal bridge! As fast as you can!’ said MacLean getting into the back and slamming the door.

‘Aye, ah saw that picture too,’ said the man laconically.

MacLean took out money from his wallet and waved it in front of the driver. ‘I mean it. I’ll pay double if you move it!’

The taxi took seven minutes. MacLean watched all of them pass on his watch. He urged the driver to greater efforts, despite being thrown from side to side at the current rate of progress. The cab screeched to a halt on the bridge and MacLean rammed a handful of notes into the driver’s hand and leapt out. The driver shook his head but MacLean was gone.

There was a black Ford saloon parked thirty yards down the hill from the bridge. How many? MacLean wondered. How many of the bastards? He ran down the slippery earth to the towpath and started to run along it. It was dark but he knew it well enough and reflections on the water helped.

MacLean saw the lights of the bungalow appear through the trees. Carrie would be upstairs in bed. Tansy would be in the sitting room or maybe the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Please God! Let there be time!

There was a movement in the trees ahead and MacLean dropped to one knee. Another movement and this time he saw the silhouette of a man against light coming from the sitting room window. He was holding something in his hand. MacLean thought at first that it was a gun but then he decided it was too big for that. The man drew back his arm and MacLean suddenly realised he was about to throw something. He yelled out a warning to stop but the missile left the man’s hand and crashed threw the French windows of the bungalow. The world was silent for three seconds then an explosion rocked the night as the incendiary grenade went off. A vivid sheet of flame shot skywards.

The man had not heard MacLean call out. He was standing directly in front of him at the bottom of the garden, framed in the firelight. MacLean pulled out the pistol from under his arm and levelled it at the silhouette. He shot the man without compunction, putting three bullets into him before he hit the ground.

He ran towards the flames, which were ripping through the bungalow, sending showers of sparks up into the night sky, continuing to run towards them, oblivious of the heat which seared his eyes but not of a scream. It was a woman’s cry but more of anguish than of pain. It came from Tansy!

MacLean followed the sound on all fours as the intense heat threatened to set his clothing alight. He found Tansy kneeling on the grass staring into the flames. She looked to MacLean as if she had lost her mind, her wide eyes refusing to accept what she saw before her. ‘Carrie!’ she cried out, ‘She’s still in there!’

MacLean tried to pull Tansy back from the flames; she struggled and resisted. ‘Carrie’s upstairs!’ she screamed. ‘Do something!’

The whole ground floor of the house was ablaze. There was no way in for MacLean. He looked up to Carrie’s window and saw black smoke billow out from it. Not only was Carrie going to die, he was going to have to stand there and watch it happen. Tansy tried to break free and rush towards the flames. MacLean held her back. ‘Let go of me, damn you!’ she cried.

An explosion from inside the house shook the ground and MacLean saw the dormer window of Carrie’s room break away from the roof and crash to the ground in a shower of sparks. Through the hole left by the window he caught a glimpse of a small white bundle and knew it was Carrie in her nightdress. She was unconscious or worse. If only he could get on to the roof he might be able to reach her but the heat was intense and he had no ladder.

The joists in front of Carrie’s room had burned away and suddenly the floor of Carrie’s room tilted down towards the roof. The little white bundle started to slide downwards across the tiles. MacLean rushed forward to catch her but it didn’t happen. The child’s nightdress caught in the guttering above him leaving her hanging there, unconscious and out of reach.

MacLean, singed and sweating but with adrenaline driving him on as never before, dragged over some of the debris from the fallen dormer and stood on it to stretch up. He was still half a metre short and cried out in frustration.

There was no time to build a proper platform. The flames had almost reached the child and the heat and smoke was threatening to overwhelm him. He bent his knees and prepared to leap upwards. It would be an all or nothing attempt. There would be no question of him landing on his feet to try again. The pile of debris he was standing on was too frail.

MacLean jumped and the woodpile gave him just enough purchase to bridge the gap. He grabbed Carrie and they both crashed backwards to the ground. MacLean held the child close to him and rolled over and over till they were away from the burning building. He didn’t stop until his cheek touched cold wet grass where he let go of Carrie as Tansy took her from him, searching anxiously for signs of life. Tansy was in shock; she cradled Carrie in her arms, gasping, ‘Oh God. Oh God, no.’

MacLean crawled over to Tansy and took Carrie from her. She was completely black from soot and the earth. He searched for a pulse and found one. ‘She’s alive,’ he said.

‘Thank God,’ gasped Tansy, ‘A hospital! We must get her to a hospital!’

Although it was difficult to do by firelight MacLean examined Carrie for injury and started to feel ill. The soot was obscuring some very real damage to Carrie’s face. What he initially thought was a smudge of carbon at the corner of her mouth was, in fact, a hole. The left side of Carrie’s face had been badly disfigured.’

There was no one to raise the alarm. The bungalow was too isolated. They were all on their own. Tansy was in deep shock and Carrie was badly injured. MacLean made the decisions. He left Carrie in her mother’s arms and found the corpse of the man he had shot. He rifled the pockets until he found the keys to the Ford. He emptied all the dead man’s pockets, removed a medallion from his neck and a signet ring from his finger.

MacLean put all the dead man’s belongings in his haversack and pulled the corpse by its heels towards the flames. He stopped when the heat became too intense. The body weighed around ten stones, not too heavy for what he had in mind. He grabbed hold of one arm and one ankle and lifted it off the ground to swing it round in an arc. After the third revolution he accelerated and gave a mighty heave before letting go. The effort knocked him off his feet but he saw the body sail into the holocaust.

Tansy was oblivious to what had been going on. She knelt on the grass with Carrie in her arms, rocking back and forward as if in a trance. The flames were reflected in her eyes. MacLean who felt numb inside saw that Tansy was sinking even deeper into shock. ‘Let’s go Tansy,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s get Carrie to a hospital.’

MacLean took Carrie from Tansy and cradled her in the crook of his left arm while he took Tansy’s hand with his right. They moved as fast as they could along the towpath, tripping and stumbling as they went, until they reached path up to the road and to where the black Ford was parked. MacLean drove to the hospital at breakneck speed and screeched to a halt outside Accident and Emergency. Leaping out, he burst through the swing doors and called out, There’s been an explosion. I need help out here!’

Two porters came running and helped MacLean get Carrie and Tansy out of the car while a third brought a trolley. They were joined moments later by a posse of nurses and a doctor.

‘The little girl is badly injured,’ said MacLean. ‘Her mother is suffering from shock and bruising.

The medical team, concentrating all their attention on Carrie and Tansy wheeled them inside, leaving MacLean alone in the car park with one of the porters.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man.

‘I was passing at the time,’ said MacLean. ‘I heard the explosion and saw the fire.’

‘You look as if you could do with some attention yourself.’ said the man. ‘You better come inside too.’

MacLean looked at him without expression and then said, ‘No, I’ll be all right.’ He got back into the car and drove off.

MacLean drove round in circles. Tansy was so deeply in shock that she did not know what was going on around her; he too was in shock but could still function, albeit like an automaton. He obeyed all the rules of the road, observed the speed limit, slowed at every GIVE WAY sign and came to an obedient halt at every STOP command. He had no idea where he was going or why.

When he eventually pulled into the side of the road and looked at his watch it was three in the morning. He put both hands over his face and started to weep.