The Devil's Landscape

Twenty-Four

‘Only in the UK,’ stormed John Macmillan.

Jean Roberts smiled sympathetically, ‘Is Something wrong, Sir John?’ she asked. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘The bugger’s on holiday.’

‘Which particular “bugger” are we talking about, sir,’ asked Jean, tongue in cheek.

Macmillan was overcome by embarrassment. ‘Sorry, Jean, the fellow who is supposed to be at the end of the PO box number trail is on holiday. Apparently, he has a bolt hole in Scotland.’ He uttered the words with distaste. ‘The stress of working for the bl... the Post Office seems to require a bolt hole and no one knows where it is.’

‘Who is working on it?’

‘The police, MI5, Special Branch, you name it. They’re combing the country.’

Jean had an image of horizontal lines of policemen carrying out a fingertip search of the Scottish Highlands and had to turn away.

‘It’s not funny, Jean,’ said Macmillan who had noticed anyway. ‘Have you seen Steven this morning?’

‘I think he was planning to see Neil Tyler, he’s been working on the identity of the Lindstrom funders too.’

‘The Home Secretary would like to see both of us this afternoon.’

‘I’ll make sure he knows.’

Steven and Tyler had arranged to meet in Green Park at Tyler’s request, but only if the weather permitted and it did. It wasn’t overly warm but the sky was clear with only a slight breeze bringing a chill to the air.

‘This was one of my wife’s favourite places,’ said Tyler ‘She always said she felt she was at the beating heart of England.’

‘It is nice,’ Steven agreed, ‘and next to all the levers of power.’

‘Everything that keeps the country running like a well-oiled seagull,’ said Tyler.

Steven was glad of the joke. He had feared that things might get a bit maudlin.

‘Any luck?’ he asked.

‘I figured my best chance of getting to the providers of Dorothy Lindstrom’s funding was through my legal eagle employers, Scarman and co. It turned out that I wasn’t the only one taking an interest in them, which was a bit of luck as it turned out. I recognised one of the investigators as a forensic accountant I met a few years ago when we were both on the trail of terrorist funding flowing into the Middle East.’

‘I’m hoping you’re not going to tell me that Islamic terrorists are funding Dorothy Lindstrom,’ said Steven.

‘Far from it,’ Tyler replied. ‘Marco was looking for money haemorrhaging from the Vatican.’

Steven looked at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears but desperately wanted to. ‘I think this is where I shout bingo and jump up in the air,’ he said.

‘Glad that makes someone happy,’ said Tyler, waiting for an explanation.

‘No, go on,’ said Steven.

‘Apparently there’s a bit of a rift going on in the Vatican at the moment. A number of cardinals are being less than respectful to his holiness because they don’t like the way the church is moving. They would prefer to see a return to a more traditional approach as opposed to what they see as leftist-leaning anathema.’

‘Ah, the poor are all very well, but let’s keep them in their place.’

‘Quite. Money has been going walkabout and the fear is that it’s being used to fund the ambitions of the rebel cardinals.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Steven. ‘He told Tyler all about Father Liam Crossan and Fidei Defensores.’

‘Maybe I’ll join you in a jump up and down,’ said Tyler.

They exchanged a high five.

‘First time I’ve done one of these,’ said Steven.

‘Me too.’

‘Well, I think we can agree, Vatican money is funding Dorothy Lindstrom’s research,’ said Steven. ‘officially or unofficially and, in our case, we know why.’

‘That just leaves Barrowman’s secret to uncover.’

‘And we’re getting closer.’

Steven got Jean’s text as he left Green Park. He acknowledged it and saw that he had plenty time to grab something to eat at The Moorings before heading back to the Home Office. It had just gone noon and that meant that there would still be room at the outside tables to sit and watch the river for a while. He felt good, Neil and Jean between them had come up with the evidence that the Vatican was involved and the fact that it was through the actions of an unsanctioned group rather than the real deal was the icing on the cake. It was going to make it so much easier (for others!) to deal with and probably put an end to without undue repercussion. It would be in everyone’s interest to cover it all up.

There would of course be problems for Dorothy Lindstrom when her funding suddenly stopped, but letting it be known to Dorothy that it had been the British intelligence services who had stopped her being financed through conventional government sources should provide her with enough ammunition to turn such funding right back on again. Life was looking much better.

Steven had just asked John Macmillan what the meeting was going to be about when Macmillan’s phone rang. When he’d finished taking the call he turned to Steven and said, ‘They’ve found Mr Simon Stratford.’

‘Good... who’s he?’

‘Sorry, he’s the missing link in the PO box number saga. They found him in a cottage on the Moray Firth coast in the north east of Scotland... or at least that’s where he was. He’s now on his way to Lossiemouth where the RAF are going to bring him back to London. I hope he had a light lunch.’

‘Couldn’t he just have given us the information we need?’

‘Seemingly not, there’s procedure, he insists he should be there.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Steven, wondering how long it might take the UK to launch a Cruise missile and then thinking that might be a good thing anyway.

Steven suspected that the Home Secretary had called the meeting in response to what Macmillan had already told her about the possible murder of Dorothy’s two post-docs in the US and what possible dangers lay here. He was not wrong. She had invited along two senior intelligence officers, a shadow cabinet minister and a number of church leaders to discuss the “current situation with particular regard to epigenetic research”.

‘The current situation is highly volatile,’ she announced, but I am determined that government funded science will not be permitted to openly attack religion — any religion, and religion — any religion, will not be permitted to deliberately interfere in scientific research.

Steven interrupted. ‘With respect, Home Secretary, the situation is perhaps not as volatile as you feared. We have today established that attempts made in the USA to interfere with Professor Lindstrom’s research were the work of a small but powerful dissenting faction within the Roman Catholic Church — a group called Fidei Defensores. The same group are behind what was until now the anonymous funding of Professor Lindstrom’s group in the UK. Their plan was to monitor it and put a stop to things should it come up with anything not to their liking. While it’s true that Vatican money is being used, it seems certain that this has been siphoned off illegally by senior figures within the group — a number of cardinals with extreme traditional views. The Vatican are currently investigating this. I can provide you with details at some other time if you’d like.’

‘Well, thank you, Dr Dunbar. It’s not the first time Her Majesty’s Government has had to cause to thank you for your efforts. We are most grateful.’

Steven nodded and sat down. He noticed Macmillan looking pleased; he loved it when Sci-Med looked good.

The Home Secretary seemed relieved that resolution had been brought to a complicated situation and, probably more importantly, it could be left to the church to sort out its own mess. No mention was made of the UK intelligence services’ earlier interference in research funding, but Steven decided to leave that to Dorothy to bring up. The Home Secretary limited what more she had to say to warning science and religion to keep out of each other’s way and the meeting was over.

‘Mr Stratford has arrived in London,’ said Jean when Steven and Macmillan got back to the office. An RAF Typhoon delivered him... I understand his stomach will be forwarded later, poor man.

‘I take it the police are taking him directly to his sorting office?’ asked Macmillan.

‘Where they will wait until all concerned from Sci-Med and MI5 have turned up.’

‘I’ll call Lukas,’ said Steven.

Despite having been allowed to tidy himself up, Simon Stratford managed to look as if he had been put through a wash cycle and tumble-dried. His repeated attempts to flatten his hair failed miserably and tugging at his tie did little to straighten it. He made a valiant attempt to display gravitas when he said, ‘I understand you are trying to trace material sent to a confidential box number, one which I am sworn to secrecy about.’

‘We are.’

‘Your ready access to an RAF Typhoon FGR4 Euro-fighter suggests to me that you possibly have the right to do so.’

Steven and Lukas exchanged glances. Stratford did actually look like a plane spotter.

‘We have. How does the system work, Mr Stratton?’ asked Steven.

‘We are a main sorting office; if something comes in addressed to a secure box number care of our sorting office I will check the number to find out whether it is to be redirected to another main sorting office via a new box number or kept here in storage until claimed. I will have no idea of where it came from other than it would be another UK main sorting office. If it’s to be stored, it will remain here until collected by someone giving the appropriate password.’

‘How do you decide the password?’

‘It’s given to me when I check the box number.’

‘How do you do that?’

‘Online.’

‘I thought this was a Second World War system,’ exclaimed Macmillan.

‘I suppose we’ve moved with the times.’

‘Are you saying that this system is still used regularly?’ Steven asked.

‘Not infrequently.’

‘Is anything being stored here at the moment, Mr Stratford?’ This was the big question that stopped everyone breathing.

‘There was when I left for my holiday.’

‘Are you saying that someone could have collected it while you were away?’

‘Oh yes, at this stage it’s just a case of someone picking up a parcel by giving a password. I would give the password to my deputy before I left.’

‘But he knows nothing about the box numbers?’

‘You’ve got it.’

Steven felt like he’d just completed the Times crossword. ‘Could you check please?’

‘This way.’

Macmillan, Steven and the MI5 agent followed Stratford into his office where he used his keys to open a cupboard door, behind which stood a large floor-standing safe. He entered the combination and swung back the door.

‘Still here,’ said Stratford. He brought out two packages, one large, one small. ‘I will need receipts.’

‘Of course,’ muttered Macmillan.

‘Official Government receipts,’ Stratford reminded him.

Steven picked up the smaller package and looked to the MI5 man who nodded. Steven opened it to reveal a number of computer disks and four memory sticks. ‘I think we’re in business,’ he said. Turning to the others, he said, ‘You folks can set up your gear.’

Lukas and the woman accompanying the MI5 agent readied their copying and scanning gear while Steven finished emptying the package of several sheets of folded A4 paper. ‘Barrowman’s notes on Malcolm Lawler,’ he announced to the others. ‘Oh, happy day.’

Macmillan took Stratford aside to explain to him that there would be an official presence at his sorting office until such times as someone came to pick up the packages that were currently being opened. ‘Either Special Branch or intelligence officers,’ he said. ‘They will be in plain clothes and armed but it’s important that everyone behave as normal and go about their business.’’

Steven meanwhile had finished opening the larger package. It contained a number of chemicals contained in large bottles, small ones, phials, packets, tubes and all with long sounding names that meant little to Steven or apparently to the others when they took a look and shook their heads.

‘What do we do with these?’

‘Make a note of the names,’ said Steven thinking ahead. ‘We can investigate later.’ He turned to the MI5 man and said, ‘I suggest we re-pack the box and leave it here. If someone comes to pick anything up, Mr Stratford can stall by giving him this rather than saying that there’s nothing. It should start a discussion about a missing second package and will give the plain clothes guys more time to react.’

Steven drove back to the Crompton Lane labs with Lukas; he was anxious to get a first look at what they had recovered.

‘What did you think about the chemicals?’ he asked, knowing full well that they would have meant something to Lukas even though he had shaken his head along with the others.

‘Someone has a molecular biology lab,’ Lukas replied. ‘It looks like Barrowman must be in a position to carry on his research.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Steven muttered.

‘Norma Kellerman would have known that too.’

‘Who?’

‘Norma Kellerman, the woman Five brought along, I’ve come across her before; she works at Porton Down.’

‘Did she recognise you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Lukas replied.

‘Oh, well,’ said Steven, ‘good to be transparent.’

Both men smiled. They shared a sense of humour.

‘First impressions?’ Steven asked as Lukas went through Barrowman’s notes, pausing every now and then to make reference to his computer screen and occasionally changing the input source to find what he wanted.

‘This looks big, but it’s going to take a while... maybe a long while. Barrowman has been able to assign function to large areas of what we’ve been calling junk DNA for years... Look at this section here... it doesn’t code for proteins, but if you fold it this way and then that... and then do this... you get this configuration...’ Lukas’ fingers danced over the keyboard. ‘which he claims can act as either a trigger or suppressor of these genes. It’s a controller.’

‘A switch?’ Steven murmured.

‘Let’s not run before we can walk. I’ll call you as soon as I figure out more.’

Tally was in bed reading when Steven got home. She put down her book and smiled as Steven lay down beside her fully clothed. ‘You smell like a lab,’ she complained.

‘That’s just where I’ve been.’

‘Can I take it from your cheesy grin that you’ve had a good day?’

‘You certainly can. Want to hear about it?’

‘Sure do.’