White death

TWENTY-ONE

Tally let out a scream but the sound was drowned out by the windows beside them shattering in a hail of automatic gunfire. Steven’s arm held her pinned to the floor, keeping them both huddled behind the brickwork along the base of the windows which stretched the entire length of the wall. The air was full of flying glass and splintered woodwork as bullets ripped into the serving areas. Trolleys jerked and bounced and overturned, display cases exploded and people cowered everywhere, seeking what cover they could, horror etched in their faces. Some screamed constantly, seeming only to pause for breath, others were struck dumb, their faces white as snow.

Everyone in the restaurant assumed that the service area was under terrorist attack but Steven knew differently. He had noticed two men enter the restaurant a few minutes before and look around casually as if seeking a missing colleague. The fact that one had examined only the right side of the restaurant while the other covered the left suggested to him that this had been agreed previously and that they just might be professionals looking for a target. The fact that Steven noticed one give the other an almost imperceptible nudge after making momentary eye contact with him confirmed it. He had carried on his conversation with Tally but had watched them leave and walk over to their car some fifty metres away to open the boot. When they both started to head back to the restaurant carrying overcoats over their arms he knew at once what they were concealing and that he and Tally were in big trouble. As soon as the first man dropped his raincoat to the ground to reveal the muzzle of an automatic assault weapon, Steven had dived across the table to bring both himself and Tally into the lee of the brick wall supporting the windows as the glass above them shattered.

Steven indicated to Tally that she should crawl away from him, keeping close to the shelter of the wall. She started making for the far end of the room, using her elbows to propel herself along while he turned over on to his back, drew his gun and waited. There was a chance that his attackers would make good their escape but there was also a possibility that they would check to see if they had achieved their objective.

There was an eerie quiet about the place, broken only by the sound of sobbing somewhere in the room and shouting coming from far away. It was the kind of silence that follows the mayhem of a high-speed rail crash when the almost unimaginable momentum and energy bound up in the accident, the force which creates such a screaming hell of tortured metal and splintering wood, is suddenly spent, leaving nothing but an eerie quiet.

Steven did not blink. He steeled himself to continue waiting — even when he saw the muzzle of one of the guns appear above the wall — but, as soon as the second appeared, he sprang into action, swivelling round on the floor to put both feet firmly against the brickwork and push himself out from the wall. Holding the Glock firmly in both hands he fired two shots in quick succession — one into each of the two figures standing there. He went for body shots, the biggest target: he couldn’t take the chance of missing with a head shot. Both men slumped to the ground but Steven was well aware that the Glock wasn’t the most powerful handgun in the world.

With the words of a training sergeant from long ago echoing in his head, Never take chances; if they go down, make sure they stay down, Steven scrambled to his feet and holding his gun out in front of him, looked cautiously over the wall. One of the men, although badly wounded, tried one-handedly to bring his weapon round to bear on him. Steven shot him twice more and he lay still. The other man was lying motionless as if already dead but Steven saw that his finger was still curled round the trigger of his weapon. Never take chances. He shot him too without checking further.

Then he turned and hurried towards Tally who was cowering against the far wall with her knees held under her chin and her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked gently, squatting down beside her.

Tally looked at him in silence for a moment before saying slowly and deliberately, ‘They really don’t like you, do they?’

It was such a ridiculous thing to come out with that Steven couldn’t help but smile. Tally couldn’t quite manage one but she put her head against Steven’s chest and patted him with the palm of her hand. ‘You’re something else, mister.’

The noise level was rising as the whole place started to come to life again. People were running; people were shouting; the sound of emergency service vehicles in the distance grew ever louder.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Steven, realising that the response to the incident was about to become organised. ‘While we have the chance.’

He grabbed Tally’s hand and together they stepped over the retaining wall and out through the gap where the windows had been into the car park. They got into the Honda, which was nearer than Tally’s car, and drove off down the southbound slip road just as barriers were about to be pulled into place.

‘They’ll close the motorway,’ said Steven as he gunned the Honda out on to the main carriageway with the rev counter on the red line in each gear. ‘We’ll try to make it to the first exit.’

Once again they were just in the nick of time as police were in the process of closing the exit road. One officer was about to raise his hand when he realised how fast the Honda was travelling and changed his mind, stepping smartly out of the way to let it past. Steven braked hard at the top of the exit road and saw in his mirror that it had now been closed off with two police vehicles straddling it.

‘What now?’ asked Tally, rubbing her shoulder where the seat belt had bruised her.

‘Somewhere quiet and anonymous,’ said Steven. ‘We need time to let the dust settle. I don’t want to risk going back to my flat right now in case it was me they followed and they know where I live.

‘Steven, the M1 is closed, a motorway service area has been shot to pieces and there are two dead men lying back there… just how long is it going to take for the dust to settle? I mean, are we both going to live that long?’

‘I’ll get Sci-Med to dress it up as a gangland feud.’

‘I know I don’t understand too much about any of this,’ said Tally. ‘But I can’t see your… what is it they call it when you need a way of getting out of a bad situation?’

‘An exit strategy?’ suggested Steven.

‘That’s it, an exit strategy. Do you have one?’

‘We have to crack the code,’ said Steven. ‘Once we know the full facts and pass them on there’s no point in killing me.’

‘Are you sure the other side know that?’

‘Rules of the game.’

‘Game?’ exclaimed Tally. ‘You call this a game?’ She looked and sounded angry.

‘Sorry,’ said Steven. ‘That was male bravado talking. I’m as scared as you are, believe me.’

‘You couldn’t be,’ sighed Tally. ‘You just couldn’t be. I keep praying I’m going to wake up and find this has all been a nightmare and I never met anyone called Steven Dunbar.’

Steven gave her a sideways look and she squeezed his knee in apology.

They lapsed into silence until Steven said, ‘How about here?’ He slowed as they came to a large, blue sign advertising Radleigh House Country Hotel.

‘As long as it has hot water and gin,’ said Tally. ‘God, we’ve no luggage,’ she added as an afterthought. Steven brought the car to a halt in the gravel car park fronting the hotel.

‘I’ve got a bag in the back. It’s just got odds and ends in it but it’ll get us past the front desk. We’ll get ourselves cleaned up, call room service and have a bit of a breather before deciding where we go from here.’

‘Will you call Sci-Med?’ asked Tally.

Steven nodded.

Tally was in the bath and Steven had just tipped the room service waiter who had delivered two large gin and tonics and a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches when his phone rang. It was John Macmillan.

‘The business at Watford Gap services… Anything I should know?’ asked Macmillan.

‘Another attempt on my life,’ said Steven. ‘Dr Simmons was with me at the time.’

‘Russians?’

‘I didn’t get the chance to ask,’ replied Steven acidly.

‘How many and what was the outcome?’

‘Two, both dead.’

‘Any danger of you being identified?’

‘I don’t think so. They opened proceedings with a Kalashnikov overture played on the windows. There was widespread panic, people under seats, that sort of thing. It should be possible to pass it off as a gangland feud.’

‘Right. I’ll tell that to the Home Secretary. Where are you?’

‘In the country.’

Macmillan waited, expecting more, but nothing was forthcoming. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘You must feel you can’t trust anyone.’ He cut short the ensuing silence by saying, ‘But we’ve made progress in establishing the Russians’ interest in all this.’

‘Really?’ asked Steven, suddenly feeling that he might not be so alone after all.

‘You asked about the funding behind Redmond Medical and St Clair Genomics. It turns out they have a common source; a company called European Venture Capital is the principal backer in both cases. It’s a concern that has been attracting the attention of our security services for some time, especially their front man. He’s an Englishman named Marcus Rose. They think he’s the old Etonian front for Russian Mafia money coming into the country.’

‘So the Russian Mafia bankrolled the Nichol vaccine?’ said Steven as if almost unwilling to believe what he was saying.

‘And stand to make millions out of it. Funny old world.’

‘The vaccine’s lethal,’ said Steven.

‘What?’ exclaimed Macmillan.

Steven told him what he’d deduced.

‘But if you’re saying this thing is infectious, why couldn’t the lab people grow anything?’ protested Macmillan. ‘They all drew blanks.’

‘I’m trying to find that out,’ said Steven.

‘You’re going to need proof,’ said Macmillan. ‘The government is hailing the Nichol vaccine as a major step forward in protecting our people. On the other hand it would explain why those who’ll benefit from the vaccine hitting the shelves want you dead.’

‘It’s my connection with Scott Haldane, the GP in Edinburgh who was treating Trish Lyons, that’s making them think I’m a threat,’ said Steven. ‘I think Haldane figured out what was going on and that’s why they killed him, but his wife has come up with something that might help find out what it was.’ Steven told Macmillan about the hidden envelope and its contents. ‘I’ll be back in touch when I’ve made progress.’

‘Right, I’ll get to work on preparing a feast of gangland outrage for the newspapers to breakfast on.’

Steven took her gin through to Tally who was luxuriating in a bath filled with Molton Brown bubbles, courtesy of the hotel. She opened her eyes when Steven put the glass down within reach.

‘Life has just taken a turn for the better,’ she purred. ‘Albeit a very temporary one… What did your boss have to say?’

‘The Russian Mafia are behind the Nichol vaccine.’

Tally’s eyes opened like saucers. ‘How on earth did that happen?’

‘The West is awash with dodgy Russian cash looking for respectable outlets to launder it through — property, real estate, football clubs. It turns out that one of them is the venture capital company which backed St Clair Genomics and their development of the Nichol vaccine. Nichol’s “success” means a big return on their investment.’

‘And withdrawal of the vaccine would mean a big loss?’

‘You got it.’

‘At least, it begins to make sense now,’ said Tally. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.’

‘I think our aim should be to make it a thing of the past,’ said Steven. ‘And to do that, we have to figure out the meaning of the codes on Haldane’s cards.’

Tally looked up at him from the bubbles. ‘Bring them through… and your drink… and get in.’

Steven joined Tally in the bath, letting out a sigh of appreciation as the warm water lapped up over him. Tally smiled and said, ‘Funny where life can take you when you’re least expecting it… Where are we exactly?’

‘Not sure.’

Tally gave a little giggle that told Steven the gin was going straight to her head. ‘Cheers,’ she said.

‘Cheers,’ said Steven, raising his glass in response.

‘Right, I’m ready,’ said Tally, leaning back and closing her eyes again. ‘Let’s have my starter for ten… no conferring.’

Steven smiled and read out the series of letters and numbers from the first card.

Tally tried to interpret. ‘Cole… Nat… colenat… colenate… No, let’s have the second.’

Steven read out the second.

‘N-R-G… Energy?… No.’

‘They both end in the same four numbers,’ said Steven. ‘Two, zero, zero, one.’

‘A date, two thousand and one?’ suggested Tally.

‘Could be… Maybe a reference to something that happened several years ago?’

Tally’s eyes shot open in response to Steven’s use of the word ‘reference’. ‘Read them out again,’ she said.

‘C-O-L-E space N-A-T…’

‘Cole… Nature,’ she said. ‘They’re not codes at all: they’re references. They’re shorthand references to papers in scientific journals! Cole is the author’s name, Nature is the journal. What were the numbers?’

Seeing immediately that she was right, Steven completed the decoding. ‘Volume 409, pages 1007 to 1011. Two thousand and one. Brilliant.’

‘And the other?’ asked Tally.

‘N-R-G. Can’t say it rings a bell…’

Tally gave it a few moments’ thought. ‘ Nature Reviews Genetics,’ she announced. ‘We’re there!’

‘Volume 2, page 37, two thousand and one,’ completed Steven.

‘Now we just have to find out what they say and why they’re relevant,’ said Tally, pulling the plug and stepping out of the bath.

‘We need to find a medical library,’ said Steven.

‘I would suggest going straight to my hospital but that’s probably a bad idea in the circumstances?’

‘It is,’ agreed Steven. ‘Special Branch will be looking for you and they’re possibly not the only ones.’

They dressed hurriedly, snatching mouthfuls of sandwich as they did so. ‘Mmm, they’re good,’ mumbled Tally. ‘Wish we had more time. You know, you could always hand over the references to Sci-Med and let them check it out?’

‘No,’ said Steven. ‘We’ve come this far. Let’s see it through.’

‘If you say so,’ conceded Tally reluctantly. ‘Thinking about where we left the motorway, I reckon the med school at Warwick University in Coventry is probably the nearest.’

‘D’you know it?’ asked Steven.

‘I do,’ said Tally. ‘Leicester and Warwick universities have strong links and my hospital’s a teaching hospital. I know Warwick well. I can take you right to the library.’

‘Just what I wanted to hear,’ said Steven.

Steven paid for one night with his credit card and ignored the looks that passed between staff on the desk.

‘What would my mother say…’ murmured Tally as they left.

‘I reckon we’ll just drive until we pick up a road sign,’ said Steven as they hurried across to the Honda.

‘Keeping well away from the motorway,’ added Tally.

They followed country lanes in a vaguely north-west direction until, with a joint sigh of relief, they came to a junction with the A35, signposted Coventry. This was quickly followed by frustration when they found themselves stuck behind a tractor for what seemed an eternity until it turned off and they picked up speed again.

‘Any guesses what we’re going to find?’ asked Tally.

Steven shook his head. ‘None at all. You?’

‘I can’t imagine,’ said Tally. She gave Steven directions as they entered the Warwick campus with both of them feeling nervous.

The plan was to walk straight into the medical library and head for the reference section but a severe-looking librarian looked up from her desk when they entered and the fact that she didn’t smile or divert her gaze made Tally feel guilty. She walked over to the woman and showed her hospital staff card. Steven followed up with his ID which was examined in detail.

‘How can I help?’ the woman asked.

‘It’s all right,’ replied Tally. ‘I know my way around.’

Steven winked at the woman and got a stony stare for his trouble.

‘I bet New Year at her house is a barrel of laughs,’ he murmured as they walked towards the reference section.

‘Ssh.’

Tally ran her finger lightly over the alphabetic labelling at the end of each row of shelves as they passed, getting ever nearer to the back wall where the atmosphere was heavy with the smell of old books and dust. ‘Here we are, N for Nature.’

‘You get the genetics journal; I’ll get the other one,’ whispered Steven.

A quick search of the shelves to his left and Steven found the bound copies of Nature journals from the year 2001. He removed the one containing volume 409 and took it over to an unoccupied table where he sat and waited for Tally to join him. His mouth was beginning to dry with excitement as he whispered, ‘You read that one and I’ll read this. Then we’ll talk.’

Tally complied with a nod and they both opened their volumes to begin reading.

Although he didn’t expect to feel encouraged by what he found, Steven had not anticipated the wave of horror that swept over him as he read the abstract of the relevant paper and slowly started to realise what must have happened at the St Clair Genomics lab. Even the reason for Scott Haldane working out what the problem might be became clear when Steven remembered that Haldane had worked for a long time in Africa. Haldane hadn’t known anything about the Nichol vaccine at all: he had recognised the symptoms of a disease in Trish Lyons that he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe or mention to anyone at the time.

Steven slowly raised his eyes and saw that Tally had been filled with the same sense of horror. She mouthed the one word, ‘Leprosy?’ and he nodded as if subconsciously unwilling to confirm it. ‘This paper reports the work of a group at Cambridge who sequenced the leprosy genome,’ he said. ‘They found it to be a cut down version of the TB genome, as if at some time back on the evolutionary path, leprosy had discarded all the genes it could do without. TB has four thousand genes, leprosy only sixteen hundred.’

‘And that’s the reason they can’t grow it in the lab,’ said Tally. ‘The leprosy bacillus has to grow inside cells in the body, stealing nutrients from them and evading the immune system until it can infect the Schwann nerve cells. This in turn leads to sensory loss — the reason leprosy sufferers have such horrible disfigurement. They don’t feel it when they burn or cut themselves which leads to mutilation and continual infections.’

Steven thought of Trish Lyons and the accident with boiling water. Trish had suffered horrible injuries but she was also shocked by the fact she didn’t feel pain. That’s what she had been trying to tell her mother and now Virginia Lyons was beginning to experience the same loss of sensation in the patches that were breaking out on her skin. Steven closed his eyes for a moment against the full implications of the nightmare.

‘But how could it happen?’ asked Tally, looking bemused.

‘Alan Nichol,’ said Steven but Tally’s eyes still asked the question.

‘He made his vaccine the “modern” way. He used the techniques of molecular biology to cut down the size of the TB genome in the lab until it was — he thought — no longer infectious only he had created a new version of the leprosy bacillus by accident. It stimulated antibody production against the genus that TB and leprosy belong to — Mycobacteria — but the strain didn’t grow in the lab so he thought he had made an effective non-live vaccine… to the applause and go-ahead from a grateful government.’

‘Oh God,’ sighed Tally, shaking her head. ‘What an absolute disaster.’

‘Judging by the way the infection raced through Keith Taylor, this strain may actually be worse than real leprosy itself,’ said Steven.

Tally nodded. ‘It sounds like it can grow faster,’ she said.

‘Maybe it has a few more genes.’

‘On the other hand, it’s not progressing particularly quickly in the others,’ said Tally. ‘So maybe the human immune system is working better against this strain than it does against real leprosy?’

‘God, I hope so,’ said Steven. ‘Any idea what the treatment is for leprosy these days?’

‘I seem to remember reading in a journal recently that the World Health Organisation was recommending multi-drug therapy in their bid to stamp out the disease. Dapsone, rifampicin and clofazimine if I’m not mistaken. It’s not a disease I’ve ever come across.’

‘I guess that goes for all the other physicians and skin clinic people who missed the signs too,’ said Steven.

Tally made an apologetic face. ‘I suppose so…’

‘If there is a god, he’s making it bloody hard for us agnostics to recognise the fact,’ said Steven.

‘What now?’

‘I’ll tell John Macmillan everything, get him to pull the plug on the vaccine, get treatment organised for the green sticker kids and their families and start the crucifixion scene in Whitehall.’

‘You don’t really think anyone there knew the whole truth, do you?’ asked Tally.

‘Not that it was leprosy in the vials,’ said Steven. ‘But, ultimately, these people were responsible for being taken in by a bunch of Russian gangsters and damned nearly licensing a vaccine that would have given kids all over the country leprosy. Given the opportunity, I personally will bang in the nails.’

Steven brought out his phone and was about to call Sci-Med when one of the library staff appeared at his side. ‘I’m sorry, that’s against the rules,’ she said.

Steven gave a half smile. ‘Of course,’ he said with a sideways glance at Tally. ‘We must stick to the rules… otherwise we’ll get in a right mess…’ He took the phone outside and called Macmillan.

Tally waited for a few minutes inside and then went out to join Steven just as he was finishing the conversation. ‘All right?’ she asked.

‘All done,’ said Steven. ‘The dogs have been let loose.’

‘Do you think the government will fall?’

‘Right now, I neither know nor care. John Macmillan said that Downing Street will be calling in the leaders of the other parties to “keep everyone in the loop and chart the way ahead”.’

‘And us? What do we do?’

‘We lie low for a couple of days until Marcus Rose and Phillip St Clair are banged up and their Russian pals know the game’s over.’

‘My God,’ said Tally as if suddenly realising something. ‘The hospital must be wondering where I am and my car is still in the car park at Watford Gap and I haven’t phoned…’

Steven put a finger on her lips. ‘It’s all being taken care of,’ he said. ‘Macmillan has been in touch with the hospital. You are currently providing invaluable assistance to HMG and will be officially on leave until such time as your services are no longer required. Your car will be returned to your home.’

‘But I have the keys…’ said Tally.

Steven smiled.

‘I suppose that was silly,’ she said, getting a nod in response. ‘Just how long are my services going to be required?’

‘Let’s see now,’ said Steven. ‘We’ll lie low for a couple of days and then we’re going up to Scotland for a short break: there’s someone there I’d like you to meet.’

‘I love it when you’re masterful,’ said Tally.

Steven smiled.

‘Just don’t get too masterful… or I’ll cut them off…’