Wildcard

TWENTY

It was late when Steven arrived in Caernarfon. He’d driven nonstop and felt the need to stretch his legs, so he parked down by the waterfront and walked from the harbour round the walls of Caernarfon Castle where they stood guard over the Menai Strait. He paused halfway round, leaned on the railings and looked down at the cold, dark water lapping on the shingle. The sound of a foghorn somewhere on Anglesey added to the gloom surrounding him. He shivered, rubbed his arms and returned to the car to drive up to Caernarfon General.

At that time of night only junior medical staff were on duty, so Steven spoke to the young houseman in charge of the special unit where Maureen Williams was in isolation.

‘There’s not really much I can tell you,’ said the doctor, ‘apart from the fact that she’s very ill.’

‘I take it no line of contact has been established in the past twenty-four hours?’ said Steven.

‘None at all. It’s a complete mystery how she got it. She hasn’t been out of Wales in the past year, and Y Felinheli isn’t exactly a crossroads for the international jet set.’

‘Ee Felin what?’

‘Sorry, it’s the Welsh name for Port Dinorwic. That’s where she lives.’

‘Is she conscious at all?’

‘Some of the time.’

‘Does she know what’s wrong with her?’

‘Not from us, but we told her husband, of course, and the papers have somehow got hold of it, so it’s no big secret.’

‘How did her husband take it?’

‘Oddly,’ said the houseman, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his front teeth. ‘I was there when my boss told him, and he said something very strange. He said, “The bastards. They knew all along.”’

‘Knew what?’

‘We asked him, of course, but we couldn’t get any more out of him. He just clammed up.’

‘Interesting,’ said Steven, encouraged by the likelihood that Williams knew something about his wife’s illness. ‘Got an address for him?’

The doctor checked the files and wrote it down for Steven.

‘Any other relatives on the scene?’ asked Steven.

‘There was a woman who called up three times a day when Mrs Williams was first admitted. She was a friend, not a relative; Mair Jones, her name was. She seemed very concerned, but then she rang to say that she just wanted to leave a message. She said to tell Mrs Williams she was going away for a holiday, just in case.’

‘In case of what?’

‘I’ve no idea. She said Mrs Williams would understand.’

Steven nodded. He was glad he’d come to Wales. He’d learned a couple of things he could pick away at. He got up to go, saying he would probably be back in the morning. ‘Where will I find a hotel at this time of night?’ he asked.

‘In North Wales?’ exclaimed the houseman, feigning shock. ‘Where all doors are bolted against the devil before midnight? You could try the Station, but I wouldn’t bet my buns on it.’

Once outside, Steven stood for a few moments, thinking about what he’d been told and wondering whether or not to wait until morning before pressing on with his enquiry. If Mr Williams knew something — anything at all — he must talk to him, and the sooner the better. That unguarded comment about the bastards knowing all along demanded explanation.

Steven glanced at his watch; it was a quarter past one in the morning; but if he was still up and working on a bitterly cold night, he could see no reason why Mr Williams should be allowed to slumber on undisturbed. He would go to see him.

Steven checked his road map and was pleased to see that Port Dinorwic was no more than a fifteen-minute drive from Caernarfon. He hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a large place, because there would be no one about at that time of night to ask for directions.

The more he thought about it, the better he felt about going to see Williams at this ungodly hour. Police forces all over the world knew the effectiveness of the middle-of-the-night knock on the door. It was usually a sight more productive than a call at any other time. People were disorientated when their sleep was disturbed, and so were much less likely to lie successfully.

To his relief, Port Dinorwic was manageably small. It clung to a steep hillside, and tumbled down through a series of steps and winding lanes to a harbour and marina. Steven parked on the main street and started his search by walking down a steep, cobbled lane, careful of his footing on the frosty stones and thinking of Under Milk Wood. A small town, starless and bible-black…

At the bottom of the lane, Steven walked towards the harbour, looking at the names of the other streets leading down to it. The third one along was the one he was looking for and number 12, Williams’s house, was four doors up. There was no bell so he gave three loud raps with the heavy knocker and waited. A fourth knock was necessary to get a response.

‘All right, all right, I’m coming. Who are you and what the hell d’you want at this hour?’

‘The Sci-Med Inspectorate,’ said Steven, sounding as official as possible.

‘The what?’

‘Just open the door, please.’

The door opened and a thin, wiry, ginger-haired man, with a plaid dressing gown wrapped unevenly round him, stood there, rubbing his eyes. ‘Who did you say you were?’

Steven showed his ID and said, ‘I have to ask you some questions.’

‘What about?’

‘About how your wife contracted the filovirus infection,’ said Steven, stepping inside before Williams could block the way.

‘How the hell should I know?’ asked Williams, getting his wits back and closing the door. ‘I’m a lorry driver not a bloody doctor.’ He led the way into a small, cluttered living room and cleared piles of newspapers and magazines off the armchairs.

‘Because of what you said when you were told about your wife’s condition. You said, “The bastards. They knew all along.” What did you mean by that? What did the bastards know, Mr Williams?’

Williams was flustered. He knelt down to light the gas fire, and took his time over it. ‘Did I?’ he answered eventually. ‘I was upset. I’m not sure what I said.’

Steven stared hard at Williams, his dark eyes accusing him of lying.

‘Who did you say you worked for?’ asked Williams.

‘I’m an investigator with the Sci-Med Inspectorate,’ said Steven.

‘What kind of investigator’s that, then?’

Steven pulled out the gun from the holster under his arm. He didn’t point it at Williams but let it rest in the palm of his hand. ‘One with a gun,’ he replied.

Williams’s eyes opened like organ stops. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed.

‘The UK’s a hair’s breadth away from having to declare a national emergency, and all because we can’t find out where the virus is coming from. You know more about it than you’re letting on, and that’s making me angry, Mr Williams. Tell me what you know.’

The threat had the desired effect. Williams, who couldn’t take his eyes off the gun, said, ‘All right, for Christ’s sake. Put that thing away. I’ll tell you.’

Williams had to clear his throat and regain his composure before he could begin. Steven waited patiently.

‘Two Americans,’ said Williams. ‘They recruited Maureen and another woman.’

‘To do what?’

‘It was a nursing job, looking after two very sick people, they said.’

‘Why them? Your wife has retired from nursing, hasn’t she?’

‘They needed a particular kind of nurse. Maureen and the other woman had both trained as fever nurses, and apparently fever nurses are like gold dust these days. They said it was very important.’

‘Were the nurses told what was wrong with these people?’ asked Steven.

‘Not exactly, just that they should take every precaution in dealing with them.’

‘But why would anyone in their right mind take on such a job?’ asked Steven.

Williams looked at the floor and said almost inaudibly, ‘Three thousand pounds each, that’s why.’

It was Steven’s turn to be surprised. He let out a low whistle. ‘And part of the deal was that they didn’t say anything about it?’

Williams nodded.

‘Who were these Americans?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How did they pay?’

‘Cash in advance.’

‘Where were the patients?’

‘Somewhere up in the hills behind Capel Curig. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone, but Maureen told me that much.’

Steven looked silently at Williams for a moment, and the man put his hands to his eyes and began to sob. ‘I’m going to lose her,’ he said. ‘I never thought for one minute that anything like this would happen. We were going to use the money to visit Malcolm and his wife in Australia. It’s ten years since we last saw them.’

‘There’s still hope,’ said Steven softly. He had got what he wanted, so there was no need to play the hard man any more and he felt for the man. There was every chance that the welcome addition of cash to the Williams household was going to pay for his wife’s funeral. ‘Did Maureen say anything at all about the patients she nursed?’ he asked.

Williams shook his head. ‘She told me not to ask.’

‘This other woman. Was her name Mair Jones, by any chance?’ asked Steven.

Williams nodded. ‘That’s her. She went off to Majorca. I think she was scared she was going to get the virus, too. She wanted to have a last fling in the sun in case it happened.’

Just in case, thought Steven.

‘Cup of tea?’ asked Williams.

‘Please.’

When he returned to his car Steven called the duty man at Sci-Med and told him about Mair Jones. He wanted her found in Majorca and brought back to the UK as soon as possible.

‘On what grounds?’

‘She has vital information about the virus epidemic. Pull out all the stops and get her back here under any pretext you like — get Special Branch to go out there and kidnap her, if necessary.’

‘Would you like to have a word with Mr Macmillan?’

‘He’s there?’ exclaimed Steven, automatically looking at his watch and seeing that it was after two-thirty.

‘Been here all night.’

Macmillan came on the line. ‘Dunbar, where are you?’

‘I’m in Wales. You’re up late.’

‘There was a long meeting of the national emergency committee. We couldn’t agree, so we’re still holding off.’

‘Good,’ said Steven. ‘Maureen Williams isn’t a wildcard, she’s a contact.’

‘You know how she got it?’ exclaimed Macmillan.

‘Just that she got it from someone else. It’s all a bit complicated at the moment.’ He told Macmillan what he’d learned and about the need to find Mair Jones.

‘I think the Home Secretary’s still in the building,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’ll have a word and impress on him the importance of finding her.’

‘Good.’

‘What will you do in the meantime?’

‘Go back to the hospital in the morning and see if Mrs Williams regains consciousness.’

Steven opted to drive into Bangor rather than return to Caernarfon. He thought his chances of finding a hotel open in the early hours of the morning might be better in a bigger place, and so it proved. There was no chance of getting anything to eat, but at least he found a bed for what remained of the night and a bathroom with hot running water. There was an electric kettle in the room, with sachets of tea, coffee, sugar and whitener and, thankfully, a few biscuits. He had a warm bath, then dined on instant coffee and digestive biscuits. Luckily he was so tired that he fell asleep quickly, putting his hunger on hold until the morning.

The consultant in charge of the special unit at Caernarfon General, Dr Charles Runcie, had been made aware of Steven’s interest in the case. He smiled and offered his hand. ‘I don’t think I can tell you any more than my houseman, Roger Morton, did last night,’ he said.

‘But I can tell you something,’ said Steven. He told Runcie of his success in establishing that Maureen Williams was no wildcard case.

‘A nursing job!’ exclaimed Runcie. ‘So what in God’s name happened to her patients?’

‘That’s what we have to find out,’ said Steven. ‘They’re trying to trace Mair Jones at the moment. I don’t suppose she ever came here in person?’

The consultant shook his head and said, ‘I think not. There would have been no point. We would only have given out information to relatives.’

‘What are the chances of getting any information out of Mrs Williams?’

‘Slim,’ replied Runcie. ‘Frankly, I don’t think she’s going to last beyond-’

There was a commotion outside, then the door burst open and they saw a harassed-looking woman trying to restrain another woman.

‘I’m sorry, Dr Runcie, but this woman insists on seeing Mrs Williams. She seems to think she knows something about her husband’s disappearance.’

‘I’m afraid Mrs Williams cannot receive visitors because of her condition,’ said Runcie calmly. He got up from his chair. ‘Mrs…?’

‘Doig, Karen Doig. I’m sorry to burst in like this, but there seemed to be no other way. We’ve been trying to see Mrs Williams for the past two days, and I’m at my wits’ end — we’re both at our wits’ end,’ she added. She gestured at a man who, looking slightly embarrassed, was hovering in the background. ‘This is Ian Patterson. His wife, Amy, and my husband, Peter, have disappeared from a company field station near Capel Curig where they were working, and Mrs Williams knows something about it.’

Runcie looked at Steven and said, ‘I’m sorry, the world seems to have gone mad this morning.’

Steven’s bemused detachment had changed when he heard Capel Curig being mentioned. He ignored Runcie’s apology and asked, ‘What kind of field station?’

It was Runcie’s turn to look bemused. He turned to his secretary, who was smoothing herself down, and said, ‘Claire, do you think you could bring us all some coffee?’

‘Peter and Amy both work for a company called Lehman Genomics, just outside Edinburgh,’ explained Karen. ‘They were sent down to the company’s field station here in Wales, and now both of them have disappeared. The company claims that they ran off together, but we won’t accept that until we have more than Lehman’s word for it. We came to find out for ourselves.’

‘Where does Mrs Williams come into it?’ asked Steven.

‘She was one of a party of four people who stopped in Capel Curig about twelve days ago and asked for directions to the field station. There were two American men and two local women — one was Mrs Williams. We’ve been able to establish that at least one of the men worked for Lehman, but the company denied all knowledge of this when we phoned them earlier.’

Steven was beginning to feel that his luck had turned. ‘Mrs Doig,’ he said, ‘you don’t realise it but you’ve done your country a great service by coming here this morning.’

Karen was not the only one to look puzzled, but Steven was already on the phone to Sci-Med. ‘I need to know everything about Lehman Genomics’ was his request.

Runcie asked to be excused, but said Steven was welcome to use his office for as long as necessary. Steven questioned Karen and Ian Patterson closely for the next thirty minutes, trying to establish whether there was a connection between the company and the virus outbreak. He didn’t say as much, but it was clear that Peter Doig and Amy Patterson were the two patients Maureen Williams and Mair Jones had been recruited to nurse.

‘Have you no idea at all what Peter and Amy were working on?’ asked Steven.

‘They weren’t allowed to say,’ replied Patterson. ‘Secrecy is important to research companies like Lehman.’

‘What kind of scientist is your wife?’

‘She’s an immunologist.’

‘Not a virologist?’

‘No.’

‘And Peter?’ asked Steven, turning to Karen.

‘He’s a medical lab technician by training. He worked at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh from the time he graduated, but he got fed up with the low pay. The job with Lehman came up about nine months ago.’

Steven nodded. ‘I take it he didn’t say what he was working on, either?’

‘’Fraid not, although he did have a name for it. He called it the Snowball project. Maybe it was a pet name he made up. I’m not sure.’

‘Thank you,’ said Steven with heartfelt sincerity. He had the link he was looking for. The disk with the heart valve recipients’ names on it had been headed ‘SNOWBALL 2000’. He said, ‘Could I ask you folks to show me the way to this field station?’

‘It burned down,’ said Patterson.

‘The night before we got here,’ added Karen. ‘But there was no one inside at the time, although the company Land-Rover that Peter and Amy had used was still parked there.’

‘But they had gone?’ said Steven.

‘Yes, but we’re not sure how. The police checked the local taxi firms for us but with no joy.’

Steven felt a hollowness creep into his stomach. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but he tried his best not to show it. ‘I think I’d like to take a look at the place anyway,’ he said.

‘That’s how we felt,’ said Karen.

‘Did the police have any idea what caused the fire?’ Steven asked.

‘They didn’t say,’ replied Patterson. ‘But they obviously kept some pretty inflammable chemicals there. There was only a burned-out shell left.’

Steven’s hollow feeling got worse. ‘There’s no point in us all going,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we arrange to meet later-’

‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Karen. ‘You haven’t told us what you know about this. Who are you exactly, and what’s going on?’

‘You’re quite right and I’m sorry,’ conceded Steven. ‘If you’ll just bear with me for the moment, I promise I’ll tell you as much as I can later on.’

Reluctantly, Karen and Patterson agreed, but only after getting a firm undertaking from Steven that he would meet them again that evening. They then gave him directions to the field station.

Steven called Sci-Med as soon as he got to his car, and asked if there was any information available about Lehman Genomics yet.

‘Reputable biotech company, American parent company, shares rose thirty per cent last year, several products licensed and doing well in the marketplace, strong research group believed to be working on transplant organs from animal sources, UK arm fronted by Paul Grossart, a former senior lecturer in biochemistry at the University of Leicester. Any use?’

‘Transplant organs from animal sources,’ repeated Steven slowly. ‘Any more information on that?’

‘There’s a rumour going around that they pulled the plug on a major animal project recently.’

‘I’ll bet they did,’ murmured Steven. ‘It was called the Snowball project. Any more from Porton about Sister Mary’s heart valve?’

‘No. What more do you want? They say there was nothing wrong with it. It was in good working order and a perfect immunological match for her.’

‘Ask them to carry out a DNA sequence on it,’ said Steven. ‘As fast as they possibly can.’

‘What are they looking for?’

‘Let them tell us that,’ said Steven.

‘Okay, you’re calling the shots. Anything else?’

‘Not right now.’

‘Word is that Special Branch have located Mair Jones in Majorca. She should be back in the UK by this evening.’