A knock came to the door, and Jean came in with coffee. ‘Thought you might need this. What news from upstairs?’
Steven snapped out of his preoccupation. ‘The Northern Health Scheme was killing people off, but we’re no nearer knowing how they actually managed it.’
‘An untraceable poison?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe it was untraceable back then,’ suggested Jean. ‘Science has moved on…’
‘A good thought,’ said Steven. ‘But we’d be talking exhumation.’
Jean shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably and said in a small voice, ‘Maybe worth thinking about?’
‘Not something to do without good reason; it always causes such distress to families. Maybe I’ll mention it to John when I see him. I need to tell him about the COBRA meeting anyway. He should be part of what’s going on.’
NINETEEN
‘You look tired,’ said John Macmillan when Steven sat down.
‘Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?’ Steven’s grin took a deal of effort.
‘Things not going well?’
He explained about the COBRA meeting and the reported threat.
Macmillan’s shoulders slumped forward as he let out a sigh. ‘Strange,’ he said. ‘We knew this had to happen. But now that it’s here on our doorstep the very thought of it is just as horrifying as if it had come out of the blue. Any idea what?’
‘None.’
Macmillan echoed Steven’s earlier thoughts regarding a chemical attack. ‘We can cope with that, but microbes let loose on a largely unprotected population… doesn’t bear thinking about. It could destroy the entire country.’
‘Merryman are being asked to step up vaccine production, but it could well be too late.’
Macmillan nodded. ‘We’re always a bit too late in this country. It’s a way of life… but when it comes to locking stable doors after the horse has bolted we have the most secure doors in the world.’
Steven was a little disturbed at hearing Macmillan sound so cynical. It was unlike him. ‘MI5 are pretty sure the would-be attackers are “home-grown”, to use their word.’
‘So the disaffected of Leicester or Birmingham are seeking to wipe out the country they were born in… ye gods.’ Macmillan looked Steven straight in the eye. ‘Strikes me we’re going to need all the good people we’ve got. I take it you will stay on at Sci-Med until… such times?’
Steven nodded.
‘I suppose in the light of what you’ve just told me this pales into insignificance, but what’s been happening with your investigation?’
‘Everything’s pointing to Carlisle and his pals being involved in mass murder back in the early nineties.’
Macmillan’s eyelids shot up.
‘They were killing off people who were costing society a lot of money.’
‘A population cull?’
‘That’s what it looks like, but I don’t know how they were doing it. Nothing was ever found in any of the bodies subjected to PM examination. Highly dependent people just conveniently died after being treated in the Northern Health Scheme area.’
‘But they must have died of something.’
‘Natural causes.’
‘Which means what?’
Steven narrowed his eyes as he considered the question. He decided not to bring up Jean Roberts’s suggestion of an unknown toxin. ‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘they died of what they were expected to die of. They all had conditions that required treatment by either their GP or College Hospital… and they were all prescribed appropriate medication
…’
‘But they still died of their condition, so maybe…’
‘They weren’t treated at all,’ Steven finished.
Macmillan nodded. ‘They were culling the population by denying treatment to those who were perceived to be a drain on resources. So the question is, how did they manage to withhold treatment without anyone noticing?’
‘That’s where French’s computer expertise must have come in,’ said Steven. ‘He must have come up with a program that would take into account the age and medical records of the patients. If you were on the wrong side of the line — too old, long-term sick, increasingly infirm, a drug addict or suffering from an incurable condition — the computer decided you got nothing.’
‘And that’s where Schreiber’s pharmacy would come into its own. They must have come up with drug packaging that looked like the real thing but held pills or capsules that contained nothing but… sugar or chalk, useless placebos.’
‘It was that simple,’ said Steven with a final shake of the head. He exchanged a wry smile with Macmillan, a pleasing moment for both men, who recognised that they were still a good team and, more important, would continue to be. Nothing had changed as a legacy of Macmillan’s illness.
‘But we’ve no proof,’ said Macmillan.
The men knew each other well enough for Macmillan to interpret Steven’s look as comment about the age of the crime and the fact that the perpetrators were all dead, not to mention the new horror they were now facing. ‘You should still carry on,’ he said. ‘I think we owe it to the people who died. Not least the journalist and the doctor who worked out what the bastards were up to.’
Steven nodded.
‘Besides, it’ll take our minds off what we have to look forward to. God help us all.’
Steven said, ‘Schreiber’s long dead, but French was alive and well right up until the meeting in Paris. If they were planning to reintroduce the scheme, the software must be around, probably in the Deltasoft offices.’
‘A raid?’
‘A raid,’ agreed Steven.
‘You’ll have to clear it with the Home Secretary. French was a powerful man, a stalwart of the community and a big donor to the party.’
‘You don’t think…’ began Steven hesitantly.
‘Perish the thought,’ said Macmillan. ‘She’s the Home Secretary.’
Steven resisted the temptation to point out that John Carlisle had been the health secretary, but Macmillan noticed he was biting his tongue. ‘Charlie Malloy is coming to see me tomorrow. I’ll ask him to have everything ready to go the minute you get approval from on high.’
Steven nodded his thanks. ‘Good to have you back, John.’
‘Thank you.’
Steven had anticipated a difficult interview with the Home Secretary. He wasn’t disappointed. The fact that he had been more than forthright at the COBRA meeting didn’t help.
‘If your reputation for success didn’t precede you, Dr Dunbar, I would be tempted to turn down your request and dismiss what you’ve just suggested as being too ridiculous for words. Are you seriously telling me that the government of the day was party to such an outrage?’
‘No, Home Secretary, I’m not. I think the health department back then was infiltrated by others — I’m sorry I can’t be more specific — but John Carlisle, the then secretary of state, was certainly part of the conspiracy, knowingly or otherwise.’
The Home Secretary diverted her gaze for a moment before saying quietly, ‘I think it was “otherwise”.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Carlisle called me before he died. His wife and I were friends when we were younger.’
Steven was aware of the pulse in his neck as a long silence ensued.
‘I thought he was just trying to save his own miserable skin — and he was — but he came out with some ridiculous story about having his career ruined by other people when he was health secretary back in the early nineties. Claimed he was stabbed in the back by people he referred to as the Schiller mob, who were pursuing their own agenda.’
‘But he didn’t know what they were up to?’
‘If he did, he didn’t say — and that would have been the time to say it. If ever there was a time to show the strength of your hand… But I thought he was making the whole thing up, so I didn’t probe. Mind you…’
Steven’s eyes opened wide, encouraging the minister to say more.
‘I have heard rumours from time to time about… some faction calling themselves the Schiller Group. But you know what Westminster’s like. Rumours abound.’