He turned the page and found the graph recording the spread of Ebola in the 2014–16 outbreak, starting with one case in a small rural village and edging ever outwards as people fled in all directions giving rise to a growing Catherine wheel of infection until... the epidemic was everywhere.
Steven turned off the computer link and sat for a few moments in the quiet of the library reflecting on how often Sci-Med had tried persuading successive governments that vaccination of the general population against a range of killer diseases should be undertaken, but, of course, vaccination plans didn’t win votes. He left the library and returned to the office to phone Jane Sherman.
‘Thanks for that,’ said Jane when Steven told her about Petrov’s father being sent a couple of containers from Beer Sheva. ‘To our shame, we seem to have assumed that everything was sent to Geneva.’
‘I think it suggests that Malenkov turning up in London to see Petrov senior at some risk to himself might have been some kind of important business meeting. Petrov senior could be involved in Malenkov’s project as much as his son.’
‘Agreed,’ said Jane. ‘Two mining magnates and a microbiologist...’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Steven.
‘Agreed, but pretty soon we might know what it’s all been about. Porton are going to open the intercepted flask the day after tomorrow. Want to come along?’
‘Sure do.’
‘I don’t think we can expect anything dramatic, it will probably take them some time to analyse the contents, but maybe they can do some preliminary tests to keep us feeling involved.’
‘Is anyone else going from Six?’
‘No, just me, I don’t have the details yet but I’ll let you know tomorrow.’
‘Okay, but I’ll be attending a small meeting in the morning in Westminster about the latest outbreak of Ebola in the Congo. I don’t suppose you’ll be there?’
Jane said not but added, ‘I do however, have to speak to some people at Westminster tomorrow, it won’t take long, we could have lunch?’
They arranged to meet in the hall at noon.
Thirteen
‘How was your meeting?’ asked Jane.
‘Less than informative,’ Steven replied.
‘Of course, your lady is still in DRC,’ exclaimed Jane. ‘I’m sorry, I’d forgotten about that. I heard they’d announced a new outbreak just after the previous one had been declared over, what was that all about?’
‘They had to call it a new outbreak because genetic analysis by the lab found it was being caused by a new strain of Ebola.’
‘Does that make it better or worse?’
‘I don’t think anyone knows,’ Steven replied, still feeling frustrated by the lack of information given at the meeting he’d just attended. ‘The new outbreak is in a wild, bandit-infested region of the country where no one really knows what the hell’s going on. You can’t get access to any significant data. At the moment, no one knows how many cases there have been or how many deaths and that situation spreads fear and alarm everywhere else in the country. Frankly, I just want Tally out of there.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Sorry for being such a pain.’
‘No problem, let’s get some fresh air.’
They left the Houses of Parliament and stepped out into the sunshine of what was a beautiful, clear day to start walking over Westminster Bridge.
Steven looked up at the cloudless sky and said, ‘I feel better already.’
Jane paused at the half way point and leaned on the parapet to take in the view. ‘He was right,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Wordsworth.’
‘Of course,’ said Steven, ‘Earth hath not anything to show more fair than...’
‘... the view from Westminster Bridge,’ Jane completed.
They continued their walk, exchanging other possible candidates for the best view title. Jane offered having seen the Taj Mahal by moonlight and Steven countered with sunrise on Fujiyama in Japan, when his attention was diverted by the sight of a speeding vehicle entering the bridge. It looked all wrong.
The car, a Range Rover, was not weaving at all, it just seemed to be travelling far too fast. Jane saw it too. ‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed. ‘What the hell does he think he’s...’
‘Get up on the parapet!’ Steven yelled above the noise of Range Rover engine which was being revved too high in low gear. He himself leapt up on the wall and turned to help Jane who was attempting to do the same, but, in high heels, her leading foot failed to make it and she fell down just as the Range Rover swerved to mount the pavement and its nearside front wheel hit her other leg on its way to scrape along the parapet wall. Jane’s screams filled the air.
The vehicle came to a halt after twenty metres or so, but its engine was still running and Steven suddenly realised that the driver intended to reverse back over Jane’s prostrate body. He took out his pistol and emptied the magazine through the rear window of the vehicle, aiming at where the driver would be although privacy glass prevented him having a clear view of the outcome. Mercifully, the vehicle scraped further into the parapet wall and its engine died.
Steven dropped down on to the pavement to help Jane whose injured limb was lying at a nightmarish angle to her body, crushed and twisted and with bright scarlet blood pumping out from a severed artery. His first thought was to stop the bleeding, he had to stop the bleeding. He threw off his jacket, following up by tearing off his shirt, despite the difficulty of having his shoulder holster in the way. He needed strips of material fast so he tore away at it until he had a useful strip of sleeve to wind around an area high up on Jane’s thigh.
The sound of police sirens grew louder as he fought to get the impromptu tourniquet tight enough to stem the crimson tide. Amazingly, Jane was not unconscious, she was semi-conscious and speaking in garbled fashion as if in the throes of a bad dream, but she was still able to respond with screams to the added pain Steven was causing her by doing what he had to do, STOP THE BLEEDING.
He couldn’t see the exact area where the blood was coming from because of her blood-soaked clothing and there was no time to investigate. The only thing that mattered was getting the tourniquet into place anywhere above the disaster area and he was relieved to see this happen just as he became aware of black-clad, armed and masked police all around them. They were shouting at him, telling him to do things he had no intention of complying with. He was holding the tourniquet, but knew it wasn’t tight enough. He needed something rod-shaped to insert into the weak knot he’d managed, something which would allow him to twist it round and increase the pressure. The repetitive shouting continued and prompted him to start shouting back, yelling who he and Jane were and what he was trying to do, although feeling that it should be bloody obvious. ‘You’ll find ID in my jacket.’
Steven saw his empty pistol lying beside him and realised that the barrel would do for tightening the tourniquet. He picked it up... and one of the policemen shot him.