“Your company’s lost 82 per cent of its value.”
“That’s absurd.”
Rilke shrugged. “The market doesn’t like what it sees. A board member dumping shares. It seems to everyone he knew something bad was going to happen. That there was some kind of cover-up going on in the Zembla-4 trials.”
“But there’s no cover-up, is there?” Ingram thought immediately about Philip Wang. It was like condensation slowly beginning to clear from a fogged-up windscreen. What had Philip Wang discovered?
“Of course there’s no cover-up,” Rilke said with iron assurance. “But the company is going to be turned over, now, picked apart because of your brother-in-law’s actions. Rilke Pharma cannot be associated under these circumstances. I’m sure you understand.”
“Ivo is a man with no money. He’s lost a fortune on stupid, hare-brained schemes. He was broke: he needed cash.”
“I hope you can make a good case to the investigation.”
“What investigation?”
“The Financial Services Authority. The Serious Fraud Office — who knows?” He reacted to Ingram’s genuine incredulity. “Someone really should have told you, Ingram: Calenture-Deutz shares have been suspended, the company is under investigation by the FSA.”
Ingram tried to feel rage against Ivo but, to his vague consternation, he could muster none. He felt an ironic laugh building in his chest. He coughed it away.
Rilke spread his hands. “You see our position: Rilke Pharma has to withdraw its offer. Burton will stay on as acting CEO — see what we can salvage.”
“Salvage?”
“We spent a lot of money on Zembla-4, Ingram. We have to find a way of recouping our investment. We can buy PRO-Vyril, the hay-fever inhaler, some of your other lines perhaps. Not all will be lost.” He reached over and squeezed Ingram’s hand. “It’s over, Ingram. We nearly did it, nearly. And it would have been magnificent.” He called for his two men and stood up, switching off and pocketing his jamming device.
“But what about Zembla-4? The licences? The PDA? Surely—”
“The PDA rescinded its approval this morning. The MHRA has put everything on hold in the face of this scandal. There will be no Zembla-4, Ingram. We will not cure asthma.”
Rilke leant forward and kissed Ingram’s cheek.
“I like you, Ingram. I was looking forward to our triumph. And now I’m sorry for your ill health. I wish you buena suerte.”
He walked out of the room and one of his henchmen closed the door behind him.
58
AARON LALANDUSSE FROWNED, THEN shrugged resignedly. “There’s nothing I can do. They won’t run any of my pieces about Zembla-4 and Calenture-Deutz. I can’t even mention their names. There are armies of lawyers out there, just waiting to pounce.”
“But that’s outrageous,” Adam said.
“Of course it is,” Lalandusse said. “But everything, so far, is pretty circumstantial, you have to admit. We have no smoking gun. What we need is a grieving family. An inter-office memo. Sure, it’s all on the Web…But so are ten thousand other conspiracy theories. I think you’re bang on to something sordid. And the legal might arrayed against us would seem to indicate that you were, but — from the journalism side, we’re stymied.”
Adam sat, thinking.
“I’d relax if I were you,” Lalandusse said. “Calenture-Deutz has had its shares suspended. Rilke Pharma has abandoned the buyout, it seems. No drug authority in the world is going to dare to license Zembla-4, what with all these rumours about the trials and the dead children swirling around.” He smiled. “If I were you I’d be feeling pretty chuffed.”
“Fourteen children died during the clinical testing of Zembla-4,” Adam said. “Those are the simple facts. And they covered it up in order to get a licence that would allow them to make billions and billions of dollars selling a potentially fatal drug.” He would have liked to have added that they covered it up to such an extent that they had had their head of research and development murdered when he’d discovered what was going on; that they had tried to kill me, Adam Kindred, because I was some kind of witness with a key piece of evidence; and that, in trying to kill me, they killed a young woman called Mhouse and orphaned her son. He felt his powerlessness and he felt his smallness. What could he do? So all he said was, “Somebody should be called to account. People should be prosecuted. Fryzer should be in jail, charged with manslaughter.”
“A noble cause, Primo,” Lalandusse said. “Are you going to take on Calenture-Deutz’s phalanx of lawyers? My editor has thrown in the towel. As has the rest of the British press, it seems.” He. drained his bottle of beer. “Don’t get me wrong: there is a story to tell, but it may take a while to come out…Do you mind if we step outside? I need a ciggy.”
Adam and Lalandusse stood outside the pub under an awning, watching a persistent drizzle fall, while Lalandusse laboriously lit up. He puffed away like a schoolgirl, producing vast disproportionate clouds of smoke, as if he’d only just learnt what to do with a cigarette.
“What do you think will happen?” Adam asked.
“I suspect they’ll break up Calenture — a fire sale — sell off its profitable lines. They’ve got a new CEO — they sacked the old one. He’s ‘ill’ so they say.”
“Fryzer?” Adam waited for Aaron to stop coughing.
“Yeah…Sorry…‘Sick leave’—the handiest euphemism around when you’ve destroyed your company.”
“What happened to Redcastle?”
“Kicked off the board, pronto. Fled the country before the Fraud Squad got to him. He’s in Spain, so I hear. He’ll be ducking and diving for the rest of his life.”
Adam allowed himself to feel a momentary relaxation. Maybe this wholesale collapse meant he was finally safe — those people, whoever they were, would stop looking for him now, stop trying to kill him. Why bother with an Adam Kindred when there was no Zembla-4 to protect any longer? Surely the hunt would be called off…And he did feel good about that, for all the unanswered questions buzzing around in his mind and for all the guilt he felt about Mhouse…And what had happened to Ly-on?…Had he been taken into care? Fostered?…Thinking about them was the strangest experience: to recall his life with Mhouse and Ly-on in The Shaft — it was like another person’s biography. Still, Ly-on must be out there somewhere, and now things seemed to be calming down he should try and find out what had happened to him.
Lalandusse was lighting a second cigarette — it took him three matches and another coughing fit before he had it going to his satisfaction. Practice makes perfect, Adam thought.
“I’d better go,” Adam said. “I’ve got an appointment.” He shook Lalandusse’s hand. “Thank you, Aaron,” he said, “you’ve been a fantastic help.”
“No, thank you,” Lalandusse said. “It looks very like you’ve stopped a killer drug in its tracks — doesn’t happen every day. I’ll get in touch when I write it all up — there may be a book in it — once the dust’s settled.”
“Yeah, let’s see if we can nail that evil bastard Ingram Fryzer.”
“You bet.”
Adam said goodbye and walked off towards the Tube station.
♦
He sat on the bench by Chelsea Bridge waiting for Turpin — who was late. It was well after 11.00 now and the traffic was quiet on the Embankment. He had stood on the bridge for a while when he had arrived, looking back at the triangle, remembering. The tide was turning and was flowing strongly back down to the estuary and the sea. While he was waiting there had been a heavy shower that had driven him under the trees by the triangle to take shelter — a few people hurried by, heads down under umbrellas, but the streets were surprisingly empty. Adam took a woollen beanie cap out of his pocket and pulled it over his wet hair, down to his eyebrows. The night was cool, he shivered.