‘Drop your guns,’ demanded Abbas, ignoring Siddiqui and now looking wild-eyed, like a trapped animal.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Barron calmly. ‘But no.’
‘I’ll kill her!’ threatened Abbas.
‘I hope not, but we will not be putting down our guns.’
‘They don’t say that on television!’ complained Susan as she struggled to breathe with Abbas’s arm round her throat.
‘I mean it!’ threatened Abbas.
‘I mean it too,’ continued Barron. ‘We have charge of the virus. Laying down our weapons would mean relinquishing that charge. My orders do not permit that. Killing the young lady will accomplish nothing. I’ll just kill you afterwards.’
‘I don’t want the virus! It was Siddiqui’s plan. Everything is Siddiqui’s plan!’
‘Shut up!’ said Siddiqui losing his cool for the first time.
Dewar kept trying to catch the cafe owner’s eye while Barron and Abbas continued their stand-off. He finally succeeded and started trying to direct her attention to the coffee pots standing on the counter in front of her. Steam was curling from their spouts. She had been about to serve them when all hell had broken loose. Dewar saw that she had understood what he was getting at.
‘Put down your guns!’ said Abbas, now sounding desperate.
‘No deal,’ said Barron.
Dewar nodded and the young woman grabbed one of the coffee pots, flinging the contents back into Abbas’s face. He screamed out in pain as the scalding fluid met his eyes and dropped the knife. Dewar vaulted over the counter and brought him to the floor where two of Barron’s men took over.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked the owner who was standing with both hands to her face. She nodded mutely.
‘Time to get these two out of here?’ said Barron, looking to Dewar.
Dewar nodded. ‘But leave Ferguson.’
Barron and his men escorted the Iraqis out to waiting cars. Dewar lifted the box up off the table and put it on the service counter while he took out the flasks one by one.
‘You’ll bring him?’ asked Barron as he was about to close the door.
Dewar nodded. Malloy squeezed in before the door was closed. ‘Looks like I missed it all.’
‘It’s over,’ agreed Dewar wearily.
‘Why?’ Malloy asked Ferguson who was sitting with his head in his hands.
Ferguson looked as if he had aged twenty years in the last half hour. His shoulders sagged and he had the air of a man about to face the gallows. ‘I needed the money,’ he replied.
‘But Christ! Smallpox!’ exclaimed Malloy.
Ferguson shook his head. ‘That wasn’t the plan.’ he said. ‘It all went wrong.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I never intended to give them Variola major,’ said Ferguson. ‘That’s alastrim in the flasks
‘Oh God,’ said Malloy.
Dewar looked at him for an explanation.
‘Alastrim is a mild form of smallpox.. It’s practically indistinguishable from the real thing in lab tests but when they came to use it it wouldn’t be anything like as effective as the real thing. The whole Iraqi plan would misfire.’
‘I took the alastrim vials and left the variola major cultures in the cellar along with the other stocks until I had time to destroy them. I never dreamt anyone would want to steal them.’
‘The guy on the digger thought the vials contained drugs so he helped himself to a few.’
‘Shit.’
‘So it was just bad luck he picked the smallpox ones,’ said Malloy.
‘I suppose,’ agreed Dewar. ‘It could have been typhoid, tuberculosis, cholera, God knows what else. But you’re still responsible for the outbreak,’ Dewar accused Ferguson. ‘All the people who’ve died, the ones who’ll never see again and the fact we’ve now got smallpox back in the world. And all because … you needed the money.’
‘I did!’ retorted Ferguson with some semblance of spirit. ‘The bastards are putting me out to grass after thirty years with a pension that won’t pay the fucking gas bill. Joyce has cancer and who’s going to look after Malcolm when we’re gone? He needs long term care. That takes money. Money I don’t have!’
Neither Dewar nor Malloy could think of anything to say. After a long pause, Dewar said simply, ‘Let’s go.’
Dewar drove. Malloy sat in the back with Ferguson. They were about to start heading down the Mound on their way over to police headquarters when Ferguson suddenly pleaded, ‘Let me see Joyce and Malcolm one last time. Just a few minutes together then I’ll come with you and cooperate fully?’
Dewar thought for a moment then said, ‘Five minutes, no more.’
‘Thanks. You’re a decent bloke.’
They drove over to Baberton in silence and Dewar parked outside Ferguson’s house. He could see that Joyce had come to the window. She looked small and fragile.
‘Malloy said, ‘We have your word?’
‘I promise,’ said Ferguson. ‘I will not try to run away.’
‘Five minutes,’ Dewar reminded him.
Dewar and Malloy sat outside in the car while Ferguson, gathering Joyce in his arms, disappeared inside. Five minutes passed with no sign of his return. ‘Another couple,’ said Dewar.
‘Right,’ said Dewar after ten minutes had gone by, ‘Let’s fetch him.’
Dewar rang the bell. There was no response. He tried again. Nothing.
Both men ran round the back of the house, half expecting to find the back door flapping open and Ferguson gone but the back door was locked. Dewar shrugged and put his shoulder to it. It gave after the second challenge.
Ferguson, Joyce and Malcolm were all lying together on the living room floor. The television was on but they were all quite dead. There was a vague chemical smell in the air.
‘Cyanide,’ whispered Dewar, freeing a small brown bottle that was still in Ferguson’s hand. ‘Poor bastard, I guess this was plan B all along. The Iraqis just provided an alternative scenario for a few weeks.’
‘Oh George,’ whispered Malloy.
TEN DAYS LATER
‘Tell me it’s really all over,’ said Karen as she and Dewar travelled south together on their way back to London. Ian Grant was well on the road to recovery, the outbreak in Edinburgh was under control and people were being vaccinated in circles of ever increasing radius from the city to ensure that the virus would find it difficult if not impossible to spread. With a bit of luck it would be contained and the earth would be free of it again.
‘It’s over,’ smiled Dewar.
‘What will happen to the Iraqis?’
‘George Ferguson’s death will provide the authorities with the excuse they need to avoid any kind of public trial. No testimony from George means no trial for Siddiqui means no embarrassment for the establishment. Nobody comes out of this affair with any credit.’
‘So it will all just be swept under the carpet?’
‘That’s my guess.’
‘But surely there will be demands for an enquiry?’ insisted Karen.
‘For some politicians, calling for a full public enquiry is a way of life. They do it so often that nobody takes a blind bit of notice any more. Their requests will be denied and armies of spin doctors brought in to make sure everyone concentrates on the fact that the epidemic is over and the disease has been contained. Celebration and services of thanksgiving will be the order of the day.’
‘Doesn’t that make you angry?’
‘Just numb.’
‘Will you get leave?’
‘I’m presenting my report at the Home Office tomorrow morning then I’m all yours. How about you?’
‘My leave started this morning.’
‘Shall we go away for a few days?’
‘Where?’
‘Scottish Highlands? Very few people and lots of fresh air.’
‘Deal,’ smiled Karen.
When Dewar finished delivering his report on the happenings in Edinburgh he was met with a wall of stunned silence. There were about thirty people in the room, the Home Secretary and Minister of Defence were sitting in the front row beside Macmillan.