This was not due to any underestimate of the damage that such weapons could do — quite the contrary, the nightmare possibilities were endless — but more down to a general embarrassment over not knowing what to do about an event which couldn’t be defined in advance. You knew where you were with explosions — even nuclear ones — you could coordinate the actions of the emergency services, practice the drills, refine the responses ahead of the incident, but to come under attack without warning from an invisible enemy — a bacterium or virus — would be very different. It would create a scenario where the emergency services would be severely limited in what they could do in any practical sense. People running around in biohazard suits spraying disinfectant everywhere would be little more than a public relations exercise. They wouldn’t know what they were looking for or where it was coming from. This would spread panic in a population who didn’t have the benefit of protective suiting. Them and us. Always bad.
No meaningful response could be mounted until the identity and characteristics of the infecting agent had been established and chances were by then it would be too late. The wait for analysis would put the authorities on the back foot and they’d probably never catch up. It was conceivable that citizens living in towns and cities in the twenty-first century would have no more recourse to help and protection than people living in these same towns back in the fourteenth century when Black Death came to call.
John Macmillan arrived as Steven was pouring coffee from the machine. He said, ‘Me too please.’ and rubbed his hands vigorously before scanning through his appointments for the day in Jean’s desk diary which she turned and pushed in his direction.
The Sci-Med Inspectorate was Sir John Macmillan’s brainchild, a small group of scientific and medical investigators which he’d managed to convince government there was a need for some years before when it was his belief that science and medicine were progressing at such a rate that the police lacked expertise to investigate successfully in these areas.
Despite eventual cross-party agreement for the concept, the unit had suffered a difficult birth due to Macmillan’s prescient insistence that it must be allowed to operate independently and with guaranteed freedom from government-of-the-day interference. He had foreseen that high level wrong-doing might well involve people in high places, people in authority and with perhaps intimidating amounts of power and so it had proved. The unit’s success in occasionally exposing the errors of judgement of the rich and powerful had not won it a great deal of popularity in the corridors of power, but had earned it respect and continued autonomy. Macmillan had wryly pointed out on more than one occasion that Sci-Med’s greatest ally was Her Majesty’s Opposition — whoever they might be. Those in power knew that any attempt to muzzle Sci-Med would inevitably result in howls of synthetic fury from the opposition followed by the need for a humiliating climb-down.
Steven, a qualified doctor who had rebelled against a conventional medical career path and joined the army after admitting to himself that he had studied medicine for all the wrong reasons — parents and teachers had thought it a good idea. Our son the doctor. A credit to the school.
As an athletic type with a love of the outdoors and a thirst for adventure. he had found himself well suited to army life although his new employers had not completely overlooked his medical background. A compromise had resulted in his becoming an expert in field medicine — the medicine of the battlefield — as well as acquiring the skills and attributes of a Special Forces soldier. He had served with distinction in areas ranging from the deserts of the Middle East to the jungles of South America.
When the time had come for him to leave the army in his mid-thirties — Special Forces operations were a young man’s game and his body had started pointing this out — he’d found himself facing a depressingly small number of unattractive career options open to a man who could perform surgery under fire in the desert or jungle and who boasted an impressive range of combat skills... drug company rep, cruise-ship doctor, in-house medic for big business. His spirits had been at a low ebb when John Macmillan had come along at the right moment to ensure that the round peg that was Steven Dunbar ended up in the round hole that was Sci-Med investigator.
Steven had built up a record of success in his new role and had become Sci-Med’s principal investigator. His personal life however, had not run as smoothly. His wife, Lisa, a nurse whom he’d met in the course of an early investigation in a Glasgow hospital, had died of a brain tumour when their daughter Jenny was only two years old, leaving him without hope or purpose until time had worked its healing magic and allowed him to climb out of the abyss to face the world again. Jenny had gone to live with Lisa’s sister, Sue, her husband Richard and their two children in Glenvane, a small village in Dumfriesshire in Scotland where she was currently being brought up as one of their own.
Although female company had come and gone in the following years, finding a lasting relationship had eluded Steven until Dr Natalie Simmons had come along. Tally had been working in paediatric medicine at a Leicester children’s hospital when she and Steven had met during the course of one of his investigations. Respect and an immediate liking for each other had evolved quickly — as these things tended to do when fear and uncertainty were present to act as a catalyst — and it didn’t take Steven long to realise that Tally was special. For her part, Tally had been reluctant to embark on a relationship with someone who lived and worked in a different part of the country — perhaps seeing the difficulties more clearly than Steven who had so quickly lost his heart to her — but his persistence and the undeniable strength of her own feelings had made it inevitable that they would give it a go.
The relationship had had its ups and downs with Tally never feeling at ease with the dangers present in Steven’s job — something she had witnessed for herself after their initial meeting — and the distance that existed between them for most of the week, but after a change in circumstances which had seen Tally apply for and get a position at Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children in London. Tally had sold her flat in Leicester and they had set up home together in Steven’s flat in Marlborough Court in London.
‘How is Dr Simmons these days?’ asked Macmillan as he settled into his chair.
Steven smiled inwardly at Macmillan’s insistence on formality when referring to Tally. He supposed it was an age thing. ‘I think she’s still finding it a bit strange.’
‘How so?’
‘She’s been so used to having to fight for everything on a daily basis that coming to Great Ormond Street has been a bit of an eye opener.’
Macmillan smiled. ‘Makes all the difference working in an establishment with a world-wide reputation.’
‘I think it’s money that makes the difference.’
‘One begets the other,’ said Macmillan. ‘Wealthy people like to be associated with heart-warming good causes. Show business people fall over each other to front-up sick children’s charities — there’s nothing quite like being filmed handing out presents in a children’s ward when it comes to furthering your career.’
‘And I thought I was the cynic in this outfit.’