‘So, what I was supposed to talk about now,’ she went on, ‘were the technical details of Thymirase — how it affects the protein kinases that build connections between neurons, the neurochemical boost this gives to a patient’s recall, and so on. But James has already done a very good job in his presentation of explaining what the drug will do to help sufferers of Alzheimer’s, so rather than repeat what’s already been said, I’d like to talk about something else instead.’ She let James sweat for a moment, imagining his thoughts: oh God, please don’t let the crazy hippie woman scare off the investors! ‘The reasons why I started the research that created Thymirase.’
James appeared relieved, if not entirely secure. Her audience, meanwhile, seemed intrigued. Even the most number-crunching capitalist could still appreciate a human interest story.
Bianca composed herself, trying to assemble what was essentially a huge ad lib. The last time she had done anything similar was an attempt at a performance piece while at university; she hoped this would be better received. She had tied back her long frizzy dark hair, but a strand had managed to work loose and drop down annoyingly over one eye, so she flicked it away before beginning.
‘All long-term debilitating diseases have tragic costs,’ she said, ‘both in the purely financial sense of treatment and care, and personally for the sufferer and their family. But Alzheimer’s is especially cruel, because not only is it currently incurable, but it destroys what makes a person unique — what makes them them. If our personalities are defined by our experiences, by our memories, then Alzheimer’s literally kills who you are, one thought at a time. It’s painful for the sufferer when there’s still enough of them left to realise how much of their… soul, for want of a better word, has been eaten away. And it’s agonising for their families, because they see someone they love being destroyed a little bit more each day, and there’s absolutely nothing they can do to stop it. I know how that feels, because I’ve watched it happen. Twice.’
She paused to draw breath and lick her drying lips. James was still on tenterhooks, not sure if she was helping or hindering. The investors, however, all watched with interest. Reassured, she continued.
‘I’ve never talked about this much, because it’s still painful, even after the time that’s passed,’ she confessed. ‘But when I was fifteen, my grandmother died after suffering from Alzheimer’s for several years. Seeing her reduced to a… a helpless shadow of herself was horrible, and what made it worse was that my mother was a nurse — she spent every day helping people, but there was nothing she could do to help her own mother. That was what started me on a medical career path — I wanted to do something more to help people like my grandmother.
‘And then,’ she went on, ‘five years later, when I was at university, my grandfather — on my father’s side — also died from Alzheimer’s. And it was just as painful to watch as it had been before.’ Her throat suddenly felt raspy; she swallowed. ‘And again I felt… helpless. There was nothing I could do about it. After his funeral I decided that there should be something I could do. There had to be a way to help people who were dying from this horrible disease. So I made up my mind: I was going to find one. And now, ten years later, my greatest hope in the world is that… that Thymirase might be it.’
She blinked, startled to realise that she had begun to tear up. Reliving the past had been more affecting, more painful than she had expected. She was about to say something else when she was interrupted by another surprise. The investors were applauding her. Not in a Hollywood way, jumping to their feet with tears in their own eyes, but still out of more than mere politeness.
Cheeks flushing with sudden embarrassment, she offered stumbling thanks before sitting back down. ‘Well, thank you, Bianca,’ said James with an approving — and relieved — nod. He turned to the investors, ‘I think that shows the kind of drive and determination that everybody working on Thymirase shares. Luminica Bioscience isn’t just about money — what we do is also from a personal desire to make the world better.’
Bianca wanted to tell him to stop the hard sell before he spoiled things, but fortunately it was now clear that the presentation was concluded. Hands were shaken, pleasantries exchanged, then those not directly involved in the business side of the deal decamped to let the money start talking. As Bianca headed for the exit, James quickly whispered: ‘Good story. I think it helped.’
‘I meant everything I said,’ she whispered back, mildly affronted. But he had already moved on. She huffed, then left the room.
She was looking forward to taking off her awful shoes, letting her hair down and discussing the presentation with her friends, but instead she found two people — a raven-haired woman in a sharply cut trouser suit and a fair-haired man in his mid-thirties — waiting for her in the hallway. ‘Dr Childs?’ said the former.
‘Yes?’
She held up an identity card. The name beneath her photo was Emma Sergeant, but Bianca’s eyes snapped to the turquoise logo in the card’s corner: the lion and unicorn of the royal coat of arms, symbol of the British government, with SECRET INTELLIGENCE SERVICE written beside it. ‘MI6’ was appended in a thinner grey typeface. ‘May we have a word, please? In private.’
Bianca almost laughed. ‘Is this a joke?’ Why would MI6 possibly want to talk to her?
‘It’s no joke,’ said the man. He had an American accent. ‘It’s very important. We need to speak to you about Dr Roger Albion.’
‘Roger? I haven’t seen him for, I don’t know, three or four yea—’ She stopped as a horrible fear struck her. ‘Is he all right? Has something happened to him?’
Her colleagues were still looking on curiously. ‘Can we talk in private, please,’ said Sergeant, more as a command than a request.
‘Er, okay.’ Bianca gave a helpless shrug as she moved with the two visitors out of earshot. ‘What’s going on? What’s happened to Roger?’
‘You do know him, then?’ said the man.
‘Yes, he was my professor when I was doing my doctorate. And my friend, too. Is he okay?’
‘I’m afraid he’s in hospital.’
‘What happened to him?’
He lowered his voice. ‘He was shot.’
‘Shot!’ Bianca cried. ‘Oh my God!’
‘He’s in a stable condition, but he’s had to undergo surgery, and is very weak. He’s asked to see you.’
‘How did he get shot?’ Bianca demanded, before coming up with another, more immediate question: ‘Who are you?’
The man took out his own ID card. ‘My name’s Tony Carpenter. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency.’
‘The CIA?’ Now she was completely lost. ‘What’s Roger got to do with the CIA?’
‘He was helping us with an operation. The reason we asked our British partners,’ he nodded at Sergeant, ‘to find you is that Roger thinks you can help us too.’
‘How? What kind of operation?’
‘I can’t discuss that here, I’m afraid. But it’s a matter of national security. We have a jet waiting; we can talk about it on the flight.’
‘On the flight? Wait a minute,’ said Bianca, now feeling as if the ground had opened up under her feet and sent her tumbling down the rabbit hole. ‘I can’t just jet off to the States at the drop of a hat. I’m in the middle of something; I need to be here to answer questions for our investors…’
‘We’ll take care of everything with Mr Harding,’ said Sergeant impatiently.
‘And,’ added Tony, ‘I’m very confident that the venture group is going to buy into Luminica to secure the Thymirase research and patents, even without you here. Just a feeling.’