That left Wednesday as a bit of a limbo day. Steven passed the morning cleaning and tidying the flat and thinking about how they might ‘infect’ the City College computer system, assuming Charlie Malloy agreed to the plan — and the more he thought about that the less likely it seemed. He hadn’t come to any conclusion by the time Tally arrived and admired his efforts.
Steven found her looking out of the window when he brought coffee through from the small kitchen. ‘Penny for them,’ he said.
‘I was wondering what it would be like to live here,’ she replied.
‘And?’
‘I think it would be just fine.’
They set off for lunch ‘somewhere in the country’ in accordance Tally’s request when he’d spoken to her the night before — ‘Somewhere where I can take in great breaths of clean, fresh air without the remotest suggestion of hospital smells.’
Steven had decided to put aside thoughts of work for the day and offer Tally his full support, although it did occur to him as they drove out of town, heading for the south coast, that the fact that Liam hadn’t contacted him yet probably meant that he’d failed to locate the disk.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked when they’d placed their order at the country pub he’d decided on.
‘Exactly how you think I’m feeling,’ Tally replied with a wry smile. ‘I think I may have over-reached myself in applying for this one.’
‘Nonsense. You couldn’t do any such thing. You’re the best. I keep telling you that.’
‘You do and I thank you for it but I think I’m the realistic one in this duo. I mean, Great Ormond Street, what was I thinking of?’
‘You’ll see tomorrow. Your references will be fantastic and they’ll see in you exactly what they’re looking for: an outstanding physician who cares deeply about her patients — to the extent that she refuses to take a holiday even when the job is threatening her health.’
‘Let’s not go there. There’s nothing wrong with my health,’ Tally growled.
‘Nothing that a holiday wouldn’t cure.’
‘Dunbar!’
The waitress, a pleasant Australian girl who was ‘doing Europe’, returned with their food and interrupted what Tally was about to say. Tally and Steven sat looking at each other while the plates were placed before them, Tally adopting a mock threatening expression while Steven favoured a smug, schoolboy grin.
‘Things will be easier when you’re a consultant,’ said Steven, continuing with the tease. ‘We’ll be going away all the time.’
‘Are you going to stop this?’
‘Mind you, in my experience, there are certain things you’ll have to do if you hope to be accepted as a real medical consultant.’
‘Like what?’
‘Wear red trousers and a bow tie, adopt a very loud voice and play golf.’
Tally couldn’t stop herself laughing. ‘You’re impossible,’ she said.
TWENTY TWO
By Thursday evening Liam Kelly was disappointed that he hadn’t heard anything more from Steven Dunbar. Over the past twenty-four hours he had undergone a change of heart. His initial reluctance to become involved in anything not entirely above board had been replaced by the seductive thought that he might actually be entering the world of spies and secrets; Bond film territory. He recognised it was a bit soon to be changing from Guinness in the students’ union to vodka martinis at the Ritz — damn, he couldn’t remember if they should be stirred or shaken — but to a 22 year-old red-blooded male the idea of being part of a scenario involving top secret defence establishments, the CIA and classified research was proving very exciting indeed.
Maybe if his association with Steven were to go well, a position with Sci-Med might even be a possibility — after he’d finished his PhD, of course. His research was still important to him, and, up until now he hadn’t even considered an alternative to a career in academia, but it wouldn’t do any harm to widen his horizons a little.
Steven had mentioned at one point that all Sci-Med investigators had to be well qualified in either science or medicine so he was on track there. He didn’t know what other qualifications were required but he could see himself presenting his ID, just as Steven had done… the embossed government crest… the photograph… Dr L. Kelly, Her Majesty’s Sci-Med Inspectorate. Pulling power or what?
Liam put aside the scientific paper he’d been reading; new work on viral receptors had momentarily become less intriguing than wondering how he might speed things up in his other ‘mission’. He’d managed to sneak a look through the stuff on the shelves above Dan Hausman’s desk that very afternoon but without success. There had been no sign of the disk but he’d had to hurry as there were others around in the lab and any one of them might have come into the small office area at any moment. His heart had been pounding and he’d felt physically sick when doing it — perhaps not the best of starts to his new career but lost ground might be recovered if he were to go back to the lab tonight and conduct a more thorough search. He would don a pair of surgical gloves and work his way through the drawers of Dan’s desk.
Steven could not fail to be impressed if he were to turn up with the disk and casually hand it over. It would be a big step in the right direction. He could even see them having a celebratory drink afterwards, just a couple of guys who’d outwitted the CIA in the interests of Her Majesty’s Government. He put on his denim jacket, checked the back pocket of his jeans for his lab card-key and told his flatmate he was ‘going out for a bit’.
Despite having gone into the lab after hours many times before, tonight seemed distressingly different for Liam. He felt nervous, he felt anxious, but most of all he felt guilty. The night was full of eyes, watching him and reading the sign up to no good he felt must be tattooed on his forehead. He hated himself for feeling that way — even his palms were sweaty as he inserted his card-key into the lock and stabbed in his code with his index finger. He didn’t realise that this was the way most normal, law-abiding citizens would feel in a situation like this — about to knowingly do wrong with possible serious consequences.
The darkened entrance hall did have lighting but only dim night-lights that seemed to magnify the size and imagined malevolence of the shadows as Liam made his way to the lifts. He was glad he was wearing trainers: they were quiet and didn’t echo. The lift machinery ground into action and a car started its descent, immediately making him wonder why it wasn’t at ground level in the first place. Someone must have recently gone up in it.
So what? said the voice of common sense inside his head. Lots of people came and went at all hours of the day and night in a place like this. It was a research institute for God’s sake. Research wasn’t a nine till five job. He knew that and yet… Someone had been smoking in the lift was his first thought as he stepped inside and pressed the button. Not allowed, definitely not allowed. Mind you, it could have been someone who’d been smoking outside the building and the smell had still been clinging to their clothes. Shit, he’d gone from being 007 to working for Health and Safety.
The lift stopped and, for a moment, Liam considered going right back down again and making a run for home. His flirtation with the world of shadows and adrenalin rushes was over. This really wasn’t his thing; he was a nervous wreck. A life in academia would be just fine. The world of woolly sweaters and bicycles, seminars and blackboards beckoned him back.