‘It’s not without precedent for people in high places to let it be known that they are unhappy about certain situations and for more junior people to take the hint,’ said Steven.
‘So if it goes wrong, the powers that be can deny all knowledge of it,’ added Macmillan.
‘They do all the wrong and we end up with all the angst,’ said Steven.
‘It was certainly the time to play the collective responsibility card, I’ll grant you,’ said Macmillan ruefully. ‘One out, all out and it will all be Sci-Med’s fault, the fall of the government, a monumental scandal… the incoming government faced with an impossible situation… the country hopelessly vulnerable to biological attack. Ye gods, you couldn’t make it up.’
After a few moments of deep thought, Macmillan asked, ‘What are your feelings?’
‘The need for new vaccines has certainly put them between the proverbial rock and a hard place but occasionally, that can be more comfortable than it sounds. It can be used as an excuse for all sorts of suspect decisions and actions. The pendulum may have swung too far in the direction of health and safety legislation where vaccines are concerned — and it has — but actually there’s still something that worries me about the Nichol vaccine.’
‘What’s that?’
‘They’ve decided that there’s nothing wrong with it before establishing exactly how the problem arose last time. They’re using a presumption as a basis for conclusion — never a good move.’
‘They would argue that time is not on their side.’
‘Another comfortable excuse.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Macmillan, giving birth to yet another long silence that neither found easy. The weight of responsibility on their shoulders was almost unbearable but the seemingly impatient patter of rain on the windows served as a reminder that a decision had to be made.
‘It’s incredible,’ said Steven. ‘We went into that meeting holding all the aces and we came out with a pair of twos and it’s our turn to bet or fold…’
‘I don’t think we have any option,’ said Macmillan. ‘We have to keep this quiet. The alternative just doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ agreed Steven. ‘But it doesn’t half leave a nasty taste in the mouth…’ He was thinking of the parents of the dead boy, Keith Taylor, and of Trish Lyons facing life without her arm if indeed she had a life to look forward to at all. Guinea pigs used in a good cause? Just one of these things? You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs? Sacrifices for the common good? Tough choices, difficult decisions? They died so that others… Bollocks to the lot of it. The big picture just did not translate to personal circumstances.
‘Then we’re agreed?’ asked Macmillan before Steven talked himself out of going along with it. ‘We say nothing?’
Steven nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Can I take it that Sci-Med’s interest in the Pinetops affair is now officially at an end?’
‘No,’ said Steven. ‘Not yet, I need a bit of time to mull things over. There are some things that still bother me.’
‘Like what?’
‘Scott Haldane’s death… why the poison raced through Keith Taylor’s body the way it did… why the kids are reacting to it in different ways at different times… how the poison managed to survive the cleaning process and get into the vials… things like that.’
Macmillan nodded. ‘Does that mean you want me to tell the Home Secretary about your continuing interest despite the fact we won’t be taking things any further?’
‘No,’ said Steven. ‘I’ll just pick away at it on my own for a bit.’
‘I know this is not the sort of ending we might have hoped for but you did well taking things as far as you did,’ said Macmillan.
‘Thanks,’ said Steven but his heart wasn’t in it.
Steven decided that he needed fresh air and walked by the Embankment for a bit, low in spirit and with a sense of anticlimax that seemed to be accentuated by the very normality of everything around him. Did these people pushing prams and carrying briefcases appreciate what was being done on their behalf in the name of security? Of course they didn’t, but they expected it. In fact, they demanded it. They expected government to respond to every threat to their person, even the merest suggestion of a threat or woe betide them come election time.
The sun broke through the clouds and Steven took the opportunity to sit down for a few minutes and enjoy its warmth on his face. How good was the intelligence that suggested biological attack was imminent? How imminent was imminent? Was the information more reliable than the intelligence that sent the army to war in Iraq? Or less? Had it been filtered, manipulated, sexed-up, made to fit an alternative agenda? Or might even the suggestion of that lead to personal disaster as it had for Dr David Kelly in the weapons of mass destruction furore?
For his own peace of mind, he felt that the deaths of both Scott Haldane and Alan Nichol had to be fitted into the picture before he could fully accept the explanation given by Coates for the Pinetops disaster and, for the moment, he could not see how that was going to come about.
He thought about each in turn as he continued to enjoy the sunlight on his eyelids. If Scott Haldane’s unease over Trish Lyons had centred on a suspicion that she had been poisoned, why hadn’t he said anything about it at the time? There was no reason to keep such a theory to himself, particularly when her doctors at the time were failing to find any cause of infection. There was certainly no reason to keep quiet ‘until he was sure’ — the explanation given to his wife for his silence. It didn’t make sense.
Apart from that, harbouring such a suspicion would certainly be no reason to commit suicide but on the other hand, could voicing it to the wrong person have provided grounds for murdering him? It was certainly true that the government had no desire to see what had happened at Pinetops being made public — in fact, they had everything to lose — but Haldane had displayed no desire to tell anyone: he didn’t even want to tell his wife. Introducing state-sanctioned murder into the equation seemed to be going a little far.
As for Alan Nichol, the designer of a new TB vaccine, something that was still being regarded as a big success despite the contamination problems, why should anyone want to kill him? Nichol would have been among the first to see from the green sticker survey that all was not well with the kids on the trial. He or one of his colleagues would have raised the alarm and started an immediate investigation. They would have left no stone unturned before establishing the presence of a toxin as the cause of the trouble. Nichol probably had less reason than anyone to make this public, so killing him to keep it quiet seemed a non-starter. As the designer of the vaccine, he would automatically get the blame from the public whatever the truth of the matter.
It occurred to Steven that it might be worth checking with Phillip St Clair the series of events leading up to the discovery of the contamination problem. He also reminded himself that his search for a murder motive was personal. Officially, Alan Nichol’s death had been an accident.
Steven phoned St Clair Genomics and was relieved to get an answer considering that it was nearly seven o’clock on a Friday evening. It was Phillip St Clair himself who answered the phone because — as he pointed out — he was the only one there.
‘What can I do for you, Dr Dunbar?’
‘I wondered if we might have another chat,’ said Steven. ‘Now that we’re both aware of what’s been going on?’
‘Yes, I heard there had been some sort of meeting,’ said St Clair. ‘When would you like to come?’
‘I don’t suppose you work on Saturdays?’
‘I work every day that God sends,’ said St Clair. ‘This is a small business, remember. The buck stops with me.’
‘Then tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be here from about ten: I allow myself a long lie-in at the weekends,’ said St Clair with what Steven felt was a somewhat strained attempt at humour.