Alchemist (74 page)

An unfamiliar red glow shone out of the darkness on the floor just beneath Dick Bannerman's desk. It was some piece of apparatus he had left on, she presumed.

A creak somewhere behind startled her, and she turned, staring back at the landing. The buzz of the fluorescent above her seemed to be growing more insistent and she tried to tune it out, listening for a footstep, a door hinge, the rustle of clothes. There was another creak; another. Then the windowpane behind her rattled. She breathed out; just the wind, she thought; but it was still some moments before she felt secure enough to turn her attention back to the office.

Identifying which machine the red glow was coming from, Monty was surprised to see that it was her father's pocket dictating machine. He normally carried it everywhere with him and even slept with it beside his bed, recording thoughts and ideas as they came to him.

She picked it up, wondering why the tiny red
record
light was on, then saw it had been left running and the tape had reached the end of the reel.

There was another creak out in the landing. She turned and then snatched a few quick glances around the office for some suitable heavy object she could use as a weapon if need be. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting. A solitary nerve twitched at the base of her throat. Still keeping a wary ear tuned to the landing, she pressed the sliding rewind button with her thumb, let the tape spool back for a few seconds, then released it.

There was a steady hiss of static. She rewound it further. Again static. She rewound it further still, keeping the pressure on the button, watching the progress of the tape. When it was half rewound she listened again, but there was still nothing recorded.

Disappointed, she continued, and as it reached the three-quarters mark, the silence was abruptly broken by the squeaking sound of speech playing in fast reverse. She maintained the pressure on the button for several more
seconds, then released it and heard her father's voice, tired and a little faint:

‘
Poliovirus possibly indicates intent to use an oral delivery system. Most viruses can't be used to deliver genetic material orally, because they can't survive in the human gut. Poliovirus can. It is simple to produce a defective poliovirus that cannot replicate
.'

The words were followed by a silence broken by the occasional background noises which triggered the voice-activated mechanism: footsteps; a tap running, the coffee machine percolating; the clack of computer keys. Then she heard her father exclaim, softly: ‘
You bastards. My God, you bastards!

She was about to stop the tape to replay the section just before when she heard the unmistakable sound of Dr Crowe's voice:

‘
Good evening, Dr Bannerman. I just happened to be passing – thought I'd drop by and have a chat. Haven't seen much of you in the past week or so. I'm not sure if you've met Major Gunn, our Director of Security?
'

‘
I'd like an explanation from you, Crowe, as to what the hell you think you're doing with your Maternox
,' her father said.

‘
Well, we'd like an explanation from you, Dr Bannerman, as to what you're doing with a Maternox formulaic template owned by the company
.'

Monty presumed this latter voice was Major Gunn's and when she listened on, she heard her father's response.

‘
Would you prefer that explanation to take place in a court of law, or in front of the Committee for Safety of Medicines? Now, I'd like you to stop trespassing on my property and leave. If you feel the need to drop in for a chat with anyone else at one o'clock in the morning, I suggest you drop by your lawyers and start briefing them, because by God you're going to need 'em
.'

Monty heard a loud clank after this; her father shouted something inaudible, followed by the sound of a scuffle and a muffled thud. Then came an eerie quiet in which she could make out footsteps and furniture being moved. Eventually calm tones that she recognized, but could not place, took over.

‘
Right, just roll up his sleeve and I'll get this into him. Won't give us any more trouble; he'll be docile as a lamb
.'

She listened in horror to a confusion of more footsteps, heavy breathing and shuffling, punctuated by a click that might have been the door, then silence. Just the hiss of static on the tape.

Christ!
she thought.
Oh, Christ!
She stopped the recorder, gutted with worry. That Crowe monster had
abducted
her father. She wandered blindly around the office, stopped, leaned on her desk and stared through the frosted glass window into the darkness. What now? Were they going to kill him the way they had killed everyone else?

Her immediate instincts were to phone the police, but she thought about Levine; imagined suave, dry Levine taking charge and shuddered.

Levine, a senior policeman in Crowe's pocket? Or Bendix Schere's? Within hours of seeing him and telling all, someone had blown up her car and Crowe had evidently found out that her father was doing tests on the Maternox. Coincidence? No way. Conor had said some days back that things had gone way beyond coincidence and he was right. How powerful was Levine within the police force? And was he the only cop Crowe had in his pocket, or did he have the whole force stitched up in there?

She stared fearfully at the tape recorder. Evidence, vital evidence; someone might think of it and come looking.
Need to get away from here
, she thought.
Yesterday
.

She jammed the recorder into her coat pocket and ran, leaving the lights on, setting the alarm to aggravate any return visit by Crowe.

Oh Christ, Daddy, where are you?

She locked herself in the Vauxhall and drove for several miles anxiously watching for any sign of a tail, only pulling up at a phone booth when she was satisfied she was clear.

Firstly she called Hubert Wentworth's home number, but it rang unanswered, ignoring her prayers. Letting it ring on, she fumbled in her handbag for her diary, searched for the page where she had written Conor's Washington number; then disconnected from Wentworth, punched in her credit card code, followed by the dialling code for the United States.

Remembering his instructions not to ask for him by name,
she simply asked for Room 807. Moments later she almost wept with relief as she heard his voice.

‘Are you OK?' she asked.

‘I'm fine, I'm good. I –'

‘Conor, we're in danger,' she said, interrupting. ‘They've blown up my car.' She was almost breathless. ‘They were trying to kill me and now they've taken Daddy and I can't get any answer from Hubert Wentworth. God, I've been such a bloody fool. I went to the police, I didn't listen to you.' Her eyes scoured the landscape in all directions as she talked. ‘I went to that smoothie Levine and I think he's in league with –'

‘Hey, whoa! Slow down. Calm down, Monty honey, tell me exactly what's happened.'

‘… OK,' he said finally, when he'd heard it all. ‘This Levine's going to be out looking for you with a posse and it's possible he's got every cop in England alerted. Do you have your passport with you?'

‘Yes,' she said, glad she'd had the presence of mind to pack her suitcase before fleeing from Conor's apartment.

‘Right, you have to quit England. Just get the first flight to Washington that you can. If you can't get a direct flight go via New York.'

‘I can't just abandon my father like this, Conor.'

‘Monty, you can't stay in England, you won't make it through the next twenty-four hours.' He sounded far firmer than he ever had before. ‘You're not going to be any use to your father dead – and they still need him too much to harm him. But they don't need
you
. OK?'

The tone of his voice got through to her. ‘Conor, what about you? I'm sure you're in danger, too.'

‘I can look after myself. I'm safe until I've finished my business here, I know that much – they badly want me to get this application through.' He spoke more convincingly than he felt. ‘You have to come over; I can't protect you otherwise.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘You will. Now listen carefully. When you get to Dulles Airport go to the main bar in the departure lounge and I'll meet you there – I have an appointment at the Patent Office which should be over by around one, so I'll be there by two,
half two at the latest. If you have any problems, leave a message here for me. OK?'

‘Please be careful,' she said.

‘You're going to do what I've said?'

‘Yes.'
Have to ring Anna and cancel the theatre tonight
, she noted.

‘You're not going to go chasing round the countryside trying any heroics?'

‘I'm beyond heroics, Conor. I'm just really frightened.'

‘It's gonna be roses. Just do what I say and it's gonna be roses. See you soon, right?'

‘Right,' she said, hesitantly.

‘I love you,' he said.

It was only Conor's immense relief that she was unharmed that had stopped him from blasting Monty for her stupidity.
This is one serious mess
, he thought. As in definitely a worst-case scenario.

Had he given Monty the right advice? Was there any other choice? They needed the protection of a fortress right now and the fortress was here. But somehow he had to get them both inside it and that was not going to be easy.

He helped himself to another miniature of whisky from the mini bar, lit a cigarette, then plugged his modem into the phone socket and dialled into the Bendix Schere computer in London.

On the prompt
Enter user name
he typed the user name of Cliff Norris, the systems manager, and then the password
a
1
c/hem>ist
, holding his breath to see if it would be accepted.

On the screen appeared a list of options and commands. So far so good, he thought, he was into the system. Then he called up a search box, typed in the words
Medici File
and hit carriage return.

On the screen appeared:
Restricted access file. Enter password
.

Copying faithfully from the back of his diary, he typed:
poly
phe^mus
. Then he hit the carriage return again. Almost instantly appeared the words:

Invalid password. Access denied
.

He tried again, in case he had made a typing error, but the same words came back up. The password had been changed.

Monty was right to be so concerned, he thought. The scumballs had not hung around. He glanced at his watch. It would be 5.25 a.m. in England. Monty had told him the bomb went off around a quarter to two, and that she met Levine beforehand at five in the afternoon.

He did some mental calculations. At five p.m. he had already been on the aeroplane for four and a half hours with three and a half hours to go. From the speed at which it seemed they had acted, it might have been possible for Levine to have had him intercepted at Dulles Airport. But that would have needed some fast footwork this side of the Atlantic, too.