The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) (12 page)

Steven remembered his earlier intention to ask Andrews about the dropped contact lens in the gallery of the
Strahov library but that was before Jean had discovered his CIA connection and exposed his lies about not knowing Khan and his whereabouts after the Prague meeting. It occurred to Steven that it might be an idea to take a step backwards and do just that – call up Andrews and ask about the contact lens. He had nothing to lose. It would reveal that he was still investigating Simone’s death but nothing more than that and it might be interesting to hear what Andrews had to say. It might even tell him which one of the two had actually carried out the killing, not that they weren’t both equally guilty in his eyes.

A glance at the time and a quick calculation suggested it would be just after nine a.m. in Kansas City. Steven called the number Jean had given him and a young woman with a mid-western drawl answered with the name of the aid foundation, adding, ‘My name is Cherry; how can I help you?’

Steven asked to speak to Andrews.

‘Hey, you’re not from round here.’

‘I’m English.’

‘Cool. Who shall I say is calling?’

Steven was told he’d put be put on hold. He wasn’t warned that the gap would be filled with
country and western music. He waited patiently while a tale of family tragedy unfolded and a loved one ended up as a star in the sky before Andrews came on the line. ‘Steven, this is an unexpected pleasure. How are you?’

‘Very well, and you?’

‘Real fine. What can I do for you?’

Steven latched on to the ‘real fine’ answer. It was not something he would have expected Andrews to say.
The man was a preppy Harvard graduate but, Steven reminded himself, he was also CIA trained, a chameleon who would fit in wherever he happened to be. Currently he was in cowboy country. ‘I’m sorry, Bill, but I’m still not clear about what happened in the gallery of the Strahov library. I was told someone lost a contact lens just before the accident. Have you any idea who that person might be?’

‘I certainly have; it was me. One of my lenses got a bit out of place when I tilted my head back to look up at the ceiling and when I tried to correct the problem, it came right out.’

‘I see,’ said Steven.

‘Which is more than I could at the time,’ joked Andrews. ‘I got down on my hands and knees, imploring people around me to stand still in case they stepped on it. A few folk got down beside me, anxious to help, and there we all were on our knees. I made a joke about not knowing which way
Mecca was and I heard Simone laugh. Then . . . the scream. My God, I still waken up in the night thinking about it.’

Steven took a moment to compose himself. He couldn’t allow any hint of scepticism or anger to reach his voice. At least he now knew it was Khan who’d actually pushed Simone over the balustrade. Andrews had been conducting
the diversionary pantomime on the floor at the time.

‘Thanks Bill, I think that answers my question.’
Words were sticking in Steven’s throat but he thought he should add a little small talk. ‘I suppose you guys must be busy organising the new aid teams I heard about?’

‘We sure are. I’ll be coming to
Europe next week to speak with the folks at Med Sans
and the World Health Organisation about deployment. I’m bound to be in London by Friday – maybe we could meet up and have a beer?’

‘Look forward to it. Call me at the Home Office.’

So Andrews was coming to London, maybe for his given reason, maybe not, but both Simone and Aline’s killers would be in the same place at the same time. He knew he shouldn’t let things get personal but that might prove useful when it came to settling an outstanding score.

Time was getting on: Steven called the Home Office to see if John Macmillan was still there
. He had yet to explain his request that he say nothing about Hausman at lunch.

‘He is,’ replied Jean. ‘Shall I put you through?’

Steven said not. He’d come in and speak to him personally.

Macmillan listened to Steven in silence then got up to pour two sherries. Steven noted it was his best Amontillado, a sure sign he was impressed. He handed one to Steven, murmuring, ‘A CIA cover-up masquerading as a CIA confession. Interesting.’

‘I could be wrong.’

Macmillan sighed and said, ‘When it comes to this kind of reasoning,
Steven, I can’t recall a single occasion in the past when you ever were. It’s my fear that you won’t be this time so let’s make sure I’m understanding all this. You’re proposing that there’s a new bio-weapon, the brainchild of the British or the Americans or both, being tested on the unsuspecting hill tribes of the Pakistan/Afghanistan border under the guise of a vaccination programme. The CIA got caught out over one of the fake teams but managed to convince everyone it was gathering intelligence which led to the capture of Bin Laden – something that was true but not the whole story. They apologised profusely to all the genuine medical agencies in the region and everyone agreed to keep quiet because of the fear of destroying trust in the whole aid programme?’

Steven nodded. ‘Just about covers everything.’

‘There are times when I feel very old . . .’

Steven hid a smile.

‘I can’t fault the logic in anything you’ve said but, like you, I wonder about the non-lethal nature of the weapon . . .’ He held up his hand when he saw Steven about to say something. ‘You’re going to point out that a weapon that incapacitates the enemy is very desirable – perhaps even more desirable than a killer – and I accept that. It’s just that . . . you wouldn’t think a weapon of that nature would warrant the degree of secrecy and cover-up we’ve been seeing. You might if it was some virus capable of unleashing Armageddon . . . but an incapacitator?’

Steven took Macmillan’s point. ‘So there must be more to it.’

Macmillan nodded. ‘And the whole world’s against us: there doesn’t seem to be a damned soul we can ask.’

‘True
. We’re on our own.’

Macmillan read more into Steven’s comment than a statement of the obvious. ‘And so?’

Steven admitted that he was considering an unauthorised entry into the lab where Dan Hausman worked. Macmillan raised his eyes. ‘Now I wish I hadn’t asked. You’re sure there’s no other way?’

‘I can’t see one. Like you say, we’ve
got no friends.’

Macmillan got up to refill their glasses but Steven declined. ‘I’m driving up to
Leicester later.’

‘Quite a commute.’

‘Tally has an interview for a job in London coming up.’ Steven told Macmillan about the post at Great Ormond Street.

‘I wish her well.’

As Steven got up to go, Macmillan said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but I seem to remember you mentioning a PhD student in the North lab proving helpful when you were investigating what had happened to the blood samples?’

‘Liam Kelly, yes.
He was the one who told me what Hausman had really done with them.’

Macmill
an posed the question by tilting his head to one side and opening his eyes a little wider.

Steven nodded. ‘It’s a good idea – I’m just not sure about invol
ving him in something like this. He’s only a boy . . . with a career to think about.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of any active role for him,’ said Macmillan, ‘more a case
of an insider being able to offer a few helpful pointers about where things might be found . . . Have a think about it.’

Steven thought about little else on his way up to
Leicester. Liam Kelly would know not only where Hausman worked – that much he knew already – but where his office space was located, which desk was his, his locker, his filing cabinet . . . but perhaps more important, Kelly would have an access key for the building and the lab. All PhD students in biological subjects needed out-of-hours access to their labs on a regular basis to follow the progress of experiments. It shouldn’t put him at much risk to ‘lose’ it for a few hours. The decision to approach Kelly was made: it was a weight off his mind. That just left the problem of what he was going to say to Tally.

‘Oh my God,’ Tally exclaimed as she hugged Steven and withdrew quickly. ‘I don’t have to ask what’s under your
arm; I remember from last time. Oh, Steven . . .’

‘It’s just a precaution, Tally,’ said Steven, knowing how weak it sounded. ‘Just tell yourself every policeman in
Europe carries one . . .’

‘They do it routinely, you don’t. There has to be a reason, a very good one and one I’m not going to like.’

‘Look, the man I think killed Simone and Aline Lagarde is in London: we don’t know why. As I say, it’s just a precaution.’

Tally looked Steven straight in the eyes for a few silent moments before looking down at the floor
and sighing. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m being unreasonable. I was the one who persuaded you to return to Sci-Med and now I’m making things difficult for you. You’ve got enough on your plate without me nagging at you. Forgive me?’

Steven made to take her in his arms but Tally put both hands against his chest. ‘
Not till you take that thing off.’

After a late supper
they sat together on the couch, heads back, shoes off, feet up on a footstool, their toes flirting.

‘I heard on the news there was another ME protest attack yesterday,’ said Tally. ‘A microbiologist in
Edinburgh was sent a dead rat in the post.’

Steven grimaced. ‘Not my problem any more,’ he said. ‘I’ve been taken off that investigation. John thinks I’ve got enough to do with the
Afghanistan business. Scott Jamieson has taken over. D’you remember Scott?’

‘We met at some poi
nt when John Macmillan was ill. Nice man, pretty wife, they live down in Kent. They invited us down as I remember.’

‘Maybe we’ll take them up on that when you get the job at
Great Ormond Street. We’ll wander hand in hand through the hop fields wondering what we’re going to do with all the money you’ll be making.’

‘Let’s not count our chickens.’

‘It’s in the bag.’

‘Thursday,’ said Tally.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The interview.
It’s next Thursday. I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to distract you from the Afghanistan business, as you called it. Afghanistan,’ sighed Tally, snuggling into Steven. ‘What are we doing there? Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya. Our young are out of work, our health service is falling to bits and we’re strutting around on the world stage like we owned the place. One of our soldiers gets blown to bits every week and TV newsreaders look sad for five seconds before telling us,
the family has been informed
. Well, that’s all right then. What’s it all about?’

‘
Ssh,’ said Steven, eyes closed, his arm hugging Tally a little tighter. ‘I could come out with some spiel about the war on terror, making our country a safer place, standing up for human rights, introducing democracy to the downtrodden masses, expanding the free world . . . but I don’t believe any of that rubbish either. Money will be behind it, money and oil. It always is.

‘Aren’t you one of them?’ asked Tally. ‘The establishment
, I mean?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think I love you. I’m so glad I found you. I think I stopped feeling lonely the day I met you.’

Steven was taken aback at Tally’s impromptu declaration but felt very pleased. He planted a kiss on her forehead and asked, ‘Who’s going to fetch
the drinks?’

‘You are.’

Steven returned with two gin and tonics and Tally smiled sleepily. Thinking about their conversation over supper, she asked, ‘When you said Khan and Andrews were going to be in London . . . Do you have enough evidence to arrest them for Simone’s murder?’

‘No.’

‘Promise me you’re not considering taking matters into your own hands.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Steven?’

‘There’s a good chance the French police will come up with a DNA match to convict Khan and he’ll probably shop Andrews to minimise his sentence.’

Tally looked at him accusingly. ‘They’re intelligence community people, not naughty schoolboys who stole sweeties from a corner shop.’

‘They’re not beyond the law.’

‘It’s whose law they’re subject to I’m worried about.’

Jean Roberts looked surprised when she found Steven sitting in her office at ten minutes to nine
on Monday morning. ‘Don’t tell me, you had a fight with Tally and you’ve been here all night?’

‘No.
Well not yet, anyway,’ Steven replied. ‘I’d like you to get some information for me as soon as you can. I need to know what the City College authorities have decided about Tom North’s group. Is it still functioning as a research group or has it been broken up? I’m particularly interested in Dr Dan Hausman and a PhD student named Liam Kelly. I need you to do it as discreetly as possible: I don’t want to advertise our interest, particularly not to Hausman.’

Jean looked up from the pad she’d been noting things down on. ‘I’ll make an approach through their administration. I’ll pretend I’m from one of the grant-funding bodies making a routine check.’

‘Perfect,’ said Steven. ‘I also need to make contact with Liam Kelly but I don’t want to turn up at the lab. An address for him would be good.’

‘What year is he?’ asked Jean.

‘First year PhD, just about to start his second.’

‘If I were a first year PhD student who’d just lost my supervisor, I think I would be spending a lot of time in the library boning up on things that might make me attractive to other potential supervisors.’

‘Jean, you’re a genius.’

Jean demurred with a modest little smile. ‘I’ll still get you the information. Coffee?’

Steven got to City College library just before noon. He showed his Sci-Med ID to the librarian and told her he needed to check some things in an early edition of the
Journal of General Virology
which his usual library didn’t have. The implication of bibliographic superiority seemed to please the woman, who directed him across the room with the end of her pen.

Steven extracted one of the heavy, bound volumes
, placed it on a nearby table and opened it, taking care to give the impression he was looking for a specific article before sitting down and taking out a notebook from his briefcase.

When people in the vicinity stopped taking a
casual interest in the newcomer Steven started taking an interest in them but found no familiar faces among the students and staff he could see from where he was sitting. Periodically he would get up and return to the sliding bookshelf area where he would remove a volume and pretend to search through the pages while really looking through the gaps on the shelves at other areas of the library. After his second such sortie, he spotted Liam Kelly sitting at a study carrel with his back to him.

Still carrying one of the volumes, Steven walked over and tapped Liam on the shoulder, saying in a low voice, ‘I thought it was you. How are you doing?’

Liam turned and looked up. ‘Oh, hi. I’m okay. What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you
, actually,’ Steven confessed. ‘Do you think we could have a word?’

Liam looked vaguely uncertain. ‘Maybe this isn’t the best place for a conversation?’

The look being given to them by a serious-looking young girl in the neighbouring carrel added weight to this assertion. Steven offered up an apologetic smile and said to Liam, ‘C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch.’

Once out into
the noise of the traffic, he asked if Liam knew a good pub in the area.

‘The Talisman’s okay.’

‘Lead on.’

It was early; they had no trouble finding a corner table where sunlight played on a painting up on the wall of Nelson’s ship at Trafalgar. Steven sipped a Czech lager and asked, ‘Any word about your future?’

Liam wiped the Guinness froth from his top lip and replied, ‘It’s all a bit of a mess at the moment. I was really into the project I had with Tom so I’m reluctant to stray too far from it but I can see the point of other supervisors who’d want me to work on something they’re interested in. Apart from that, funding’s going to be a problem. I’ve used up a whole year of my three year grant and there’s no way of getting that back if I were to start out on something new.’

Steven nodded. ‘How about the others in the group?’

‘At the moment, we’ve been told to carry on as normal but that's just to give the suits time to decide what they’re going to do about us. Mind you, I heard one of them say to Dan Hausman that his position had been "stabilised" whatever that meant.’

I’ll b
et it has, thought Steven. The intelligence services would have seen to that.

‘So what is it you wanted to see me about?’ asked Liam.

Steven paused to let the waitress put down the plates she’d arrived with. She smiled. ‘Can I get any sauces for you?’

Steven shook his head. Liam asked for ketchup.

‘Do you remember telling me where Dan had sent the blood samples I was interested in when he had a . . . lapse of memory?’

‘Sure.’

‘You remembered the name of the person he’d sent them to, Dr Neville Henson.’

‘That’s right. I saw the label.’

‘Did you see the address?’

Liam smiled and put down his fork. He’d been eating American style with fork only. ‘So that’s
what this is about. Sure I did. It was Porton Down.’

‘I take it you know what that place is all about?’

Liam smiled. ‘It’s our defence establishment . . . keeps us all safe.’

‘Didn’t it strike you as odd?’

‘Lots of things struck me as odd in Tom’s lab. That was just one more.’

This was music to Steven’s ears. ‘Good
. I want to hear about all of them, starting with what you thought when you saw the Porton address.’

Liam sighed before saying, ‘I suppose I thought the blood samples must contain something dangerous if they were being referred to a place like
Porton.’

‘Did you have any other reason to think that?’

Liam moved his head from side to side to indicate uncertainty. ‘I’ve thought for some time that something strange has been going on in the lab, ever since Dan arrived.’

‘Like what?’

‘Dan didn’t behave like your usual new post-doc – I mean a bit deferential and that. It was as if he was Tom’s equal, if you know what I mean. The pair of them definitely had something going on.’

‘And you’ve no idea what?’

Liam shook his head. ‘No, but I got the impression that Dan had discovered something important and the pair of them were keeping it a secret from the rest of us. Normally, we would have had a group meeting about who was doing what and we’d all have our say but that didn’t happen. Outsiders used to come to the lab, though guys in suits, and talk to Tom and Dan in private. The rest of us used to josh Dan about it but he never said what it was all about.’

‘Dan is CIA,’ said Steven, judging the moment to be right.

Liam paused while taking a mouthful, leaving his fork in mid-air. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he whispered. ‘You’re kidding me.’

‘He came to you via a fake pharmaceutical company used by our American cousins after having worked at
Fort Detrick – the American Porton.’

Liam lost interest in his food and sat shaking his head.

The waitress appeared. ‘Is everything all right for you?’ she inquired.

Steven gave her a quick smile
. ‘Very nice.’

Liam looked up at Steven. ‘And no
w the million dollar question: why are you telling me this?’

‘I need your help. I want to know what’s been going on in the North lab and, if you’re right, I want to know what it is that Dan has discovered.’

Liam chose to resume eating while he considered and Steven did likewise.

‘All finished?’ asked the waitress. Both men sat back to let her clear the table. ‘Will you be requiring any sweets or coffees?’

‘Espresso for me,’ said Steven.

Liam opted for the same. He could see that Steven was waiting for a response but
he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. ‘If Dan is CIA and Porton Down is involved, then surely our governments know exactly what’s been going on. I mean, it’s their thing. Where exactly do you come in? What’s it got to do with Sci-Med?’

‘I need you to trust me.’

The cloud of suspicion darkened.

‘Our government
thinks
it knows what’s been going on . . . but it doesn’t. I think they’re being played for a patsy.’

Liam took a deep breath and sat back as the coffee arrived. ‘And so they need Dr Steven Dunbar of the
Sci-Med Inspectorate to put them right?’

‘I also have a personal interest,’ said Steven, putting his final card on the table
, hoping it would capture Liam’s interest. ‘Somewhere in this whole mess someone thought it was a good idea to murder my friend Simone Ricard, the aid worker who sent you the blood samples. It’s my intention to show them . . . it really wasn’t.’

Liam took note of the look on Steven’s face. ‘Well, I’m fucking glad it wasn’t me,’ he murmured before taking a sip of his coffee. ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘Count me in.’

Steven relaxed a little and sipped his own coffee. ‘I can’t promise you the PhD placement of your dreams,’ he said, ‘but you won’t have any grant money problems, I promise. Sci-Med will see to that.’

‘Cheers.
Sci-Med doesn’t exactly do things by the book, does it?’

‘Let’s say we cherish our independence.’

‘What is it you want me to do?’

‘I’ll need access to your lab out of hours and I need advice about
where to look to get information about what Hausman has been up to. I’m assuming Tom North’s stuff will have been cleared out?’

‘The suits did that quite quickly. Why don’t you let me have a sniff around? I’m better placed than anyone else.’

‘Because I don’t want you doing anything that could damage your career . . . or worse.’

Liam was left to dwell on what ‘worse’ might be for a few moments. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he agreed, ‘but I’ll keep my ears and eyes open. By the way, it may be irrelevant but blood samples weren’t the only thing your friend Simone sent in the package to the lab.’

‘Really?’

‘There was a computer disk and a note saying that she’d explain when she came to the lab - I think she’d arranged to see Tom the week after she died. I heard Tom tell Dan that he’d had a look but couldn’t make head nor tail of it; it was gobbledegook. To be honest neither of them seemed that fussed. I remembe
r it was in an envelope marked
Vaccination schedules
.

Steven’s pulse rate rose dramatically. ‘Do you know what happened to the disk?’ he asked.

Liam shook his head slowly. ‘I think Dan was the last to take a look at it. Maybe he still has it. If he gave it back to Tom, it will probably have been cleared out with the rest of his stuff. Why? Is it important?’

‘It wasn’t gobbledegook. It was encrypted. She sent a memory card to me. I think it’s probably the key.’

‘Jesus, but why would anyone go to the trouble of encrypting vaccination schedules?’

‘Who knows?’ said Steven.

‘I could have a look around for the disk if you like,’ said Liam. ‘I mean neither Tom nor Dan seemed to think anything of it so it’s probably not under lock and key.’

‘Don’t take any risks
, but if it does happen to be lying around . . . Look, I’ve kept you long enough,’ said Steven, signalling to the waitress for the bill. ‘Give me your mobile number and I’ll be in touch when I’ve come up with a plan. If I suggest a meeting, assume it’s here or just outside if it’s not during opening hours. Here’s my mobile number: let me know if you have any luck with the disk or if there’s anything you think I should be aware of.’