stock of virus fragments to Hammadi so I think we should assume they probably still have the capacity.’
‘Has Siddiqui any chance of persuading someone else in Edinburgh to take Hammadi’s place?’
‘There are no other Iraqi nationals in the institute. I checked.’
‘If coercion isn’t a possibility that leaves money as an incentive,’ said Macmillan.
‘I can’t see any scientist being persuaded to do something like that for money. Far too risky and totally immoral.’
‘But if the price were right … ‘ mused MacLean.
‘I suppose so.’ Dewar understood too much about human nature to argue the point. But even if such a person could be found there would be practical difficulties, he pointed out. They’d presumably want to live to spend the money. That would mean having to use the high containment facilities at the institute and that would mean attracting attention. They would be noticed — even if they did it at night. Research isn’t a nine to five job. There are always people around.’
‘Nevertheless … if the money were right … ‘ persisted MacLean. ‘I think you’re right to be concerned about Siddiqui’s continuing presence. He could be negotiating with someone or he could be past that stage and waiting for more fragments to arrive.’
‘I take it security has been stepped up after the balls-up over his entrance to the country?’ asked Dewar.
‘Tighter than a gnat’s rectum,’ said Macmillan.
‘What would you like me to do?’
Macmillan thought for a moment. ‘Let’s err on the safe side. Go back to Edinburgh and wait it out with Siddiqui. You know the people at the institute. You know who’s capable of doing what and who’s not. That could prove invaluable. I’ll have a word with the other agencies and request that they do nothing without running it past you first.’
‘Let’s hope they agree,’ said Dewar.
Macmillan smiled at Dewar’s reservations. ‘I think they’ll see it makes sense in this case,’ he said. ‘They won’t know a damned thing about smallpox.’
‘Do you want me back there tonight?’
‘Tomorrow will do.’
Dewar got a taxi to take him and his stuff back to the flat. He hadn’t expected to be going back north so he now had a clothes problem. There wouldn’t be time to launder what he had in his travel bag and what was lying in the laundry basket; he’d have to buy some new stuff. He checked his watch; it was 4.30pm. Plenty of time; he’d said he’d be at Karen’s at seven. He took a trip to a branch of Marks and Spencers and stocked up on what he needed. On the way back he stopped off at Oddbins and bought two bottles of wine to take round to Karen’s. There was just time to take a shower, dress — using one of the new blue shirts he’d just bought and catch a cab to get him to Muswell Hill just before seven.
Karen lived in a ground floor flat conversion of a terraced villa in north London. The flat’s best feature was that it had a south facing lounge with French windows, leading out into a pretty little walled garden. The upper part of the villa had been unoccupied for some time, the old lady who had lived there was dead and her estate was not yet settled.
This meant that the garden was not overlooked; it had been secluded and private throughout the summer. Karen and Dewar had used it, when the weather allowed, to do their paperwork and read up on background material for their jobs. Their relationship was good enough to sustain long periods of silence and they had spent many summer evenings there with only the sound of insects and the muted strains of Chopin drifting out from indoors. Tonight the doors to the garden were closed against a chill autumn wind that blew multicoloured leaves across the grass in mini whirlpools.
Karen was wearing a white Tee shirt and jeans. Over this she wore a yellow apron with a large red wine bottle on it. The word Ciao was scrawled across it diagonally. She was barefoot which made her seem even shorter when Dewar took her in his arms and gave her a hug.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.
‘Must be almost a week,’ said Karen mockingly but not displeased at Dewar’s show of affection.
‘Eight days,’ he said. ‘How are you? Still knackered?’
‘Tired but happy — as Enid Blyton used to say,’ said Karen. ‘I’m just so glad it’s over. It’s always the same with urban outbreaks; you know exactly what to do, you set up everything by the book but after a couple of days without success you start to imagine that you’re never going to able to pin it down. It’s going to spread until it affects the whole population and you’re not going to able to do a damned thing about it.’
‘But you’ve never failed yet,’ said Dewar.
‘I know. And you tell yourself that but it’s no good, you still start to think that way and that’s what really tires you. It’s a sort of mental assault course. You’ve clambered over the wall before but this time it seems even bigger. You can see your bleeding finger tips scraping back down the stone as you fail to reach the top and slide back.‘
Dewar took Karen’s hands in his and kissed her fingertips. ‘You did reach the top,’ he said.
Karen smiled. ‘And you?’ she asked.
‘I’m flying back to Edinburgh tomorrow.’
‘I thought it was over,’ said Karen, looking surprised.
‘I suppose you could say it’s a precaution. There’s just an outside chance the Iraqis might try something to recover their fortunes.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like persuade someone else to help them out.
‘You’re serious?’ exclaimed Karen.
‘Like I say, it’s just a precaution.’’
‘Why can’t they just deport these damned people?’ said Karen angrily. ‘All this pussy-footing around.’
‘That’s not the way things are done in the diplomatic world,’ said Dewar.
‘Well it should be,’ said Karen with a grin.
‘What’s for eating. All I’ve had today is a British Airways lunch.’
‘Pasta, ‘cos it’s quick and easy,’ said Karen, leading the way through to the kitchen with Dewar following along behind.’
Dewar put his arms round Karen from behind as she stirred the sauce and brought up his hands to cup her breasts. He kissed the side of her neck.
Karen giggled and said with mock severity, ‘Stop it, I need to concentrate or I’ll burn the dinner.’
Dewar continued fondling her. He slipped his right hand down to the waist band of her jeans and undid the button.
‘Adam!’
He slowly worked the zip down until he could slide his hand into her panties.
‘Adam, you’re … impossible,’ she murmured, her resolve beginning to weaken as Dewar kept up his caress. ‘Are we going to eat or am I going to turn the gas off?’
The gas was turned off with Dewar, still paying attention to the side of Karen’s neck as they made their way slowly through to the bedroom.
Much later, Karen rolled over on to her front and pushed her tousled hair away from her forehead. She ran her finger lightly along Dewar’s eyebrows as he lay with his eyes closed. ‘Amazing what you can do on a British Airways lunch,’ she said.
‘You know what,’ murmured Dewar.
‘What?’
‘I’m starving.’
TEN
The wind was so strong at Edinburgh Airport that Dewar had to lean into it as he stepped outside the
