chairman discernibly uncomfortable.
‘I see two things against that course of action,’ he said. ‘One is the fact that we would undoubtedly interrupt aspects of AIDS research programmes all over the world. To what extent, we can’t be sure, — perhaps very little in view of the slowness of progress in that particular field, but it would certainly cause inconvenience and even some degree of resentment among the scientific community. Universal goodwill is important to both the World Health Organisation and the United Nations. I am loath to do anything that might damage it.’
‘Chairman, there is also a view that being overly concerned with our image makes us impotent. I would like to draw the meeting’s attention to the last report issued by the UN inspectors in Iraq before their work was interrupted. They uncovered the presence of a factory at
Argument and discussion continued until the chairman said, ‘Colleagues, We’ll put it to a vote.’
Voting slips were passed round the table, marked in silence and returned to the chairman who separated them into two piles in front of him. It was obviously going to be a close run thing. With the last slip assigned, he stood up and announced, ‘We have voted by a majority of two to recommend an immediate halt to the movement of smallpox viral fragments.’
Some people shrugged, others smiled.
‘Dr Lang? You have something to add?’
‘Perhaps I should just say that individual countries have already been asked to carry out an audit on the fragments their research institutions are holding.’
‘Good, that would be helpful,’ said the chairman. ‘But let’s hope than none of this is really necessary at all. Let’s look forward to finding out that our fears are
groundless and our suspicions nothing more than paranoia.’ It was an appropriate note on which to end the meeting.
The Home Office
London.
October 1997
Adam Dewar arrived at the Home Office with only two minutes to spare before his scheduled meeting. He thought he’d given himself plenty of time for the journey up from his flat by the river but he had underestimated the sheer numbers of late season tourists in the capital. He was feeling distinctly ruffled by the time he had circumnavigated the final group.
‘Video cameras! There can’t be one dog turd left unrecorded in London,’ he complained to his boss’s secretary, Jean Roberts as he entered her office a little breathless.
‘Tourism is good for the economy, Dr Dewar,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Nice to see you in good form. You can go straight in.’
Dewar worked for the Sci-Med Inspectorate, a government body set up to provide preliminary investigation into potential wrong-doings in the Hi-Tec areas of science and medicine, areas where the police had little or no expertise. The staff comprised a number of medically or scientifically qualified people whose task it was to carry out discreet, occasionally under-cover enquiries in the often blurred margins that separated incompetence from outright criminality. Highly qualified professional people invariably resented outside interest in what they were doing, regarding it as unwarranted interference, so discretion was of the utmost importance until at least, the facts were established.
Adam Dewar was a doctor specialising in medical investigations. He was well aware that there was no more sensitive or conservative body than the medical profession. Closing ranks was almost a knee-jerk response to outside questioning. The well-guarded mystique of the witch doctor was still extant in late twentieth century medicine. The less the patient knows the better.
Dewar had been on leave for the past four weeks. This was part of the pattern of the job. Investigations were often intensive, requiring long hours of work and high stress levels. Occasionally they could be downright dangerous or even life threatening. When they were completed, leave was generous. Dewar had spent his staying in a small village in the south of France which he had known since childhood, enjoying the wine, the food and sunshine of Provence. He had however spent the final week preparing for his return in fairly hard physical exercise. He had swam three miles daily in the sea off San Raphael and used the cool of the evening to run respectable distances along the vineyard paths between neighbouring villages. He felt reasonably fit again not that his last assignment had taken much out of him in a physical sense.
He had been sent to look into the apparently high death rate among patients of a Lincolnshire surgeon when compared with statistics for similar operations in other parts of the country. There had in fact, been no criminal aspect to this case. The surgeon in question had merely grown old in his job and had been unaware of his failing powers. His strong personality — common in surgeons, had prevented colleagues from doing much about the situation. It was one thing knowing what was wrong, quite another saying it. The man was also very influential in senior medical circles, circles which could make or break careers. The situation had been allowed to develop until the Sci-Med computer had draw attention to the statistical blip.
Dewar had not been subject to the man’s power and influence and he had a strong personality too. Under the terms of the Sci-Med Inspectorate he had the power to resolve the situation and he had. The surgeon had been retired. Happily, the end result had been achieved without scandal or rancour thanks to the application of common sense.
Dewar knocked on the door and responded to the immediate invitation to enter.
A tall silver-haired man stood up behind his desk and held out his hand. He was John Macmillan, Dewar’s boss and the director of the Sci-Med Inspectorate.
‘Good to see you, Dewar. How are you feeling after your break?’
‘Very well, thank you, sir.’
‘Good, What d’you know about smallpox?’
Dewar shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid. It was a terrible disease in its time but it’s been extinct for many years. A triumph for the World Health Organisation, as I recall. It was cited as an example of the power of vaccination programmes when I was at medical school. Quite poetic really when you think that the very first instance of vaccination was Edward Jenner’s work on that very disease back in the eighteenth century. It took just under two hundred years to wipe out something that had been around as long as mankind.’
‘Wipe out may be a little strong,’ said Macmillan.
‘You mean it’s broken out again?’ asked an incredulous Dewar.
‘Not exactly but this has newly come in from a joint WHO/United Nations body. They’d like our help.’
Macmillan handed the documentation over to Dewar who flicked through it and quickly realised he’d need more time to assimilate it.
‘When you’re ready, I’d like you to handle it,’ said Macmillan.
THREE
Institute of Molecular Sciences
Edinburgh, Scotland
October 1997
The door of lab 512 opened and a tall, distinguished figure walked in. He ignored the people working there and crossed to floor to open an office door on the far side. Finding no one inside, he turned and said to no one in
