restrain another woman.
‘I’m sorry, Dr Runcie, but this woman insists on seeing Mrs Williams. She seems to think she knows something about her husband’s disappearance.’
‘I’m afraid Mrs Williams cannot receive visitors because of her condition,’ said Runcie calmly. He got up from his chair. ‘Mrs…?’
‘Doig, Karen Doig. I’m sorry to burst in like this, but there seemed to be no other way. We’ve been trying to see Mrs Williams for the past two days, and I’m at my wits’ end — we’re both at our wits’ end,’ she added. She gestured at a man who, looking slightly embarrassed, was hovering in the background. ‘This is Ian Patterson. His wife, Amy, and my husband, Peter, have disappeared from a company field station near Capel Curig where they were working, and Mrs Williams knows something about it.’
Runcie looked at Steven and said, ‘I’m sorry, the world seems to have gone mad this morning.’
Steven’s bemused detachment had changed when he heard Capel Curig being mentioned. He ignored Runcie’s apology and asked, ‘What kind of field station?’
It was Runcie’s turn to look bemused. He turned to his secretary, who was smoothing herself down, and said, ‘Claire, do you think you could bring us all some coffee?’
‘Peter and Amy both work for a company called Lehman Genomics, just outside Edinburgh,’ explained Karen. ‘They were sent down to the company’s field station here in Wales, and now both of them have disappeared. The company claims that they ran off together, but we won’t accept that until we have more than Lehman’s word for it. We came to find out for ourselves.’
‘Where does Mrs Williams come into it?’ asked Steven.
‘She was one of a party of four people who stopped in Capel Curig about twelve days ago and asked for directions to the field station. There were two American men and two local women — one was Mrs Williams. We’ve been able to establish that at least one of the men worked for Lehman, but the company denied all knowledge of this when we phoned them earlier.’
Steven was beginning to feel that his luck had turned. ‘Mrs Doig,’ he said, ‘you don’t realise it but you’ve done your country a great service by coming here this morning.’
Karen was not the only one to look puzzled, but Steven was already on the phone to Sci-Med. ‘I need to know everything about Lehman Genomics’ was his request.
Runcie asked to be excused, but said Steven was welcome to use his office for as long as necessary. Steven questioned Karen and Ian Patterson closely for the next thirty minutes, trying to establish whether there was a connection between the company and the virus outbreak. He didn’t say as much, but it was clear that Peter Doig and Amy Patterson were the two patients Maureen Williams and Mair Jones had been recruited to nurse.
‘Have you no idea at all what Peter and Amy were working on?’ asked Steven.
‘They weren’t allowed to say,’ replied Patterson. ‘Secrecy is important to research companies like Lehman.’
‘What kind of scientist is your wife?’
‘She’s an immunologist.’
‘Not a virologist?’
‘No.’
‘And Peter?’ asked Steven, turning to Karen.
‘He’s a medical lab technician by training. He worked at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh from the time he graduated, but he got fed up with the low pay. The job with Lehman came up about nine months ago.’
Steven nodded. ‘I take it he didn’t say what he was working on, either?’
‘’Fraid not, although he did have a name for it. He called it the Snowball project. Maybe it was a pet name he made up. I’m not sure.’
‘Thank you,’ said Steven with heartfelt sincerity. He had the link he was looking for. The disk with the heart valve recipients’ names on it had been headed ‘SNOWBALL 2000’. He said, ‘Could I ask you folks to show me the way to this field station?’
‘It burned down,’ said Patterson.
‘The night before we got here,’ added Karen. ‘But there was no one inside at the time, although the company Land-Rover that Peter and Amy had used was still parked there.’
‘But they had gone?’ said Steven.
‘Yes, but we’re not sure how. The police checked the local taxi firms for us but with no joy.’
Steven felt a hollowness creep into his stomach. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but he tried his best not to show it. ‘I think I’d like to take a look at the place anyway,’ he said.
‘That’s how we felt,’ said Karen.
‘Did the police have any idea what caused the fire?’ Steven asked.
‘They didn’t say,’ replied Patterson. ‘But they obviously kept some pretty inflammable chemicals there. There was only a burned-out shell left.’
Steven’s hollow feeling got worse. ‘There’s no point in us all going,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we arrange to meet later-’
‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Karen. ‘You haven’t told us what you know about this. Who are you exactly, and what’s going on?’
‘You’re quite right and I’m sorry,’ conceded Steven. ‘If you’ll just bear with me for the moment, I promise I’ll tell you as much as I can later on.’
Reluctantly, Karen and Patterson agreed, but only after getting a firm undertaking from Steven that he would meet them again that evening. They then gave him directions to the field station.
Steven called Sci-Med as soon as he got to his car, and asked if there was any information available about Lehman Genomics yet.
‘Reputable biotech company, American parent company, shares rose thirty per cent last year, several products licensed and doing well in the marketplace, strong research group believed to be working on transplant organs from animal sources, UK arm fronted by Paul Grossart, a former senior lecturer in biochemistry at the University of Leicester. Any use?’
‘Transplant organs from animal sources,’ repeated Steven slowly. ‘Any more information on that?’
‘There’s a rumour going around that they pulled the plug on a major animal project recently.’
‘I’ll bet they did,’ murmured Steven. ‘It was called the Snowball project. Any more from Porton about Sister Mary’s heart valve?’
‘No. What more do you want? They say there was nothing wrong with it. It was in good working order and a perfect immunological match for her.’
‘Ask them to carry out a DNA sequence on it,’ said Steven. ‘As fast as they possibly can.’
‘What are they looking for?’
‘Let them tell us that,’ said Steven.
‘Okay, you’re calling the shots. Anything else?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Word is that Special Branch have located Mair Jones in Majorca. She should be back in the UK by this evening.’
TWENTY-ONE
Steven followed the directions he’d been given and three hours later he found himself high on a Welsh hillside, collar up, shoulders hunched against a bitter wind, looking at the charred remains of the field station. The bad feeling he’d been harbouring was made worse by the sight of the twisted metal frame of the Land-Rover. Unlike Karen Doig and Ian Patterson, who saw its presence as a puzzle, he feared it was stating the obvious: that Peter Doig and Amy Patterson had never left. They — or more correctly their bodies — were still here.
The police had found no human remains, but he suspected that that was exactly what they had been set up to find. Finding nothing suspicious, they would have no further interest in the building, which would be left as a ruin but still be owned by Lehman, who would leave it untouched in perpetuity. Steven examined the stone-flagged floor,
