lights and pulling the tree over. Steven turned when he heard the crash and started towards Grossart to help him up. The cable Grossart was holding parted with the strain, and a spark from the shorting electrics caused the petrol vapour surrounding Grossart to explode into flame.
Steven staggered backwards and shielded his eyes as the wall of heat hit him. When he could bear to look again he found he was looking at Paul Grossart’s funeral pyre. He called the Fire Brigade and tried dousing the flames as best he could with an extinguisher he found in the kitchen. He managed to localise the fire to the bay- window area, but then the extinguisher ran out and he changed to using basins of water from the kitchen after disconnecting the electricity.
Although Grossart’s death was an accident, there would be awkward questions about how his clothes had come to be soaked in petrol, and the answers might well put Karen Doig in prison. Steven decided not to let that happen. Leaving the smouldering pyre to take its course for a moment, he went out to the garden shed and there found, as he hoped, several bits of garden machinery powered by petrol engines. He selected a heavy-duty chainsaw, brought it back into the house and laid it on the kitchen table, along with the red petrol can. He would leave the authorities to draw their own conclusions.
Steven called Macmillan to fill him in on what had happened.
‘You did well,’ said Macmillan gravely. ‘Pity about Grossart — I’d have preferred crucifixion for him. But there will be the others.’
‘Will there?’ asked Steven. The question was loaded with silent reference to past cover-ups by politicians in the so-called public interest.
‘I promise,’ said Macmillan. ‘There will be no backing-off. Sci-Med will go for broke over this. You have my word.’
‘Even if Uncle Sam doesn’t like it?’
‘Even if,’ Macmillan assured him.
‘Good.’
‘And Steven?’
‘Yes?’
‘Merry Christmas.’
As he rang off, Steven wondered where he was going to spend Christmas. He couldn’t be with Jenny, because it would be another ten days or so before he could be absolutely sure he hadn’t picked up the virus, so he might as well stay in Edinburgh.
Finding a place to stay on Christmas Eve was not easy. It took him an hour and a half before he found a hotel which agreed to give him a room on condition that he would not want dinner that night or the following one. Steven settled for a place to lay his head, and went out for some take-away food. He returned to his room with a bottle of gin and some tonic, just in case the hotel bar had been taken over by a private party. He also picked up a handful of daily newspapers in the lobby to catch up on what had been happening in the world.
On page two of The Times, an article headed ‘Disgraced MP Puts Record Straight’ reported that William Victor Spicer, currently awaiting trial for the manslaughter of a man who had been blackmailing him, had admitted that he had deliberately misrepresented the contribution made by Dr Caroline Anderson, the Public Health chief at the time, to the handling of the Manchester outbreak. He now recognised that Dr Anderson’s management of the crisis had been beyond reproach and that she had, in fact, sacrificed her own life in fighting the infection on behalf of the inhabitants of the city. He wished to apologise to her friends and family for the distress he had caused.
Steven smiled for the first time in many days. He rested his head on the back of the chair and looked up at the featureless ceiling. ‘Bless you, Caroline,’ he murmured. ‘Merry Christmas, love.’
POSTSCRIPT
Downing Street, London
‘The US ambassador, sir.’
‘Thank you, Ellen. Come in, Charles. A happy New Year to you.’
‘And to you, Prime Minister,’ replied Charles Greely, the tall, distinguished-looking ambassador to the Court of St James. His immaculate light-grey suit highlighted smooth, tanned features.
‘You went home for Christmas?’ asked the PM.
‘I did, sir. The call of California in late December was just too strong to ignore.’
‘I understand you wish to discuss the requests we made to your government over the Lehman affair,’ said the PM, waving Greely to a chair.
The American sat down, his body language betraying a certain unease. ‘Yes indeed, Prime Minister,’ he began. He paused to clear his throat unnecessarily. ‘I spoke at length over the holidays to the President and his advisers, and believe me, sir, I left them in no doubt as to the strength of the British government’s feelings over this matter.’
‘And?’
‘Well, sir, the President fully realises just how serious this outbreak was, and in no way wishes to diminish what happened, but he wonders, sir… if you might see your way to viewing it more as a private-sector matter, where a few greedy individuals were responsible for the mayhem that ensued. It is of course perfectly reasonable that you would wish to see those individuals punished — and punished severely — but as for US citizens standing trial here in the UK for… manslaughter, I think was the charge you had in mind?’
The PM nodded.
‘The President wondered, sir, if you might reconsider in view of the negative publicity involved to both our governments?’
The PM looked long and hard at Greely before asking, ‘And our other requests?’
Greely looked uncomfortable again. ‘Well, sir,’ he said hesitantly, ‘the President would wish to point out that withdrawal of all FDA licences from Lehman in the US would destroy the company. He perfectly understands that revocation of their British licences is well within your rights, and the winding-up of their UK operation is only to be expected, but he respectfully requests that you reconsider your position over Lehman in the US.’
‘You mean there’s big money involved?’
‘With respect, sir, I don’t think it’s just a question of money. There are other factors.’
‘What other factors?’ asked the PM coldly.
‘Lehman is one of the biggest biotech organisations in the US and therefore the world, sir. We are talking of several thousand jobs across the globe disappearing if Lehman International goes down. The research potential of such an organisation, considering the millions of dollars of venture capital tied up in its future, is probably inestimable. It would be a severe blow to medical science in general, sir, if its labs were to close.’
The PM looked at Greely in silence for a moment digesting what he had heard, then leaned forward in his seat and said, ‘Mr Ambassador, this company has treated my country — as several pharmaceutical companies have been known to treat Third World countries — as a laboratory for its experiments. It used citizens of the United Kingdom as experimental animals to further its own greedy ends.’
Greely swallowed but did not respond.
‘I understand that there is a saying among scientists that if something can be done it will be done, whatever legislation may say to the contrary. Well, I accept that, but I want the message to go out loud and clear that, if you do do it, this is what will happen to you.’
Greely nodded.
‘Please convey my thoughts to the President and give him my regards. Tell him I want all Lehman’s licences revoked; I want what assets they have left used as compensation for the families who suffered, and I want Vance and Klein to stand trial here in England. Do I make myself perfectly clear?’
Greely swallowed again before saying, ‘Indeed, sir.’ He got to his feet slowly. ‘Sir, in view of the difference of opinion between our two governments over this matter, which I am sure we can work through, given time and the special harmony we’ve always enjoyed, is there any possible area of compromise I might be able to highlight to the President?’
