‘Did Barclay perhaps travel around a bit while he was in Africa?’ suggested someone.
‘I considered that, too,’ said Collins, ‘but I’ve seen his diary. He didn’t have any time to play the tourist. Apart from that, there has been no Ebola in any of the countries bordering Ndanga during the last six months.’
‘How about contact with a carrier?’
‘As I understand it, the medical profession is a bit vague about carrier status where these diseases are concerned. Some don’t think a true carrier state exists,’ said Collins, ‘but there is agreement about transfer of the virus through body fluids from a person who is recovering from the disease.’
‘So if old Humphrey had slept with a lady of the night who’d recently had the disease, that could have been it?’
‘Barclay was more a National Geographic and mug-of-Horlicks man, in my estimation,’ said Collins. ‘But even if what you suggest were true, what happened to her other customers? They should all be dead by now.’
‘Well, even if that was how Barclay picked it up, I don’t see anything there to prevent the Foreign Secretary’s visit going ahead.’
‘No,’ agreed Collins. ‘Just as long as we’re satisfied that there really is no outbreak in Ndanga.’
‘If I might make a suggestion, sir?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Collins.
‘You could have a word with the Sci-Med people in the Home Office. They’re sort of medical detectives, aren’t they?’
‘They are indeed,’ said Collins, ‘and that is a very good idea. I’ll have Jane make me an appointment to see the head of that outfit… What’s his name?’
‘Macmillan, sir. John Macmillan.’
The Sci-Med Inspectorate was a small independent body operating from within the Home Office under the directorship of John Macmillan. It comprised a number of investigators, well qualified in either science or medicine, whose job it was to take a look at problems, with or without possible criminal involvement, occurring in the hi-tech areas of modern life, areas where the police had little or no expertise.
This was no reflection on the police. They could not be expected to notice when, for instance, the surgical success record of one hospital fell well below others carrying out almost identical procedures, nor were they in a position to investigate the possible causes even if they did. Likewise, they were unlikely to notice that certain chemicals being ordered by the staff of a university chemistry department were in fact being used to manufacture hallucinogenic drugs. Both of these scenarios had been encountered in the past by Sci-Med and resolved, through enforced resignation of an ageing surgeon in the first case and criminal prosecution of a number of lab technicians in the other.
After Sir Bruce Collins’s visit, Macmillan asked his secretary to call in Dr Steven Dunbar. Dunbar had been a Sci-Med investigator for something over five years, and was currently on leave after his last assignment.
‘He’s only had a week of his leave,’ said Rose Roberts.
‘I’m aware of that, thank you,’ snapped Macmillan, ‘and of the tough time he had with his last job. But this won’t take him more than a couple of days, so please just make the call.’
Steven Dunbar took the call as he was packing. ‘I was just about to head north to see my daughter,’ he told Miss Roberts.
‘I’m sorry. I did point out that you’d only had a week and post-operational leave is always a month, but he asked for you anyway. If it’s any help, he said it wouldn’t take long.’
‘All right.’ Steven grinned. ‘See you at three.’
Steven had a lot of respect for John Macmillan, not least because of his unswerving loyalty to his staff and his constant battle to preserve Sci-Med’s independence and freedom of action. It had been his brainchild from the outset and had shown its worth many times over, uncovering crimes that otherwise might never have come to light. Sci-Med might be small but it was an object lesson in how a government department should be run. Against the modern trend, its administration had been kept to a minimum and existed first and foremost to serve front-line staff and smooth the way for them, rather than the other way round as was sadly the case in modern Britain. According to some of Steven’s medical friends, NHS staff now spent more time filling in forms and undergoing audits, assessments and appraisals than they did treating the sick.
No one came directly to Sci-Med. It was one of its great strengths that its investigators, when appointed, brought with them a wide range of abilities and experience. Dunbar, as a medical investigator, was of course medically qualified, but he had chosen not to pursue a conventional career in medicine. After two hospital residencies following medical school, he had found that he simply did not have the heart for it. A strong, athletic young man, brought up amid the mountains of Cumbria, he had felt the need for more of a physical challenge.
After some heart-searching he had joined the army at the end of his clinical year and had been assigned to the Parachute Regiment, where he had found all the physical challenge he could ever have hoped for, and more besides. He had thrived in this environment and had been trained as an expert in field medicine, an expertise he had been called upon to use on several occasions during his subsequent secondment to Special Forces. He had served all over the world and had been called upon to use not only his medical skills but often his powers of innovation and initiative. He would have liked nothing better than to stay with the SAS, but the nature of the job dictated that it be the province of young men and the time inevitably came when he had to step down, an ‘old’ man at the age of thirty-three.
Luckily, the position at Sci-Med had arisen at exactly the right time. The job had seemed perfect in that, although he’d still require his medical qualifications, he was not going to end up in some bleak surgery, freezing warts off feet and dishing out antidepressant pills. Instead, he would be involved in Sci-Med’s day-to-day investigations. He would be given assignments judged suitable to his expertise and allowed to pursue them in his own way. Sci-Med would provide all the back-up he needed, ranging from expert advice to weapons if need be.
From the Inspectorate’s point of view, Steven had appeared from the outset to be well suited to their requirements. He was a doctor with proven ability to survive and succeed in extremely demanding situations. Real situations, a far cry from the ‘How would you cross this imaginary river?’ problems of office team-building exercises. And so it had proved to be. Steven had progressed over the years to become a much-valued member of the Sci-Med team, and the admiration was mutual.
Steven left his fifth-floor apartment in Docklands and took a taxi to the Home Office. He wore a dark-blue suit, light-blue shirt and Parachute Regiment tie, and cut an imposing figure as he entered the building and showed his ID. No less imposing was John Macmillan, who in many ways could have been an older version of Steven, tall, slim and erect but with swept-back silver hair instead of Steven’s dark mane.
‘Good to see you, Dunbar. Take a seat.’
Steven sat and listened to Macmillan’s apology for bringing him back early from leave. ‘Jamieson and Dewar are both out on assignment right now so I was faced with asking one of the scientific chaps to take this on or recalling you. I decided on you.’
‘I’m flattered,’ said Steven with only the merest suggestion of a smile.
Macmillan looked at him for a moment, searching for signs of sarcasm, but didn’t find any. ‘Anyway, you must be aware of this Ebola thing on the African flight?’
‘I read about it in the papers,’ replied Steven. ‘Nasty.’
‘It could have been much worse but the emergency procedures for just such an eventuality worked well, and the problem was contained with only five dead — not that that’s much comfort to them or their families.’
‘So what concerns us?’ asked Steven.
‘The aircraft had come from Ndanga and the passenger who fell ill and infected the others was a Foreign Office official. He had been in Africa, making arrangements for a visit by the Foreign Secretary. The Foreign Office is worried.’
‘It would be crazy to go ahead with the visit until any outbreak is over,’ said Steven.
‘The Ndangan authorities say there is no outbreak.’
‘So how did our man get the disease?’
‘Precisely.’
‘God, you’re not going to send me to Ndanga, are you?’ exclaimed Steven.
‘Nothing like that.’ Macmillan smiled. ‘The Foreign Office would simply like to be assured that the relevant authorities aren’t lying. I’ve already been on to the WHO in Geneva. They’ve heard nothing about an outbreak, but I thought you might get in touch with some of your friends and acquaintances in the medical charities and see what
