Alan suddenly felt very much alone as he faced the four unsmiling men in front of him. ‘Perhaps I should just start?’ he ventured.
He took the four blank stares as a yes. ‘I think you probably know the basics of what I’ve been doing,’ he began, construing the continuing blank stares as a maybe. ‘Instead of searching for weakened or attenuated strains of virulent organisms, I’ve been investigating the possibility of altering their genome so that they are no longer viable but can still give rise to an immune response in people.’
‘Their “genome” is their DNA, is that right?’ asked Van Cleef.
‘’Yes, or RNA in some cases. Some viruses have RNA as their genetic material instead…’
‘Whatever,’ said Van Cleef with a dismissive hand gesture. ‘So you damage the bug so it can no longer kill people and then inject it into them so they’ll make antibodies against the real bug which will?’
‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ agreed Alan.
‘So how has it been going?’ asked another of the investors.
Alan felt flustered. He had prepared a whole seminar about what he’d been doing and the pitfalls he’d encountered along the way. He’d planned on giving that before addressing such questions. His discomfort, however, was short-lived.
‘I think I can answer that,’ said St Clair, coming back into the room carrying an ice bucket with champagne in it. Vicky trooped along behind with a tray of glasses.
‘First let me apologise for this little deception but I know more than you gentlemen do, including you, Alan. The answer to your question is that it’s been going very well indeed… The government has agreed to award its first vaccine development prize to our company for Alan’s vaccine.’
Smiles broke out all round and the buzz of congratulations filled the room. Alan sank into a chair to close his eyes for a moment as if thanking the Almighty.
‘It’s early days,’ continued St Clair. ‘But our man in Whitehall assures me that the sum of four million pounds will be paid to the company in the next few weeks with the remaining eighteen million to be paid after successful trials.’
Alan was showered in congratulations and praise while St Clair concentrated on opening the champagne. ‘Apart from the bonus of the prize money,’ he said before popping the cork, ‘the rights to the vaccine will remain ours and a very favourable licensing contract will be drawn up between ourselves and the government once all the safety tests have been completed.’
‘Is that likely to be a problem?’ asked one of the backers.
‘It’s more time-consuming than problematical,’ replied St Clair. ‘That’s largely why we’ve stayed away from anything to do with vaccines in the past: the paperwork is a nightmare. It can take years for products to reach the marketplace.’
‘So what’s different this time?’ asked Van Cleef.
‘Well, nothing that I know of,’ replied St Clair, appearing slightly embarrassed at the question. ‘But I am assured by our friends in high places that the West’s perceived urgent need for new vaccines to protect what they see as a vulnerable population will be taken into account and, to use their phrase, accommodations made.’
‘Let’s hope that isn’t just empty talk,’ said another of the backers, Leo Grossman of Lieberman International. ‘Taking on Health and Safety in this country is not for the faint-hearted. If it was up to them, you wouldn’t be popping champagne corks right now without us wearing crash helmets and safety visors.’
Everyone laughed.
‘On the other hand, vaccines have to be tested,’ St Clair reminded them.
There were nods of agreement.
‘But we can do without a bunch of bureaucrats putting obstacles in the way just to guard their own backsides,’ said yet another of the backers, Morton Lang of merchant bankers, Field and Syme.
‘That sums it up nicely,’ smiled St Clair.
‘I would guess that you folks have already carried out some kind of safety evaluation?’ asked Grossman. ‘Am I right?’
‘Of course,’ replied Alan. ‘Although there are limits to what we can do in the lab, we’ve done preliminary tests to ensure that the vaccine will not actually cause any illness or disease in lab animals but will promote good levels of antibodies. Lots more tests to do, of course, before we finally test on humans but things are looking good.’
‘I’d agree with that, young man,’ said the one backer who hadn’t as yet spoken but had been taking everything in. He was Marcus Rose of European Venture Capital, the principal investor in the St Clair company, a tall, distinguished man, wearing an old Etonian tie and speaking with an accent that confirmed the source of his education. ‘Well done.’
‘Yes, well done,’ echoed the others.
Turning to Phillip St Clair, Rose said, ‘I think you should insist to the government, St Clair, that Alan’s baby be named after him. This young man deserves his place in history.’
‘Hear, hear!’ murmured the others, raising their glasses.
TWO
Carlisle Royal Infirmary
March 2007
‘Dan? It’s Keith, he’s been taken ill. He’s really bad. Can you come?’ Marion Taylor’s voice broke and she gave in to sobs.
‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes, love. Hang on.’
Dan Taylor descended from the scaffolding he had been working on like a man possessed. He ran across the building site to his van, shouting to his foreman on the way. ‘The lad’s poorly; got to go.’ He threw his hard hat in the back of the van and cursed as it took him three attempts to start the engine. When it finally caught, the wheels sent up a cloud of sand and gravel as they scrabbled to find grip on the loose surface, causing workmen crossing the site to seek protection for their faces behind hands and elbows.
‘Bloody loony,’ mouthed one.
‘It’s Dan Taylor. His kid’s been taken bad.’
‘No reason to have my bloody eye out.’
True to his word, Taylor was at the hospital in thirty minutes having contravened most of the Highway Code on the way and collected the flashes of at least two speed cameras to mark his passing. He compounded his list of offences by parking on a double yellow line outside A amp;E and rushing inside to ask where his son was, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited for the answer.
He found his wife sitting in the corridor just inside the door of the ward. She was holding a wad of tissues to her face. He sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘So, what happened, love?’
‘He came home from school at lunchtime, saying that he wasn’t feeling well.
‘I thought he was having me on at first and I half expected him to say he was feeling better after half an hour and asking if he could go down to the arcade but I was wrong. He was sick a couple of times and his temperature seemed way up so I put him to bed. Things just seemed to get worse though. He was sick again and then he started talking nonsense. I was frightened. I couldn’t get any sense out of him, then he tried to go to the bathroom but he fell flat on the floor when he came out and I had to help him back into bed. I called the doctor and some silly cow in Reception told me I should bring him in. Can you believe it? I gave her a piece of my mind and told her I’d be writing to my MP if she didn’t pull her finger out and tell the doctor it was an emergency. When he got to the house, he just took one look at him and called for an ambulance. I phoned you as soon as we got to the hospital.’
‘So what’s wrong with him?’
‘The doctor didn’t say, just that the hospital would have to carry out tests.’
‘Was this our doctor or the hospital one?’
‘Ours. No one here’s come to speak to me yet.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘Surely it can’t be rejection after all this time. He’s been right as rain for the past year.’
