‘The nurse said he squeezed her hand.’
‘He did, and mine, also. He’s on the edge of consciousness, but we don’t want him to come round yet. He needs rest. The first twenty-four hours of nerve-agent attack are unpleasant and traumatic, and really terrifying for the victim. We still don’t know the extent of damage to his peripheral nervous system. He may have some problems walking and his sense of touch may be affected. But, look, we’re pleased and we are ninety per cent certain that he’s going to pull through. He’s fit and tough. I gather he’s been through some rough times and is used to hardship.’
She nodded. ‘What about his mental capacity?’
‘A little slow to start with, but it will take time to assess if there’s any long-term cognitive impairment. We need to control the seizures that cause that kind of damage and we want to make sure that he isn’t going to be left with temporal lobe epilepsy, which is one possibility that I have to warn you about. It’s a long road, but I’m hopeful he will make a full recovery.’
‘How long?’
‘Six to nine months, but a lot of rehabilitation can take place at his home.’
‘I’m thinking about his business.’
Lazarus shook his head. ‘You can probably forget the next three or four months. He won’t have the concentration, or the stamina. Someone is going to have to take his place. Is that a problem?’
‘Jesus. The business is all in his head – it’s all literally locked up in there.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.’ He got up and took her hand. ‘We’ll keep you in touch with any developments, and I’ll see you at the end of the week. Good luck, Mrs Hisami.’
Chapter 9
Düppel
There were two employees at GreenState that Samson thought he could tap for information on Zoe. Rob, the volunteer organiser, was one, although the appalling Desmond had almost certainly told him about Samson’s ‘harassment’ of Ingrid Cole. There was also Francis, a bright lad in Digital who had shared the volunteer room with Samson for most of the time he had worked there, using the name Michael Ash; he might not have been told why ‘Ash’ had been told to go. Francis left work promptly at five thirty every day and walked to St James’s Park Tube. On one occasion Samson had accompanied him and they’d had a drink in a noisy pub full of tech people who worked around Whitehall. Many of them were gamers and Francis dropped in most evenings to talk to his gamer pals.
Samson bought himself a pint of lager and took up position near the door. Francis appeared bang on time with his odd, lolloping walk, hands sunk deep in his trouser pockets and a bag slung across his body. ‘What’s up, Michael? You weren’t in today, right?’ he said, flicking his forelock back and grinning ambiguously.
‘No, couldn’t make it. And I’ve got to admit, I had a problem with Desmond – he didn’t like me reading up about GreenState’s business structure.’ He ordered Francis a pint.
‘The guy’s an arsehole. Knows fuck all. Total wanker.’
‘On that we agree,’ said Samson. ‘Why are they so sensitive about it all? I mean, it’s just like any NGO, right?’
‘It’s different. It’s got a huge membership, which is like three or four times the size of any political party, and it’s really, really rich. Members’ income has got to be over twenty-five mill’ a year, and that’s not including all the donations and what have you.’
‘Ingrid was saying something similar.’
‘You talked to Ingrid? No one talks to Ingrid. She’s scary.’ He sank half of his pint in one long draught and gave Samson a sideways look. ‘But she’s really hot,’ he concluded, wiping foam from his upper lip.
‘You see her today?’
‘Nope, she’s on compassionate leave. Away for the next couple of weeks – a family bereavement, apparently, which is totally mortifying for the guys in Digital.’
‘Someone close?’
‘Has to be for that length of time off, right?’
‘I’m not sure what she actually does?’ Samson wanted Francis’s take.
‘She’s an all-rounder. Totally gets digital. She can code and she’s terrific at messaging and video – has a lot of great ideas. She’s literally the only senior person who knows what they’re talking about in meetings. For example, she can read the MRP results really well.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Multi-level regression and post-stratification polling. That’s a survey on attitudes by using very large samples – maybe as many as a hundred thousand. It’s all about using demographics to predict the way people are going to feel about certain issues. It’s pretty cool. Ingrid is really good at the analysis side – she has that kind of bent.’
Samson thought and looked down at Francis’s empty glass. ‘Want another?’
‘Yep, if you’re buying.’
‘So this is basically where Ingrid sits – right at the top of that mound of data.’
‘Nah, she has input on what GreenState is going to research, but she doesn’t have access to the whole database – that’s restricted. Nobody does, except maybe the people at the top – the PR guy, some others.’
‘Who’s the PR guy?’
‘Jonathan Mobius. He sold his Mobius Strand for millions. Seventy-five mill’, I think. He’s part of some big-dick US corporation and he works for them and does GreenState.’
‘Does GreenState?’
‘Chairs it – and he’s still at his own company.’
‘None of that is very clear on the Web.’
‘There are a lot of fake stories out there, a lot of ghosts and mirages. Düppel!’
‘Düppel?’
‘Otherwise known as chaff – radar-fucking countermeasures, developed in the Berlin suburb of Düppel by the Luftwaffe during the Second World War.’
‘Whose radar?’
‘Anyone’s.’ He looked at Samson with amusement from beneath his forelock. ‘We couldn’t decide whether you were fired because you were stalking Ingrid or because you were some kind of spook. Everyone noticed you getting the jump on Ingrid before she left the office –
