Ken McClure - The Anvil

‘Why would Lehman Steiner be involved in politics?’ she asked.

‘Big business is always interested in politics,’ replied MacLean. ‘They have to be. Politicians control the environment in which they operate. They set the levels of taxes and subsidies and make the conditions that affect company profitability. It’s not at all unusual for companies to donate money to whatever party will create the best environment for them to trade in.’

‘But why would Lehman Steiner be interested in the politics of other European countries? Surely they couldn’t hope to influence every country’s affairs?’

‘They’re an international company,’ said MacLean.

‘So what’s the connection with Cytogerm?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said MacLean. ‘Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it’s just that the company uses the same bullyboys for a variety of reasons.’

‘I’ve been thinking about Cytogerm,’ said Tansy.

‘And?’

‘I think they’re still using it.’

‘And hiding the corpses?’ said MacLean sceptically.

‘I didn’t mean using it generally. I meant for special purposes.’

MacLean could see that Tansy had some ‘special purpose’ in mind. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Well, since right-wing politics have been mentioned… it occurred to me that Cytogerm might be being used for plastic surgery on criminals.’

‘Criminals?’

‘Nazi war criminals,’ said Tansy quickly.

MacLean looked at Tansy as if she had said something funny. He was trying to suppress laughter and she felt mildly annoyed at not being taken seriously.

‘Tansy, do you realise how old these war criminals are?’ asked MacLean.

‘I suppose they must be getting on a bit,’ Tansy conceded.

‘They are geriatrics! No one would recognise them now anyway! That’s assuming they’re still alive and even that’s doubtful,’ said MacLean. ‘But if they are, they will be broken, old men stumbling towards their graves with every prospect of eternal damnation looming before them. Being made to look like Tom Cruise isn’t going to help!’

‘All right,’ conceded Tansy, feeling foolish. ‘How about international criminals. Surely they would pay a lot to have their looks changed? And with Cytogerm it could be done in a matter of a couple of weeks, you said so yourself.’

‘I don’t question the feasibility of it,’ said MacLean. ‘It’s just that it wouldn’t make sense for a giant like Lehman Steiner to be involved in something like that. There can’t be that many Mr Bigs needing the treatment.’

Tansy agreed in silence.

‘Sorry,’ said MacLean, ‘But if Cytogerm is involved in anything it would have to be something really big, something worth many millions of pounds.’

Tansy nodded and dropped the subject. She walked over to the window and looked out at the sunshine. After a few moments she turned and asked, ‘Feel like a walk?’

MacLean kept his appointment with Vernay at eight that evening. The afternoon walkers had all gone home leaving the towpath to the gathering dusk and the occasional stray dog. The air was still but there was a suggestion of a blue haze and a smell of burning leaves. MacLean guessed that it came from the house about a mile further along the canal. It had a large beech hedge round it and with beech, falling leaves were always a bigger problem in the spring than in the autumn. It had been a fine day; the owners had probably spent it tidying up the garden.

Vernay was waiting for him when he arrived at the bridge. They shook hands and started to walk slowly along the towpath. MacLean had his hands in his pockets; Vernay kept his behind his back like a Royal personage. MacLean told him of his time at Lehman Steiner, the euphoria over the early results with Cytogerm and the bitter disappointment that was to come with the death of Elsa Kaufman.

‘Four of us died after the project was wound up,’ he said. ‘Kurt Immelman, Max Schaeffer, Lisa and Jutte who died instead of me.’

‘Then you must feel the same way towards the company I do,’ said Vernay.

MacLean could sense that the question was loaded. ‘There was a time,’ he admitted, ‘when I was desperate for revenge. Like you, I thought I could take on Lehman Steiner and win because… ‘ MacLean paused and smiled wryly. ‘Because right was on my side and good always triumphed over evil.’

‘What changed your mind?’

‘Three years of hell. I lost everything. Jutte, my home, my job, my friends and, in the end, I… simply lost hope.’

‘That explains your behaviour in Glasgow,’ said Vernay.

MacLean nodded and said, ‘But thanks to you I survived. Now I have a home, a job and happiness with Carrie and Tansy. I am no longer interested in the past, only the future. If you expect me to wrap a prayer scarf round my head and go crashing into the might of Lehman Steiner on some kamikaze mission you can forget it. I loved Jutte but she’s dead and nothing can bring her back. Tansy and Carrie are alive and they need me that way. They are the only things I will fight for now.’

‘And that explains your reaction at the bridge yesterday,’ said Vernay rubbing his arm and touching the graze on his cheek.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were from the company,’ said MacLean.

‘I could have been,’ said Vernay.

‘That’s why we mustn’t meet again,’ said MacLean.

‘And Jutte is to go unavenged?’

MacLean did not rise to the bait. ‘I told you, I am not interested in revenge.’

‘I understand you wanting to defend what you have,’ said Vernay, ‘But the best method of defence is attack, is it not?’

‘Not with the odds loaded as they are in this case,’ said MacLean.

‘Do you think you can hide forever?’ asked Vernay, changing tack.

‘Maybe they won’t look for ever,’ replied MacLean.

‘Two of their agents died not sixty kilometres from here.’

MacLean wished that Vernay had not said that.

‘So you won’t help?’

‘I’ve told you all I can. I want you to go now,’ said MacLean.

Vernay shrugged his shoulders in a peculiarly Gallic way and said, ‘Well, at least I know that my sister’s death had something to do with Cytogerm. Maybe I will be able to forge a link between it and Der Amboss. What do you think Doctor?’

‘I wish you luck,’ said MacLean.

Vernay took out a pack of cigarettes, conceding defeat. He lit one and asked, ‘Will you do me one last favour?’

‘Depends what it is.’

‘Will you meet me one more time?’ Vernay held up his hand to divert the refusal he sensed on MacLean’s lips. ‘The last time, I promise. I still have some contacts in the police force back in Geneva. I’d like to ask them what they can come up with on Cytogerm. They may request more information and for that I would have to ask you. What do you say?’

MacLean was reluctant. He had already played out the scene in his head where he went back to Tansy and told her that Vernay had gone, they could now get on with their lives.

‘It’s not much to ask,’ prompted Vernay.

MacLean imagined the unspoken rider, “And I did save your life.” ‘All right,’ he said, ‘But somewhere well away from here. I don’t want you anywhere near this area again. Understood?’

‘Agreed,’ said Vernay. He gave MacLean details of where he was staying. He had rented a small flat in the city. They agreed to meet there in eight days time.

‘I always seem to be doing this,’ said Tansy as she welcomed MacLean back with a big hug.

‘I’m not complaining,’ said MacLean.

‘He’s gone?’ asked Tansy, expecting a ‘yes’.

‘Not quite,’ confessed MacLean. ‘I agreed to see him again.’

‘But why?’ Tansy was disappointed.