Ken McClure - The Lazarus Strain

Steven was wrestling with this when Leila called.

‘I’m back,’ she said. ‘God, I’m so relieved.’

‘Well done,’ said Steven. ‘Did everything go all right?’

‘Like clockwork. The technicians were standing by and the initial egg cultures had all been prepared: I was most impressed. They have wonderful facilities.’

‘The very best,’ agreed Steven.

‘I went there to impress upon them the need for great care — any bacterial contamination of the virus cultures and there won’t be time to start over again. But there was no need; they are already taking every conceivable precaution.’

‘Good,’ said Steven. ‘I think they’re hypersensitive to bacterial contamination problems. So now you are a free woman?’

‘I suppose I am,’ agreed Leila.

‘Dinner?’

‘That would be lovely.’

The Bella Napoli Italian restaurant in Norwich was quiet on a Sunday evening — there was only one other couple there and they seemed to have fallen out with each other as they sat in silence, examining their place mats. Steven was glad when one of the staff put on some music in an attempt to create atmosphere, although Dean Martin singing Volare failed to conjure up images of warm Italian nights when Norfolk rain was battering noisily on all the windows.

‘Sorry,’ said Steven.

Leila reached across the table and put her hand on his. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m just so relieved that I got the strain to the company on time that tonight nothing else matters.’

‘You did incredibly well,’ said Steven.

‘And now I am going to sleep for a week,’ said Leila. ‘How about you? Is Sci-Med still involved in the investigation?’

Steven shook his head. ‘Our interest is officially over. The security services have taken over.’

‘But?’ prompted Leila, noting some reservation in his voice.

‘I just have a bad feeling about the whole thing…’

‘You think al-Qaeda will make their attack before the vaccine’s ready?’

Steven shook his head. ‘No, it’s not that… It’s hard to explain. There’s something not quite right about the whole thing…’

‘Tell me,’ said Leila. ‘Get it off your chest as you English say.’

‘The operation at the mill house where we found an incubator room and egg boxes… I can’t help feeling there was something wrong with that,’ said Steven. ‘It smacked of a very small operation when they would need a much bigger one for what they’re planning.’

‘But isn’t that the way terrorists work,’ said Leila.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know too much about such things but I do seem to remember reading that they like to operate in small independent cells rather than large units. I think it’s a security thing. If one member gets caught the damage will be limited to one cell rather than the whole organisation. Each cell operates on… oh, I can’t remember what they called it…’

‘A need to know basis,’ said Steven.

‘That’s it,’ agreed Leila.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Steven. ‘I suppose the operation at the mill house could have been just one small stage in the process. It was their job to raid the institute and obtain the virus. They would then pass it on to the next cell who would grow it up. They in turn would pass it on to another cell who would distribute it to yet more cells who would make the attacks. Yes, that makes a lot of sense.’

‘But obviously doesn’t provide much comfort!’ said Leila with a smile, noting Steven’s lack of enthusiasm for the idea.

‘True,’ agreed Steven. ‘I hate it when things don’t make sense.’

‘I suppose you’ll be going back to London soon,’ said Leila.

‘It’s not that far,’ smiled Steven. ‘And I’d like to see a lot more of you.’

‘I’d like that too,’ said Leila. ‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘I think it only fair to warn you that I am thinking about going back to the States.’

‘Ah,’ sighed Steven. ‘Your career…’

‘It’s important to me and with Professor Devon dead the reason for my being here has gone.’

Steven took her hands and said, ‘Then I think my mission in life over the next few weeks will be to persuade you otherwise.’

Leila smiled and raised her glass. ‘Here’s to an interesting few weeks.’

‘How’s your spaghetti?’

‘Terrible.’

‘Mine too. Let’s go home.’

It rained all night and all through the next day. Steven had returned to his hotel and was making yet another attempt at writing up his report when Colonel Rose rang.

‘No joy, I’m afraid. No abnormally large orders have been placed with egg suppliers from their regular customers and no consignments have gone out to private individuals. We’ve checked all the large poultry firms and none of them has been approached directly to make supplies available.’

‘Shit,’ said Steven. ‘What the hell are they using?’

‘You don’t think they could have brought them in from abroad?’ asked Rose.

‘The logistics would be all wrong.’

‘Then I don’t know what to suggest.’

‘The only other alternative is that they managed to get the virus out of the country and are growing it up abroad.’

‘We’ve already alerted all our allies,’ said Rose, ‘as well as being extra vigilant at ports and airports.’

‘Have you had any luck with the people you arrested?’

‘We’ve come up with various links to small people involved in the red herring alert over an attack on Canary Wharf but no one we’ve picked up knows anything at all about a virus operation. There are a few more we’d like to pick up and hold but we’ve been told to cool it. The judiciary are on their high horse over the use of prevention of terrorism legislation.’

‘I saw that coming,’ said Steven. ‘How about the relatives of the three dead men, in Leicester?’

‘Usual story in all three cases. Disaffected Muslim youths feeling the world’s against them get sucked in to fundamentalism in their late teens and begin to see freedom fighting as a better alternative to the dole office as they get older. A couple of weeks at training camp under the guise of a holiday in the ‘old country’ — which they’d never actually seen in their lives before — and they’re ready to do whatever they’re told. Their families were kept in the dark or maybe it just suited them to maintain that.’

‘I suppose.’

‘I hear the vaccine has entered production?’

‘At least something’s going right,’ said Steven. ‘Let’s just hope it’ll be ready in time.’

‘Amen to that.’

Steven put down the phone and felt thoroughly depressed. It was just so easy to imagine large modern lab facilities somewhere abroad swinging into full Cambodia 5 production and being ready before the vaccine thanks to the head start they’d had. His mind however, kept straying back to the mill house. Why bother to set up a small operation up if the intention had always been to set up full scale production abroad? He was staring out of the window at the rain when Leila phoned. ‘What time will you be round tonight?’ she asked.

‘Any time you like.’

‘I’ll be at the lab until six thirty but I should still be home by seven. You can come and talk to me while I make dinner.’

Steven smiled as he switched off the phone. Leila’s plan to sleep for a week had been short-lived. She had taken only one day off before going back to work at the Crick. He was looking forward to seeing her but had to admit — as he saw the rain turn to sleet — that the prospect of an evening in a house heated by only a one bar electric fire was less than appealing let alone romantic. He resolved to do something about it. He would take along the makings of a fire. He would pick up logs and firelighters at one of the local filling stations where he’d seen them stacked by the door the last time he’d been in for petrol. Add a few rolled-up newspapers and some matches and they could have an evening in front of a roaring fire.