Catch Your Death Part 22

'I'm still looking through the lab window but without Stephen noticing... I didn't want him to see me spying on him, but then he looks up and sees me...I pretend I'm just pa.s.sing, on my way to the woods. I wave at him, and he waves slowly back, his eyes all wide as he gets distracted from his task. He smiles at me, but suddenly the smile goes, and he snaps his attention away from me and on to the man who's just walked into the lab.'

'Who is this man?'

'I don't know. He's in a lab coat too. He's thin and bony and bald and it's silly but he's so creepy-looking that I think, "oh look, it's Doctor Death". That's what he looks like. It must be Stephen's boss, the director of the centre. Dr. Gaunt that's what his real name is. Stephen doesn't like him, he said before that he thinks he's a cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I remember he laughed at the pun: a cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Stephen turns his back on me when the man's talking to him, so I wander off across the field. I think if I go into the woods it might be a bit cooler.'

'Then what happens? Is there a fire yet?'

'A fire? No. No fire. It's just hot because it's summer and I think I've got a temperature as well... I want to lie down.'

'So what do you do?'

'I walk into the woods. It isn't so hot there. The trees are all shady and old, and it's dark and quiet. I feel like I can breathe better in there. The ground is mossy, and I think: perfect. I decide to have a nap because I'm so tired...I lie down under a tree, between two big roots, and it's lovely and soft. I'm asleep really quickly...'

'Do you sleep for long?'

'I don't know. But I'm woken up too soon. Something wakes me up.'

'What wakes you up, Kate?'

'Voices. Voices wake me up; men's voices talking.'

'Can you see these men?'

'No. They're on the other side of the tree from me. I sit up and look around. They're standing a few feet away from me with their backs to me, but it's so quiet in there that I can hear every word they're saying. One of them is Doctor Death, I mean, Gaunt, without his lab coat, and the other one is a fat man in a suit, with a German accent. He's a visiting scientist.'

'What are they saying?'

In the car, Kate and Paul were both leaning forwards in their seats, gripping hands. Paul of course had heard it before, but he was as agog as Kate, perhaps waiting for her reaction to what was coming next. Kate remembered that she had talked about falling asleep under the tree, but she genuinely had no idea what the conversation she'd overheard was about. She thought briefly of Doreen, and wondered if she was surprised at all this talk of labs and scientists they hadn't mentioned that the place was a research laboratory.

'They're laughing,' Kate said on the tape, slowly and clearly. 'The German one goes "We're ahead of you on this one." Doctor Gaunt says, "Ah, but you've lost five already." I'm confused. I can't think what they're talking about. Maybe the football. Then the German says, "You're being far too timid in your experimentation you'll never catch us, with your insistence on these ridiculous ethics." Now I know they aren't talking about football...'

Kate squeezed Paul's hand involuntarily, with shock. 'Oh s.h.i.+t,' she said.

'Wait,' Paul replied, 'It gets worse.'

'Do they say anything else?' Doreen's voice betrayed no surprise at the unexpected turn of recollection. She retained the same calm, soothing monotone.

'Yes. Doctor Gaunt says, "If it were down to me... We're completely handicapped by Bainbridge he's becoming a liability. He's even got old family friends staying here now, though she won't be here much longer. What we've just discovered is going to blow you out of the water, my friend.... But it's difficult funds are tight, you know how it is.... Mangold has been more than generous, but he's starting to demand results. And if the government really knew what's going on here, they'd close us down and we'd all be in jail. If they think what Porton Down does is controversial, G.o.d knows what they'd make of this!"

'What do you do next?'

'I huddle up behind the tree with my arms wrapped around my knees. I try to make myself as small as possible because I suddenly just know that I will be in big big trouble if they see me here... I can't let them see me ... I'm really scared now, especially because they mentioned me. I keep thinking about Stephen and wondering if he knows about any of this stuff. I'm going to have to ask him but what if he does, and he's been hiding it from me? It sounds bad. They aren't talking about the common cold, that's for sure.'

'Do you ask Stephen about it?'

On the tape, Kate had started to cry. 'No. Because I never saw him again. He died before I could talk to him. The scientists eventually left the woods and I waited a bit longer and then went back to my room. I felt even more ill by then anyway. I went to bed. Sarah was there, but I was too sick to talk to her so I didn't even care. I just ignored her. The next thing I remember was being woken up by someone screaming, and Sarah pulling me to get up.'

'Tell me about the fire, Kate...'

'It was like the world was on fire...'

Kate clicked off the tape. 'I can't listen to any more, not at the moment. It's too much.'

'Did you remember saying any of that when you were in the trance?' Paul caressed her tense hand.

'Well. Sort of. But not in so much detail. And not what Dr. Death and his friend were talking about... But it makes sense, in a way. It makes sense now why Sampson's after us. He works for Dr. Death. He doesn't know how much I know, and he's freaking out. Oh G.o.d, Stephen, they'll kill us both '

Kate didn't even notice her mistake, until Paul removed his hand from hers.

'I'm Paul, Kate. Not Stephen.'

Kate slapped her head, mortified. 'Oh Paul, of course I didn't get you mixed up! I'm so sorry, it only slipped out because I'd been thinking so much about him, and talking about him so much on the tape.... Forgive me, please? It doesn't mean anything. It's you I want, really.'

Paul stared out of the window. He knew she was right, that it was an understandable slip of the tongue under the circ.u.mstances, and yet he couldn't prevent himself saying the one thing which had been preying on his mind for some time: 'So, what if Stephen were here? Would it still be me that you wanted?'

There was a brief silence. Kate leaned over to him, hugging him sideways on. But she couldn't look at him.

'Paul... how can I answer that? Surely it doesn't matter now? What's important is you and me. And figuring out how we get out of this without getting seriously hurt, or killed. I don't think this is the time to worry about our relations.h.i.+p. But, for what it's worth, I'm really glad you're here. And I really, really want us to be together. I don't want anyone else.'

Paul leaned down and kissed the top of her head. 'I know. I'm sorry. It all feels so overwhelming at the moment, that's all. I know I'm not helping matters by saying things like that.'

'It's OK.'

They hugged again and Paul closed his eyes. Kate was warm; she felt so right in his arms. He had never been the hearts and flowers type. Never been a romantic who believed that certain people were meant to be together. An ex-girlfriend had, at first, tried to persuade him that fate had introduced them, that they were two halves of a whole, twin souls who would be forever entwined. Then she cheated on him and left him. Since then, he hadn't gone looking for love, and he certainly didn't believe in destiny. But meeting Kate... well, it did feel like that. He couldn't imagine life without her now.

'You're trembling,' he said.

Her voice was quiet when she replied, speaking close to his ear. 'I can see him, Paul. Dr Gaunt. His face. And I feel like he's watching me.' She squeezed him tighter. 'He's still out there somewhere. I know it, and it terrifies me.'

Kate went into the petrol station to buy a bottle of water, leaving Paul in the car. He thought about when Kate had called him Stephen. It had hurt, made jealousy flare up inside. But he believed her when she said she wanted him. He also knew that if he thought about it too much, it would drive him insane.

Wanting to fill the silence, he turned on the engine and switched on the radio.

'Police investigating the murder of pensioner Jean Bainbridge are looking to question a man and a woman who were last seen in Cannock Chase. They are known to be armed, having stolen a gun, and may be dangerous. The man is described as...'

Paul switched off the radio just before Kate got back to the car. There was no point giving her even more to worry about.

CHAPTER 36.

Dr Clive Gaunt punched the code number into the panel and waited for the door to slide open. As he stepped inside he felt that familiar tingle, the thrill he got from his toes to the few hairs remaining on his scalp. It happened whenever he entered this cool, brightly-lit room. Only he and one other were allowed in here. This was his s.p.a.ce, where his life's work resided, where his most treasured possessions dwelled in suspended animation, waiting to be brought to life.

He walked around, running a gloved finger over the dull metal surfaces of the freezer units, surrounded by state of the art lab equipment. He didn't need to label the units; he knew by memory what was in each one. When he closed his eyes he could see inside no, more than that. In his mind's eye he could picture the viruses as magnified by an electron microscope. So beautiful. For example, the human papillamovirus, like a bright cl.u.s.ter of sea anemones swimming in a warm sea. Or the herpes viruses, each like some exotic flower, their capsids blooming in vivid colour. HIV was another favourite, bringing to mind an alien species from the dark edges of the universe.

His father had collected fine wines, and when Clive was a boy, Gaunt senior would very occasionally allow him to accompany him into the wine cellar. He wasn't allowed to speak during these wors.h.i.+pful visits, which usually happened on a Sunday, when father would return from church (or rather, his post-church visit to the pub). 'Come with me,' he'd say, and he would lead Clive down the stairs and switch on the low-hanging light. The bottles, s.h.i.+ning darkly in the dimness, were racked from floor to ceiling. His father would trace their labels with his finger, pick them up and cradle them, murmur sweet nothings before replacing them. On very special occasions, a bottle would be taken upstairs, opened, sniffed, savoured, sipped. And Clive would sometimes be allowed a small gla.s.s, given a clip round the ear if he didn't pull an adequately appreciative face as he tasted it.

When his father died, he sold off the entire collection and had the cellar of their huge country house converted. He wondered what Father would say if he'd known that one day his house would be the headquarters of the British cell of a worldwide network of very special scientific researchers; that what was once his wine cellar would house what was arguably the world's finest collection of viruses, rivalled only by those of Ryu Koizumi in j.a.pan and Charles Mangold in Utah. Though Koizumi was merely a rich collector he didn't do anything with his viruses and Mangold was past it now, a walking biological hazard who, fortunately for his fellow Americans, lived in the very middle of nowhere.

In these cabinets, below the ground in an English country house, were some of the most dangerous and hazardous organisms on earth. Here was stored the variola virus, which caused smallpox, last seen rampaging through nature in Somalia in 1977. After the initial symptoms vomiting, fever, delirium it turned the body into a patchwork of lesions before it destroyed the immune system. There was VEE, Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis, which caused extreme lethargy; very useful for incapacitating people, even if it seldom killed them.

Here too were Ebola and Marburg, and a range of VHFs, viral haemorraghic fevers, like La.s.sa Fever and Rift Valley Fever from Africa and Machupo from South America. Another favourite was SARS, a coronavirus, the same kind of virus as that which caused the common cold. SARS, of course, came from Asia. This was a truly cosmopolitan collection.

In the corner of the room, to which he made his way now, were the jewels in his crown. The influenza viruses. The 1957 vintage Asian Flu, H2N2. From 1968, here was H3N2, or Hong Kong Flu. There was the lesser-known H9N2 flu, plus H7N7, which hit Holland in 2003, leading to the slaughter of 30 million chickens.

And here was one of the most interesting and exciting viruses, which had cost him many favours and a small fortune to acquire: H1N1, aka the Great Influenza, aka the Spanish Flu, which devastated populations in 1918, killing somewhere between 20 and 40 million people. H1N1 turned people blue as their lungs became clogged and their blood was deprived of oxygen. Their lungs filled with fluid and they suffocated, drowned from the inside. H1N1 made the medieval Black Death look like, well, the common cold. Dr Gaunt stroked the surface of the unit that stored it, wondering what the Americans who had recreated it through reverse engineering only last year would think, if they had known where it would end up.

Finally, Dr Gaunt stopped in front of the furthest cabinet, the one with its own double combination lock, secured by a code only he and his little helper knew. Inside was avian flu, H5N1, plus the virus they had acquired from the young Chinese woman. Here too were the goodies that Sampson, who was on his way now, had taken from the lab in Oxford.

And on the top shelf, like a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafitte the most expensive wine in the world, the one his father would have killed to own was the virus that made him want to bow down before it like a serf. The culmination of his, and numerous others', life's work. For thirty years he had been moving towards this moment. There had been disasters along the way. Setbacks and many unfortunate but necessary deaths. Many of his closest colleagues and friends had died. He had sacrificed everything family, mainstream scientific acceptance, wealth for this. But now he knew that at last, with just one more test to complete and one more obstacle to remove, it was nearly time to unpop the cork.

Here she waited: the Pandora virus.

And when she made herself known, the world of science no, the entire world would gasp in awe.

Just before they drew their last breath.

CHAPTER 37.

If I pause now, Kate thought, if I try to absorb everything, it will overwhelm me. The sky s.h.i.+fted overhead, clouds that had obscured the sun parted to let the late afternoon rays through. Her stomach was knotted, her head throbbed. And her heart well, it was beating a new rhythm. She looked up and saw Paul watching her, and they exchanged a smile. His was laced with concern. But there was more than that. The look he gave her was the same one Stephen used to give her. It told her that he loved her, and it made her catch her breath.

But she missed Jack. All of a sudden, she had an urge to hear his sweet voice, a voice that sometimes whined and demanded, but that never failed to make her feel happy when she thought of it even if occasionally his intonation was horribly reminiscent of Vernon's.

'Can I use your mobile to call Jack?'

'Of course.' He pa.s.sed it over and she rang Miranda's number.

When Miranda answered the phone she was crying. 'You have to come. Now.' Kate tried to get more information out of her but that was all her sister would say. The line went dead, leaving Miranda's sob echoing in her ear.

Paul came over and put his hands on her upper arms. 'What is it?'

Kate broke away and ran towards the car. Every other feeling was swept away by the terror the overwhelming fear that something had happened to her child.

By the time they got to Churchill the sun had gone down. Paul drove while Kate stared out of the window at the stretching shadows, vivid horrors parading through her imagination. She tried to call Miranda again, to drag sense out of her, but she wouldn't answer the phone. Paul kept asking her if she was okay, which got really irritating after a while, until she snapped at him and he apologised and she felt guilty. But the guilt didn't last long, because the fear was too strong, and any guilt she did feel was directed towards herself. Why had she left Jack? How could she have been so selfish?

'We don't know that anything has happened to him,' Paul said, though he sounded far from confident.

'What else could it be?'

'I don't know. Let's just wait until we get there.'

They pulled up outside Miranda's house. Kate half-expected to see police cars, ambulances, Miranda standing hollow-eyed on the pavement, draped in a blanket with a policewoman beside her. But the house was dark and silent. There was no-one around.

The front door was ajar. Kate pushed it open and called, 'Miranda?'

There was no reply.

They looked in the living room, which was empty and dark. Kate called, 'Miranda? Jack?' and Paul joined in.

Then they heard a little girl call, 'Auntie Kate?'

They ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Miranda and Amelia were sitting in the darkness in one of the bedrooms, huddled together on the floor, Miranda's arm thrown around her daughter. Kate flicked on the light and Amelia buried her face against her mum's belly. Kate quickly realised this was George's room, though there was no sign of George.

'Where's Jack?'

Miranda shook her head and started crying. 'I'm so sorry.'

Kate knelt down, reached over Amelia and grabbed her sister by the shoulders, shaking her. 'Where is he?'

When Miranda answered her breath smelled sour, like someone who'd gone to bed without cleaning their teeth after a drinking session. 'Vernon took him.'

'What?'

'He just turned up and...and I couldn't stop him. He was too strong. He pushed me over.'

's.h.i.+t. What time was this?'

'I don't know. Just before six.'

Kate stood up, her hands in her hair. 'He'll be at Heathrow by now; he might even be on a plane back to Boston. Oh...' She turned back to her sister. 'Where's Pete? Couldn't he have stopped Vernon?'

'He went for a drink after work. He'll still be in the pub.'

Kate was beginning to realise that, as bad as it was that Vernon had turned up and taken Jack, there was something even worse going on here. Something really wrong. 'And George?'

Miranda burst into tears again. Kate wanted to scream with frustration. Then Amelia said, 'After Uncle Vernon went off with Jack, the bad man came.'

Kate stared at her.

'He came and took George. They were going to look for Jack. He made Mummy tell him that Jack was going to get an aeroplane. He said... he said...he'd kill me if Mummy didn't tell him...' Amelia's lip trembled and she stared wide-eyed back at Kate.

Paul stepped forward. 'What did this bad man look like, sweetheart?'

Amelia pressed her face against her mother's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'Like a monster.'

Miranda managed to speak. 'He left your phone. Look.' She pointed, and Kate saw the astonis.h.i.+ng sight of her lost phone lying on the carpet.