by Ken Follett
She sighed and killed the engine. "Tom, you'll have to come, too."
The house was attractively decorated, Miranda thought as she stepped into the hall. Jennifer had a good eye. She had combined plain rustic furniture with colorful fabrics in the way an overseer's house-proud wife might have done a hundred years ago. There were Christmas cards on the mantelpiece, but no tree.
It seemed strange to think that Ned had lived here. He had come home every evening to this house, just as now he came home to Miranda's flat. He had listened to the news on the radio, sat down to dinner, read Russian novels, brushed his teeth automatically, and gone unthinkingly to bed to hold a different woman in his arms.
Sophie was in the living room, lying on a couch in front of the television. She had a pierced navel with a cheap jewel in it. Miranda smelled cigarette smoke. Ned said, "Now, Sophie, Miranda's going to help you get ready, okay, poppet?" There was a pleading note in his voice that made Miranda wince.
"I'm watching a film," Sophie said sulkily.
Miranda knew that Sophie would respond to firmness, not supplication. She picked up the remote control and turned the television off. "Show me your bedroom, please, Sophie," she said briskly.
Sophie looked rebellious.
"Hurry up, we're short of time."
Sophie stood up reluctantly and walked slowly from the room. Miranda followed her upstairs to a messy bedroom decorated with posters of boys with peculiar haircuts and ludicrously baggy jeans.
"We'll be at Steepfall for five days, so you need ten pairs of knickers, for a start."
"I haven't got ten."
Miranda did not believe her, but she said, "Then we'll take what you've got, and you can do laundry."
Sophie stood in the middle of the room, a mutinous expression on her pretty face.
"Come on," Miranda said. "I'm not going to be your maid. Get some knickers out." She stared at the girl.
Sophie was not able to stare her out. She dropped her eyes, turned away, and opened the top drawer of a chest. It was full of underwear.
"Pack five bras," Miranda said.
Sophie began taking items out.
Crisis over, Miranda thought. She opened the door of a closet. "You'll need a couple of frocks for the evenings." She took out a red dress with spaghetti straps, much too sexy for a fourteen-year-old. "This is nice," she lied.
Sophie thawed a little. "It's new."
"We should wrap it so that it doesn't crease. Where do you keep tissue paper?"
"In the kitchen drawer, I think."
"I'll fetch it. You find a couple of clean pairs of jeans."
Miranda went downstairs, feeling that she was beginning to establish the right balance of friendliness and authority with Sophie. Ned and Tom were in the living room, watching TV. Miranda entered the kitchen and called out: "Ned, do you know where tissue paper is kept?"
"I'm sorry, I don't."
"Stupid question," Miranda muttered, and she began opening drawers.
She eventually found some at the back of a cupboard of sewing materials. She had to kneel on the tiled floor to pull the packet from under a box of ribbons. It was an effort to reach into the cupboard, and she felt herself flush. This is ridiculous, she thought. I'm only thirty-five, I should be able to bend without effort. I must lose ten pounds. No roast potatoes with the Christmas turkey.
As she took the packet of tissue paper from the cupboard, she heard the back door of the house open, then a woman's footsteps. She looked up to see Jennifer.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jennifer said. She was a small woman, but managed to look formidable, with her high forehead and arched nose. She was smartly dressed in a tailored coat and high-heeled boots.
Miranda got to her feet, panting slightly. To her mortification, she felt perspiration break out on her throat. "I was looking for tissue paper."
"I can see that. I want to know why you're in my house at all."
Ned appeared in the doorway. "Hello, Jenny, I didn't hear you come in."
"Obviously I didn't give you time to sound the alarm," she said sarcastically.
"Sorry," he said, "but I asked Miranda to come in and--"
"Well, don't!" Jennifer interrupted. "I don't want your women here."
She made it sound as if Ned had a harem. In fact he had dated only two women since Jennifer. The first he had seen only once, and the second was Miranda. But it seemed childishly quarrelsome to point that out. Instead, Miranda said, "I was just trying to help Sophie."
"I'll take care of Sophie. Please leave my house."
Ned said, "I'm sorry if we startled you, Jenny, but--"
"Don't bother to apologize, just get her out of here."
Miranda blushed hotly. No one had ever been so rude to her. "I'd better leave," she said.
"That's right," Jennifer said.
Ned said, "I'll bring Sophie out as soon as I can."
Miranda was as angry with Ned as with Jennifer, though for the moment she was not sure why. She turned toward the hall.
"You can use the back door," Jennifer said.
To her shame, Miranda hesitated. She looked at Jennifer and saw on her face the hint of a smirk. That gave Miranda an ounce of courage. "I don't think so," she said quietly. She went to the front door.
"Tom, come with me," she called.
"Just a minute," he shouted back.
She stepped into the living room. Tom was watching TV. She grabbed his wrist, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him out of the house.
"That hurts!" he protested.
She slammed the front door. "Next time, come when I call."
She felt like crying as she got into the car. Now she had to sit waiting, like a servant, while Ned was in the house with his ex-wife. Had Jennifer actually planned this whole drama as a way of humiliating Miranda? It was possible. Ned had been hopeless. She knew now why she was so cross with him. He had let Jennifer insult her without a word of protest. He just kept apologizing. And for what? If Jennifer had packed a case for her daughter, or even got the girl to do it herself, Miranda would not have had to enter the house. And then, worst of all, Miranda had taken out her anger on her son. She should have shouted at Jennifer, not Tom.
She looked at him in the driving mirror. "Tommy, I'm sorry I hurt your wrist," she said.
"It's okay," he said without looking up from his Game Boy. "I'm sorry I didn't come when you called."
"All forgiven, then," she said. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
11 A.M.
"VIRUSES kill thousands of people every day," Stanley Oxenford said. "About every ten years, an epidemic of influenza kills around twenty-five thousand people in the United Kingdom. In 1918, flu caused more deaths than the whole of World War One. In the year 2002, three million people died of AIDS, which is caused by human immunodeficiency virus. And viruses are involved in ten percent of cancers."
Toni listened intently, sitting beside him in the Great Hall, under the varnished timbers of the mock-medieval roof. He sounded calm and controlled, but she knew him well enough to recognize the barely audible tremor of strain in his voice. He had been shocked and dismayed by Laurence Mahoney's threat, and the fear that he might lose everything was only just concealed by his unruffled facade.
She watched the faces of the assembled reporters. Would they hear what he was saying and understand the importance of his work? She knew journalists. Some were intelligent, many stupid. A few believed in telling the truth; the majority just wrote the most sensational story they could get away with. She felt indignant that they could hold in their hands the fate of a man such as Stanley. Yet the power of the tabloids was a brutal fact of modern life. If enough of these hacks chose to portray Stanley as a mad scientist in a Frankenstein castle, the Americans might be sufficiently embarrassed to pull the finance.
That would be a tragedy--not just for Stanley, but for the world. True, someone else could finish the testing program for the antiviral drug
, but a ruined and bankrupt Stanley would invent no more miracle cures. Toni thought angrily that she would like to slap the dumb faces of the journalists and say, "Wake up--this is about your future, too!"
"Viruses are a fact of life, but we don't have to accept that fact passively," Stanley went on. Toni admired the way he spoke. His voice was measured but relaxed. He used this tone when explaining things to younger colleagues. His speech sounded more like a conversation. "Scientists can defeat viruses. Before AIDS, the great killer was smallpox--until a scientist called Edward Jenner invented vaccination in 1796. Now smallpox has disappeared from human society. Similarly, polio has been eliminated in large areas of our world. In time, we will defeat influenza, and AIDS, and even cancer--and it will be done by scientists like us, working in laboratories such as this."
A woman put up a hand and called out. "What are you working on here--exactly?"
Toni said, "Would you mind identifying yourself?"
"Edie McAllan, science correspondent, Scotland on Sunday."
Cynthia Creighton, sitting on the other side of Stanley, made a note.
Stanley said, "We have developed an antiviral drug. That's rare. There are plenty of antibiotic drugs, which kill bacteria, but few that attack viruses."
A man said, "What's the difference?" He added, "Clive Brown, Daily Record."
The Record was a tabloid. Toni was pleased with the direction the questions were taking. She wanted the press to concentrate on real science. The more they understood, the less likely they were to print damaging rubbish.
Stanley said, "Bacteria, or germs, are tiny creatures that can be seen with a normal microscope. Each of us is host to billions of them. Many are useful, helping us digest food, for example, or dispose of dead skin cells. A few cause illness, and some of those can be treated with antibiotics. Viruses are smaller and simpler than bacteria. You need an electron microscope to see them. A virus cannot reproduce itself--instead, it hijacks the biochemical machinery of a living cell and forces the cell to produce copies of the virus. No known virus is useful to humans. And we have few medicines to combat them. That's why a new antiviral drug is such good news for the human race."
Edie McAllan asked, "What particular viruses is your drug effective against?"
It was another scientific question. Toni began to believe that this press conference would do all that she and Stanley hoped. She quelled her optimism with an effort. She knew, from her experience as a police press officer, that a journalist could ask serious and intelligent questions then go back to the office and write inflammatory garbage. Even if the writer turned in a sensible piece, it might be rewritten by someone ignorant and irresponsible.
Stanley replied, "That's the question we're trying to answer. We're testing the drug against a variety of viruses to determine its range."
Clive Brown said, "Does that include dangerous viruses?"
Stanley said, "Yes. No one is interested in drugs for safe viruses."
The audience laughed. It was a witty answer to a stupid question. But Brown looked annoyed, and Toni's heart sank. A humiliated journalist would stop at nothing to get revenge.
She intervened quickly. "Thank you for that question, Clive," she said, trying to mollify him. "Here at Oxenford Medical we impose the highest possible standards of security in laboratories where special materials are used. In BSL4, which stands for BioSafety Level Four, the alarm system is directly connected with regional police headquarters at Inverburn. There are security guards on duty twenty-four hours a day, and this morning I have doubled the number of guards. As a further precaution, security guards cannot enter BSL4, but monitor the laboratory via closed-circuit television cameras."
Brown was not appeased. "If you've got perfect security, how did the hamster get out?"
Toni was ready for this. "Let me make three points. One, it was not a hamster. You've got that from the police, and it's wrong." She had deliberately given Frank dud information, and he had fallen into her trap, betraying himself as the source of the leaked story. "Please rely on us for the facts about what goes on here. It was a rabbit, and it was not called Fluffy."
They laughed at this, and even Brown smiled.
"Two, the rabbit was smuggled out of the laboratory in a bag, and we have today instituted a compulsory bag search at the entrance to BSL4, to make sure this cannot happen again. Three, I didn't say we had perfect security. I said we set the highest possible standards. That's all human beings can do."
"So you're admitting your laboratory is a danger to innocent members of the Scottish public."
"No. You're safer here than you would be driving on the M8 or taking a flight from Prestwick. Viruses kill many people every day, but only one person has ever died of a virus from our lab, and he was not an innocent member of the public--he was an employee who deliberately broke the rules and knowingly put himself at risk."
On balance it was going well, Toni thought as she looked around for the next question. The television cameras were rolling, the flashguns were popping, and Stanley was coming across as what he was, a brilliant scientist with a strong sense of responsibility. But she was afraid the TV news would throw away the undramatic footage of the press conference in favor of the crowd of youngsters at the gate chanting slogans about animal rights. She wished she could think of something more interesting for the cameramen to point their lenses at.
Frank's friend Carl Osborne spoke up for the first time. He was a good-looking man of about Toni's age with movie-star features. His hair was a shade too yellow to be natural. "Exactly what danger did this rabbit pose to the general public?"
Stanley answered: "The virus is not very infectious across species. In order to infect Michael, we think the rabbit must have bitten him."
"What if the rabbit had got loose?"
Stanley looked out of the window. A light snow was falling. "It would have frozen to death."
"Suppose it had been eaten by another animal. Could a fox have become infected?"
"No. Viruses are adapted to a small number of species, usually one, sometimes two or three. This one does not infect foxes, or any other form of Scottish wildlife, as far as we know. Just humans, macaque monkeys, and certain types of rabbit."
"But Michael could have given the virus to other people."
"By sneezing, yes. This was the possibility that alarmed us most. However, Michael seems not to have seen anyone during the critical period. We have already contacted his colleagues and friends. Nonetheless, we would be grateful if you would use your newspapers and television programs to appeal for anyone who did see him to call us immediately."
"We aren't trying to minimize this," Toni put in hastily. "We are deeply concerned about the incident and, as I've explained, we have already put in stronger security measures. But at the same time we must be careful not to exaggerate." Telling journalists not to exaggerate was a bit like telling lawyers not to be quarrelsome, she thought wryly. "The truth is that the public have not been endangered."
Osborne was not finished. "Suppose Michael Ross had given it to a friend, who had given it to someone else . . . how many people might have died?"
Toni said quickly, "We can't enter into that kind of wild speculation. The virus did not spread. One person died. That's one too many, but it's no reason to start talking about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." She bit her tongue. That was a stupid phrase to use: someone would probably quote it, out of context, and make it seem as if she had been forecasting doomsday.
Osborne said, "I understand your work is financed by the American army."
"The Department of Defense, yes," Stanley said. "They are naturally interested in ways of combating biological warfare."
"Isn't it true that the Americans have this work done in Scotland because they think it's too dangerous to be done in the United States?"
"On the contrary. A great deal of work of this type goes on in the States, at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, and at the U.S. Army Medical Resea
rch Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick."
"So why was Scotland chosen?"
"Because the drug was invented here at Oxenford Medical."
Toni decided to quit while she was ahead and close the press conference. "I don't want to cut the questioning short, but I know some of you have midday deadlines," she said. "You should all have an information pack, and Cynthia here has extra copies."
"One more question," said Clive Brown of the Record. "What's your reaction to the demonstration outside?"
Toni realized she still had not thought of something more interesting for the cameras.
Stanley said, "They offer a simple answer to a complex ethical question. Like most simple answers, theirs is wrong."
It was the right response, but sounded a little hard-hearted, so Toni added, "And we hope they don't catch cold."
While the audience was laughing at that, Toni stood up to indicate the conference was over. Then she was struck by inspiration. She beckoned to Cynthia Creighton. Turning her back on the audience, she spoke in a low, urgent voice. "Go down to the canteen, quickly," she said. "Get two or three canteen staff to load up trays with cups of hot coffee and tea, and hand them out to the demonstrators outside the gate."
"What a kind thought," said Cynthia.
Toni was not being kind--in fact she was being cynical--but there was no time to explain that. "It must be done in the next couple of minutes," she said. "Go, go!"
Cynthia hurried away.
Toni turned to Stanley and said, "Well done. You handled that perfectly."
He took a red polka-dotted handkerchief from his jacket pocket and discreetly mopped his face. "I hope it's done the trick."
"We'll know when we see the lunchtime news on television. Now you should slip away; otherwise they'll all be trying to corner you for an exclusive interview." He was under pressure, and she wanted to protect him.
"Good thinking. I need to get home, anyway." He lived in a farmhouse on a cliff five miles from the lab. "I'd like to be there to welcome the family."
That disappointed her. She had been looking forward to reviewing the press conference with him. "Okay," she said. "I'll monitor the reaction."