by Ken Follett
12:35 A.M.
KIT was fighting down panic. His brilliant plan had collapsed in ruins. Now there was no way the robbery would go undetected until the staff returned to work after the holiday. At most, it might remain a secret until six o'clock this morning, when the next shift of security guards arrived. But if Toni Gallo were still on her way here, the time left was even shorter.
If his plan had worked, there would have been no violence. Even now, he thought with helpless frustration, it had not been strictly necessary. The guard Susan could have been captured and tied up without injury. Unfortunately, Daisy could not resist an opportunity for brutality. Kit hoped desperately that the other guards could be rounded up without further nauseating scenes of bloodshed.
Now, as they ran to the control room, both Nigel and Daisy drew guns.
Kit was horrified. "We agreed no weapons!" he protested.
"Good thing we ignored you," Nigel replied.
They came to the door. Kit stared aghast at the guns. They were small automatic pistols with fat grips. "This makes it armed robbery, you realize that."
"Only if we're caught." Nigel turned the handle and kicked the door open.
Daisy burst into the room, yelling at the top of her voice: "On the floor! Now! Both of you!"
There was only a moment's hesitation, while the two security guards went from shock and bewilderment to fear; then they threw themselves down.
Kit felt powerless. He had intended to enter the room first and say, Please stay calm and do as you're told, then you won't get hurt. But he had lost control. There was nothing he could do now but string along and try to make sure nothing else went wrong.
Elton appeared in the doorway of the equipment room. He took in the scene in an instant.
Daisy screamed at the guards: "Face down, hands behind your backs, eyes closed! Quick, quick, or I'll shoot you in the balls!"
They did as she said but, even so, she kicked Don in the face with a heavy boot. He cried out and flinched away, but remained prone.
Kit placed himself in front of Daisy. "Enough!" he shouted.
Elton shook his head in amazement. "She's loony fucking tunes."
The gleeful malevolence on Daisy's face frightened Kit, but he forced himself to stare at her. He had too much at stake to let her ruin everything. "Listen to me!" he shouted. "You're not in the lab yet, and you won't ever get there at this rate. If you want to be empty-handed when we meet the client at ten, just carry on the way you are." She turned away from his pointing finger, but he went after her. "No more brutality!"
Nigel backed him. "Ease up, Daisy," he said. "Do as he says. See if you can tie these two up without kicking their heads in."
Kit said, "We'll put them in the same place as the girl."
Daisy tied their hands with electrical cable; then she and Nigel herded them out at gunpoint. Elton stayed behind, watching the monitors, keeping an eye on Steve in reception. Kit followed the prisoners to BSL4 and opened the door. They put Don and Stu on the floor next to Susan and tied their feet. Don was bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead. Susan seemed conscious but groggy.
"One left," said Kit as they stepped outside. "Steve, in the Great Hall. And no unnecessary violence!"
Daisy gave a grunt of disgust.
Nigel said, "Kit, try not to say any more in front of the guards about the client and our ten o'clock rendezvous. If you tell them too much, we may have to kill them."
Kit realized, aghast, what he had done. He felt like a fool.
His phone rang.
"That might be Toni," he said. "Let me check." He ran back to the equipment room. His laptop screen said, "Toni calling Kremlin." He transferred the call to the phone on the desk at reception and listened in.
"Hi, Steve, this is Toni. Any news?"
"The repair crew are still here."
"Everything all right otherwise?"
With the phone to his ear, Kit stepped into the control room and stood behind Elton to watch Steve on the monitor. "Yeah, I think so. Susan Mackintosh should have finished her patrol by now, but maybe she went to the ladies' room."
Kit cursed.
Toni said anxiously, "How late is she?"
On the monitor, in black-and-white, Steve checked his wristwatch. "Five minutes."
"Give her another five minutes, then go and look for her."
"Okay. Where are you?"
"Not far away, but I've had an accident. A car full of drunks clipped the rear end of the Porsche."
Kit thought, I wish they'd killed you.
Steve said, "Are you okay?"
"Fine, but my car's damaged. Fortunately, another car was following me, and he's giving me a lift."
And who the hell was that? "Shit," Kit said aloud. "Her and some fellow."
"When will you be here?"
"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty."
Kit's knees went weak. He staggered and sat in one of the guards' chairs. Twenty minutes--thirty at the most! It took twenty minutes to get suited up for BSL4!
Toni said goodbye and hung up the phone.
Kit ran across the control room and out into the corridor. "She'll be here in twenty or thirty minutes," he said. "And there's someone with her, I don't know who. We have to move fast."
They ran along the corridor. Daisy, going first, burst into the Great Hall and yelled: "On the floor--now!"
Kit and Nigel ran in after her and stopped abruptly. The room was empty. "Shit," said Kit.
Steve had been at the desk twenty seconds ago. He could not have gone far. Kit looked around the half-dark room, at the chairs for waiting visitors, the coffee table with science magazines, the rack of leaflets about Oxenford Medical's work, the display case with models of complex molecules. He stared up into the dimly lit skeleton of the hammer-beam roof, as if Steve might be hiding among the timber ribs.
Nigel and Daisy ran along radiating corridors, opening doors.
Kit's eye was caught by two stick figures, male and female, on a door: the toilets. He ran across the hall. There was a short corridor leading to separate men's and ladies' rooms. Kit went into the men's room.
It appeared empty. "Mr. Tremlett?" He pushed open all the cubicle doors. No one was there.
As he stepped out, he saw Steve returning to the reception desk. The guard must have been in the ladies' room--searching for Susan, Kit realized.
Steve turned around, hearing Kit. "Looking for me?"
"Yes." Kit realized he could not apprehend Steve without help. Kit was younger, and athletic, but Steve was a fit man in his thirties, and might not give up without a fight. "Something I need to ask you," Kit said, playing for time. He made his accent more Scots than was natural, to make sure Steve did not find his voice familiar.
Steve lifted the flap and entered the oval of the desk. "And what would that be?"
"Just a minute." Kit turned away and shouted after Nigel and Daisy. "Hey! Back in here!"
Steve looked troubled. "What's going on? You lot aren't supposed to be wandering around the building."
"I'll explain in a minute."
Steve looked hard at him and frowned. "Have you been here before?"
Kit swallowed. "No, never."
"There's something familiar about you."
Kit's mouth went dry and he found it hard to speak. "I work with the emergency team." Where were the others?
"I don't like this." Steve picked up the phone on the desk.
Where were Nigel and Daisy? Kit shouted again: "Get back in here, you two!"
Steve dialed, and the mobile in Kit's pocket rang. Steve heard it. He frowned, thinking, then a look of shocked understanding came over his face. "You messed with the phones!"
Kit said, "Stay calm, and you won't get hurt." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized his mistake: he had confirmed Steve's suspicions.
Steve acted quickly. He leaped nimbly over the desk and ran for the door.
Kit yelled: "Stop!"
Steve stumbled, fel
l, and got up again.
Daisy came running into the hall, saw Steve, and turned toward the main door, heading him off.
Steve saw that he could not make it to the door and turned instead into the corridor leading to BSL4.
Daisy and Kit ran after him.
Steve sprinted down the long corridor. There was an exit toward the rear of the building, Kit recalled. If Steve made it outside, they might never catch him.
Daisy was well ahead of Kit, arms pumping like a sprinter, and Kit recalled her powerful shoulders in the swimming pool; but Steve was running like a hare, and pulling away from them. He was going to escape.
Then, as Steve drew level with the door leading to the control room, Elton stepped into the corridor in front of him. Steve was going too fast to take evasive action. Elton stuck out a foot and tripped Steve, who went flying.
As Steve hit the ground, face down, Elton fell on him, with both knees in the small of his back, and pushed the barrel of a pistol into his cheek. "Don't move, and you won't get shot in the face," he said. His voice was calm but convincing.
Steve lay still.
Elton stood, keeping the gun pointed at Steve. "That's the way to do it," he said to Daisy. "No blood."
She looked scornful.
Nigel came running up. "What happened?"
"Never mind!" Kit shouted. "We're out of time!"
"What about the two guards in the gatehouse?" Nigel said.
"Forget them! They don't know what's happened here, and they're not likely to find out--they stay out there all night." He pointed at Elton. "Get my laptop from the equipment room and wait for us in the van." He turned to Daisy. "Bring Steve, tie him up in BSL4, then get into the van. We have to go into the laboratory--now!"
12:45 A.M.
IN the barn, Sophie had produced a bottle of vodka.
Craig's mother had ordered lights out at midnight, but she had not come back to check, so the youngsters were sitting in front of the television set, watching an old horror movie. Craig's dopey sister, Caroline, stroked a white rat and pretended she thought the film was silly. His little cousin Tom was pigging out on chocolates and trying to stay awake. Sexy Sophie smoked cigarettes and said nothing. Craig was alternately worrying about the dented Ferrari and watching for a chance to kiss Sophie. Somehow the setting was not romantic enough. But would it get any better?
The vodka surprised him. He had thought her talk of cocktails was just showing off. But she went up the ladder to the hayloft bedroom, where her bag was, and came back down with a half bottle of Smirnoff in her hand. "Who wants some?" she said.
They all did.
The only glasses they had were plastic tumblers decorated with pictures of Pooh and Tigger and Eeyore. There was a fridge with soft drinks and ice. Tom and Caroline mixed their vodka with Coca-Cola. Craig, not sure what to do, copied Sophie and drank it straight with ice. The taste was bitter, but he liked the warm glow as it went down his throat.
The movie was going through a dull patch. Craig said to Sophie, "Do you know what you're getting for Christmas?"
"Two decks and a mixer, so I can deejay. You?"
"Snowboarding holiday. Some guys I know are going to Val d'Isere at Easter, but it's expensive. I've asked for the money. So you want to be a deejay?"
"I think I'd be good at it."
"Is that, like, your career plan?"
"Dunno." Sophie looked scornful. "What's your 'career plan'?"
"Can't make up my mind. I'd love to play football professionally. But then you're finished before you're forty. And anyway, I might not be good enough. I'd really like to be a scientist like Grandpa."
"A bit boring."
"No! He discovers fantastic new drugs, he's his own boss, he makes piles of money, and he drives a Ferrari F50--what's boring?"
She shrugged. "I wouldn't mind the car." She giggled. "Except for the dent."
The thought of the damage he had done to his grandfather's car no longer depressed Craig. He was feeling pleasantly relaxed and carefree. He toyed with the idea of kissing Sophie right now, ignoring the others. What held him back was the thought that she might reject him in front of his sister, which would be humiliating.
He wished he understood girls. No one ever told you anything. His father probably knew all there was to know. Women seemed to take to Hugo instantly, but Craig could not figure out why, and when he asked, his father just laughed. In a rare moment of intimacy with his mother, he had asked her what attracted girls to a man. "Kindness," she had said. That was obviously rubbish. When waitresses and shop assistants responded to his father, grinning at him, blushing, walking away with a distinct wiggle, it was not because they thought he would be kind to them, for God's sake. But what was it? All Craig's friends had surefire theories about sex appeal, and they were all different. One believed that girls liked a guy to be masterful and tell them what to do; another said that if you ignored them they would flock around you; others claimed girls were interested only in an athletic physique, or good looks, or money. Craig was sure they were all wrong, but he had no hypothesis of his own.
Sophie drained her glass. "Another?"
They all had another.
Craig began to realize that the movie was, in fact, hilarious. "That castle is so obviously made of plywood," he said with a chuckle.
Sophie said, "And they all have sixties eye makeup and hairstyles, even though it's set in the Middle Ages."
Caroline suddenly said, "Oh, God, I'm so sleepy." She got to her feet, climbed the ladder with some difficulty, and disappeared.
Craig thought, One down, one to go. Maybe the scene could turn romantic after all.
The old witch in the story had to bathe in the blood of a virgin to make herself young again. The bathtub scene was a hilarious combination of titillation and gross-out, and both Craig and Sophie giggled helplessly.
"I'm going to be sick," said Tom.
"Oh, no!" Craig sprang to his feet. He felt dizzy for a second, then recovered. "Bathroom, quick," he said. He took Tom's arm and led him there.
Tom started to throw up a fatal second before he reached the toilet.
Craig ignored the mess on the floor and guided him to the bowl. Tom puked some more. Craig held the boy's shoulders and tried not to breathe. There goes the romantic atmosphere, he thought.
Sophie came to the door. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah." Craig put on the air of a snooty schoolteacher. "An injudicious combination of chocolates, vodka, and virgin's blood."
Sophie laughed. Then, to Craig's surprise, she grabbed a length of toilet roll, got down on her knees, and began to clean the tiled floor.
Tom straightened up.
"All done?" Craig asked him.
Tom nodded.
"Sure?"
"Sure."
Craig flushed the toilet. "Now clean your teeth."
"Why?"
"So you won't smell so bad."
Tom brushed his teeth.
Sophie threw a wad of paper into the toilet and took some more.
Craig led Tom out of the bathroom to his camp bed on the floor. "Get undressed," he said. He opened Tom's small suitcase and found a pair of Spider-Man pajamas. Tom put them on and climbed into bed. Craig folded his clothes.
"I'm sorry I heaved," Tom said.
"It happens to the best of us," Craig said. "Forget it." He pulled the blanket up to Tom's chin. "Sweet dreams."
He returned to the bathroom. Sophie had cleaned up with surprising efficiency, and she was pouring disinfectant into the bowl. Craig washed his hands, and she stood beside him at the sink and did the same. It felt comradely.
In a low, amused voice, Sophie said, "When you told him to brush his teeth, he asked why."
Craig grinned at her in the mirror. "Like, he wasn't planning to kiss anyone tonight, so why bother?"
"Right."
She looked the most beautiful she had all day, Craig thought as she smiled at him in the mirror, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He
took a towel and handed her one end. They both dried their hands. Craig pulled the towel, drawing her to him, and kissed her lips.
She kissed him back. He parted his lips a little, and let her feel the tip of his tongue. She seemed tentative, unsure how to respond. Could it be that, for all her talk, she had not done much kissing?
He murmured, "Shall we go back to the couch? I never like snogging in the bog."
She giggled and led the way out.
Craig thought, I'm not this witty when I'm sober.
He sat close to Sophie on the couch and put his arm around her. They watched the film for a minute, then he kissed her again.
12:55 A.M.
AN airtight submarine door led from the changing room into the biohazard zone. Kit turned the four-spoked wheel and opened the door. He had been inside the laboratory before it was commissioned, when there were no dangerous viruses present, but he had never entered a live BSL4 facility--he was not trained. Feeling that he was taking his life in his hands, he stepped through the doorway into the shower room. Nigel followed him, carrying Elton's burgundy briefcase. Elton and Daisy were waiting outside in the van.
Kit closed the door behind them. The doors were electronically linked so that the next would not open until the last was shut. His ears popped. Air pressure was reduced in stages as you entered BSL4, so that any air leaks were inward, preventing the escape of dangerous agents.
They passed through another doorway, into a room where blue plastic space suits hung from hooks. Kit took off his shoes. "Find one your size and get into it," he said to Nigel. "We've got to shortcut the safety precautions."
"I don't like the sound of that."
Kit did not either, but they had no choice. "The normal procedure is too long," he said. "You have to take off all your clothes, including underwear, even your jewelry, then put on surgical scrubs, before you suit up." He took a suit off a hook and began to climb into it. "Coming out takes even longer. You have to shower in your suit, first with a decontamination solution, then with water, on a predetermined cycle that takes five minutes. Then you take off the suit and your scrubs and shower naked for five minutes. You clean your nails, blow your nose, clear your throat and spit. Then you get dressed. If we do all that, half the Inverburn police could be here by the time we get out. We'll skip the showers, take off our suits, and run."
Nigel was appalled. "How dangerous is it?"
"Like driving your car at a hundred and thirty miles an hour--it might kill you, but it probably won't, so long as you don't make a habit of it. Hurry up, get a damn suit on." Kit closed his helmet. The plastic faceplate gave slightly distorted vision. He closed the diagonal zip across the front of the suit, then helped Nigel.