‘How is she?’
‘Not good Tom, I don’t think she’ll ever get her full memory back. She let me look around her apartment and I found some paperwork relating to clinical trials.’
‘What, testing drugs on people with poor memory?’
‘No, quite the opposite. The trial was testing a new Alzheimer’s drug on healthy volunteers.’
Tom sat back in the seat of the truck and took in a deep breath. He was suddenly getting the idea.
‘You’re now going to tell me that the trial was Biomedivac’s.’
‘Precisely Tom, and the leader of the trial was Doctor Robert Barnes.’
Tom whistled. ‘So that’s where she got your card from, you told me you’d met Barnes earlier.’
‘That’s right, when I was starting research on this project. The thing we have to establish now is why he gave Esther my card. But I have a theory on that one too.’
They were approaching the Tarifa ferry. Nathalie was obviously not going to expound any further so Tom busied himself fishing out their documentation from his bag. The two trucks were waved into a short queue of cars and vans by a port official. They presented their passports and vehicle papers and after a short while were guided onto the roll-on roll-off ferry. They had been told the trip would only take an hour. An hour on a boat from Europe to Africa, it seemed strange, but the timetable was correct and it wasn’t long before they were being shepherded into a large arrivals hall. The exit of this hall took longer than the passage of the ferry. One by one men in military type uniforms came up to them asking them to fill in paperwork. They did this repeatedly a number of times. Eventually a senior official, senior by his groomed grey beard and authoritative cap, walked up to Sebastian and asked him to go with him to the office. Sebastian kept very cool.
‘Won’t be a moment, have to technically import the vehicles,’ he said to the others. ‘Normal procedure. They’re looking for a backhander,’ he whispered to Nathalie.
Half an hour later the military bureaucrats opened the gates and the two film trucks drove into the outskirts of Tangiers. Once through the city Sebastian and Axel pulled over to fill up with diesel. John suggested that, as the journey to their hotel would take another four hours, they should take some lunch in the service station. All were in agreement so they bought sandwiches and soft drinks and sat around one of the restaurant’s Formica tables.
‘Not very Moroccan,’ said Tom looking at the cloned service station decor.
‘They’ve upgraded the roads and gas stations,’ said Axel. ‘We should be grateful, ten years ago it was difficult to find a fuel pump.’
‘I was hoping for something more exotic; you know, decorative carpets, exotic pottery, hookah pipes.’
Nathalie laughed. ‘Don’t worry Tom. Next stop Casablanca.’
‘Play it again Sam,’ said Tom.
‘He didn’t say that!’ they all shouted in unison.
Twenty-eight
Casablanca was one of those places that John McCord would call ‘been but not seen’. The crew arrived in the dark and left before dawn. The GPS maps in the trucks didn’t cover Africa and they navigated by the hand-drawn one given to Nathalie by Professor Townes. They took the A5 south towards El-Jadida, their headlights picking out the monotonous tarmac of the motorway. By the time they had reached their turnoff the natural light took over and they were able to see the unspectacular barren land on either side as they headed towards the Mid Atlas. The roads became narrower and the French road signs turned into Arabic. Passing cars became fewer and were gradually replaced with donkeys and carts. This was the Morocco that Tom was hoping for.
‘I think we were meant to turn right back there,’ he said peering at the map.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Nathalie. ‘The professor told me that we couldn’t miss it; the turning should be just after the vineyards.’
‘Weird isn’t it…’ said Sebastian, swerving to avoid a large rock in the road. ‘Who would have thought they would make wine here.’
‘A hangover from French colonial days I think,’ said Nathalie. ‘Anyway, I’m sure we haven’t passed them yet.’
Sebastian pulled the steering wheel over once more, this time to avoid an old lady on a pony. ‘No hangover from last night, the hotel didn’t sell alcohol.’
Tom was still wrestling with the map. ‘A good job too; reading this map in a bucking truck is making me quite queasy. I’m sure we should have turned right back there, can’t we ask someone?’
‘Only if they can speak French,’ said Sebastian. ‘My Arabic’s non-existent.’
Nathalie shouted and pointed in front of them. ‘There, I told you so; look huge vineyards.’
Spread out before them were rows and rows of vines. They could almost be driving through central France apart from the fact that the vines were sprinkled with blue and orange plastic bags. Evidently, rubbish collection was not the priority here.
‘Tragic isn’t it.’ said Nathalie. ‘Idyllic rural life ruined by the import of non-disposable plastic.’
The little convoy made its way past the vineyards and through a small bustling town. Sebastian pulled up by a cluster of people and wound down the window. He asked directions to the laboratory, first in English and then in French, but the men just smiled at him. Nathalie took the map from Tom and held it out of the window. The men looked at it and kept smiling.
‘Ask them if they know where the kasbah is,’ said Tom. ‘It’s marked on the map, and is only ten kilometres from the lab.’
Sebastian shaded his eyes in a gesture to show that he was looking for something. ‘Kasbah, kasbah?’ he said.
It was evident that the men understood the word. They talked amongst each other and then pointed excitedly down a side alley. ‘Kasbah, kasbah,’ they repeated.
‘Merci, merci,’ said Sebastian, starting up the truck again and aiming for the turnoff. ‘I hope there’s only one bloody kasbah,’ he muttered, winding up the window.
The road became rougher and then practically disappeared. Their only guidance for direction were the parallel ruts from past vehicles exposing the sand through the scrub. They were about to give up and turn back when Nathalie saw an extraordinary sandstone fortress in the distance.
‘That’s it,’ she cried. ‘We are nearly there, but why in the hell did they build a laboratory out here in the middle of the desert.’
The dilapidated but magnificent kasbah was perched in a meander of a wadi. As they approached they could see some greenery and buildings on the other side.
‘That’s why it’s been so difficult,’ said Sebastian. ‘We should have come in from the other direction. Look over there, metalled roads leading to that modern compound.’
Fortunately, in one place the wadi was dry and the two 4×4s scrambled across it and onto the road on the other side. The compound entrance was barred by a series of gates and reception buildings. Nathalie showed her passport and the security guards waved them through. Professor Townes greeted them effusively.
‘Ah, well done you’ve made it. I’m glad my map worked, without it you may have had some difficulty, it’s a hard place to find.’
Nathalie didn’t tell him how hard it was and just introduced the crew. They were shepherded through the pristine corridors to a small canteen where they were offered something to eat. It was a little early for lunch but Nathalie thought that it would be a good way to regroup and plan the rest of the day. She asked Professor Townes to join them to discuss the schedule.
She needn’t have worried. He passed her a piece of paper with a step-by-step plan. First they would film the research laboratories – assistants had been primed to re-enact any procedures Nathalie wanted – and then they could record some interviews in the boardroom. The manufacturing plant and anything else she wanted to film could be scheduled for the second day. It sounded perfect but she noticed that Tom was becoming agitated.
‘That’s great Professor Townes. You mentioned in London that we could get an intervie
w with Temba Murauzi, your exchange scientist. Tom here has met him before and I understand that he could talk us through how your vaccines could be used for antidotes. It would be good if we could do a scene in the lab with him. Obviously it needn’t involve real viruses, but as long as we could mock it up in a realistic way.’
The professor appeared a lot more relaxed in these surroundings. He seemed to have forgotten the trauma of the London raid.
‘Yes, I know we agreed that didn’t we; on the condition that no proprietary information is disclosed of course.’
‘Naturally,’ said Nathalie. ‘We’ll be guided by you. Is Mr Murauzi in the building?’
‘Doctor Murauzi. Yes he arrived yesterday. Doing some really important work for us. Several months ago he was adding his expertise to our experimental Alzheimer’s drugs for trials. A real authority on chiral molecules you know. Busy man but I know he’s agreed to give you an hour of his time. If you would like to take some of your general shots first then I’ll send someone to fetch him.’
The laboratories were state-of-the-art. Glass-partitioned divided rooms, glinting apparatus and stainless steel surfaces. John and Axel worked hand in glove with the lighting and, from what Nathalie could see on monitors, the shots were extraordinary. They would make a great contrast and punctuation to the terrorists in the African bush. Her idea was to give a brief insight into how viruses worked and the methods used in combating them. This wasn’t meant to be a science programme but she knew her audience; they wouldn’t want academic detail but they would be insulted if she skirted around the issue. They had paused for a while for Sebastian to take some ambient sound when Nathalie noticed Tom waving to her from the other side of the partition. She tiptoed out of the room.
‘What is it Tom?’
‘Temba, I met him in the corridor, he’s on for the antidote interview.’
Nathalie looked at him expectantly.
Tom shook his head. ‘No, not yet, it’s too soon. I’ll broach the meeting with WEXA over a drink this evening. Apparently there’s a social bar on the other side of the compound. I’ll see if I can get him on his own. But change the subject, he’s coming around the corner.’
Nathalie looked over her shoulder to see a smart young African man in a starched lab coat. As he approached she did a double-take; she was good at faces and she was sure that she had met this man before.
Tom introduced them. ‘Hi again, this is Nathalie my director. Nathalie, Doctor Murauzi who I have been telling you about.’
Temba put out his hand, ‘Temba please, good to meet you Nathalie.’
Nathalie was distracted in the briefing meeting. She kept trying to place the face, it was so annoying.
‘Nathalie,’ said Tom brusquely. ‘Temba was asking you how his scene would fit into the programme. How much depth do you want to go into on antiviral mechanisms?’
‘Sorry,’ said Nathalie. ‘Not too much detail, but it’s got to be factual. A brief description of how viruses get into cells and how Biomedivac’s vaccine hunts them down. Not too many long words, and definitely not a lecture; pretend you’re trying to explain it to a favourite nephew or something.’
‘And what about this thing on bioterrorism?’ asked Temba. ‘Tom tells me that’s what the real programme is focusing on.’
‘That’s true,’ said Nathalie. ‘What we are trying to do with these scenes is show what the authorities could do in combating nefarious groups who might use these nasty weapons.’
Temba nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay, I’ll do my best. I’ll set up a slide with an Ebola virus and you can use our monitors to see what they look like. It’s difficult to stop them breeding, and not all antivirals are effective, but I can give you the theory if you like.’
Nathalie thought that was rather a strange answer. Why not just explain how Biomedivac’s vaccine worked, but she let it lie.
‘Fantastic Temba. Like your idea of the microscope; how long will that take to set up?’
‘Oh, ten to twenty minutes, just need to be sure that the virus is contained. Your guys will need to be given the protocols.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Nathalie. ‘We don’t want any accidents. I remember the time when a sparks started to eat a donut in the School of Tropical Medicine. The medic went ballistic, told him if he wanted to catch the last sample of smallpox in the country he was welcome. The poor guy spent the next ten minutes of the shoot washing his hands. Take as much time as you need, I’ll follow on in a few minutes.’
Temba started to make his way down the corridor. Tom was about to follow but Nathalie pulled him back.
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Tom. ‘You’re behaving a bit strangely, you kept staring at the poor guy.’
‘Was it that obvious?’ replied Nathalie. ‘It was just something I couldn’t get out of my head, anyway he didn’t seem to notice. What I was going to ask you was to meet up with Townes while we’re doing the interview. He said he’ll go through the admin paperwork to see if he can find anything about that Rob Barnes’ requisition. I’d like you to be there to check that he really is doing that.’
‘You think he’s got something to hide?’
‘Not sure. Think he was genuinely surprised about Rob’s e-mail but there’s something else he’s not telling us. Could be about the Alzheimer’s trial. Keep your eyes open, let me know if you see anything unusual.’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘Dead right I am and, next time, less of the cheek telling me I’m acting like a weirdo.’ She turned on her heels and made her way to the lab.
The sun was setting against the backdrop of the Moroccan desert when Nathalie at last called it a wrap. John McCord helped Axel store the lamps whilst Sebastian checked over the footage and backed up the video drives. Nathalie was pleased with the day’s work. Temba turned out to be a real star; cool under the lights, he delivered his interview with succinctness and charm. Just the right tone she thought, full of information and without jargon. Nathalie had often heard the phrase ‘they know their stuff but can’t teach’. It was something she didn’t agree with – if you really knew your stuff it shouldn’t be difficult to tell other people about it.
‘Great interview Temba. You’re in the wrong business, you should be on TV.’
Temba lowered his eyes shyly and gave a slight shrug.
‘If I wasn’t in this business you wouldn’t be filming me, but I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it.’
‘I believe you’re going to have a chat with Tom this evening, perhaps we can persuade you to do some more.’
‘Someone taking my name in vain?’ asked Tom walking around the corner.
Temba turned to him and smiled, ‘No, Nathalie was just saying we are going to meet up, but I must change and take a shower first. See you in the bar at seven?’
‘Great,’ said Tom. ‘See you then.’ He flicked his eyes at Nathalie indicating he wanted to talk.
She took the hint.
‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you,’ said Nathalie to Temba. ‘Some prep to do for tomorrow’s filming, and just before you go Tom, a quick word?’
Tom said goodbye to Temba and followed Nathalie into the nearest office. She put down her bag and sat on one of the desks.
‘Well?’
Tom stood in front of her and took his phone out of his pocket.
‘I think you might be interested in this. Met up with Townes as you suggested. We spent nearly an hour going through the laboratory paperwork. Not a sign of anything to do with the Surabaya lab. Not even any orders to do with procuring bugs of any sort.’
‘So why are you waving that phone at me?’
‘Townes was so keen to find something that he pulled out documents all over the place. One of which I’m sure he didn’t mean me to see.’ Tom handed Nathalie his phone. ‘I took a quick photo.’
Nathalie looked at the image and spread her fingers across the screen so that she could read it. It was a report on a Biomedivac clinical trial in the UK. A lot of
it was a maze of numbers and p-values, but the study topic was quite clear. ‘Stage III trials to analyse the safety profile of altzamine in healthy volunteers’. Altzamine was the name for Biomedivac’s prototype drug for Alzheimer’s disease. Nathalie hastily scrolled down the list of subjects. It was no surprise to find E. Phillips amongst the twenty or so names.
‘Are you sure he doesn’t know you’ve got this?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Tom. ‘He was engrossed the other side of the room, I was very careful.’
‘You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did,’ said Nathalie. ‘Did you have time to read it?’
‘No it was in a folder marked confidential, just saw the title. Thought you would understand it better than me.’
Nathalie studied the screen in more detail, ‘This is dynamite Tom. It appears that they withdrew the trial because there were what they call “anomalous results” in a small number of the participants.’ She used a finger to scroll down a little further. ‘Apparently all of them were taking capsules from a batch labelled #124. In fact, if my reading of the data is right, the group actually started losing memory. It seems as if they’ve tried to cover this up, or at least Townes has. Poor Esther Phillips is part of the collateral damage.’
‘And Rob Barnes?’
‘Exactly Tom. As the head of the clinical trial he would obviously have to have been involved. He couldn’t come out with the results without Biomedivac’s permission – confidentiality and all that.’
Tom took back his phone. ‘So you think Barnes gave Esther your card in the hope that the publicity would get out.’
‘That’s about it, I’m a television journalist why wouldn’t I follow it up? The world would hear the data and Biomedivac shares would plummet. Zormax could do a takeover and no doubt Roszak would give Barnes a place on the board. Unfortunately for Robert Barnes I didn’t take the bait, meaning he had to try something else.’
‘The Surabaya e-mail.’
‘QED Tom. You had better text me that photo and wipe it from your phone.’
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