by Louise Voss
‘I ain’t got no car, before you ask,’ McCarthy said. ‘Not an emergency, is it?’
‘Pretty much.’ Kate’s tone was sombre. ‘I need to get my boy out of the country. Do you know when they’re going to shut the airports?’
McCarthy hesitated. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not exactly. Soon, though.’
‘I’ve got to get Jack out on a flight before they do.’ Kate clutched at McCarthy’s arm. ‘Tosca, can you arrange it? Send him back to stay with my sister in Oxfordshire? If Vernon will fly with him, all the better, but if not, Paul can take him home. Please, just get him out. Even if he has to fly on his own.’
The sun filtered through the branches and dappled the soft ground around them, and the only sound was birdsong from somewhere high above them. It was hard to imagine the pain and chaos taking hold not so far away from there.
McCarthy sat down in the crook of a low tree branch and stared reflectively at Kate. He took out a large white handkerchief from the pocket of his black jacket, and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Give me the details. I got a call scheduled with my boss tomorrow – assuming Kolosine lets me use the landline, which he’d better. We’ll sort something out.’
Kate paused. ‘Not till tomorrow?’ she asked in a small voice.
McCarthy shrugged. ‘Sorry, Kate. There are chains of command. I can’t just call him up unless it’s a national emergency. Tomorrow will be fine, you wait and see.’
Kate reached down and hugged McCarthy round his neck. ‘Thank you,’ she said, sighing with relief. McCarthy laughed, embarrassed. ‘De nada, sweetpea,’ he said. ‘Anything for you.’
They sat for a while and watched an eagle wheel a lazy arc above their heads.
‘So what’s happening,’ Kate asked, ‘with attempts to find the terrorists who planted the bomb?’
‘We’ve got everybody looking for them.’
‘But no progress?’
He stared into the woods. His silence spoke volumes.
With a heavy heart, Kate returned to her room and lay down on the bed, sheer exhaustion sending her almost immediately into an unsettled doze. What seemed like mere minutes later there was a heavy knock at her door, and the sound of a man’s voice calling her name. Kate awoke, thinking for
a second it was Paul, before realising where she was.
‘Just a minute,’ she said, jumping out of bed and wrapping her bathrobe securely around her naked body. She glanced at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror and noted the huge crease down the right side of her face. ‘Who is it?’
‘Harley. Jason,’ said the voice, and Kate wondered why he’d given his names in that order.
‘Maddox. Kate,’ she retorted as she opened the door, but Harley wasn’t smiling.
‘Sorry,’ he said when he saw that she wasn’t dressed. ‘McCarthy said you were up here. Are you sick? You don’t look too well.’ He backed away slightly.
‘I’m tired, that’s all. I’ve been sleeping – I’m on the night shift at the moment.’
‘Ah, sorry,’ he repeated, looking down at the wooden floorboards. ‘I didn’t mean you don’t look good, I just meant –’
Kate held up her hand. ‘Stop, please, it’s OK. You’ve caught me at a bad moment. It’s been a tough week. Is everything all right – apart from the virus spreading, of course? McCarthy told me …’ She trailed off, remembering he had asked her not to tell anyone what he’d told her. ‘Why are you here?’
Harley scratched his head. He didn’t look too good himself, Kate noticed, with big grey bags under his eyes and unruly stubble peppering his chin. ‘There are a couple of things I need to talk to you about. Urgently.’
23
Jon Watton lived in a condo on the edge of Sagebrush. He was in his late sixties, Paul estimated, with a bald head and a nose that looked like it had been broken in a fight. He fixed them drinks before heading for an old rattan armchair, wincing with pain as he lowered himself into it.
‘Are you all right, Jon?’ Rosie asked, sitting down opposite him. Paul perched on the end of a sofa, next to a sleeping tabby cat. The room was sweltering and smelled of tinned meat, and the sofa had so much cat fur on it that it had taken on the colour of the cat.
‘It’s just this arthritis,’ he said. ‘It’s my knees, mostly. Doctors can’t do a damn thing.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Rosie said.
Jon waved a hand dismissively and said, ‘Never mind me. It’s lovely to see you, Rosie.’ He coughed, and the cat opened an eye, looking at him disdainfully before closing it again. ‘How’s that daughter of yours?’
‘Oh, she’s good, good. Freaked out by everything that’s going on in LA right now.’
‘Aren’t we all. Freaked out. I love the way you young people talk.’
‘Young people? Can you say that again. A few times, please.’
They laughed and Paul tried to join in, but he couldn’t hide his impatience. Jon Watton noticed and looked over at him. ‘So, you want to talk to me about Medi-Lab?’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind,’ Rosie said.
‘Anything for you. Though I’m not sure exactly what help you think I can be.’
Paul had persuaded a reluctant Rosie that it would be best for them to use his cover story, so as not to risk scaring Watton off.
‘Mr Watton,’ Paul started, ‘I’m writing a book about Medi-Lab and Charles Mangold. I wanted to find out more about what went on there.’
‘What went on?’
‘The scandal that closed it down, but also … well, anything else you might remember about the place that seemed unusual or wrong. And we’re trying to find Charles Mangold too. I want to interview him.’
‘OK, let me think.’ The older man coughed again.
‘Are you sick?’ Rosie asked.
‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s a cold – I haven’t got the Indian flu. I haven’t been out of the house to catch it.’ He laughed hoarsely, setting off another coughing fit. ‘So, where do you want me to start?’
‘Rosie tells me you were a sales manager,’ Paul said.
‘Yup. That’s right. I spent most of my time out on the road. Rosie’s father was one of my sales guys. We’d visit surgeries, try to get them to prescribe our drugs. Spent a lot of time sleeping in motel rooms.’
‘And were you around when the scandal hit and the company closed down?’
‘I was. We all got called back from the field, which kind of pissed me off as I was about to close a big deal I’d been chasing for a long time.’
Paul felt itchy and frustrated. He wasn’t sure what information he was trying to pry out of Watton and consequently didn’t know exactly what to ask. He decided to be as direct as possible.
‘Were you ever suspicious of anything untoward going on in the labs?’
Watton hesitated. ‘When the secret service turned up and closed us down, I was as shocked as everyone else.’
Paul leaned forward. ‘So it was the secret service, not the Department of Health, who closed the company down?’
‘My father said the same thing,’ Rosie reminded him.
Paul nodded and waited for the man to continue.
‘Well, the Health people were there, but there were definitely secret service agents around too. I assumed FBI … They had the whole place shut down. They put up tape around the whole building – no one was allowed near it, including the staff. To be honest, I watched most of it on TV. I remember seeing footage of them arresting Mangold, leading him out to a car, driving away with him.’
‘What was Mangold like?’ Paul asked. Never having come across a single photograph, he imagined him as some kind of monster: leathery, evil, a megalomaniac in a lab coat.
Jon Watton coughed again and Paul watched droplets scatter across the space between them. ‘He always seemed like a decent guy. Serious but friendly, kind of like a science teacher I had in high school. But then I only met Mangold once or twice. First time was when I st
arted at the company and I got the big “welcome aboard” speech, and then … Well, only one other time after that.’
Paul had been trying to interrupt Watton’s flow for the last few seconds. ‘The closure – the agents showing up – that was because of a rare virus that broke out?’
‘Yep. Apparently they weren’t observing the correct protocols, so the lab bosses took the rap.’ Watton shot a glance at Rosie. He was acting shiftily, Paul thought, like he wanted to say more but was afraid to. ‘Mangold was crushed. He moved outta town, I heard, became a recluse. Disappeared right off the map.’
Paul was about to ask something else when Watton was seized by another coughing fit, doubling over, his face turning purple. Rosie grabbed a glass of water and handed it to him, her eyes full of concern.
‘I think we oughta go,’ she said to Paul. ‘Besides, I need to get to work. My shift starts in an hour.’
He nodded. Jon Watton was clearly more ill than he’d let on. Paul rose from his chair and waited for the older man’s coughing jag to end. His mind was racing, questions tumbling over one another. He would have liked to continue the interview, but Rosie needed to work, and he had no car.
‘Damn,’ he said to Rosie, suddenly remembering: ‘My phone’s out of juice. Can I charge it up in your car? I’ve got a cigarette-lighter charger – I completely forgot to ask you on the way over.’ Then he turned to Jon and shook his hand. ‘Thank you so much for your time.’
‘You’re welcome, son. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’
‘I wouldn’t mind using your bathroom before we go, if that’s OK.’
‘I’ll wait in the car – give me your phone and charger, I’ll get it plugged in now,’ said Rosie as Jon directed him through a bead curtain dividing the room from the hallway. She gave Jon a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘Look after yourself, you hear?’
When Paul came out of the bathroom, Watton was waiting for him. He grabbed Paul by the arm.
‘Listen,’ he hissed. ‘There’s more. Stuff I didn’t want to say in front of Rosie.’
Paul looked out through the window, where he could see Rosie in her car. She appeared to be holding Paul’s iPhone to her ear. ‘What is it?’
Watton started to cough again, his frail body folding over. Paul tried to lead him over to a chair but Watton swatted him away with kitten-like swipes.
‘I can’t … talk … right now,’ he wheezed. ‘But come back later. On your own.’
24
Oh hell, Kate thought. Now what’s happened? ‘Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed,’ she said. ‘Then we can talk.’
‘I’ll wait out here,’ Harley said sheepishly, moving into the hallway and scrutinising the rocking horse. Kate closed the door behind him and tore around the room trying to find some clothes that weren’t scrubs. She dressed quickly in jeans and an old pink Killers T-shirt, and dragged a wide-toothed comb through her hair. She would have liked to put on some make-up, not because she wanted to impress him, but to make herself feel like a functioning human being again, rather than a drone chained to a laboratory bench. A visitor was a visitor, she concluded. Their mountaintop hideaway was already starting to feel as confined as the Big Brother house. She decided against the make-up though, and instead smoothed the quilt flat over her unmade bed. She realised she was procrastinating, in case he was bringing her more bad news.
‘Come in, I’m decent now,’ she said, opening the door again. Harley smiled at her and suddenly traced his forefinger down her face. ‘You’ve got a crease,’ he blurted, and for a moment it was hard to tell which of them was more embarrassed.
‘Er, yes,’ said Kate, blushing furiously. She was angry with Harley for lying to her, even if he had been following orders. The knowledge that he’d let her bring Jack to the States when there was a killer virus that was not contained, as he’d claimed, sickened her. Still, there was something so solid and well-meaning about Harley that she couldn’t help but like him, despite his duplicity.
‘Have a seat.’ She pointed to the wing armchair by the window, drawing back the curtains to let in the daylight, and went to sit on her bed. ‘So, what’s going on?’
‘When did you last talk to Paul?’
‘I haven’t been able to speak to him at all since I got here. There’s no mobile signal, and the only landline is locked in Mein Führer Kolosine’s office. Apparently it has to be a case of life and death before he lets you use it.’
She smiled as she said it so that Harley would know she wasn’t having a go at him – but when he remained grave, her face fell. ‘What? Has something happened to Paul?’
‘I don’t know where he is, Kate. He did a runner from the motel on the first night and nobody’s seen him since. I thought you might have spoken to him.’
Kate jumped off the bed and rushed over to the window, her hand to her mouth, as if she was expecting to see Paul outside in the chicken coop. ‘What?’
‘So you haven’t heard anything from him at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Why did he go?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Harley. ‘He was pissed off that we wouldn’t let him go with you. And I think it’s possible he may try to find you. I have to stress the importance of you not telling him where you are, if you do speak to him – although I’m sure you know that. We need to keep the location of this lab secret. And if we find him, we’re going to have to send him straight back to England.’
‘Good,’ said Kate vehemently. ‘He can take Jack with him. Seriously, Jason, I want them both out of the country as soon as possible. It’s not safe. I’ve asked McCarthy to organise a flight out for Jack. He’s going to let me know tomorrow. But, bloody Paul, what’s he thinking?’ She walked in agitated circles, one hand against her forehead, and then sat down heavily on the bed again. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to direct him to where we are. “On top of a mountain in the Sequoia National Park” – not a lot to go on, really, is it?’
They sat in silence for a moment or two, Kate trying to process this new piece of information.
‘This is all … too much,’ she said at last. ‘What makes it worse is that we’re really struggling here. Kolosine had this big idea about using my blood, but that didn’t work and … For a long time I’ve felt like I was on the verge of finding a vaccine for Watoto, but having to achieve it in a few days, and with this new strain …’
‘Don’t you think you’ll be able to do it?’ Harley asked in a quiet voice.
‘Given the team we’ve got, and the resources … if anyone can, we can. But we could carry on working day and night and equally not get anywhere. Or at least, not in time to do any good.’
Harley slumped down in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘Not to put more pressure on you, Kate, I know how hard you’re working but – shit – this is …’ His voice faded out for a moment and he seemed to be struggling for composure. ‘It’s … everyone’s worst nightmare, like something out of a disaster movie. Did you hear we’ve had to quarantine LA County? Martial law, total curfew. A zero tolerance, shoot-to-kill policy on looters and curfew-breakers. If things continue this way there’ll be people dying so fast that the hospitals and mortuaries won’t cope. Bodies piling up all over the place. They’re looking for mass grave sites already. And the worst thing is, no one can see how to avoid the same thing being repeated all over the States within a matter of weeks if we don’t find a vaccine. Even with no flights going in or out of the country, the odds of someone having got on a plane with it before the shut-down – well, they’re pretty short, despite the precautions the airports have been taking and the fact that the LA airports closed earlier in the week.’
‘I know. I’ve been trying not to think about it, to stay focused and not panic.’ And not think about it reaching Dallas. Or London, Kate thought. ‘There haven’t been any more terrorist attacks, have there?’ she asked, chewing the skin around her thumbnail.
�
�No. And no more messages. But we haven’t got any closer to finding the people responsible.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, sorry to have to give you something else to worry about. But we need to try and find out where Paul’s got to. Can you call him? I’ll get you on to the landline downstairs,’ Harley said.
‘With pleasure,’ Kate replied grimly.
Harley stood up and rolled his head around, an audible cracking sound coming from the back of his neck. ‘Ow,’ he said, rubbing it. ‘I need some sleep.’
‘Sleep here for a bit if you want, after we’ve got this call done,’ Kate offered, gesturing towards her bed. ‘I can hang out with Junko next door – and I’m back on shift in an hour, anyway.’
Harley looked longingly at her bed, then shook his head. ‘Thanks, I’d absolutely love to, but I’ve got way too much to do. We’re still trying to find out who planted the bomb at the hotel … I’ve got to go straight to the BIT office in San Francisco after this. Come on then, let’s try and call Paul.’
When Kate and Harley knocked on Kolosine’s office door, he flung it open and stood glowering in the doorway, his arms crossed.
Harley stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘Jason Harley,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Kolosine, looking disdainfully at Harley’s outstretched arm. ‘I won’t shake your hand, thanks – best to maintain a minimum of contact in the current situation.’
‘Right. So – can I ask how your work is going here?’
Kolosine rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure Kate’s already told
you. We’ve got nowhere. Her blood was useless. Next question?’
‘We need to use the phone,’ Harley said firmly.
Kolosine huffed but stood aside to let Kate into the office. She felt his eyes on her as she grabbed the receiver of the old-fashioned office telephone on the desk and began to dial Paul’s number. She turned her back on Kolosine and held the receiver tightly to her ear. As she waited for Paul to pick up she heard Harley say from the doorway, ‘I apologise for the situation with the phones, but I’ve arranged for an engineer to come out tomorrow to install some new lines and sort out the internet access.’