White death sd-7

by Ken McClure

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Tally. ‘Now I have more children in my life than I can handle. Your turn.’

  Steven told her about his army background, his marriage to Lisa and her subsequent death. He told her about his daughter Jenny and her life in Scotland. ‘I’m very much a weekend dad — in fact, an every-second-weekend dad if truth be told.’

  ‘It must be difficult being so far apart.’

  ‘It doesn’t help,’ agreed Steven.

  ‘You couldn’t get a transfer?’

  ‘Sci-Med is a very small unit. We don’t have northern outposts,’ said Steven with a smile.

  ‘Tell me about Sci-Med.’

  Steven told Tally about Sci-Med and the sort of investigations it carried out as the waiter replenished their coffee cups for the third time.

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ said Tally. ‘Very James Bond.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Steven. ‘Much of the work is just routine investigation work — like clearing up a misunderstanding about the location of a child patient…’

  Tally smiled. ‘I suspect it has its moments.’

  ‘Once in a while perhaps.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me why you wanted to see this boy,’ said Tally. Then, seeing the indecision on Steven’s face, she added, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. This is none of my business. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘No, Sci-Med isn’t the secret service,’ said Steven. ‘Although we do like to operate discreetly. Anwar Mubarak having TB was the reason given by sources in the Department of Health for giving BCG vaccine to over a hundred children at a school camp. One of these children is now dead and another is seriously ill because of an infection which the labs are having great trouble in identifying. Several other children in that group have reported ill. I need to be sure that it is TB the boy Mubarak is suffering from and not something else.’

  Tally’s eyes opened wide. ‘Like what?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But surely if a government source says it’s TB…’

  Steven smiled. ‘It must be TB?’

  ‘Well, yes. I mean, they wouldn’t lie about something like that… would they?’

  ‘Not without considering they had good reason to,’ said Steven.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘There is a long tradition in government of not telling the public what they don’t want them to know. They imagine they’re doing it to avoid causing fear and alarm among the population or out of security concerns — another favourite of theirs — but it’s not true. They do it because it’s second nature to them. Their automatic response to any unusual problem arising is to pretend there isn’t a problem at all: No cause for fear or alarm.’

  ‘But you work for them.’

  ‘Sci-Med’s attached to the Home Office but we have a mandate to operate independently of any government department.’

  ‘Doesn’t that lead to conflict?’

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘What’s to stop the government getting rid of you if you start biting the hand that feeds you?’ asked Tally.

  ‘Her Majesty’s Opposition would start asking awkward questions if they did.’

  ‘Well, well,’ smiled Tally. ‘Who would have thought…’

  ‘Sorry, I’m boring you.’

  ‘Far from it!’ exclaimed Tally. ‘It’s been fascinating. The trouble with working in a hospital is that all your friends tend to do the same. You become isolated in an enclosed community without even realising it so it’s good to meet people outside the circle — even if you happen to be a doctor yourself.’

  ‘It’s been a while,’ said Steven.

  ‘But you were a doctor in the army?’

  ‘Field medicine.’

  ‘Medicine under fire? Gosh, you have led an exciting life.’

  ‘That was yesterday,’ said Steven. ‘Now I ask questions for a living.’

  ‘I’d like to hear the answer to these questions — about the boy, I mean,’ said Tally. ‘Or is that not possible?’

  ‘I’d like to see you again so let’s make it possible,’ said Steven. ‘How about lunch tomorrow. I should have heard back from London by then.’

  Tally laughed at the suggestion. ‘You’ve obviously not worked in the NHS for a long time,’ she said. ‘Lunch is a sandwich grabbed at my desk if I get the chance.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll call you anyway?’

  ‘That would be nice… and thank you for a lovely evening.’

  Steven paid and left a big tip for the staff in deference to the fact that they were the last two to leave the restaurant, something he’d only just noticed. He’d only had eyes for Tally.

  There was a taxi rank across the road with two cabs waiting. ‘Obviously isn’t London,’ said Steven as he beckoned one.

  ‘Obviously isn’t raining either,’ said Tally.

  Steven saw her to the door of her apartment building where she thanked him again for a nice evening. Steven kissed her on the cheek and took the cab back to his hotel.

  TEN

  Macmillan rang while Steven was having breakfast. ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘One moment.’ Steven left the small hotel breakfast room via French doors leading out into the back garden and followed the winding path down through an arch of forsythia to the fake wishing well at the end, where a garden gnome fished off its edge. Steven sat down beside it. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I’m now told there was a last-minute change of plan and the Mubarak boy was not admitted to the children’s hospital in Leicester after all. My contact at DOH apologises for the confusion. They took the view that that might be too public and arranged for the boy to be treated at a private clinic instead.’

  Steven took out the notebook he always carried in his pocket and pulled the pen from its spine with his teeth. ‘Do you have the address?’

  ‘Actually… it’s in Sweden.’

  ‘Sweden,’ repeated Steven as if challenging what he’d just heard.

  ‘I’m just as perplexed as you,’ said Macmillan.

  ‘They took a kid with TB to Sweden just to avoid publicity?’ exclaimed Steven.

  ‘A bizarre decision, I agree,’ said Macmillan.

  ‘Do we have the address of this Swedish clinic?’

  ‘They said they’d get back to me today with the details. I take it you’re planning to follow it up and go there?’

  ‘You bet. All this nonsense for a straightforward case of TB with no treatment difficulties? I don’t think so. I’ll stay up here and catch a flight from Birmingham.’

  Steven returned to the breakfast room, smiling his apologies to the couple who’d come in to breakfast in his absence and chosen to sit in front of the French doors. He asked the Polish waitress for more toast and coffee while he digested this latest revelation.

  He returned to his room and used his laptop to check out options for Swedish flights leaving from Birmingham: he made a note of their departure times. It was now going to depend on when John Macmillan got back to him. In the meantime, he called Tally with the information that the boy never had been admitted to the children’s hospital in the first place: there had been a ‘misunderstanding’.

  ‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Then I can stop looking through cupboards for secret patients. Where is he?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘Oh, I understand. If you told me, you’d have to kill me. Right?’

  ‘He’s in Sweden.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘God knows but that’s the reason I’ll be leaving for Sweden as soon as I get the address of the clinic there.’

  ‘Well, I wonder what wonderful medical facilities the Swedes have got that we haven’t,’ said Tally. She’d said it tongue in cheek but it triggered off something in Steven’s memory — something that alarmed him. ‘They are world leaders in bio-hazard containment,’ he said distantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Swedes are often called in as consultants whenever there i
s a threatened epidemic of a killer disease. Find an outbreak of Ebola or Marburg virus and you’ll find people wearing Swedish-designed bio-hazard suits working in Swedish-designed mobile labs.’

  ‘Surely you’re not suggesting that the boy has anything like that?’ said Tally.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything right now,’ said Steven. ‘I’m stumbling around in the dark. I take it lunch is still not possible?’

  ‘’Fraid not,’ said Tally. ‘But thanks anyway. Let me know how you get on in Sweden.’

  John Macmillan called just after noon. Steven could tell by the tone of his voice that something was wrong. He tried preempting him. ‘You’re going to tell me that you don’t have the address of the Swedish clinic?’ he said.

  ‘Steven, I have been approached by people at the highest level…’

  Steven could hardly believe his ears. John Macmillan was going to ask him to back off, the John Macmillan who had gone to war with ‘people at the highest level’ so many times in the past to maintain the integrity of Sci-Med and establish the truth.

  ‘They have asked me to take their word for it that Anwar Mubarak is not suffering from any unusual or exotic disease and is in no personal danger. When I told them about our concern for the green sticker children, they also assured me that Mubarak’s condition had absolutely nothing to do with the death of Keith Taylor or Patricia Lyons’ illness. They have given me their absolute word on that.’

  ‘I see,’ said Steven in a tone that prompted more comment.

  ‘I think, in the circumstances, I have to accept what they say. The alternative would be to accuse people in the top echelons of government of lying without having any foundation for the charge.’

  ‘So you’re asking me to drop the investigation?’

  ‘You know better. It’s always been my practice to let my people make their own decisions in the field. I’m just asking you to bear in mind what I’ve just told you. The decision is still yours but I have to know. Are you still going to insist on travelling to Sweden to see the boy?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Steven although the words almost stuck in his craw. He was frustrated and angry that Macmillan had put him in such a position and felt hamstrung about saying so because he owed so much to the man. His thinking, however, was tempered by conceding that Macmillan himself had been placed in an almost impossible position. ‘Shit,’ he murmured as he put down the phone. ‘Shit, shit shit.’

  A knock came to the door. It was one of the hotel receptionists. ‘Will you be checking out soon, sir?’ she asked.

  Steven glanced at his watch and took her point. He apologised because it was nearly twelve thirty. ‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘I’d like to stay one more night if that’s possible?’

  ‘I’ll check downstairs for you.’

  Steven stood by the window, watching the traffic pass. He felt uncomfortable at having no clear objective. Perhaps it was because he had spent so long in the military but he hated the feeling of being at a loose end. Macmillan’s call had effectively put a halt to his investigation when he felt that it was far from over. There had been no explanation of why the boy had been taken to Sweden and there had been no resolution of the cause of death in the case of Keith Taylor or any clue as to what was behind Trish Lyons’ condition.

  The phone rang. ‘Your room will be available for another night, sir.’

  Steven’s spur-of-the-moment decision not to go back to London had been taken largely to give him the opportunity to calm down. He needed time to free himself of anger and frustration. If he returned to the capital in his current state of mind he would be liable to come out with something he might regret. He decided — as he had so often in the past — to use physical exertion to help him battle stress. He fetched track suit and trainers from the car, changed and set off on a run with no particular route or destination in mind.

  The hotel was well away from the city centre so crowds were not a problem and he was able to pound the pavements of suburbia until he was sweating freely and the endorphins released by physical effort did much to create an inner sense of calm. Apart from that, it felt good to stretch his muscles and feel assured that his physical condition gave no cause for concern. Common sense told him that there was no way that he could be as fit as he’d been some ten to fifteen years before when serving as an operational soldier with ‘the best’ as ‘the Regiment’ liked to see itself but it still felt as if he was and that was a major feel-good factor. Running and swimming kept him lean and occasional sorties into the mountains of North Wales by arrangement with his old regiment let him test himself to the limit. It just took longer to recover these days.

  He stood in the shower for a good ten minutes when he got back to his hotel room, letting the warm water soothe away the aches and pains of the run. He towelled himself dry, dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt and called Tally.

  ‘I thought you’d be on your way to Sweden by now. Where are you?’

  ‘Change of plan, I’m still in town. How about dinner this evening?’

  Tally hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘Ye.. es, if we could make it a bit later. I have a class.’

  ‘Of course. What are you doing?’

  ‘Conversational French. I’m planning on going touring there in the late summer with friends.’

  ‘Good for you. ‘Tell me where the class is and I’ll pick you up.’

  Steven asked at the reception desk whether there were any French restaurants in Leicester.

  ‘Indian, no problem,’ said the girl with what Steven thought might be an edge to her voice. ‘But French… I’ll have to ask Carol.’

  The girl returned from the back office with the name and phone number of a restaurant written down on a ‘with compliments’ slip. Steven called the number and made a reservation at Le Gavroche for nine.

  It was raining when Tally emerged from the school her class was being held in. She held her briefcase over her head as she looked right and then left for Steven outside the gates and before he got out the car and waved to her.

  ‘Gosh, I’ve never been in one of these before,’ said Tally as she made a meal of getting into the Porsche while Steven held the door. ‘Not exactly conducive to decorum… are they,’ she exclaimed as her knees came up almost to her chin. ‘I feel as if I’m sitting in the road.’

  Steven ran round and got in. ‘You’re a good… two inches off it,’ he grinned as he started the car.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  Ten minutes later, Tally leaned forward in her seat to read the name above the restaurant they were stopping near. ‘Oh, how sweet,’ she exclaimed on seeing the French name. ‘And how thoughtful, thank you.’

  ‘Have you been here before?’

  ‘I didn’t know it existed,’ confessed Tally.

  ‘So neither of us know what the food’s like,’ said Steven with a smile. ‘Fingers crossed.’

  On entering the restaurant, first impressions were good. The place was warm and welcoming and they were shown to their table by a waiter who seemed either French or very good at affecting the accent in the cause of ambience. They sipped Kir Royale while looking at the menu.

  ‘So, why no Swedish trip?’ asked Tally.

  ‘I’ve been warned off,’ said Steven, still smarting at what had happened.

  Tally read the signals well and decided not to probe too much. ‘That must have been disappointing.’

  ‘People “at the highest level” have assured my boss that the kid is okay and doesn’t have some awful disease. That being the case, there is no need for me to visit him at the clinic… is there?’

  ‘You obviously think otherwise?’ Tally asked calmly.

  They paused while the waiter took their order.

  ‘I still don’t know why he was taken to Sweden or what’s going on with the other kids from the school camp,’ said Steven.

  ‘Does this mean you’ll have to drop the investigation altogether or can you
work round the problem?’

  ‘I’ve only agreed not to go to Sweden but that was the next logical thing for me to do so I’m not sure where I go from here.’

  ‘You could talk to the boy’s family,’ suggested Tally.

  ‘I don’t have an address,’ said Steven. ‘It was hard enough work getting his name. If I now ask to get his address…’

  ‘They’ll know what you’re up to and it might be seen as a breach of your… gentlemen’s agreement.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,’ said Tally brightly. ‘You could get it from the boy’s school.’

  Steven looked at her.

  ‘You said there were around a hundred pupils at the camp?’

  ‘A hundred and eight.’

  That suggests maybe ten school parties at most, probably fewer. You should be able to find out which schools were there at the time and then establish which one the boy was at. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get his address from the school records. All you need is a plausible excuse.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Steven. ‘Remind me never to underestimate you.’

  ‘I hope you weren’t even considering it…’ smiled Tally.

  Their first course of deep fried Camembert with redcurrant jelly arrived and Steven said, ‘Let’s talk about sunnier things. Tell me all about your trip to France.’

  At the end of a pleasant evening filled with laughter at reminiscences of times past, Tally invited Steven in for a nightcap. ‘I really enjoyed this evening,’ she said, returning from the kitchen with two small cups of coffee and two balloon glasses of Calvados. ‘I thought we’d maintain the French flavour to the evening.’

  ‘I had a good time too,’ said Steven, raising his glass to her.

  ‘Here’s to ships that pass in the night,’ said Tally, raising hers.

  Steven smiled at the point she was making.

  ‘Back to London tomorrow?’ asked Tally.

  ‘Not until I find out what school the boy was attending. If the original intention was to admit him to your hospital then it seems probable that he attended one of the schools here in the city.’

  ‘Good thinking.’