Lyle went on, “It all seems to be going ahead just fine. Claudia – she’s the postdoc who’s doing the work – is getting excellent results.” He pronounced the name in the Italian way: Cloudia.
“So what’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”
“Isn’t there anything you can put your finger on?”
“There is one thing. There’s been a higher than normal turnover of lab technicians. Oh, all for perfectly good reasons, apparently. One got a better job elsewhere, another decided that she was too far from her family. But we’ve lost two in a year. Oh, I don’t know, probably nothing, but we are on to our third.”
Rachel passed round the parmesan cheese and said, “Is that surprising, though, when it’s such a remote location? It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, would it?”
“Where is it, then?” Katie asked.
“It’s Debussy Point,” Lyle explained.
Katie raised her eyebrows. “That’s remote? It’s off the coast of north Devon, isn’t it?”
Lyle laughed. “Maybe not to an intrepid explorer such as yourself, Katie. The Antarctic it ain’t. But it is some considerable way from the nearest town and it’s cut off at high tide. There’s accommodation on the island the technicians usually live in. I guess it could get a bit claustrophobic.”
Daniel said, “Help yourself to wine. I’ll open another bottle. You don’t have to drive back to London tonight, do you, Lyle?”
“There’s a spare room on the boat,” Rachel said.
“I’ll have to make an early start, but yeah, great.”
Rachel said, “The isolation – is that because of the work they’re doing there?”
“No, no. It’s Category 3, but there are plenty of Cat 3 labs in cities. In fact they’re usually in cities, attached to hospitals and universities. Debussy Point is an exception, because it’s an outpost of the University of North Devon and deals specifically with animal diseases, so they need to have space for animal breeding. The highest category is four, which deals with diseases like Ebola, where there’s a highly infectious agent, most often lethal, and no known vaccine or treatment. Debussy Point is one down from that, but safety regulations are still very, very stringent because we’re looking at pathogens that can cause serious and potentially lethal disease through inhalation.”
“So what’s your interest, Lyle?” Katie asked. “Surely you haven’t switched over to animal diseases? I thought you said influenza.”
“That’s right. What interests me is the mechanism by which diseases jump the species barrier.”
“You mean like bird flu and swine fever?” Rachel put in.
“Actually, that’s a misnomer. Swine fever didn’t jump the species barrier.”
“But SARS did,” Katie said.
“That’s right. A strain of influenza can exist in one species for decades. The animals, birds maybe – bats, they think, in the case of SARS – might actually be asymptomatic, but they act as a reservoir for the disease. As long as the disease can’t jump the species barrier, it’s no problem as far as the human population is concerned. But viruses don’t stay the same. They evolve and out of the blue there can come a mutation that suddenly allows it to infect humans. Then it becomes a very big problem.”
“There’s something I don’t quite understand,” Katie said. “Where do you and the company come in? I mean, this sounds more like blue sky research than something that’ll yield a financial return any time soon.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that under Lyle’s leathery complexion there was a slight flush.
“Yeah, well,” he said, mumbling. “Pro bono and all that.”
“Pro bono! A hard-headed money man like you, Lyle?”
He laughed, a little shamefacedly. “I’ve always felt – well – you know how it is. Investment tends to go into diseases where the money is, and that’s mostly for drugs to treat Western diseases. And then, too, it can be hard for young researchers to get launched from a standing start. You need funding to get funding. So a little seedcorn capital –”
“The Bill Gates of biotechnology!” Katie teased.
“Hardly that. But the Biotech industry’s been good to me and I can afford to throw a few dollars at a good cause. I’ve got kind of a special interest. My grandmother died in the great Spanish flu epidemic in 1919. She was only twenty. My mother, who was her daughter, was brought up by an aunt. They still don’t know what made that strain of flu so virulent, but one theory is that it was caused by a mutation that jumped the species barrier. If we can develop a means of discovering and then disrupting the mechanism that allows interspecies infection to take place, we’ll be that much better equipped next time.”
“Next time?” Rachel asked.
“There likely will be a next time. It’s the view of some virologists that it’s a matter of when, not if, there’s another big flu pandemic.”
Rachel put a protective hand on her belly. “I’d rather not think about that.”
“Who’ve you got working on it?” Katie asked.
“Just a one man show, or rather, one woman show. A young postdoc, Claudia Carter, a real high-flyer, recommended to me by Professor Gemma Braithwaite, who’s the principal investigator on the project.”
There was a lull in the conversation while they turned their attention to the food.
Then Katie said, “You know, losing those technicians – it could just be that this Claudia is very difficult to work with.”
“Could be,” Lyle said.
Daniel said thoughtfully, “There’s something you might consider if you’re really concerned. There are firms of private investigators that specialize in planting employees in the workplace. It wouldn’t be hard to get someone in as a secretary or in an admin role.”
Lyle frowned and shook his head. “Nah, that wouldn’t work, sending in that kind of person. I’d need someone who really understood the work that was being done there. They’d need a scientific background. I think you’d have to get someone in as a technician.”
“Not beyond the bounds of possibility,” Daniel said.
“You could send me,” Katie heard herself saying.
There was silence for a few moments.
Lyle put down his fork. “Out of the question.”
“Oh yes? And why is that?” Katie asked. She waited as he marshalled his thoughts.
“OK,” he said, lifting up a finger. “One, you are grossly over-qualified. You have a career as a research scientist and you have a PhD.”
“Had a career. I am unemployed,” she pointed out. “And possibly unemployable. People still haven’t forgotten what happened a couple of years ago. I have a reputation as a whistle-blower, and for whistle-blower read trouble-maker.”
“Totally undeserved,” Rachel broke in. “It’s so unfair.”
Lyle raised a second finger and ploughed on. “Two, at the same time you are grossly under-qualified. You have never worked as a technician, let alone a technician in a Cat 3 lab.”
“That is true,” Katie admitted. “But when I was a postgrad I did plenty of grunt work. I have mixed culture media with the best of them. And I could easily get up to speed on the Cat 3 requirements. Is that all?”
“Not quite.” Lyle lifted a third finger. “While we are on the subject of whistle-blowing, let’s not forget that the last time you did a little undercover work for me, we all got more than we bargained for. I was sacked from my own company and you nearly wound up dead. So did Rachel and Chloe too, come to that.”
“Oh, Lyle. That’s not going to happen here.”
Lyle shook his head. “It’s a no go, Katie.”
Katie pressed home her advantage. “You’ve said yourself that it’s probably nothing at all. It’ll just be lab politics, or maybe those reasons for leaving are all on the level and you’re worrying unnecessarily. But at least you’d know.”
Lyle put up a hand, palm towards her, in the gesture that means st
op. “I said no, Katie, and I meant no. And that’s my last word. Not going to happen.”
CHAPTER 4
TUESDAY
Katie dreamed she was on the ice somewhere near the Weddell Sea. A huge crack snaked across in front of her and a gigantic iceberg began to separate itself from the land, with her on it. The gap between the two was widening and far below she could see churning water. In a moment the iceberg would be drifting out to sea. She had a second in which to decide whether to jump across the gap, and she gathered her strength and... she woke up, gasping.
For a few moments she thought she was still in the Antarctic, but the bed felt wrong, and the quality of the darkness. She had no idea where she was. She waited until a sense of her present whereabouts came to her. She was on the boat. Lyle was here too, sleeping in the room that was Chloe’s when the family lived on the boat in the summer.
She groped on the bedside table for her phone and checked the time: 6:15 am. She sighed. She wouldn’t go back to sleep now. Given how disrupted her sleep patterns were, she was surprised that she had slept this long. She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and padded into the galley. She made coffee and sat at the table with her hands wrapped around the warm mug.
Rachel and Daniel had said she could stay as long as she liked, and a week or two would be nice. But what then? What was she going to do with her life? The trip to Antarctica had been meant to give her a breathing space while she decided what to do next, but she was no further forward in that respect. Every month that passed made it less likely that she would get a research post. Up until a couple of years ago, she had led the peripatetic life of a medical researcher, living from one research grant to the next, following the money. Even before the whistle-blowing episode she had just about reached the end of her shelf-life – that point where a researcher becomes too expensive and is replaced by younger and cheaper people. It was time to be looking for a lectureship. Oh yeah, dream on! She thought of the other things researchers went on to do. She’d heard of one who’d qualified as a dentist and another as an accountant. There was medical journalism, or she could finish her medical training and become a GP.
But nothing really called out to her.
She heard the whoosh of the shower next door. Lyle must be up.
She pulled her laptop to her and booted it up. She Googled Debussy Point and found the lab. Scrolling down the list of people working there, she came across the director, Caspar Delaney. She’d heard of him. He was one of those scientists who are keen on public engagement. He’d been involved with some series or other on Radio 4. She scrutinized the thumbnail photo. He was in his early forties and prematurely grey – rather attractive in a low-key sort of way.
She sought out Gemma Braithwaite, who was the principal investigator on the project that Lyle had described. Her photo showed dark hair that sprang back from her forehead in a widow’s peak and high, arched eyebrows. There was a firmness about the set of her mouth, and she was looking into the camera in a way that was almost a challenge. Katie got the impression of someone who might well be a tricky customer.
And then the postdoc who was doing the actual day-to-day work on the project, Claudia Carter. With her mass of crinkly red hair and freckles, she looked awfully young, though she must be in her late twenties.
Katie went on browsing. Some interesting work was being done at Debussy Point. Malaria for one thing, specifically falciparum malaria, and it was very nasty, that. It was the worst form and could kill in a matter of days if it wasn’t found early and treated.
A thought struck her and she Googled “undercover in the workplace”. There were a lot of private investigators listed and she had just clicked on a link when Lyle came in fully dressed and yawning.
“Got to hit the road in half an hour or so,” he said. “Got a nine o’clock meeting in London. I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. There’s plenty in the pot.”
He poured himself a cup and glanced over her shoulder. “Katie, why are you looking at private investigators? I thought we’d settled this.”
“Lyle, think again, please,” she pleaded. “If you do decide to send someone in, would a company like this be able to supply someone who can do the work of a technician? Someone who’ll really understand what’s going on.”
“Why do you want to do this? Is it the money? Because if it is –”
“No, no, I’m fine for cash. I spent all those months on the ice with absolutely nothing to spend it on. I’ve got nearly a year’s worth of salary saved up.”
How could she explain the restlessness she felt, her need for a new challenge? The thought of any kind of ordinary job, of being accountable to someone, was intolerable after the responsibility of being the only medic on the Wilson base. Of course as a technician she’d still be answerable to someone, but she wouldn’t just be a technician; it would be an adventure.
Lyle took a sip of coffee and considered.
“But Katie, is it even feasible that someone at Debussy Point wouldn’t recognize you? It’s a small world in medical research.”
“Not that small. I’ve never worked on infectious diseases. And I’ve checked online. I’ve never even met anyone who’s working at Debussy Point.”
“There was a lot of press coverage about what happened in Antarctica. Your photo was plastered all over the internet.”
She shrugged. “An old photo. And it’s not as if I stand out from the crowd. Miss Average, that’s me. A new haircut, maybe a dye-job, glasses perhaps: that’s all it’d take. And think about it, Lyle. This would be so much simpler than getting a firm of private investigators involved. Your company could simply offer to fund a technician and recommend me.”
Lyle was silent.
To give him more time to think it over, she said, “Look, why don’t you tell me a bit more about the research.”
“OK. Well, we were talking last night about it being only a matter of time before there’s another flu pandemic. Transmission is a key factor in how serious that is going to be. So I’m funding research into that; more specifically the mechanism that allows a virus to jump the species barrier. Claudia’s working on a genetically modified strain of avian flu, adding mutations to the virus to find out if they make it more or less transmissible to a human cell-line. She’s starting to get some very interesting results.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Yeah...”
She caught something in his tone, and swivelled round in her chair to look at him.
He was pouring himself another cup of coffee. He looked up. “What?” he said.
“Come on, Lyle. This is about more than the mystery of the missing technicians, surely. Those results. I think the word you used yesterday was ‘excellent’?”
“They’re good, very good.”
“Could they perhaps be... too good?”
“Claudia’s got an excellent track record.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“I know, I know. Alright then, her results are good, but they’re not perfect. She’s been having some success in generating mammalian cells infected with an avian flu virus, but there’s a way to go before we’re clear about the mechanism. The closest I can get to it is this: if I was faking results, I’d be careful not to make them seem too good to be true. These are exactly the kind of thing I’d produce.”
“Phew.” Katie let out her breath. “You’re a hard man to please, Lyle. Not much to go on, is there? Don’t you think you might be getting a bit paranoid?”
Lyle shrugged.
She thought about it. “On the other hand,” she began, intending to say that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had doubts about a piece of medical research and been proved right. She was interrupted by the ping of an incoming text on Lyle’s iPhone. He glanced at it and she saw him grimace.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Another technician’s leaving, darn it. She handed in her notice yesterday.”<
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CHAPTER 5
WEDNESDAY
“We’ve got our work cut out if you’re leaving for this place – Debussy Point – in less than a month,” Julia said. “It’s going to be a rush job. And we prefer to use our own people,” she added with a hint of disapproval. “However, we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
She was a woman in her fifties with a smooth bob and careful make-up. And she was a smoker. Katie caught a whiff of that under her perfume.
They were in the offices of a firm of private investigators in a street near Oxford Circus. Katie was a little disappointed by the bland, neutral furnishings and by Julia with her iPad and her sharp, dark suit. But what had she been expecting? A battered old desk with a bottle of bourbon in the bottom drawer and Humphrey Bogart wearing a homburg?
It was the day after the discussion on the boat. She had managed to talk Lyle round and he had agreed to let her go to Debussy Point as a technician. One thing you could say for Lyle: once he’d made up his mind, he didn’t hang about.
She would have to have an interview for the technician’s job, but a hint from Lyle’s company would probably be enough to make sure that she got it. No one would want to offend the sponsors of the research.
Julia began to give Katie details of her new identity. Her new name was Caitlin Marsh. Caitlin was a version of her own name, Kathryn. She was used to her mother calling her this, so it would make it easier to answer to.
Julia said, “Going undercover isn’t easy. You need a whole range of skills. The key is being able to blend in with everyone else. Sometimes months of preparation are needed. You’ve got to be absolutely clear about your backstory.”
“But surely that’s only when someone has to learn how to do the job first? Luckily I do know the job.”
“Up to a point.” Julia looked at her iPad. “You’ve not worked in one of these labs with a high level of bio-security before, have you?”
“Lyle’s arranging for me to spend time in one.”
“OK, I agree, essentially you know your stuff, but you’re going to have a different kind of problem from the operatives we employ. It’s not that you won’t know enough, it’s more that you know too much. You mustn’t let slip that you’ve got a medical degree or know stuff that’s not appropriate for your level of education and experience. That can be hard. So tell me, Caitlin, what did you do at A-level?”
An Air That Kills Page 3