Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  ‘And you can’t wait to tell us,’ said Charles.

  ‘The name’s spelt backwards.’

  There was another chuckle from Ian as he worked it out.

  ‘Mr Devlin,’ said Carey. ‘I thought I told you to be quiet. If you can’t, I suggest you leave.’

  John shrugged and didn’t say any more, and gradually, the conversation rose to its former level.

  When the last course was finished and brandies had been served, Carey cleared his throat. ‘I think I ought to propose a toast.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I propose a toast to — er.’

  ‘The natives of Oxford,’ said John, raising his glass to Phil.

  Phil went white. ‘Don’t you call me a native,’ he said between his teeth; then, without warning, threw the contents of his wine-glass in John’s face.

  Fortunately, there wasn’t much left. As John reached for his table napkin, Charles said, ‘I rather think you asked for that.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Carey. ‘Apologize to Phil before you go, will you?’

  ‘Sure.’ John got to his feet. ‘Sorry, Phil, nothin’ personal.’ He turned to Charles. ‘One day, punk, your firm’s gonna find out what they missed when they sacked me.’

  ‘Bravado.’

  ‘When you get back, look up the records of my research. Ask yourself, where was it leading? Ask yourself how long — ’

  ‘Get out!’ Carey almost screamed.

  You fool! I thought silently. A moment later, Sally got up and followed him.

  I’d left the following day, and so didn’t hear what had happened until two months later when John wrote to me. Carey had given him a week’s notice, but had then relented, provided John wrote an apology and pinned it on the noticeboard. This, to my amazement, John had done. It was almost as if they needed each other.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next day, Wednesday, I went to John’s office as soon as the rest of the staff were having coffee, sat down at his desk in front of the terminal and wondered how to make it work.

  Unlike me, John had had an empathy with computers that was almost frightening, and as though they acknowledged this, he could do almost anything with them.

  I found the main switch, and when the cursor on the screen glowed, pressed Return.

  ‘Log-on,’ the screen told me.

  What was John’s code? Probably his initials, JSD123 — but surely, he’d have changed that by now…

  I tried it.

  ‘Enter program required.’

  Oh well, I found the menu and then R for Research.

  The screen flickered, then said: ‘HIV Protein Structure Projects,’ and underneath, ‘Password?’

  I sat back and thought.

  John loved reversing things, so I tried 123JSD.

  WRONG! said the screen triumphantly and the program crashed.

  I started at the beginning again, and this time tried 321DSJ.

  Yes! But instead of the data, a message flashed on and off the screen: ‘Program at present locked by another user.’

  My scalp tingled. Someone in this building, now, was looking at John’s data.

  How many terminals were there?

  Six, I thought: This one, Main Lab, Virology, office; Carey and Ron had one each — Carey! He’d had the same idea…

  I got up and went into the corridor. Carey’s door was shut — it was him, it had to be! Better check, though.

  Virology was empty, and so was the main office.

  Ron’s door was ajar. I thought of an excuse and knocked. No answer. I looked round the door. Empty.

  A glance told me that the main lab was empty too. Except for one person, sitting at the terminal.

  Dave. Even from behind, I recognized him instantly. He scribbled something on a pad beside him, then turned back to the keyboard. Tapped, then swore softly as the screen flickered and the program crashed.

  But surely, if he already had the password —

  Without warning, he swivelled round and our eyes met.

  I should have just walked in, said I’d come to fetch something, but I didn’t. I panicked, turned, and walked swiftly back to John’s office.

  You fool! I thought.

  The door opened and he came inside. He must have run, although I hadn’t heard him. The door clicked shut.

  I backed away as he moved silently across to the terminal. He glanced at the message still flashing on and off and then looked at me.

  ‘I’m doing some work on John’s program for him,’ he said softly, as, catlike, he approached. ‘It’s between me and him.’ He was close to me now, but seemed to move ever closer.

  ‘Between me and him,’ he repeated, ‘and that’s how it stays until he’s back. Ask him then if — ’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I said, ask him then if you want to know, but until then, keep out of his business — ’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘That means off his computer programs,’ he continued in the same soft voice. ‘Away from his address, and stop asking questions about him. That clear?’

  ‘Why should — ?’

  ‘Is — that — clear?’ Still soft, but loaded with such intensity that I just nodded.

  ‘Good. All you have to do is mind your own business and you an’ me’ll get along fine. All right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned and walked out of the room, switching off the terminal on his way.

  *

  I sat shaking for about five minutes, maybe longer. Staff came back up the corridor from the rest-room, chatting as they returned to their various laboratories. I made an effort to pull myself together, then opened the door and stepped out.

  Would he still be in the main lab? Probably not, now that the others were back. I put my head round to check. He wasn’t there, but Sally was, so I went over to her. ‘I’ve got to speak to you.’

  She looked up in surprise.

  ‘Something really weird’s going on and I seem to be in the middle of it…’

  ‘Sorry, Chris, but can it wait till lunchtime? I’ve this lot to get through.’ She indicated a large pile of specimens beside her.

  ‘OK, but — ’

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said a voice behind me. Ron. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Would you come along to my office, please?’

  I followed him back down the corridor.

  ‘Shut the door, will you?’ he said when we were inside. ‘Take a seat.’ He sat down behind his desk. ‘I’ve been meaning to have a word.’

  Having got that far, he didn’t seem to know how to go on for a moment.

  ‘I’ve nothing personal against you,’ he said at last, looking up. ‘Nothing. But let’s be honest, you don’t fit in here, do you?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of it,’ I said slowly. ‘Anyway, it’s not as if I’ll be here for very long, is it?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I’ve got someone else starting here next week, so I won’t be needing you any more.’

  I shrugged. ‘Fine.’

  ‘The point is, you’re not very busy at the moment, are you?’

  ‘Busy enough.’

  ‘We don’t really need you. Why don’t you do yourself a favour and leave today?’

  I gaped at him.

  ‘It’s all right, you’ll be paid for the whole week.’

  After a pause, I said, ‘That’s very…generous of you, Ron, but really, I don’t mind staying until the end of the week.’

  ‘Well, to be blunt, I don’t think you’re a good influence here. You unsettle the staff. I’d rather you left now.’

  This was so nonsensical that I didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then:

  ‘Ron, I just don’t understand this. How do I unsettle the staff?’

  ‘Well, for a start, you won’t leave Sally alone. Just now, for instance. I can’t find you where you’re supposed to be, no, because you’re interfering with Sally again.’

  ‘But I’ve only been here a c
ouple of days, so — ’

  ‘Exactly. It was bad enough when Mr Devlin was all over her.’ He was speaking faster now. ‘One of the best workers we’ve had, until he came along. And now she’s seen through him at last, you come back and — ’

  He stopped himself abruptly, then said in a calmer voice, ‘I want you out.’

  ‘All right, but why don’t you let me stay until the end of the week?’

  ‘Because I want you out now.’

  Why argue any more? ‘OK Ron,’ I began tiredly, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Ron called.

  It was Ian. ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said when he saw me, ‘I’ve been looking for you. Ron, we’ve got a problem.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Nearly all the cell cultures we’re supposed to be using tomorrow have failed. Contamination, by the look of them.’

  Ron’s face twisted towards me. ‘I knew you’d be more trouble than you’re worth — ’

  ‘Wait a minute, Ron,’ said Ian. ‘These cultures were set up on Friday, so it couldn’t have been Chris. It was either me or Val. Me, probably,’ he added gloomily.

  Ron just looked at him.

  ‘The point is,’ Ian continued, ‘the virology lab are going to have to go easy on what cells we’ve got, and if Val and Claire are still off tomorrow, I’m going to need some more help.’

  You could feel the cogs turning in Ron’s brain as he looked from one to the other of us.

  ‘We’ve got another locum coming next week,’ he said at last. ‘A virologist this time, so that should help. I’ll go and tell Virology not to use too many cells.’ He paused, then: ‘You and Chris will have to do what you can for now.’

  My lips began framing the words: But, Ron, you said just now you wanted me out — however, I thought better of it.

  He glanced at me as though he knew what I was thinking. ‘Well, you’d better go and get on with it, hadn’t you,’ he said.

  When we got to the cell lab, I told Ian what he’d interrupted.

  ‘But that’s crazy,’ he said in disbelief. ‘Why has he got it in for you so much?’

  ‘I only wish I knew.’

  ‘Oh well, we’d better do as the man said and get on with it.’

  We made a good team and worked solidly for the rest of the morning, and by the time Sally came for me at one, we’d caught up with nearly a quarter of the backlog.

  ‘Are you coming?’ she said. ‘I’ve got to be back by half past.’

  I looked at Ian, who said doubtfully, ‘We’ve still got a hell of a lot to do.’

  Sally said, ‘Oh, come on, Ian, we’ll only be twenty-five minutes.’

  He grinned. ‘All right. After all, who am I to stand in the way of love’s young dream?’

  Sally strode in and pretended to hit him.

  ‘Mercy!’ he screeched, covering his head with his hands. She stopped and he gave me a broad wink.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ and nimbly leapt from his seat to avoid another assault.

  ‘Well, are you coming?’ Sally demanded.

  ‘Can’t say I envy you,’ said Ian from a corner, ‘she’s even worse than my missus.’

  Sally shot him a look of withering contempt and made for the door.

  ‘Well, what was it you wanted to tell me?’ she said as we emerged into the sunshine.

  I had just started, when as though by magic Phil appeared beside us. ‘Going to lunch? Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Sally.

  As we approached the canteen, he said to me, ‘Sally’s been telling me about your dormobile.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s all right at this time of year I suppose, but it can’t be much fun in the winter.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said tonelessly.

  He kept up a flow of chatter throughout the meal while I sat writhing inside with irritation. Then he switched back to my own arrangements.

  ‘Beats me how you manage to find anywhere to park for the night in Oxford,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t have thought there was much available space left.’

  ‘There’s always somewhere if you’re prepared to look.’

  ‘Where are you staying at the moment?’

  ‘By the canal. There’s a small car park beside Port Meadow.’

  ‘Oh, I know, over a hump-back bridge, isn’t it? Surrounded by trees.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, rather you than me.’ After a pause, he turned to Sally. ‘About tonight, did you have anything in mind?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I thought we might hire a punt,’ he said, smiling, ‘go up to the Viccy for a couple of drinks.’

  She smiled back. ‘Why not? It sounds nice.’

  So much for not leading him on, I thought. Although perhaps she wanted to put me in my place after what Ian had said.

  Then I remembered promising Ian I wouldn’t be long, so I made my excuses and left.

  We spent most of the rest of the afternoon trying to make up for the failed batch of cells. Twice I tried to catch Sally alone, but on both occasions someone appeared beside us, almost as though it were planned.

  A slow anger ignited inside me. Something was wrong! It was as though John had never existed, and I was an embarrassment because I was a reminder of him.

  I had to look at his computer again.

  But how? Dave seemed especially ubiquitous, pausing as he passed our doorway, or watching me over his coffee-cup.

  Could I come back tonight? I knew where the key was hidden — no, there was no need. I’d do it after everyone had gone.

  But wouldn’t Dave realize I was still there, if he saw Bile still sitting in the car park?

  I went out after coffee, drove to another car park and slipped back without anyone noticing.

  Where should I wait?

  Not John’s office, Dave might check there. How about the store in the basement? Or better still, the empty floor above.

  At five o’clock I slowly finished off what I was doing, so that by the time I changed my coat, nearly everyone had gone.

  I sauntered out to the landing. Attached to the tapes across the stairs leading up was a notice: ‘Danger — upper floor unsafe.’

  I looked quickly round, then ducked underneath and took the stairs two at a time until I was out of sight, then slowly climbed the rest until I reached the next landing, where I stopped beside a window. The sill was thick with dust and the air hot in the afternoon sun. A large fly buzzed at the glass.

  I stared out over the city. The building was high enough to give the same view as one of the tourist towers, Carfax or St Mary’s. Dreaming Spires rose out of a bed of ancient rooftops. I thought of Sally and the day we’d first met. The fly still buzzed. On impulse, I released the catch and forced the window up enough for it to escape.

  Then I turned and wandered across the landing. Half way were doors with more warning notices on them. New hasps had been screwed into the woodwork and fastened with brass padlocks.

  I touched one, picked it up. It was heavy, good quality, and had ‘Made in England’ stamped underneath. Stir of patriotic pride.

  Why such a good lock? I wondered, when a hammer and chisel, perhaps even a good pull, would have the hasp out?

  I tugged experimentally, and to my astonishment it came free, the four screws just slipping out of the wood. I tried the handle and the door opened.

  I glanced at my watch. Twenty past, I needed to wait another ten minutes anyway. Curiosity overcame me and I stepped inside.

  A long corridor stretched away, lit by a window at the far end. The air was thick and fusty. There were doors at regular intervals on both sides, some of them open.

  I wandered into the first room on the right. It was completely bare except for a washbasin, a couple of fitted cupboards and a boarded-up fireplace.

  I tried the next. It was the same, except that my feet scrunched in pieces of plaster on the floor. I
looked up to see where they had fallen from the ceiling.

  The next room boasted an empty bed-frame, and the one after that, a frame with a mattress. A pair of shoes lay beside a pile of rags in the corner and an enamel mug and an old Thermos flask stood on the windowsill. Builders’ detritus.

  I walked slowly down the rest of the corridor, glancing into each room, until a groan from the floorboards made me step back hastily. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly half past, time to go back anyway.

  I replaced the screws in the hasp, leaving it looking as solid as ever, and went back down the stairs to the laboratory.

  It was quite empty. I sat at John’s desk, found the switch, and the blank screen of the computer sparked into life. I retraced my steps from the morning and tapped in his code again, backwards. ‘Project I,’ the screen informed me. ‘Do you wish to print?’

  I pressed ‘Y’, the screen flooded with data and the printer whined into life. I kept it going, but as I looked more closely, I realized that it was the same work that was in the file I’d given Carey yesterday, only in more detail.

  At last the screen read, ‘Project I finished. (C)ontinue for Project II.’

  Shaking slightly with excitement, I pressed ‘C’.

  ‘Password?’ I hesitated, then keyed in the reversed code again.

  ‘WRONG! TRY AGAIN,’ flashed the screen, then went blank as the program crashed.

  I switched the computer off, on again, then repeated the procedure until again ‘Password?’ leered mockingly at me.

  I sat back and tried to put myself in his place.

  John Devlin didn’t work, nor John, nor Devlin, Glasgow or Scotland. Nor did they work backwards.

  Middle name…something Scottish, S…Stuart!

  But neither that nor its combinations worked either.

  At last I gave it up, rolled up the paper from the printer and thrust it into my jacket pocket. Then I let myself out into the warm evening air, and deep in thought, strolled over to Bile.

  Project II must refer to substance X, the AIDS cure — small wonder he’d hidden it so well. More possibilities for the password filtered through my head: combinations of Sally’s name, perhaps…

  As I inserted the key into Bile’s door, the roll was snatched from my pocket and Dave said, ‘You just don’t listen, do you?’