Payback (5 page)

Chancey
beamed, genuinely proud. He was in awe of the American, as well in fear. ‘You pay me, and tonight we
pati
! Together. We
pati
with
bilas
misis
. OK?’
Bilas
misis
—flashy European women.

Bolitho
was holding Banto’s head in his huge hands, moving it back and forth as if inspecting a melon. ‘Sure,
kauboi
. Tonight we can party. Once I’ve checked your test results on him. Then I’ll find you some young white tail. How’s that sound? Meet me back here at nine tonight and, if the tests are good, I’ll have your money.’

Excited,
Chancey ran over to his motorcycle and roared off, leaving the quaking Banto alone with the intimidating stranger.

Chapter Three

James Barton’s London house in Chester Street, off Belgravia, was lit, as usual, like a Christmas tree: the lights blazing from every room, whether in use or not. It was one of his eccentricities, a hate—fear perhaps—of darkness. The live-in Filipina maid opened the door to Tom and, as a regular visitor, let him find his own way to the first-floor sitting room.

Cigar
smoke drifted down the stairs and, as expected, he saw that the cognac decanter had already seen action. ‘James,’ he said, in greeting. ‘Got here as soon as I could. You said it was urgent. What’s up?’

In
front of Barton on a side table was some sort of computer-screen print-out. Without speaking, he pushed it towards Tom, gesturing for him to help himself to a drink, then sit down and read the thing. Passing on the alcohol, Tom took the paper, speed-read it and then read it carefully line by line. Only then did he take a seat and venture his first good look at Barton. He did not like what he saw. The booze, cigars and the kind of stress that things like this created were a sure ticket to a heart condition. It was a view, however, that he kept to himself. The news was bad enough for the man without a lecture on his health.

‘
Reuters put that out two hours ago from New York,’ Barton said angrily. ‘Great, eh?’

The
newswire piece read:

The
government
of
Papua
New
Guinea
has
attacked
US
-
quoted
biotech
group
,
Temple
Bio
-
Laboratories
Inc
—
led
by
controversial
former
bankrupt
British
financier
Sir
James
Barton
—
for
patenting
the
cell
lines
of
remote
tribes
.
Accusing
Temple
Bio
-
Labs
of
the
crime
of
bio
-
piracy
,
the
Health
Minister
at
a
press
conference
today
in
Port
Moresby
claimed
the
company
had
paid
untrained
local
criminals
to
intrude
on
villages
and
coerce
blood
and
tissue
samples
from
gullible
natives
.
The
rare
cell
lines
of
these
Stone
-
Age
peoples
are
believed
to
offer
the
possibility
of
new
cures
for
diseases
ranging
from
HIV
,
hepatitis
,
leukaemia
and
lymphoma
.
Researchers
have
discovered
that
although
these
infections
are
common
in
such
tribes
,
they
rarely
lead
to
the
diseases
themselves
,
demonstrating
remarkable
powers
of
immunity
.
Scientists
hope
that
studies
of
the
cell
lines
may
lead
eventually
to
vaccines
capable
of
commercial
development
.
The
PNG
government
,
however
,
is
to
explore
legal
action
against
Barton’s
company
to
negate
the
patents
.
It
has
also
called
on
the
World
Health
Organisation
and
the
United
Nations
to
condemn
such
exploitation
.
The
corporation’s
stock
fell
almost
forty
per
cent
on
Wall
Street
on
the
news
.
Ends
.

Tom
put the paper down, a look of distaste on his face. ‘Is it true?’

‘
Is what true?’

‘
That we’ve been getting blood and tissue samples in this way. Using untrained criminals, coercing native people?’

‘
Of course not! Our man down there has been using experienced local guides and professional nurses. To take blood samples safely. And far from coercing them, the tribes have been falling over themselves to be donors—for metal tools and general supplies. What do you take me for?’

Barton
made a good fist of seeming genuinely indignant at the question. He badly needed to keep Tom focused and motivated, especially on the Aruban treasury management. If the American ever got to know the so-called travel-voucher funds were really laundered from the drugs industry, he would, Barton knew, walk—and talk. Equally, Barton had to keep him in the dark about what he was
really
doing in PNG—and why... How long he could keep these things secret was proving a worry. But if the next few weeks went to plan, it soon would not matter. Tom Bates was very nearly dispensable.

‘
So what’s their beef? Something’s seriously upset the government.’

‘
They’re pissed they didn’t get there first. That’s all. As soon as they realised I had the patents, it dawned on them that they could have taken them out first—and that now they’ve lost them for ever. Dozy bastards. Let
me
do all the exploratory work. Let
me
have the idea. Let
me
expose the potential...and then they’d have breezed in and stolen it out from under. “In the national interest” no doubt. Well, tough! They blew it. And that’s all there is to it.’ He got up to pace around, agitated, trying to relight his cigar.

Tom
put on his professional face. He was not at all sure he believed him. Those warning bells were still sounding. ‘And what do you expect me to do?’ he asked.

‘
I need to know those patents really are buttoned down in the States. And I want to protect them and my intellectual property rights worldwide. Talk to our lawyers and patent agents. Then get me a second opinion on how secure I am on this. On whether the PNG government has any grounds at all to negate the patents. I need to know. And fast.’

Tom
already knew there was no consensus on patent laws around the world in the field of biotechnology. The USA and Japan permitted the patenting of transgenic animals; in Europe it was much less clear. A European Directive remained bogged down in drafting, with lobby groups invoking a ‘public order’ clause. The whole area was messy, and Barton was right to worry about piracy.

‘
And all this is tied up, I assume, with the new launch you’ve been keeping from me?’

Barton
sat down again and took a deep draught of his cognac. ‘Yes.’

‘
But I don’t understand. I mean, it seems you’ve only been taking these samples from the various tribes for a couple of months. It’ll take years to analyse them. You first have to isolate the various viruses and then crack the genetic immune system before you can even
think
about developing an effective vaccine for clinical trial. I’m no biologist, no immunologist—but that much I do know.’

‘
Then perhaps you think you know too bloody much!’ Barton suddenly raged. ‘Perhaps you should just do what you’re told for once, instead of double-guessing everything I do. You’ve just been my puppet. My stand-in until I was free from all the bankruptcy restrictions. Don’t
ever
forget that. And in return you’re sitting on a fat pile of stock options that cost you nothing. You may be a director but this is
my
business, and it’s not a team game. My businesses run on a need-to-know basis. And all
you
need to know right now is that I want advice on the patents and IPRs. Got it? You’re being very well rewarded. Let’s see you earn it!’ His eyes blazed and he stood over Tom, physically intimidating him with his size, and jabbing the cigar at him aggressively.

Tom
stood up, fighting to control his temper. He had encountered this side of Barton before, but only when directed at others. To find himself on the receiving end now was unpleasant and humiliating. It also for the first time called into serious question the special relationship he always felt he had enjoyed with the tyrant. Was he, after all, just like any other hired hand in Barton’s eyes? Despite everything he had done for him?

‘
I’ve stood by you, James. Remember that. The only one...But if that’s really all you want, a lap-dog, I’ll buy you one,’ he said evenly, making to leave. ‘Call me tomorrow when you’re more yourself.’ He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

As
he pulled on his top coat downstairs in the hall, the bell rang and the maid opened the door to Lydia.

Tom
was always pleased to see her, Barton’s daughter from his first marriage, having spent countless weekends with the family at the Manor. They had even dated briefly and secretly after she had left university, but—partly out of mutual fear of what her father would make of it—they had not really given things a chance to develop. They still flirted though, each sensing unfinished business in that department. ‘Hi,’ he said, struggling to hide his anger from her. ‘How’s the world of advertising?’

‘
Fine,’ she replied. She was a little thrown at stumbling into him unexpectedly, but the buzz at seeing him was very much still there.

‘
Well
I
don’t get enough OTS you these days,’ he said, using her industry jargon.

‘
That’s easily fixed,’ she said, snapping on one of her attractive-me looks. ‘You can have an Opportunity To See as much of me as you like.’

He
smiled, mistaking her provocative
double
entendre
for Mae West-style parody. ‘Is he expecting you?’

‘
Nope.’ She took this as a tiny coded rejection, and it depressed her slightly.

‘
Well, a word of warning. He’s like a bear with a sore head. A bit drunk. And some bad company news just came in.’

‘
What news?’

‘
Best see if he wants to talk about it himself.’ They had often sparred good-naturedly over her liberal views, but he was always careful of what he told her about Barton’s businesses.

‘
Thanks for the warning,’ she said casually, and ran up the stairs. ‘By-ee!’

He
watched her go, admiring her shapely, comfortable-looking figure and the long, flowing hair. She really was very attractive—a woman now, not the coltish student—even if she still had something of her powerful father’s face. Perhaps he would try and start over with Lydia. He was tiring of his lonely life of casual relationships. And the hell this time with what Barton might think. The bully’s attack was now festering. If, in spite of everything they had been through, he and Barton did not after all enjoy a special relationship, friendship even, then he in turn owed him nothing back. Lydia was now firmly deleted from his hands-off list, he thought to himself, leaving to face the ice cold wind outside.

‘
Dad! It’s me!’ she called up in warning.

Barton
’s mood immediately lightened. ‘Here! In the sitting room!’