Resurrection (43 page)

TWENTY FIVE

Malloy was waiting on the steps of the institute when Dewar screeched to a halt.

‘
You look like you’ve been in the wars,’ he said as he got in and slammed the door.

‘
It’s been that kind of a day,’ said Dewar. ‘Where are we going?’

‘
Baberton Hill Rise, number seventeen.’

‘
Means nothing.’

‘
Start heading west. It’s a housing estate on the far side of Colinton. Are you really sure about this? George has enough to worry about right now without any more shit blowing in the wind.’

Dewar told him what he’d learned at The Pines.

‘
Christ, whatever possessed him,’ sighed Malloy.

‘
Try money,’ said Dewar flatly.

‘
But why would the Iraqis approach George in the first place? They wouldn’t know anything about forgotten virus stores or an old hospital?’

‘
They wouldn’t. Ferguson must have approached them. It’s my guess that Ali Hammadi confided in him when he was approached about making the virus the hi-tec way.- These two were friends, weren’t they?’

Malloy nodded. ‘They had the occasional beer together.’

‘
When Ali took his own life Ferguson must have seen his chance and offered to provide the Iraqis with what they wanted - albeit from another source.’

‘
And all that stuff was just lying around in the ground. Jesus! Makes you think.’

‘
Thirty years ago there wasn’t any legislation about what medical labs should and shouldn’t keep. Every hospital laboratory had its own rules and made its own arrangements. Safety aspects were the concern of individual consultants, not a matter for committees and government legislation. I suppose as time went by and the old staff retired or died off, old culture stores might be forgotten about or ignored if they were in out of the way places like cellars or attics. Many old hospitals were built like medieval castles. Ferguson must have remembered about the old cellar store at the City’s lab.

‘
Turn left here,’ said Malloy as they reached a cross-roads.

Dewar slowed the car and turned into a suburban street lined on both sides with small semi-detached villas.

‘
It’s about half way along on the right,’ said Malloy. ‘Green door.’

‘
You’ve been here before?’

‘
I’ve driven George home a couple of times after lab parties. He never does anything by halves does George.’

Dewar stopped a little way before the house and asked, ‘Are you okay about this or would you rather I called for police back-up?’

‘
George and I have always got on,’ said Malloy quietly. ‘I’d like to hear his side of things before you do anything else.

As they walked up the garden path of number seventeen, Dewar could not help but reflect on the bizarre nature of the circumstances. They were walking up to the door of a suburban semi-detached house to accuse a man of bringing the scourge of smallpox back to the world and of being part of a conspiracy to plunge the middle east into war.

The door was opened by a small, grey-haired woman who recognised Malloy.

and smiled. ‘Steven! What brings you here? You’ve just missed George. Was it something important?

‘
Missed him?’

The smile faded on the woman’s face as she caught Malloy’s air of tension. ‘Maybe you’d better come in,’ she said.

The two men were led into a small sitting room that seemed overcrowded with furniture. It was an impression mainly given by the presence of a large, old style Chesterfield suite and the fact that a youth with spiky hair sticking up was lounging in one of the arm chairs with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He was well over six feet and broad with it but clearly mentally sub normal.

‘
Don’t mind Malcolm,’ said Joyce Ferguson with a wan smile. ‘He’s happy watching television.’

‘
This is Dr Dewar,’ said Malloy. ‘He’s here from London, investigating the smallpox outbreak.’

‘
How d’you do,’ said Joyce pleasantly.

‘
Where has George gone, Joyce?’ asked Malloy.

‘
I’m not sure myself, but he seemed very pleased about something. He said …’ Joyce’s voice faded. ‘He’s in some kind of trouble, isn’t he? Oh my God, what’s wrong? What’s he done?’

‘
What did he say, Mrs Ferguson?’ asked Dewar, willing her to complete her earlier sentence.

A distant look had come into Joyce Ferguson’s eyes. ‘He said … It was done. All our troubles would now be over. No more worrying about anything … ‘

Dewar and Malloy exchanged glances. ‘You’ve no idea where he was going? None at all?’

Joyce shook her head. Malcolm made a loud guffawing sound as something caught his fancy on television. Joyce didn’t take her eyes off the two men.

‘
Did he take anything with him when he left?’ asked Dewar.

Joyce’s eyes seemed to ask how Dewar could have known that. ‘He was carrying something, a box he took from the garage but I’ve no idea what was in it.’

Malloy looked at her. She responded, ‘Something he’d been working on.’

‘
But you’ve no idea what?’

Another shake of the head.

‘
Where did he work on this whatever it was?’ asked Dewar.

‘
In the garage.’

Can we take a look?’

‘
It’s locked. Quite a few houses round here have been broken in to and …’ The words died on her lips.

‘
Do you have the key?’

‘
George keeps it. Oh my God, what’s he done?’

Malloy put his arm round Joyce Ferguson. ‘Joyce, do you have any tools in the house?’

‘
In the hall cupboard.’

Dewar went to look and came back with a Mole wrench and a long-handled tyre lever. He indicated to Malloy with a nod of the head that he should stay with Joyce while he went outside to deal with the lock. One good bend of the lever and one of the lugs holding the padlock snapped off the side door. He swung it open and stepped inside to feel for the light switch. He was now standing in a small, well-equipped laboratory.

Malloy came out to join him and stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck. ‘No wonder our grant funds were a bit over-spent,’ he murmured.

‘
Tell me it isn’t true,’ said Dewar. ‘Tell me he couldn’t have grown up smallpox virus here.’ Both men moved further in to examine the main work bench set up against the back wall.

Malloy looked at the equipment and grimaced. ‘That’s exactly what he’s been doing, I’m afraid. These are all the things you’d need for virus sub-culture. He must have used the old vials to seed new cultures. It would have been relatively simple to grow up large amounts of virus if you knew how and George knew how. Once you have the virus, you don’t need much. Smallpox isn’t a demanding thing to grow.’

‘
But the danger?’

‘
George is a first class technician. He’s handled viruses for years. Simple sub-culture wouldn’t be nearly as hazardous as trying to create the virus from DNA fragments.’

Dewar looked at the assorted pieces of lab glassware and tubing. There were several bottles of clear fluid along the back of the work bench and a few smaller ones containing straw coloured liquid. It scarcely looked as if it would satisfy the inventory of a kid’s chemistry set. ‘Where’s the virus?’

‘
Not here,’ replied Malloy. ‘These bottles contain sterile buffer and culture medium. None of them have been infected with virus but look here.’

Dewar bend down to peer into a beaker full of red fluid. He could see several broken glass vials in it.’

‘
It’s disinfectant,’ said Malloy. ‘He put the old vials in here when he was finished with them but where are the new cultures?’

‘
Oh Christ, that’s what was in the box,’ exclaimed Dewar. ‘That’s what he must have meant when he told his wife their troubles were over. He’s taken the virus with him. He’s gone to hand it over to the Iraqis!

‘
But where?’

Dewar pulled out his phone and called Barron. ‘This is important! Is anything happening at your end right now?’

‘
No one’s come out today as yet, if that’s what you mean, but it’s a bit early for them. They don’t usually go round to the coffee shop until the back of three.’

‘
You’re absolutely certain none of the Iraqis has left the building?’

‘
Absolutely. Why? What do you know that I don’t?’

‘
The virus is on it’s way. The hand-over’s happening today.’

‘
Where?’

‘
I don’t know. It’s going to be up to you and your men to follow any Iraqi who leaves and for God’s sake, don’t lose them!’

‘
Roger that. I’ll call you if something happens.’

‘
What now?’ asked Malloy.

‘
Did Ferguson have a car?’

‘
A Ford Escort.’

‘
Then he must have taken it. It’s not outside the house. Get the number from his wife. I’ll get the police to put out an alert for it. Malloy went off to do this while Dewar took a last look round the garage before trying to restore the padlock mounting on the door as best he could. He had plenty of time; Malloy seemed to take for ever. When he finally did appear he said, ‘Sorry. She couldn’t remember the number. She’s in a bit of a state. She had to look for the log book.’

Dewar called the police with details of the car, giving instructions that its location should be reported as soon as possible. On no account were they to attempt to stop the vehicle or chase the driver.’ Dewar repeated the instruction so there was no misunderstanding. He didn’t want Ferguson spooked into doing something stupid with the cargo he was carrying.

Dewar and Malloy drove back towards town, unsure what to do until they got word about Ferguson’s whereabouts or of an Iraqi initiative. Dewar became more impatient with each passing minute. He checked his watch. ‘What are the police doing?’ he complained. ‘Surely they must have found the car by now.’ He called in to police headquarters to check for himself. Still no sighting of the car.

‘
Might be off the road,’ suggested Malloy.

‘
In a car park, you mean?’ said Dewar. He called the police again and asked that car parks in the city be checked. ‘This has A1 priority!’

Half an hour went by with Dewar and Malloy just cruising around the city centre, waiting for news. At three forty, Barron called.

‘
Siddiqui and Abbas have just left the building.’

‘
Don’t lose them!’

‘
Not likely,’ replied Barron. ‘They’re on foot.’

‘
What?’

‘
It looks to me as if they’re just going round the corner as usual to the coffee shop.’

‘
Shit!’ said Dewar. He couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate a scenario not involving the Iraqis. He rested his elbow on the window ledge of the car door and brought the heel of his hand up to his forehead while he thought. ‘That’s it!’ he exclaimed.

‘
What’s it?’ asked Malloy.

‘
The café! The Bookstop Café! That’s where the hand-over’s going to be. It’s the one place they never arouse any suspicion by going to. They set it up that way by going there every day! They’re regulars! Ferguson must be going to meet them there! Move it!’

Malloy drove. Dewar called Barron..

‘
The hand-over is going to take place in the Bookstop Café,’ he said. ‘The Iraqis’ contact is one, George Ferguson, male Caucasian, six two, red hair, early fifties. Is he there yet?’

There was a long pause. Malloy swung the car into Hanover Street and stopped at the traffic lights.

‘
Roger that. A male fitting that description is currently inside the café’

‘
Is his car outside?’ asked Dewar. ‘He couldn’t be sure if Ferguson would have the virus with him or whether he’d leave it in the car. ‘It’s a white Ford Escort.’ He gave the number.

‘
Negative,’ said Barron. ‘What do you want us to do?’

‘
Ferguson and the Iraqis must not be allowed to leave. As long as they stay put take no action until we find his car. With any luck the virus’ll be in the boot. Once we have that they’re all yours.’

Dewar called the police again and asked them to concentrate their hunt for Ferguson’s car in the area around the Bookstop Café but on no account were officers to pass in front of the café Ten minutes passed with still no sighting. Dewar could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. ‘Come on, come on,’ he urged impatiently. They were now sitting in Forest Road, just round the corner from the café Dewar’s impatience made him get out the car. He walked to the end of the road and caught sight of Barron, watching the café He called him on the phone. ‘Still inside?’

‘
Laughing and talking just like any other day.’

‘
And Ferguson?’

‘
He’s joined them. There are a couple of books on the table in front of him that he’s just bought. For all the world it looks like he’s just having a cup of coffee before leaving and is chatting to people at a neighbouring table.’

‘
Just books? No boxes or parcels in front of him.’

‘
Not as far as I can see.’