White Death (3 page)

Miriam Carlyle, chair of the educational psychology unit at Birmingham University, adopted a pained expression and said, ‘HMG has only itself to blame. An entire generation has been brought up to believe that they are untapped reservoirs of talent and potential just waiting to be discovered – no losers, only winners. If they have their way we’re going to finish up with a nation of TV presenters … with nothing to present because anyone with any real talent and ability will have been declared elitist and forced into feigning mediocrity in order to fit in.’

‘I think we all recognise the problem but what do we do about it?’

Charles Motram, Miriam’s counterpart at the University of Sussex, said, ‘It’s our considered view that it’s already too late for the sixteen and overs. The die is cast in their case. They’re going to have to make lots of unpleasant discoveries for themselves, but it might just be possible to do something about those just becoming teenagers. It’s an old enough idea but we feel that summer camps would help promote an environment where the importance of self-discipline and self-reliance could be nurtured.’

‘Boot camps?’

‘No, definitely not. There should be no suggestion of punishment. We are thinking more along the lines of summer schools in places like the Welsh Mountains, the Lake District, the Scottish Highlands where teamwork can be encouraged and kids can see for themselves the value of getting along with each other, relying on their team-mates in tough situations, earning respect instead of demanding it.’

‘Sorry, but I don’t see how this differs from similar schemes that have gone before,’ said Noones.

‘The difference is that HMG pays for it.’

‘Why?’ asked a surprised Noones.

‘What parent of a thirteen-year-old these days is going to say “no” to the chance of getting rid of their offspring for a couple of weeks when no charge is involved? They’d get a break from the relentless demands for money and gadgetry, the kids would gain some notion of self-respect and the rules of social interaction, and HMG might win back a lost generation. We see this as win-win all round.’

‘An intriguing notion. Thank you, Charles and you too, Miriam. I’ll certainly pass on your thoughts. And now, Gerald,’ said Noones, turning to Sir Gerald Coates, ‘you are going to make my day by telling me one of your little biotech companies has come up with a vaccine against bird ’flu?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ confessed Coates. ‘The problem remains that while the form of the virus that will pass from human to human does not yet exist, it remains impossible to design a vaccine against it. It’s quite possible to design one against the H5N1 strain but there’s no guarantee that it will be effective against a mutant variant of it. We have had significant success, however, with another vaccine.’

Coates paused to enjoy the moment and the expression that appeared on Noones’ face. ‘One of the companies we tempted with the prospect of filthy lucre has come up trumps. In fact, we are rapidly approaching stage two which will involve setting up testing regimens. That’s something I’d like to speak to you about later, if that’s all right?’

‘By all means. It’s wonderful to hear something positive for a change.’

The meeting broke up shortly afterwards with Jeffrey Langley asking Coates if he wanted him to stay.

‘No point in both of us being here,’ replied Coates.

‘Remember to ask about the cash,’ said Langley.

‘What was that about cash?’ asked Oliver Noones as he returned from seeing the others to the door.

‘The biotech company I was talking about want to know just when they will be eligible for the prize money. Only natural, I suppose. They’ve invested quite a bit so far.’

‘Why don’t we go along to my office? I’ll break out the Amontillado and you can tell me all about it.’

Twenty minutes into the conversation, Noones got up to replenish their glasses and said, ‘Well, I must say it all sounds absolutely splendid, just the sort of thing we’ve been hoping for. What was that last point you said I should stress to the Cabinet?’

‘It’s not a live vaccine and apparently that’s a big plus when it comes to safety concerns.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me there. What does “not a live vaccine” mean in this context exactly?’

‘Vaccines are usually live viruses themselves but they have been attenuated or disabled in some way so that they won’t give rise to disease but will still stimulate the production of antibodies in the recipient which will protect him or her against the real thing. For instance, vaccinia is a live virus that will give people protection against smallpox. The trouble is that although most of us don’t suffer any adverse reaction to being infected with vaccinia, every now and then some poor soul does. They develop a condition called disseminated vaccinia and that’s almost as bad as smallpox itself.’

‘I see. No such thing as an altogether safe vaccine …’

‘Exactly. That’s why it’s better to use a non-live vaccine if at all possible.’

‘Got you,’ said Noones. ‘And this is one. I’m sure the powers-that-be will be delighted.’

Coates circled the glass in his hand betraying a little hesitation when he said, ‘Now that we have the vaccine … it will have to be tested.’

‘What does that entail?’

‘Testing on animals in the first instance where the official hurdles are low and then on humans where they are becoming practically insurmountable …’

‘Perhaps in the normal course of events …’ said Noones thoughtfully. ‘Something tells me that it when it comes to a contest between national security and public paranoia, someone in government is going to have to make what they delight in calling … a tough choice … a difficult decision. Only this time … it’s going to be for real. Leave it with me.’

‘You won’t forget to enquire about the money?’

‘I’ll be in touch.’

St Clair Genomics
CAMBRIDGE

‘Well, Alan, all ready to give your presentation?’ asked Phillip St Clair.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ replied the young post-doctoral scientist who for the first time since an aunt’s funeral some eighteen months before was wearing a collar and tie instead of a T-shirt. He was about to present his research to the financial backers of St Clair Genomics – a consortium of people who had been persuaded to invest heavily in an exciting new aspect of molecular biology by the founder of the company, Phillip St Clair.

Some five years had passed without the money men seeing anything like the return they had imagined at the outset, but they had persevered, aware that this was the case for most who had invested in a science that had promised much but, to date, had delivered little. Genetic engineering had not turned out to be the golden goose many had thought it might be and the situation wasn’t being helped by the government who had applied strict rules and regulations at every turn in order to appease a public suspicious of anything to do with gene alteration.

It had therefore been something of a major triumph for St Clair to convince his backers to sink even more money into the company in order that Alan, one of his six researchers, could develop his ideas about a new vaccine in the hope of winning government approval and a substantial monetary prize for the company. He was under no illusion, however, that this might be the last gamble the backers would take on his company.

‘They’re here,’ announced Vicky Reid, St Clair’s secretary, appearing in the doorway with an excited look on her face.

‘Good show,’ said St Clair. ‘Good luck, Alan.’

Alan was left alone to carry out a last check on the Power-Point slides he planned to use in the presentation. This was a big moment in his career and he knew it. Nothing could be left to chance.

Four extremely well-dressed men were shown into the small seminar room where Alan awaited them. He could smell the expensive leather of their briefcases and the subtle tones of their aftershave as they passed in front of him. It was Vicky who ushered them in, her face wreathed in smiles. St Clair brought up the rear.

‘Would you gentlemen care for coffee?’ asked Vicky.

‘I think we’re fine,’ replied Ruben Van Cleef, director of venture investment at Edelman’s Bank.

Vicky smiled and withdrew and, to Alan’s dismay, St Clair said, ‘If you’d just excuse me too for a few minutes, I’ll leave you in Alan’s capable hands.’

Alan suddenly felt very much alone as he faced the four unsmiling men in front of him. ‘Perhaps I should just start?’ he ventured.

He took the four blank stares as a yes. ‘I think you probably know the basics of what I’ve been doing,’ he began, construing the continuing blank stares as a maybe. ‘Instead of searching for weakened or attenuated strains of virulent organisms, I’ve been investigating the possibility of altering their genome so that they are no longer viable but can still give rise to an immune response in people.’

‘Their “genome” is their DNA, is that right?’ asked Van Cleef.

‘’Yes, or RNA in some cases. Some viruses have RNA as their genetic material instead …’

‘Whatever,’ said Van Cleef with a dismissive hand gesture. ‘So you damage the bug so it can no longer kill people and then inject it into them so they’ll make antibodies against the real bug which will?’

‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ agreed Alan.

‘So how has it been going?’ asked another of the investors.

Alan felt flustered. He had prepared a whole seminar about what he’d been doing and the pitfalls he’d encountered along the way. He’d planned on giving that before addressing such questions. His discomfort, however, was short-lived.

‘I think I can answer that,’ said St Clair, coming back into the room carrying an ice bucket with champagne in it. Vicky trooped along behind with a tray of glasses.

‘First let me apologise for this little deception but I know more than you gentlemen do, including you, Alan. The answer to your question is that it’s been going very well indeed … The government has agreed to award its first vaccine development prize to our company for Alan’s vaccine.’

Smiles broke out all round and the buzz of congratulations filled the room. Alan sank into a chair to close his eyes for a moment as if thanking the Almighty.

‘It’s early days,’ continued St Clair. ‘But our man in Whitehall assures me that the sum of four million pounds will be paid to the company in the next few weeks with the remaining eighteen million to be paid after successful trials.’

Alan was showered in congratulations and praise while St Clair concentrated on opening the champagne. ‘Apart from the bonus of the prize money,’ he said before popping the cork, ‘the rights to the vaccine will remain ours and a very favourable licensing contract will be drawn up between ourselves and the government once all the safety tests have been completed.’

‘Is that likely to be a problem?’ asked one of the backers.

‘It’s more time-consuming than problematical,’ replied St Clair. ‘That’s largely why we’ve stayed away from anything to do with vaccines in the past: the paperwork is a nightmare. It can take years for products to reach the marketplace.’

‘So what’s different this time?’ asked Van Cleef.

‘Well, nothing that I know of,’ replied St Clair, appearing slightly embarrassed at the question. ‘But I am assured by our friends in high places that the West’s perceived urgent need for new vaccines to protect what they see as a vulnerable population will be taken into account and, to use their phrase, accommodations made.’

‘Let’s hope that isn’t just empty talk,’ said another of the backers, Leo Grossman of Lieberman International. ‘Taking on Health and Safety in this country is not for the faint-hearted. If it was up to them, you wouldn’t be popping champagne corks right now without us wearing crash helmets and safety visors.’

Everyone laughed.

‘On the other hand, vaccines have to be tested,’ St Clair reminded them.

There were nods of agreement.

‘But we can do without a bunch of bureaucrats putting obstacles in the way just to guard their own backsides,’ said yet another of the backers, Morton Lang of merchant bankers, Field and Syme.

‘That sums it up nicely,’ smiled St Clair.

‘I would guess that you folks have already carried out some kind of safety evaluation?’ asked Grossman. ‘Am I right?’

‘Of course,’ replied Alan. ‘Although there are limits to what we can do in the lab, we’ve done preliminary tests to ensure that the vaccine will not actually cause any illness or disease in lab animals but will promote good levels of antibodies. Lots more tests to do, of course, before we finally test on humans but things are looking good.’

‘I’d agree with that, young man,’ said the one backer who hadn’t as yet spoken but had been taking everything in. He was Marcus Rose of European Venture Capital, the principal investor in the St Clair company, a tall, distinguished man, wearing an old Etonian tie and speaking with an accent that confirmed the source of his education. ‘Well done.’

‘Yes, well done,’ echoed the others.

Turning to Phillip St Clair, Rose said, ‘I think you should insist to the government, St Clair, that Alan’s baby be named after him. This young man deserves his place in history.’

‘Hear, hear!’ murmured the others, raising their glasses.

TWO

Carlisle Royal Infirmary
March 2007

‘Dan? It’s Keith, he’s been taken ill. He’s really bad. Can you come?’ Marion Taylor’s voice broke and she gave in to sobs.

‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes, love. Hang on.’

Dan Taylor descended from the scaffolding he had been working on like a man possessed. He ran across the building site to his van, shouting to his foreman on the way. ‘The lad’s poorly; got to go.’ He threw his hard hat in the back of the van and cursed as it took him three attempts to start the engine. When it finally caught, the wheels sent up a cloud of sand and gravel as they scrabbled to find grip on the loose surface, causing workmen crossing the site to seek protection for their faces behind hands and elbows.

‘Bloody loony,’ mouthed one.