11 AM
"VIRUSES kill thousands of people every day," Stanley Oxenford said. "About every ten years, an epidemic of influenza kills around twenty-five thousand people in the United Kingdom. In 1918, flu caused more deaths than the whole of World War One. In the year 2002, three million people died of AIDS, which is caused by human immunodeficiency virus. And viruses are involved in ten percent of cancers."
Toni listened intently, sitting beside him in the Great Hall, under the varnished timbers of the mock-medieval roof. He sounded calm and controlled, but she knew him well enough to recognize the barely audible tremor of strain in his voice. He had been shocked and dismayed by Laurence Mahoney's threat, and the fear that he might lose everything was only just concealed by his unruffled facade.
She watched the faces of the assembled reporters. Would they hear what he was saying and understand the importance of his work? She knew journalists. Some were intelligent, many stupid. A few believed in telling the truth; the majority just wrote the most sensational story they could get away with. She felt indignant that they could hold in their hands the fate of a man such as Stanley. Yet the power of the tabloids was a brutal fact of modern life. If enough of these hacks chose to portray Stanley as a mad scientist in a Frankenstein castle, the Americans might be sufficiently embarrassed to pull the finance.
That would be a tragedy—not just for Stanley, but for the world. True, someone else could finish the testing program for the antiviral drug, but a ruined and bankrupt Stanley would invent no more miracle cures. Toni thought angrily that she would like to slap the dumb faces of the journalists and say, "Wake up—this is about your future, too!"
"Viruses are a fact of life, but we don't have to accept that fact passively," Stanley went on. Toni admired the way he spoke. His voice was measured but relaxed. He used this tone when explaining things to younger colleagues. His speech sounded more like a conversation. "Scientists can defeat viruses. Before AIDS, the great killer was smallpox—until a scientist called Edward Jenner invented vaccination in 1796. Now smallpox has disappeared from human society. Similarly, polio has been eliminated in large areas of our world. In time, we will defeat influenza, and AIDS, and even cancer—and it will be done by scientists like us, working in laboratories such as this."
A woman put up a hand and called out. "What are you working on here—exactly?"
Toni said, "Would you mind identifying yourself?"
"Edie McAllan, science correspondent, Scotland on Sunday."
Cynthia Creighton, sitting on the other side of Stanley, made a note.
Stanley said, "We have developed an antiviral drug. That's rare. There are plenty of antibiotic drugs, which kill bacteria, but few that attack viruses."
A man said, "What's the difference?" He added, "Clive Brown, Daily Record."
The Record was a tabloid. Toni was pleased with the direction the questions were taking. She wanted the press to concentrate on real science. The more they understood, the less likely they were to print damaging rubbish.
Stanley said, "Bacteria, or germs, are tiny creatures that can be seen with a normal microscope. Each of us is host to billions of them. Many arc useful, helping us digest food, for example, or dispose of dead skin cells. A few cause illness, and some of those can be treated with antibiotics. Viruses are smaller and simpler than bacteria. You need an electron microscope to see them. A virus cannot reproduce itself— instead, it hijacks the biochemical machinery of a living cell and forces the cell to produce copies of the virus. No known virus is useful to humans. And we have few medicines to combat them. That's why a new antiviral drug is such good news for the human race."
Edie McAllan asked, "What particular viruses is your drug effective against?"
It was another scientific question. Toni began to believe that this press conference would do all that she and Stanley hoped. She quelled her optimism with an effort. She knew, from her experience as a police press officer, that a journalist could ask serious and intelligent questions then go back to the office and write inflammatory garbage. Even if the writer turned in a sensible piece, it might be rewritten by someone ignorant and irresponsible.
Stanley replied, "That's the question we're trying to answer. We're testing the drug against a variety of viruses to determine its range."
Clive Brown said, "Does that include dangerous viruses?"
Stanley said, "Yes. No one is interested in drugs for safe viruses."
The audience laughed. It was a witty answer to a stupid question. But Brown looked annoyed, and Toni's heart sank. A humiliated journalist would stop at nothing to get revenge.
She intervened quickly. "Thank you for that question, Clive," she said, trying to mollify him. "Here at Oxenford Medical we impose the highest possible standards of security in laboratories where special materials are used. In BSL4, which stands for BioSafety Level Four, the alarm system is directly connected with regional police headquarters at Inverburn. There are security guards on duty twenty-four hours a day, and this morning I have doubled the number of guards. As a further precaution, security guards cannot enter BSL4, but monitor the laboratory via closed-circuit television cameras."
Brown was not appeased. "If you've got perfect security, how did the hamster get out?"
Toni was ready for this. "Let me make three points. One, it was not a hamster. You've got that from the police, and it's wrong." She had deliberately given Frank dud information, and he had fallen into her trap, betraying himself as the source of the leaked story. "Please rely on us for the facts about what goes on here. It was a rabbit, and it was not called Fluffy."
They laughed at this, and even Brown smiled.
"Two, the rabbit was smuggled out of the laboratory in a bag, and we have today instituted a compulsory bag search at the entrance to BSL4, to make sure this cannot happen again. Three, I didn't say we had perfect security. I said we set the highest possible standards. That's all human beings can do."
"So you're admitting your laboratory is a danger to innocent members of the Scottish public."
"No. You're safer here than you would be driving on the M8 or taking a flight from Prestwick. Viruses kill many people every day, but only one person has ever died of a virus from our lab, and he was not an innocent member of the public—he was an employee who deliberately broke the rules and knowingly put himself at risk."
On balance it was going well, Toni thought as she looked around for the next question. The television cameras were rolling, the flashguns were popping, and Stanley was coming across as what he was, a brilliant scientist with a strong sense of responsibility. But she was afraid the TV news would throw away the undramatic footage of the press conference in favor of the crowd of youngsters at the gate chanting slogans about animal rights. She wished she could think of something more interesting for the cameramen to point their lenses at.
Frank's friend Carl Osborne spoke up for the first time. He was a good-looking man of about Toni's age with movie-star features. His hair was a shade too yellow to be natural. "Exactly what danger did this rabbit pose to the general public?"
Stanley answered: "The virus is not very infectious across species. In order to infect Michael, we think the rabbit must have bitten him."
"What if the rabbit had got loose?"
Stanley looked out of the window. A light snow was falling. "It would have frozen to death."
"Suppose it had been eaten by another animal. Could a fox have become infected?"
"No. Viruses are adapted to a small number of species, usually one, sometimes two or three. This one does not infect foxes, or any other form of Scottish wildlife, as far as we know. Just humans, macaque monkeys, and certain types of rabbit."
"But Michael could have given the virus to other people."
"By sneezing, yes. This was the possibility that alarmed us most. However, Michael seems not to have seen anyone during the critical period. We have already contacted his colleagues and friends. Nonetheless, we would be grateful if you would use your newspapers and television programs to appeal for anyone who did see him to call us immediately."
"We aren't trying to minimize this," Toni put in hastily. "We are deeply concerned about the incident and, as I've explained, we have already put in stronger security measures. But at the same time we must be careful not to exaggerate." Telling journalists not to exaggerate was a bit like telling lawyers not to be quarrelsome, she thought wryly. "The truth is that the public have not been endangered."
Osborne was not finished. "Suppose Michael Ross had given it to a friend, who had given it to someone else . . . how many people might have died?"
Toni said quickly, "We can't enter into that kind of wild speculation. The virus did not spread. One person died. That's one too many, but it's no reason to start talking about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." She bit her tongue. That was a stupid phrase to use: someone would probably quote it, out of context, and make it seem as if she had been forecasting doomsday.
Osborne said, "I understand your work is financed by the American army."
"The Department of Defense, yes," Stanley said. "They are naturally interested in ways of combating biological warfare."
"Isn't it true that the Americans have this work done in Scotland because they think it's too dangerous to be done in the United States?"
"On the contrary. A great deal of work of this type goes on in the States, at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, and at the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick."
"So why was Scotland chosen?"
"Because the drug was invented here at Oxenford Medical."
Toni decided to quit while she was ahead and close the press conference. "I don't want to cut the questioning short, but I know some of you have midday deadlines," she said. "You should all have an information pack, and Cynthia here has extra copies."
"One more question," said Clive Brown of the Record. "What's your reaction to the demonstration outside?"
Toni realized she still had not thought of something more interesting for the cameras.
Stanley said, "They offer a simple answer to a complex ethical question. Like most simple answers, theirs is wrong."
It was the right response, but sounded a little hard-hearted, so Toni added, "And we hope they don't catch cold."
While the audience was laughing at that, Toni stood up to indicate the conference was over. Then she was struck by inspiration. She beckoned to Cynthia Creighton. Turning her back on the audience, she spoke in a low, urgent voice. "Go down to the canteen, quickly," she said. "Get two or three canteen staff to load up trays with cups of hot coffee and tea, and hand them out to the demonstrators outside the gate."
"What a kind thought," said Cynthia.
Toni was not being kind—in fact she was being cynical—but there was no time to explain that. "It must be done in the next couple of minutes," she said. "Go, go!"
Cynthia hurried away.
Toni turned to Stanley and said, "Well done. You handled that perfectly."
He took a red polka-dotted handkerchief from his jacket pocket and discreetly mopped his face. "I hope it's done the trick."
"We'll know when we see the lunchtime news on television. Now you should slip away; otherwise they'll all be trying to corner you for an exclusive interview." He was under pressure, and she wanted to protect him.
"Good thinking. I need to get home, anyway." He lived in a farmhouse on a cliff five miles from the lab. "I'd like to be there to welcome the family."
That disappointed her. She had been looking forward to reviewing the press conference with him. "Okay," she said. "I'll monitor the reaction."
"At least no one asked me the worst question."
"What was that?"
"The survival rate from Madoba-2."
"What does that mean?"
"No matter how deadly the infection, there are usually some individuals who live through it. Survival rate is a measure of how dangerous it is."
"And what is the survival rate for Madoba-2?"
"Zero," said Stanley.
Toni stared at him. She was glad she had not known that before.
Stanley nodded over her shoulder. "Here comes Osborne."
"I'll head him off at the pass." She moved to intercept the reporter, and Stanley left by a side door. "Hello, Carl. I hope you got everything you needed?"
"I think so. I was wondering what Stanley's first success was."
"He was a member of the team that developed acyclovir."
"Which is?"
"The cream you put on when you get cold sores. The brand name is Zovirax. It's an antiviral drug."
"Really? That's interesting."
Toni did not think Carl was genuinely interested. She wondered what he was really after. She said, "May we rely on you to do a judicious piece that reflects the facts and doesn't exaggerate the danger?"
"You mean will I be talking about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
She winced. "Foolish of me to give an example of the kind of hyperbole I was trying to discourage."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to quote you."
"Thanks."
"You shouldn't thank me. I'd use it happily, but my audience wouldn't have the slightest idea what it means." He changed tack. "I've hardly seen you since you split up with Frank. How long ago is it now?"
"He left me at Christmas two years ago."
"How have you been?"
"I've had some bad times, if you want to know the truth. But things are picking up. At least, they were until today."
"We should get together and catch up."
She had no desire to spend time with Osborne, but she politely said, "Sure, why not."
He surprised her by following up quickly. "Would you like to have dinner?"
"Dinner?" she said.
"Yes."
"As in, go out on a date with you?"
"Yes, again."
It was the last thing she had expected. "No!" she said. Then she remembered how dangerous this man could be, and tried to soften her rejection. "I'm sorry, Carl, you took me by surprise. I've known you so long that I just don't think of you that way."
"1 might change your thinking." He looked boyishly vulnerable. Give me a chance."
The answer was still no, but she hesitated for a moment. Carl was handsome, charming, well paid, a local celebrity. Most single women pushing forty would jump at the chance. But she was not even mildly attracted to him. Even if she had not given her heart to Stanley, she would not have been tempted to go out with Carl. Why?
It look her only a second to find the answer. Carl had no integrity. A man who would distort the truth for the sake of a sensational story would be equally dishonest in other areas of life. He was not a monster. There were plenty of men like him, and a few women. But Toni could not contemplate becoming intimate with someone so shallow. How could you kiss, and confess secrets, and lose your inhibitions, and open your body, with someone who could not be trusted? The thought was revolting.
"I'm flattered," she lied. "But no."
He was not ready to give up. "The truth is, I always fancied you, even when you were with Frank. You must have sensed that."
"You used to flirt with me, but you did that with most women."
"It wasn't the same."
"Aren't you seeing that weather girl? I seem to remember a photo in the newspaper."
"Marnie? That was never serious. I did it for publicity, mainly."
He seemed irritated by the reminder, and Toni guessed that Marnie had thrown him over. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.
"Show your compassion in actions, not words. Have dinner with me tonight. I even have a table booked at La Chaumiere."
It was a swanky restaurant. He must have made the reservation some time ago—probably for Marnie. "I'm busy tonight."
"You're not still carrying a torch for Frank, are you?"
Toni laughed bitterly. "I did for a while, fool that I am, but I'm over him now. Very over."
"Someone else, then?"
"I'm not seeing anyone."
"But you're interested in someone. It's not the old professor, is it?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Toni said.
"You're not blushing, are you?"
"I hope not, though any woman subjected to this kind of interrogation would be entitled to blush."
"My God, you fancy Stanley Oxenford." Carl was not good at taking rejection, and his face became ugly with resentment. "Of course, Stanley's a widower, isn't he? Children grown up. All that money, and just the two of you to spend it."
"This is really offensive, Carl."
"The truth so often is. You really like high flyers, don't you? First Frank, the fastest-rising detective in the history of the Scottish police. And now a millionaire scientific entrepreneur. You're a starfucker, Toni!"
She had to end this before she lost her temper. "Thank you for coming to the press conference," she said. She held out her hand, and he shook it automatically. "Goodbye." She turned and walked away.
She was shaking with anger. He had made her deepest emotions seem unworthy. She wanted to strangle him, not go out with him. She tried to make herself calm. She had a major professional crisis to deal with, and she could not let her feelings get in the way.
She went to the reception desk near the door and spoke to the supervisor of the security guards, Steve Tremlett. "Stay here until they've all left, and make sure none of them tries to take an unofficial tour." A determined snoop might try to enter high-security areas by "tailgating"— waiting for someone with a pass then going through the door right behind.
"Leave it to me," Steve said.
Toni began to feel calmer. She put on her coat and went outside. The snow was falling more heavily, but she could see the demonstration. She walked to the guard booth at the gate. Three canteen staff were handing out hot drinks. The protestors had temporarily stopped chanting and waving their banners, and were smiling and chatting instead.
And all the cameras were photographing them.
Everything had gone perfectly, Toni thought. So why did she feel depressed?
She returned to her office. She closed the door and stood still, grateful to be alone for a minute. She had controlled the press conference well, she thought. She had protected her boss from Osborne. And the idea of giving hot drinks to the demonstrators had worked like a charm. It would be unwise to celebrate before seeing the actual coverage, of course, but she felt that every decision she had made had been right.
So why did she feel so down?
Partly it was Osborne. Any encounter with him could leave a person feeling low. But mainly, she realized, it was Stanley. After all she had done for him this morning, he had slipped away with barely a word of thanks. That was what it meant to be the boss, she supposed. And she had long known how important his family was to him. She, by contrast, was just a colleague: valued, liked, respected—but not loved.
The phone rang. She looked at it for a moment, resenting its cheerful warble, not wanting to talk. Then she picked it up.
It was Stanley, calling from his car. "Why don't you drop in at the house in an hour or so? We could watch the news, and learn our fate together."
Her mood lifted instantly. She felt as if the sun had come out. "Of course," she said. "I'd be delighted."
"We might as well be crucified side by side," he said.
"I would consider it an honor."