Alchemist

  Conor felt an element of despondency. Bannerman was turning out to be more conventional than he had realized; his potential value was fast receding. It was then that the scientist leaned forward.

  ‘I’m always being misunderstood, Mr Molloy. I’m not against progress or science. I’m against a company like Bendix Schere saying, Right, everyone, we’ve identified the genes that cause psoriasis; the genes that cause cardiovascular disease, renal failure, depression, duodenal ulcers, breast cancer, you name it. Now we’re going to patent these genes and hold the world to ransom for the next two decades. Pay our prices or die!’ There was a gleam of passion in Dick Bannerman’s eyes as he spoke now. The sentiments were coming not merely from his heart, but from the depths of his soul.

  ‘Do you realize the power that lies in patenting genes? It’s the power of Life or Death. It’s not a question of saying, OK, we have a better cure than someone else – take the Bendix pills, they’re better than Wellcome’s, or Pfizer’s or Beecham’s. It’s a question of, Look – we know what kills you, or makes you suffer like hell. We alone own the lock and key. You, madam, have a breast cancer gene: we can either switch it off for you or leave you to die, and this is our price.’ Bannerman raised his eyebrows. ‘What price any individual human life?’

  Conor stared at him and felt better. This man’s attitude gave him hope. He had an ally here, if he was careful, a very powerful one indeed. ‘You can’t put a price on it.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Bannerman said. ‘There’s no limit to what people would pay to remain alive or to be free of pain. You, me, my daughter, we’d all pay our last cent, and for whomever we love too, no question.’

  ‘But do you think, Dr Bannerman, that a company like Bendix Schere would ever go as far as holding the public to ransom?’

  ‘Let me tell you something: you know the founder – the late Joshua Bendix?’

  ‘Sure – his picture’s in the front of the Bendix Bible.’

  ‘Do you know what he used to tell every new salesman who joined the firm? He used to have them come up to his office and he’d say: “I’m not interested in medicine. I’m interested in one thing, and one thing only: profit. And if we happen to help a few people down the line – that’s not my problem.”’ Bannerman looked at Monty, then at Conor, with a defiant glare. ‘That’s the company you and I are working for, and don’t be fooled into thinking anything’s changed.’

  Conor had to struggle to keep a triumphant smile off his face.

  40

  At a quarter past six, Monty took the lift down to the lobby. She normally left the Bendix Building later, waiting for the rush-hour traffic to die down first, but tonight she had a call to make on her way home.

  A trickle of people were filing out through the three security gates. She chose the middle one, pleased to see it was manned by the Jamaican, Winston Smith, the only guard who was remotely chatty.

  His permanently forlorn expression always made her want to stop for a moment to try to cheer him up. They had struck up a friendship of sorts when she had first read his name on his badge. She had asked him if he realized that he shared the name of the hero in George Orwell’s 1984. He hadn’t, but he had gone and bought the book and enjoyed it, and had since been asking her for other book recommendations; being on late shift, he had plenty of time to read.

  He sneezed as she stopped by his desk now. ‘Sorry,’ he said nasally, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose. ‘Are you all right, Miss Bannerman? – heard you was hurt in that business last week.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘That was terrible. They don’t find out what happened yet?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘I liked Mr Seals. Not many did, but he was OK, that guy was.’ He sneezed again.

  ‘You got a cold?’

  He nodded. ‘This my regular. Going to last me into Christmas.’

  ‘Tried vitamin C, zinc and garlic? It’s my guaranteed remedy.’

  He sniffed. ‘Not no ordinary cold, Miss Bannerman. I get this most of the year round, on and off – reckon that’s why they keep me employed here.’

  She looked at him, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  He glanced round the lobby, as if to check it was empty, but still lowered his voice. ‘Ever since the tests I did.’

  ‘What tests?’

  He lowered his voice even more. ‘Ten years ago – ’bout that – they were offering employees a thousand pounds each to try out some new drug they was developing. I more or less got a permanent cold since.’

  ‘What was the drug?’ she asked, horrified.

  He raised his hands. ‘They didn’t tell us.’

  A lift pinged, the doors opened and various bodies came out and walked across the lobby towards them. Neither Monty nor Winston Smith spoke until they had gone out into the night.

  ‘They didn’t tell you what it was for?’

  ‘I needed some extra money – I didn’t figure it would be harmful, else they wouldn’t be giving it to humans.’

  ‘What happened to the others who took it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know ’bout that.’

  Testing drugs on human volunteers was standard practice. All new drugs were tested first on rodents and sometimes on other animals as well for toxicity; after that there were four stages of human trials, the first with a small group of volunteers who were often paid.

  ‘They never gave you any compensation?’

  ‘Like I say, keeping this job, I suppose. I wouldn’t be able to get any other – I have to spend about three months of the year off sick – gets so bad I have to stay in bed.’

  Monty felt sorry for him, and angry at the company for making him work at all. ‘You poor thing. How do you feel about it?’

  ‘I feel bitter, m’am, but there ain’t nothing much I can do.’ He smiled. ‘Read that book you recommended last week. Graham Greene – Brighton Rock. That Pinkie sure is a mean fellow.’

  ‘Reminds me of Dr Crowe,’ she said.

  The security guard chuckled. ‘That’s good! I like that!’ He chuckled again. ‘It was Dr Crowe was in charge of them trials – he gave me the pills.’

  ‘Personally?’

  ‘Yes, he took a great interest.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him.’

  Winston Smith blanched under his faded facial colour and looked alarmed. ‘No – please don’t do that. In my contract what I signed, said I wasn’t to tell no one. Don’t go stirring it up – could cost me my place.’

  ‘OK, don’t worry.’ Silently she wondered whether it would be worth mentioning to Rorke. But it would still get back to Crowe, she realized. ‘I won’t say a word.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Bannerman. You have a nice evening. You think of any more books, let me know.’

  She nodded a little distantly. ‘Yup. H. E. Bates – ever tried him?’

  The guard shook his head blankly.

  ‘Darling Buds of May. Forget the television series, read one of the books.’

  ‘Bates,’ he said ruminatively. ‘I’ll go to the library tomorrow.’ Then he sneezed again.

  She smiled and went out into the car park.

  The aftermath of an accident had snarled up the Westway, and it took Monty over an hour to reach the swifter-moving M4. But she didn’t really mind, was grateful for the solitude of the dark cockpit of her car, and spent the time wrapped up in her thoughts.

  She repeatedly posed questions to herself about Jake Seals’ death. Was it deliberate? Was it to do with his new job? But Bendix Schere couldn’t be so ruthless as to kill an outgoing employee, no way, in spite of her father’s invective against them at lunch today. She had felt quite embarrassed by the way he’d gone on about it to Conor Molloy, although she had the feeling that the American had some sympathy with her father’s views.

  The lunch had not exactly been an unmitigated success. Her father had been at his foulest, slagging off, in rapid succession, Bendix Schere, Bill Clinton and
the US patent system. Molloy had been remarkably civil, responding quietly and intelligently, and even making her father laugh a couple of times. The more she saw of him the more she liked him, and she wondered whether he would pursue the suggestion he had made in hospital of just the two of them having lunch. She hoped so. Hoped her father had not put him off.

  She switched on the radio, punched through a few stations, but found her thoughts were churning too much to listen. Had someone discovered that Jake Seals was going to run tests on the Maternox tablets? And if they knew of Seals’ involvement, perhaps they knew of hers also. If they didn’t before his death, they certainly did now. Her arriving so early was a give-away.

  She thought of the reporter, Zandra Wollerton, and felt scared, even found herself glancing in her rear-view mirror, but she couldn’t see much through the cracked plastic window of the soft top, just a bright blur of lights.

  Come on, Monty, you’re being paranoid.

  She took the Reading exit, headed along the ring road a short distance, then pulled into a bus-stop to study the directions she’d scrawled down on the back of an envelope, then drove on. After a mile she turned left at a parade of shops, then checked the mirror. Nothing seemed to be following her.

  She drove slowly down a street of modern semi-detached boxes, spotted number 31, and pulled into a space just past it. Two dinky carriage lights illuminated the mock-Regency front door, and the bell played the opening bars of a tune she knew but could not immediately name.

  A rotund woman of about sixty, several inches shorter than herself, opened the door, shooing back a ginger cat, and Monty smelled a strong waft of fried fish. As the woman recognized Monty, she straightened respectfully.

  ‘Miss Bannerman – good evening.’ She spoke with a homely Welsh accent.

  Monty had only ever met the older woman once before, at their annual Christmas party. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. You’re not in the middle of supper?’

  ‘No, he finished his tea an hour ago – he’s just watching something on the telly. Please, won’t you come in.’

  Monty went into the small hall, her feet sinking into a thick orange carpet. She could hear gunfire, then the squeal of tyres, followed by blaring music.

  The woman signalled with her eyes for Monty to wait and rushed through an inner door. Monty, a little embarrassed, could hear the awe in her voice. ‘Walter – it’s Miss Bannerman – here to see you.’ She came back out. ‘He’s coming right away. Can I get you a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘No, really, thanks – I’m just on my way home. I meant to get here earlier – the traffic was terrible.’

  ‘Well, you’re always welcome; we’re so grateful to you for getting Walter his job back. He was that unhappy about being made redundant. He always used to tell me how lucky he was to work for such lovely people as your father and yourself.’

  Monty blushed under the warm compliment and stroked the cat which was rubbing against her leg.

  The television went abruptly silent, and a moment later her father’s ex Chief Lab Technician came into the hall. He seemed to have aged in the past couple of weeks, or maybe it was the fact that he looked different out of the white lab coat in which she was used to seeing him.

  He was a large man in his mid-sixties, six foot two and amply built, with a softly handsome face beneath neat grey hair. He had always struck Monty as seeming too physically large for his delicate job in the lab, just as he seemed too physically large for this tiny house and his tiny wife. Monty considered him a true gentle giant.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Montana,’ he said. ‘This is a very pleasant surprise. Back on your feet, I see. I hear you were a brave lady.’

  She shrugged. ‘I wasn’t brave – I was just there and I had to do something.’ Then she smiled. ‘Look, I’ll be very quick.’

  ‘Come on through, my dear.’ He gestured her into a living room that was almost completely filled by a bulky three-piece suite and a large television.

  She sat on the sofa and sank deep into it. The cat immediately jumped on to her lap.

  ‘Off, Ginger!’ Walter ordered uselessly. He lowered himself into a chair. ‘Don’t think I’ve thanked you properly yet for getting me my job back.’

  ‘You should never have been made redundant – it was part of the agreement we had with Bendix Schere.’ She glanced at the dancing flame lights in the electric fire. ‘I suppose these things happen sometimes in large organizations. So how are you getting on?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble. The work’s quite interesting – knee deep in red tape, though. Have to fill in requisition forms in triplicate for anything and everything.’

  She smiled. ‘One of my father’s complaints also.’ The cat purred loudly.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Still settling in. He’s got the laboratory and funding of his dreams, but he still has a lot of reservations. I think in his heart he never wanted to change the old lab. I know he misses you.’

  ‘Well, I miss him. Miss everyone.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, nothing in life stays the same for long, more’s the pity.’

  She glanced at the old man, feeling responsible, suddenly, for the change that had affected all their lives. ‘Walter, I need a favour from you, and I didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.’

  ‘In case it’s bugged?’

  Her eyes widened.

  Registering her surprise, Walter Hoggin said, ‘There’s all kinds of rumours. They say the labs are bugged as well – and that Bendix employ security staff who do nothing all day but spy on the rest of us.’ He laughed jovially. ‘You probably know already, but I only heard today that employees are not allowed to work on trains or aeroplanes in case of industrial spies! You can get instant dismissal for doing that.’

  She nodded. ‘They must be the most paranoid company in the world.’

  ‘I got a right wigging the other day for talking to the press. Thought I was for the sack. That would have left me with egg on my face after all the trouble you went to.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Anyhow, what’s this favour you need?’

  She drew a breath. ‘I need you to do something – to get me something.’

  He looked pleased. ‘Anything at all, you know that.’

  ‘You’re familiar with the drug, Maternox?’

  He looked uneasy. ‘Of course; that’s my bailiwick. We’re running production of it continuously.’

  ‘I need some detective work.’ Monty opened her diary and searched for the page where she’d written the details she’d taken from Hubert Wentworth at their last meeting. ‘If I give you the batch number, I wonder if it’s possible for you to get me a sample of Maternox capsules. Do you think you could do that? And random samples from other batches?’

  He looked at the serial number and stroked the base of his chin; a deep frown creased his forehead. ‘I – I don’t know if this is coincidence, but this is the same batch I identified for the reporter – the one who pretended to be Dr Farmer.’

  Monty stared back at him. ‘What was her real name? Was it Zandra Wollerton?’

  ‘I don’t know – they didn’t tell me.’ His frown deepened. ‘Rings a bell – maybe they did mention it. To tell the truth I was in a right state. Major Gunn, the Director of Security himself, came to see me and he was not a happy man. I honestly thought I was for it.’

  The news disturbed Monty. ‘If it’s going to get you into trouble, don’t worry about it, Walter, OK? I don’t want you to risk your job over this.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Miss. If you want a sample of those capsules, I’ll get it for you.’

  Monty felt a beat of excitement.

  ‘Might take me a day or two, mind – I’ve got to find a way to do it without arousing any interest.’

  ‘Of course. There’s no panic, just whenever you can.’ She felt nervous, suddenly. ‘Will you be careful – for yourself, please, Walter.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ He gave her a reassuring smile.

  41

  L
ondon. Tuesday 15 November, 1994

  The restaurant was almost empty, and the Thai music whining in the background added a distinctly mournful air to the place. Dark blue tablecloths, pale blue walls, exotic fish drifting in and out of an illuminated grotto in a huge tank. Two waitresses stood with waxen smiles on their faces.

  Anna Sterling, dressed in her usual rig of baggy sweater and black leggings, lowered her menu, a vast, laminated card with a marbled front on which a Buddhist temple was embossed in gold foil. She stared at Monty.

  Anna had been in a good mood tonight; she seemed happier and more relaxed than Monty remembered for a long time. Her thick, wavy hair had got back its bounce, and in her face the handsomeness of her Latin looks was restored.

  ‘I’m pregnant!’ she announced.

  ‘Hey!’ Monty said. ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I really am!’

  ‘That’s wonderful! How long have you known?’ She was aware, but tried to ignore it, that beneath the happiness she felt for her friend, she also felt a twinge of jealousy.

  ‘I had the confirmation this morning. I was six weeks late – but I didn’t want to get my hopes too high.’

  ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘Tenth of June.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Monty said. ‘That is such good news. We ought to have Champagne to celebrate!’

  Anna shook her head. ‘I want to keep it low key for a few weeks – until I’m out of the danger period. I’m not going to tell anyone – just you and Mark. I sort of think it might be bad luck to start announcing it to the world.’

  Monty nodded. ‘So how do you feel? You must be thrilled to bits.’

  ‘I am. But I’m nervous also –’ She was interrupted as a waitress came over and hovered, taking their order.

  Across the table, Monty was thinking how much her friend had changed over the years, and wondering if she herself had changed also. Anna had been a tomboy at school, both the eccentric artist and the ring leader; and it was Anna who was the dominant one in her marriage to Mark. She was in every way the epitome of modern woman, and yet now, as Monty looked at her, she saw someone very different, someone awed by the tiny speck of human life she was carrying in her womb.