The Secret

‘You could always work on your report... afterwards?’

‘I’m on my way. Book us in for dinner somewhere nice.’

Steven found himself sitting at Tally’s kitchen table at two in the morning, wearing T-shirt and boxer shorts, working on his report for Macmillan. The one saving grace was that he did feel perfectly relaxed. Tally was sleeping soundly.

The same feeling of puzzlement he’d felt earlier reappeared as he moved through the file making occasional notes about time and place. Ostensibly, the ME protesters, whoever they were, were objecting to government money’s being put into psychiatric evaluation instead of what they regarded as proper research — a hunt for the virus causing the condition... so why on earth were they targeting the very people who were carrying out the sort of research they wanted? Why weren’t they attacking the psychiatrists and psychologists who were getting the grant money? Why weren’t they labelling their efforts as pointless and a waste of time? And who were the people carrying out the attacks? They didn’t seem to have any official voice. Anyone from the ME groups willing to be interviewed seemed to deplore what they saw as crude publicity stunts. The perpetrators always seemed to be people unknown to the official bodies.

The explanation given by them for attacking microbiologists — almost exclusively appearing in the form of graffiti because no one was ever willing to justify their actions in person — was that the scientists weren’t doing their job properly: they couldn’t be if they hadn’t found the virus; they must be deliberately delaying to keep themselves in a job. There seemed to be no appreciation of the fact that if the protesters kept harassing and attacking these people, perhaps forcing them to change fields, there would be no one left looking for a biological cause at all.

Steven shook his head in bemusement. ‘Why, why, why?’ he murmured.

‘Delilah,’ whispered a sleepy voice behind him. Tally put her arms round him. ‘God, I feel so guilty. You’re working through the night and all because of my need for your gorgeous body...’

‘Understandable,’ murmured Steven.

‘Bastard.’

‘Ah, the fickleness of women...’

‘How’s your report going?’

‘I’ve got enough to make Sir John believe I’ve been working my bottom off... which gives me an idea...’ said Steven, getting up and turning to enfold Tally, his hands placed firmly on her buttocks.

‘No, no,’ she giggled. ‘The report... the report...’

John Macmillan sat at his desk, massaging his temples as he thought about what Steven had said. ‘God, nothing is ever straightforward, is it?’ he complained. ‘Let me get this straight. You seem to be suggesting that someone other than the ME sufferers might be behind the attacks on researchers because they want to stop research being carried out on it?’

‘I’m just saying it’s a possibility,’ said Steven. ‘Otherwise the attacks don’t make sense. Why scare people out of doing what you want them to do in the first place?’

‘Mmm.’

Steven had to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

‘Am I boring you?’ snapped Macmillan. He didn’t miss much.

‘Sorry. Insomnia... lot on my mind.’

‘As I recall, you were going to the North lab yesterday?’

Steven took a deep breath. ‘Yes and I’m glad I did. I’m pretty sure I know who killed Simone, and possibly Aline as well.’

Macmillan turned round, his eyes wide. ‘You know?’

‘Mainly thanks to Jean’s work in getting me background info on the people attending the Prague meeting. I think Simone’s death was caused by two of the official participants, one an American aid administrator named Bill Andrews who’s almost certainly CIA, and a Pakistani doctor named Ranjit Khan. He’s almost certainly Pakistani intelligence.’

Steven went on to fill in the details leading to his conclusion, ending with, ‘I’m waiting to hear back from Inspector Le Grice about Khan’s movements.’

Macmillan had returned to his desk. ‘Do you have any thoughts on why they did it?’

Steven shook his head. ‘I’m convinced there’s some kind of two-tier cover-up going on. Some of the big players — maybe even our own government — believe they’re conspiring with the Americans to keep the use of fake teams by the CIA hunting for Bin Laden a secret. It’s not that they approve of it: they simply don’t want to damage the polio eradication initiative beyond repair. But that’s not all they’re doing. They’re unwittingly helping to cover up something else.’

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t know.’

Macmillan looked thoughtful, almost trance-like, as he considered what Steven had told him. It was a look Steven recognised and respected: he waited patiently for the outcome.