‘Rehearsed ourselves?’ This wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
‘I like how it is – already – between the three of us.’
Amanda only just avoided the sigh of grateful recognition. ‘So do I.’
‘It would be unfortunate if the Russians upset it all’
‘We don’t yet know they will,’ said Amanda, in mental step with the man. He always had to know she understood; was running in step with him. What he didn’t have to know – suspect – was when she’d sprint ahead.
‘I’m just covering eventualities.’
They stopped talking for the presentation and the carving of the Chateaubriand. After it was served, Amanda said: ‘Which are?’
‘Is. Just one. That the co-operation won’t be as complete as it was obviously going to be.’ Reynell had rehearsed the insinuation with Sir Alistair Dowding, before the ambassador composed his account to London, but avoided mentioning it to Downing Street during his conversation with Simon Buxton three hours earlier. That very day, the prime minister had inferred, personally answering a House of Commons scientific question – planted, Reynell was sure – that Reynell was absent from the chamber on personal, instead of unspecified government business.
Predictable, gauged Amanda: maybe too predictable. ‘What are you saying?’
‘That I don’t want any division – any stupid, unnecessary nationalism – to come between us.’
Amanda, who had been uncertain, began to relax again. ‘I don’t want that either.’
Reynell smiled a sculpted smile. ‘So we understand each other. That’s good.’
‘I won’t engage in any separate arrangements,’ pledged Amanda, sincerely insincere.
‘Neither will I,’ matched Reynell. ‘If I am approached, to come to any understandings, I’ll tell you. You have my word on that.’
It was, Amanda supposed, the opening. ‘We need to be aware of Russian sensitivity. I talked about it earlier to Jack.’
Let it run, Reynell decided. ‘Talked about what, precisely?’
‘Raisa Orlov being the deputy of the scientific group.’
Which Geraldine Rothman had already outmanoeuvred, thought Reynell. ‘Deputy to whom?’
‘No one, in point of fact. Their coming here infers Stoddart will chair their scientific sessions, although from what he said tonight everything’s as open there as it is here: everyone working together, not worried about a structure.’
‘It would be a gesture, wouldn’t it?’ Reynell agreed. It made good – but most of all protective – sense; each and every mistake or problem could be explained away as the inherent distrust between Washington and Moscow.
‘You don’t object?’
‘Not at all.’
The meal was excellent and the wine possibly the best Amanda had ever tasted. Reynell made her laugh genuinely, with brilliantly recounted stories of political scandals and intrigues in London, but never once turned anything into what could have been construed as a sexual approach. He ordered two taxis while they were still on their coffee, helping her into the first without any physical contact. As she drove away, Amanda acknowledged that the evening had been completely different from what she’d expected and resolved against any more personal bets. There still appeared quite a lot for her to discover about Peter Reynell. She was, in fact, sure about only one thing so far. He’d been lying through his teeth in promising to let her know about any side approaches from the other ministers, just as she had been making the same empty promises to him.
There was a reassurance in knowing that she was dealing with another political professional.
The round journey to and from Fort Detrick took Paul Spencer four hours, time enough for the anger to run its full gamut from unreasoning, revenge-promising fury, through half-formed schemes to undermine Amanda O’Connell in Henry Partington’s mind with insinuation and innuendo, to calm, clear-headed objectivity. He only had himself to blame. He’d miscalculated – underestimated her – and she’d taught him a lesson. From which he had to learn. The acceptance didn’t affect the promise to himself to get even. It reinforced it. As far as she would be aware, he’d dutifully continue fulfilling to the letter his liaison role between the two groups and the White House, all the time alert for the opportunity that would surely come, and when it did he’d explore and refine it so completely, that when he pressed the button Amanda O’Connell would be politically blown into oblivion. The satisfaction was going to be in letting her know, just before it happened, that in the end it was she who’d underestimated him.
Fifteen
Jack Stoddart got an abrupt feeling of being a referee between two contestants – at their echelon it would have to be gladiators, he supposed – and just as quickly hoped he wouldn’t need to become one. Certainly, from the moment-of-meeting exchanges between Geraldine Rothman and Raisa Ivanova Orlov, Stoddart decided physically they would have been ill-matched. The wise money would have been on the heavyweight Russian.
Raisa was gladiatorially big in every way, maybe a foot taller than Geraldine and broader, too, but her size was in proportion to her height: she was a commanding rather than an overpowering figure. The grey wool suit was professionally businesslike but loose and her blonde hair hung free, almost to her shoulders, curtaining a prominently featured, angular face. Her eyes were very dark, black almost, and adding to the authorititive presence was the unwavering, almost unblinking attention she’d earlier directed intently upon him and which she was now imposing, with equal intensity, upon Geraldine.
Geraldine most definitely didn’t appear intimidated by the Russian. But then, Stoddart acknowledged, there was no reason why Geraldine – or anyone else – should have been. Raisa Orlov was smiling, openly friendly, offering her hand ahead of waiting for the contact to be offered to her, the English seemingly easy although quite heavily accented. He was, accepted Stoddart, allowing a long outdated, black hats versus white hats attitude to influence his thinking. Worse even: to influence his judgment.
The black hat, white hat comparison wasn’t confined to him, Stoddart acknowledged. Amanda O’Connell had only just stopped openly using the expression during the totally unexpected call from Washington, before he’d even showered that morning.
With the greetings over, Stoddart realized, further surprised, that Raisa expected to start. She was looking enquiringly at the conference table that had indeed been installed to accommodate the Russian expansion to one side of his makeshift and now overcrowded office. He said: ‘I thought you might like to settle in first; rest after the flight, maybe? We’ve got a lot to exchange and read, to bring ourselves up to date.’
‘I’ve seen my quarters here,’ announced Raisa. ‘They’ll do. I’d like to talk about what there is.’ It was important to establish her position from the start. She was sure that she could detect the uncertainty towards her, particularly from the American who seemed to consider himself in charge.
Stoddart was aware of Geraldine’s uneasy shift, knowing from their previous night’s conversation that she’d planned to start her pathology re-examination, maybe even to repeat some autopsies. He hoped she’d control any impatience at the delay.
Pelham said: ‘It’ll be great if you’ve got something to help us with right away.’
They were all nervous of her, Raisa decided. Which was an attitude that had to be built upon: strengthened. She’d let pass being relegated to a secondary position because that could be equally useful, giving her every access – and every right to demand it – but leaving America ultimately responsible for the errors and wrong decisions. ‘What have you discovered?’ Her voice was deep, almost masculine.
‘Very little,’ admitted Stoddart. ‘The only commonality – and we’re putting no more importance to it than it being a denominator – is a higher-than-average temperature at the scene of both our outbreaks—’
‘Climate is your science,’ Raisa cut in, wanting Stoddart to know her preparation; she didn’t intend being secondary in any d
iscussion.
‘We expect the positive analysis of our autopsies today,’ offered Pelham.
‘What were the climate readings at Iultin?’ demanded Stoddart.
Raisa didn’t know. She couldn’t remember, even, if any were recorded in the Iultin logs, only a sample, four of which she’d brought with her, but hadn’t read during the flight.
‘Your science, not mine,’ she repeated, sure her uncertainty wasn’t showing, refusing even the thought of uncertainty, although accepting – just – being off balance from the start. At every other scientific conference she’d attended in the West, she was the acknowledged and unquestioned authority, the person to whom everyone else deferred. She hefted her bulging briefcase on to the table. ‘I’m afraid there wasn’t time to get any of it translated …’
There were various movements around the table, the most obvious irritation from Geraldine. Making no effort to hide it she disbelievingly said: ‘There’s nothing we can read – compare – right now?’
‘Not immediately, no.’ She’d made a mistake insisting upon a discussion before studying what material they had, Raisa accepted; a stupid, self-ridiculing mistake.
‘But you obviously know what’s there,’ persisted Geraldine. ‘What’s it say about temperature!’
This was an inquisition, as if she were on trial or being tested! ‘I’ve concentrated upon the medical examinations … I left climate research to others …’
‘But it’s there, somewhere?’ persisted Geraldine. Where the fuck did this Amazonian think she was coming from! From the other side of the opposing line, she answered herself. Surely the bloody woman didn’t expect to work – not work, this wasn’t working, this was being obstructive – to behave like this, she corrected herself.
Raisa was inwardly squirming. They wouldn’t know she’d headed the medical investigation in Moscow, she realized, in brief relief. ‘I haven’t had time to study everything. It was only delivered to me, in full, at the airport.’
‘And you didn’t read what was new to you during the flight?’ demanded Geraldine. She was hardly the person to criticize international travel!
It was becoming a contest, Stoddart decided. Geraldine’s annoyance was justified, if this was to be the best the Russian could – or would – provide. Judged on this basis he needed a much more detailed conversation with Amanda. Trying to diffuse the growing tension he said: ‘So let’s talk medically. What have you found?’
Raisa tried to answer the question with a question. ‘Don’t you think it’s viral?’
‘It’s a possibility, along with several others,’ replied Pelham, as annoyed – and disappointed – as Geraldine. ‘Have you positively isolated what could be a virus from your victims?’
‘We believe it to be the most likely cause,’ said Raisa, desperately. Jack Stoddart was the only one of the group upon whom there’d been any biographical information from the Washington embassy. She was glad Lyalin wasn’t here, to witness the fiasco.
Guy Dupuy said: ‘If that’s your belief you’ve clearly isolated the pathogen and its chemical composition …?’
‘… Which will give us a DNA!’ picked up Geraldine, instantly ready to change her opinion of the other woman. ‘We’ll have something from which we can genetically create an interferon; a vaccine even!’
Raisa was seized by panic, a feeling so unusual she didn’t at first understand it and when she did, wished she hadn’t. ‘It hasn’t been positively isolated as a virus,’ she backtracked. ‘All I was told – a message just before I left Moscow, with no time to explore it in any detail – was that there’s a pathology indication of something that could be viral …’ Bringing her exaggeration back to fact, Raisa went on, ‘It’s far too early even to think of chemical composition: it’s no more than a haemolytical indicator. Most definitely not – at this stage – something from which we’ve been able to culture a reagent.’
‘So there’s no diagnosis – no reason whatsoever – to claim the outbreak is viral?’ demanded Geraldine, openly disdainful.
‘We’re getting blood analysis we don’t understand,’ admitted Raisa, truthfully but reluctantly.
‘For which there could be a dozen different explanations, none of which helps us,’ persisted Geraldine. This was a total waste of time! She was seized by the thought of walking out – actually moving again in her chair – but sat back at Stoddart’s curious look.
Whether he wanted it or not – whether the two women realized it or not – it was becoming a contest, although hardly gladiatorial. Stoddart thought that on a scientific level – on every level – Geraldine was proving herself the stronger.
Dupuy said: ‘Is there any analysis? Anything at all we could exchange with haemotologists here – or in London or Paris – to examine?’
Raisa acknowledged she couldn’t have appeared worse – more amateurish or more ill-prepared – if she’d set out to try! ‘I didn’t bring anything with me …’ Evading again she added: ‘I can go back through the embassy. Get it. That’s what I always intended to do, of course, not having enough time to explore it further before I left …’ Striving to recover, she said: ‘But what about your victims? Any unusual blood findings among any of them?’
‘None,’ said Pelham, shortly.
He had to close this down, Stoddart decided. They were supposed to be a cohesive, co-ordinating team, which didn’t allow for Raisa Ivanova Orlov to be humiliated, even by her own incomprehensible invitation. He gestured to the stack of dossiers beside his desk. ‘Everything we’ve got – all that’s been done so far – is there. It looks a lot but doesn’t amount to any practical progress … things that could be inconsistent but which might have an understandable explanation …’
‘And it’s all been translated into Russian,’ finished Geraldine. Pointedly she looked at her watch. She really would leave if this went on much longer.
Raisa said: ‘I’d like everything in the original.’
There were renewed shifts around the table at the obvious distrust. Stoddart decided it was hardly surprising, in view of the Russian’s performance, that everyone else in the room would be making the black hat, white hat comparison, which didn’t after all seem to be outdated. He said: ‘No problem.’
‘None of us speak Russian so the translation will delay the interchange we all hoped there’d be,’ said Geraldine, trowelling on the sarcasm.
He was going to have to referee, Stoddart accepted. ‘Save us time,’ he urged. ‘Apart from any climate irregularity and this blood thing, about neither of which you can help us, is there anything that might possibly take us forward?’
She was being made to look stupid at every turn, Raisa realized, hoping the inner, burning fury wasn’t reaching her face. ‘No.’
‘Any of your victims still alive?’ asked Dupuy.
Raisa hesitated, rethinking the deception she’d impressed upon Lyalin in Moscow, anxious not to be caught out. ‘Two were when I left …’ She looked as pointedly at her watch as Geraldine, moments earlier. ‘Which was almost two full days ago now. I need to check.’
‘If you still have people living now they’re exceeding our survival average,’ said Pelham. ‘That could be important.’
‘I said I’ll check,’ repeated Raisa.
‘We’re wasting time,’ declared Geraldine, finally. ‘I’ve got practical things to do.’
It was a superhuman effort, spurred by her eagerness to get out of the room and this humiliation, for Raisa to avoid asking what such practical things were. Instead she sat mute, virtually dismissed; she couldn’t ever remember enduring such a demeaning experience.
‘I think you should bring yourself completely up to date with what we’ve provided,’ said Stoddart, waving his hand again to the stacked files. ‘While we get translated and read what you’ve brought.’
‘That will give you time to get the blood samples shipped over. And find out about your survivors,’ said Geraldine. ‘Perhaps then we can start working – behaving – prop
erly.’
The disaster hadn’t been entirely of her own making, Raisa at once tried to assure herself. Perhaps her biggest mistake had been failing to anticipate the inherent animosity she’d face as a Russian, particularly from the other woman. A geneticist, she remembered, a geneticist like the man who’d robbed her of the Nobel award. She could recover. Had to recover. More than just that; come to dominate – control – the group. It might require her liaising more closely than she’d imagined with Gregori Lyalin, to benefit as much as possible – as much as now might be necessary – from the political attitudes and manoeuvrings among the Washington committee. As the awareness settled, Raisa decided there was every reason to reach Lyalin at once, to get her account in before exaggerated rumours and stories spread down from Fort Detrick.
She remained for several minutes, with growing frustration, while Lyalin’s embassy-allocated number rang out unanswered, deciding against going through the general switchboard to leave a message for him to contact her.
From the solitude of his own office, Stoddart had been more successful in contacting Amanda O’Connell at Blair House and agreed with her that what had just happened with Raisa Orlov was a worrying beginning which he hoped wasn’t worsened by Amanda’s impending meeting with the Russian science minister.
‘It doesn’t sound good,’ agreed Gerard Buchemin, when Amanda relayed the account.
Peter Reynell was almost too preoccupied to contribute, although being as adept as he was, he managed to suggest it was a situation they had to confront and rectify at once if Lyalin mirrored the attitudes of his scientific expert. The rest of Reynell’s concentration was upon what Paul Spencer had told them, before Stoddart’s hurried telephone warning.
Like most good ideas, it had come complete in Reynell’s mind. He acknowledged that there were risks but Reynell believed he was a sufficiently accomplished manipulator.
Ice Age Page 17
