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Ice Age Page 42

by Brian Freemantle


  ‘That’s not a distinction the public will understand,’ cautioned Geraldine. ‘She handled it all very cleverly, apart from one thing.’

  ‘What?’ demanded Stoddart.

  ‘The Neanderthal is not our ancestor,’ insisted Geraldine. ‘It was proved from finds within her own country, for God’s sake! There were some remains of a fossilised Neanderthal baby recovered from the Mezmaiskaya caves, in the Caucasus. DNA was extracted from the mitochondria. There was a seven per cent difference between the Neanderthal DNA and modern man.’

  ‘You think the public will bother with that distinction?’ demanded Stoddart.

  ‘Anthropologists will,’ argued Geraldine. ‘Raisa’s claiming still to be working with us, so we’ll be judged with her.’

  ‘As we are already being judged, mostly critically, by every scientific body in the world not included in our investigation,’ agreed Pelham.

  ‘I don’t like the credit being taken from Geraldine,’ stated Stoddart, defensively.

  ‘If we directly challenge it, it’ll look like sour grapes,’ Geraldine pointed out.

  ‘So what do we tell Washington?’ asked Pelham.

  ‘Shouldn’t it be the truth?’ said Geraldine. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’

  When they did give Washington their assessment, the virtually simultaneous thought throughout Blair House and across the avenue in the White House was that a lot of political advantages had been skewed, but even worse that there was a possibility of their being made individually and collectively to look foolish. Gregori Lyalin was the exception. He’d already accepted that what Raisa Ivanova Orlov had done had reduced him to a political and personal laughing stock, both in Washington and Moscow. For once, in an otherwise obedient christian life, he allowed himself to feel hatred and was uncomfortable that he wasn’t ashamed by it.

  ‘I didn’t expect us to be meeting again quite so soon,’ greeted Partington.

  ‘Nor I,’ agreed Peter Reynell. The inner study, with personally served drinks and no witnessing staff apart from Amanda, was interesting.

  ‘Fort Detrick – your scientific advisor in particular – are adamant that this woman is wrong?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Reynell. ‘She also expects the Neanderthal claim to be publicly challenged.’

  Amanda said: ‘Raisa Orlov was playing personal politics and went too far staking the ancestral claim.’

  Partington’s political concern was personal, domestic and international which rounded the circle to come back always to his first consideration: how badly – or well – it was going to affect him. What the goddamned woman had done, at least nine thousand miles from where the medical investigation was supposedly being conducted, virtually confirmed the already speculated scientific dispute. And without the slightest guilt at his own hypocrisy, Partington determined that if there was going to be the open impression of professional squabbling, and pride being more important than the cure for a global plague, the future British prime minister had to be the one in the public limelight, taking all the flak. ‘It could become a mess.’

  ‘Which we’ve got to prevent,’ parried Reynell. ‘The priority is to distance Fort Detrick and ourselves from wrong scientific claims.’ The Tom Thumb lookalike wanted to follow, not lead. It was going to be an instructive conga-line.

  This really was her testing time, Amanda recognized. ‘There’s still no doubt in my mind that what she did was neither sanctioned nor condoned by Moscow.’ Not good enough! She should have offered more than that.

  ‘Again, I agree,’ said Reynell, with no cause to hurry.

  Son of a bitch! thought Amanda. But she’d held back – rightly at the time but wrongly now – from telling him why Partington had kept her after their previous shared encounter. ‘It was getting too much momentum before but now, after this, we’ve got to get a lid on the dispute speculation.’

  ‘What about her returning, which is what she said she intended to do?’ asked Partington, topping up Reynell’s Scotch and pouring more mineral water for Amanda.

  ‘Dr Rothman doesn’t think there can be any working relationship: it’ll all be one way, to the Russian’s advantage,’ said Reynell.

  ‘We can’t openly refuse her entry!’ protested the president.

  Reynell confronted the choice of either going alone or taking Partington with him. Or, he added in afterthought, chivalrously steering the answer to come from Amanda. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘But Moscow can!’ snatched Amanda, alertly.

  ‘The collapse is still there,’ protested Partington.

  Reynell smothered the sigh. ‘Not if she was replaced by another Russian scientist; one who, perhaps, has been involved in the independent research there.’

  Amanda took the offer seconds before Partington. ‘Which would be Moscow’s decision – Moscow’s internal condemnation – and nothing whatsoever to do with us!’

  He’d been generous enough to his lover, Reynell decided. ‘Raisa Orlov did make a very important point. We don’t have a cure – any treatment even – and there could be fifty million dead before we get close to it: a hundred million if we don’t. If it becomes so bad, people will demand to know why the scientific research is so slow, but no one here can be accused when the wilful obstruction was Russian, can they?’

  ‘No.’ Partington acknowledged that in any future shared situation he had to work very closely with this Englishman. If he didn’t, he’d be left behind: maybe even discarded. To Amanda, consciously to show the other man he wasn’t included in everything, Partington said: ‘Have you been able yet to speak to Lyalin about the other matter?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ said the president. ‘I think you should now, though. As soon as possible.’

  Needing on this occasion to avoid the media cordon, Reynell and Amanda used the linked basement corridors between the two buildings. As they walked Reynell said: ‘What other matter?’

  Although she tried to limit her answer, Reynell said at once: ‘So you’ve been offered the State Department?’

  Amanda said: ‘You know what would frighten me? I’d be frightened to be against you, in any negotiation.’

  ‘Easy answer. Don’t be.’

  ‘I’ll try to avoid it.’

  Gregori Lyalin had imagined his unannounced recall was to be dismissed, not for consultations which extended over the course of the first day to the Foreign and Finance Ministers to discuss the western offer. The Russian conclusion was that Washington had in the circumstances shown remarkable restraint and equally remarkable good faith in its back-channel diplomacy to achieve the IMF and World Bank concessions. There was also the realistic but unavoidable acceptance that in the future they would be called upon to repay the generosity, at far greater interest than that being imposed by genuine financiers. Lyalin thanked the president for his offer but insisted the following day’s confrontation was his responsibility. He’d not thought it possible to get this second – or was it third or fourth? – chance.

  Lyalin’s return had not been publicly announced but Raisa allowed only the briefest frown of surprise at being ushered into his suite at the Science Ministry.

  ‘You’ve embarrassed the country,’ declared Lyalin, at once.

  Raisa Orlov gazed contemptuosly across the separating desk. ‘Scientific jealousy! I’ll take the viral proof back with me to Washington when it’s confirmed, which it will be in days.’

  ‘You’re not going back to Washington,’ announced Lyalin. He was as uncomfortable with the feeling of satisfaction as he had been with that of hatred.

  ‘What are you saying!’

  ‘It’s very clear what I’m saying.’

  ‘There can’t be anyone else!’

  ‘Your place will be filled by Sergei Grenkov.’

  ‘I won’t allow it!’

  ‘You’re no longer in a position to allow or disallow. You’re no longer a director of the institute.’

  ‘That’s absurd!’

&nbs
p; ‘You’re the one who allowed yourself to become absurd, Raisa Ivanova. And by doing so you put at risk events and situations at the very highest level of government until finally exposing yourself and your country to ridicule.’

  ‘No!’ refused Raisa, the arrogance faltering, ‘I won’t have this … won’t accept it … I’ll demand to see the president … protest publicly …’

  ‘You will not see the president,’ refused Lyalin. ‘You can, however, protest as publicly as you wish. If you do, then equally publicly it will be announced that you have been dismissed as institute director for making unsubstantiated scientific claims. Alternatively, to avoid public disquiet, the announcement will be that you are remaining here to continue your researches, which you can in fact do although not any longer in any position of authority. Yours is the reputation at stake, nothing else.’

  The woman’s head shook, but loosely, as if she couldn’t control it, and for a long time there were no words and when they did come they were unconnected. ‘No … that’s … I won’t …’ and then, finally, anguished: ‘Please!’

  ‘There’s no other way … no appeal,’ said Lyalin. And no sympathy, he thought. He wished there could have been.

  The irony of Raisa Ivanova Orlov’s disgrace and dismissal was that her replacement, Sergei Grenkov, took with him to Washington the one piece of evidence missing from what the Fort Detrick scientists had from the Baikal caves. It was to prove the key with which Geraldine unlocked so much.

  But not immediately.

  Thirty-Five

  The challenge came first from a Japanese geneticist who quoted the scientifically recognized seven per cent difference between the DNA of Neanderthal fossils and that of modern man and within twenty-four hours there was condemnation from Europe, America, Australia and Asia. Gregori Lyalin forbade Raisa Orlov being named in the Moscow Natural History Museum’s denial that the director who’d led the anthropological investigation at Baikal had ever agreed the assertion and ordered Vladimir Bobin, at the Listvyanka Institute there, to refuse any comment. Lyalin also ignored the demands for explanation that avalanched the Science Ministry.

  Henry Partington determined upon remaining as far removed as possible from the controversy, insisting the response come from Blair House, although not anticipating Peter Reynell would make it personally or that Amanda would be beside him when he did so. Reynell apologized for not being able to offer any clarification. Fort Detrick did not understand the Russian claim, about which there had been no prior discussion, and were waiting to hear from Moscow. It appeared to be very specifically a Russian matter, with no bearing or influence whatsoever upon the quite separate research being conducted at the Maryland installation.

  It was also Reynell’s idea, quickly taken up by Amanda, to go out to Dulles personally for the return of the unsuspecting Gregori Lyalin, which gave the intended impression of their demanding answers as well as identifying Sergei Grenkov as Raisa Orlov’s replacement to the alerted but angrily distanced press corps. Neither passed through the terminal buildings. Grenkov was helicoptered immediately to Fort Detrick and Lyalin spared any landing formalities – and journalist interception – to be swept by a waiting American, not Russian, limousine directly to Blair House, continuing the perception of Lyalin being called to account. There was no attempt to shield the man from the antagonized media ambush in Pennsylvania Avenue, and having so successfully separated themselves and their governments, Reynell and Amanda shook their heads against any questions. In the time it took him to shoulder his way through the resisting crowd, Lyalin insisted there was no collapse in the international co-operation, but suggested there may have been a misunderstanding, which was why Raisa Orlov was remaining in Moscow to review her particular research while her deputy had returned with him to resume work with the other scientists at Fort Detrick.

  The melee was transmitted live by CNN and at Fort Detrick a watching Geraldine Rothman said: ‘Poor bastard.’

  Pelham said: ‘His problem, not ours. Which was what had to be established.’

  ‘Now that it has, perhaps we can start working properly again,’ said Geraldine.

  ‘Let’s hope Raisa’s successor feels the same,’ said Stoddart, watching through the window as Sergei Grenkov’s helicopter came in to land on the faraway pad.

  Henry Partington, who was also watching the television coverage, said to Paul Spencer: ‘Amanda and Reynell are sure as hell milking it, aren’t they?’

  I’m missing out here, translated Spencer. There’d be so many presidential stories to tell his grandchildren: a published memoir even to pay for the vacations in his old age. ‘It wouldn’t have been protocol for you to greet a minister, not unless you wanted to. Still best you stay apart from this situation.’

  ‘What about another president-to-president telephone call, with a statement that I’m assuring him everything’s OK?’ Get me back on the screen and on the front pages.

  ‘Too easy to construe that’s what you’re not telling him, despite any statement,’ rejected Spencer, pleased at what he saw as an expansion of his role into wider political advice. ‘And I think we’ve pushed Moscow as far as we should. Let’s see if their new guy causes any problems.’

  ‘We’ve got another guy closer to home who’s doing that,’ said Partington, nodding to the proposed emission control figures that had arrived that morning from Jack Stoddart’s environmental executive and which now lay on the table between them.

  ‘It’s a discussion paper,’ reminded Spencer.

  ‘We consider anything remotely as high as this we’ll be riding around in pony and traps and living in caves, like those goddamned hairy apes.’ I’m already getting flak from the money men.

  ‘You want me to start thinking about that other thing?’

  ‘It’s high risk.’ I’ve got to be bomb proof and Teflon coated.

  ‘There’ll be the need for an environmental watchdog after this is over, won’t there?’ suggested Spencer.

  Partington smiled. ‘You’re right, Paul. Good shot. Right about me staying out of things at this stage, too.’

  Grenkov said: ‘I’ve studied everything that was sent to Moscow from here, up to maybe four or five days ago. And being in charge of the institute during Raisa Ivanova’s absence, I know everything that was being done there –’ he hefted two briefcases on to the table around which they sat in Pelham’s office – ‘duplicate findings and details of which I’ve brought with me. My instructions are to co-operate – and operate – according to any schedule you’ve already evolved but in view of what happened and because of my overview I’m suggesting I start by making a total comparison, to ensure nothing else was …’ again he hesitated, ‘… overlooked.’ He hadn’t known what to expect – Lyalin hadn’t been able to guide him, either – but there certainly wasn’t the hostility there could have been. Compared to the hysterical, raging parting from Raisa Ivanova – culminating in the face-slapping charge that he’d betrayed her for which she’d ensure he’d never occupy another scientific position – this was almost amicable.

  His accented English was as good, if not better than Raisa’s and Geraldine hoped the others would allow the man the diplomatic effort of the final pause. ‘As far as you know, at this moment, was the enzyme discovery the only thing withheld?’

  ‘As far as I know,’ said Grenkov.

  ‘We got it, from the cave bodies,’ said Pelham. ‘Having had more time than us, from your Iultin victim, have you succeeded in totally crystalizing it?’

  ‘Not totally,’ said Grenkov. There was another word-selecting hesitation. ‘I think it’s parasitic.’

  ‘Not viral?’ demanded Geraldine. It wasn’t a bullying accusation. It was the essential question to be answered for them to be able to dismiss entirely what Raisa Ivanova Orlov had claimed and move on, without any doubt of the woman knowing or having something else of which they were unaware.

  ‘It was the direction in which the research was ordered in Moscow. We weren’t getting th
e right results.’

  ‘Why, if you weren’t getting the readings, did she go on insisting it was a virus?’ demanded Pelham, giving way to exasperation.

  ‘She wanted it to be,’ said the Russian, glad to get this inevitable conversation out of the way. ‘She didn’t allow herself to think properly: scientifically.’ He breathed in, deeply. ‘I believe Raisa Ivanova is unwell.’

  Pelham said: ‘In those circumstances we’re lucky not to have been misdirected far worse than we might have been. Not at all, in fact.’

  ‘She could have got away in the end, sticking to the theory that it’s a virus,’ reflected Geraldine, distantly. ‘It would have been corrected, in the final analysis, but no one outside of here would have remembered. How on earth could she have made that Neanderthal suggestion, with your leading anthropologists with us in Irkutsk!’

  ‘They weren’t the people who agreed it was possible,’ said Grenkov, who’d overheard Raisa’s screaming telephone tirade. ‘It was someone whose name I don’t know, from the Listvyanka Institute.’

  Lyudmilla Vlasov would have had a very personal reason for supporting the theory, Geraldine remembered. It was unfortunate she hadn’t kept up with the genetic advances in her science. To the Russian she said: ‘We don’t know your specialization?’

  ‘Virology, the same as Raisa Ivanova,’ said Grenkov.

  ‘In theory the perfect partnership with genetics,’ said Geraldine. ‘Let’s hope this time it turns out to be the same in practice.’

  It did, initially, Grenkov assessing the research already assembled and Geraldine sifting through newly incoming material, most of it prompted by earlier queries.

  ‘It’s drifting on,’ complained Lord Ranleigh.

  ‘I know,’ accepted Reynell. It was a nuisance having to come all the way to the embassy for these secure telephone conversations but he supposed it was necessary.

  ‘We don’t want to give Buxton’s people time to regroup.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, surely?’

 

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