by Louise Voss
‘A cold?’
‘Yep. A mild dose of flu. They gave us that, we got sick – but nothing too bad, just the usual, you know? Blocked nose, sore throat, high temperature … Actually, I did feel pretty rough for a couple of days and they said that it was fine to take the time off work, stay in bed. I was worried I’d lose the extra money, but they told me it was all good. Then Dr Diaz came round and gave me another shot. He said it would make me feel better. And it did.’
‘Who was Dr Diaz?’
‘Oh, he was the head of research at Medi-Lab. Dr Camilo Diaz.’
‘He came to your house? The head of research?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘Yep. Which was unusual, ’cos you hardly ever saw him outside of his lab. He was Mangold’s right-hand man. Real clever guy, though he had a bit of a rep as a ladies’ man. Always had a younger woman on the go.’
‘Did Diaz tell you what was in the shot he gave you?’
‘He just said it was some kind of new vitamin shot they were testing.’
Paul mulled over what Watton had told him so far. He wasn’t sure why the old man hadn’t wanted Rosie to hear this. Unless … ‘Let me guess, Rosie’s dad was one of the other volunteers.’
‘You guessed it. And he had the same experience as me.’ Watton leaned forward. ‘A few months later, all that business with the virus happened and we got shut down. We were unemployed. I suddenly had a lot of spare time. And I spent a lot of that time thinking on what had happened.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well … before we did the trials, Dr. Diaz got us to sign a whole sheaf of legal papers saying in a very long-winded way that we accepted full responsibility, understood the risks, yada yada yada. That if anything happened to us as a result of the trials, the company could not be held responsible. He tried to rush us into signing it, saying it was just a formality, but I read through the whole thing. By the time I got to the end, I was about ready to back out.’
‘Because you realised it was dangerous.’
‘Uh-huh. Well, risky at any rate. I talked about it with Owen – Rosie’s dad. I said to him that I didn’t think he should do it. I was a single guy, and I really needed the money. I had some pretty big credit card debts, you see. But Owen had a family. He had Rosie.’
‘But he needed the money too?’
‘I reckon I wasn’t the only one with debts. You see now why I didn’t want to talk about this in front of Rosie. He must have needed the money bad, ’cos it was like he didn’t give a shit about the risk. I don’t think he even read through the waiver.’ Watton sighed. ‘So, anyway – that’s what I wanted you to know. Mangold was testing something potentially dangerous on his employees. If you’re writing a book about the son of a bitch, maybe that oughta go in it. It wasn’t right that Diaz took all the blame for what went down. Wound up in jail while Mangold walked away a free man.’
‘Diaz was put on trial?’
‘Yeah.’ He coughed, wincing and rubbing his chest. ‘He got twenty-five years.’
‘That’s a hell of a long sentence.’
‘They threw the book at the poor bastard.’
‘Diaz – D-I-A-Z?’ Paul asked, getting out his phone so he could type it in to his Notes app.
‘Yup. Camilo Diaz.’
‘Do you know anything else? Like what prison he got sent to? Or whether he’s still in? He might have got out for good behaviour by now.’
Watton laughed, the laughter quickly turning into a wheeze and then a coughing jag. When he’d recovered, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you have the internet here?’
Watton just laughed again.
Paul stared at his phone screen. He could turn on data roaming to access the internet, but it would immediately make his phone traceable. Still, he had already used it once, to phone Kate back. Sod it. He slid a switch on the screen and waited while the phone connected to a 3G network. Then he ran a search for ‘Camilo Diaz Medi-Lab prison’.
The results included a news article about the doctor dated a couple of years ago. It described how he had continued his work even in prison, publishing papers and helping to educate some of the other prisoners, teaching classes in biology and science. A model prisoner, by all accounts. Most importantly, it included the information that Diaz was in Glencarson Prison.
Unfortunately for Paul, Glencarson Prison was in Los Angeles.
28
‘Kate, Kate … Please, wake up.’
She opened her eyes, unsure of where she was. In her dream, she had been back at home in Oxford and she instinctively looked to her left to see if Paul was there. But the side of the bed on which he always slept was empty. The reality of where she was and everything that had happened recently came rushing back to her, making her want to pull the quilt over her head.
‘I’m so sorry, but I need you to help. I think I’ve made a breakthrough.’
The room was dim and there was a female form standing over her, silhouetted in black against the grey. It was Junko.
‘Very sorry to wake you …’
‘Junko. What … what time is it?’
‘About midnight, I think.’ She checked her watch. ‘Yes, one minute past twelve. I’m sorry, Kate, but I’ve been working, and I think I’ve found something very important. I need to show you. I’m—’
‘Please don’t say sorry again.’
Kate reached over and switched on her bedside lamp,
in time to see Junko bite her lip to stop herself from apologising.
‘Please, will you come with me to the lab?’ she said instead. ‘I would have woken Kolosine or Chip, but … well, I will explain when we get there.’
Kate rubbed her eyes. Her head felt like it was stuffed full of overcooked pasta. ‘OK, of course. Just let me go to the loo.’
Junko stared at her blankly.
‘The bathroom. I need to pee really badly. And, um, I’m not wearing any clothes.’
The Japanese woman looked embarrassed and Kate couldn’t help but laugh. She really liked Junko – her dedication to the cause, her quiet determination. Beneath her rather neat and prim exterior, Kate could sense a rebel trying to get out.
‘I’ll meet you in there. Please come quick!’ Junko pleaded.
Kate studied her. She was jiggling from foot to foot, completely unable to stand still. ‘You’re really excited, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, yes. I think this could be it, Kate. How do you say it? I think I’ve cracked it, already!’
Brandi gently applied the brakes, bringing the black Ford Expedition to a halt before reversing into a space between the trees. She killed the engine, leaving them in pitch darkness. It was 00.10 a.m. and the forest was as silent as a cemetery.
Brandi was an expert mechanic and driver, ex-army, left for dead after an explosion in Iraq. Three years ago she had crawled from the wreckage of a bombed truck, barely aware of who she was, and kept going, hitching rides and stealing cars and bikes, heading east until she reached China. Angelica had found her in Shanghai and brought her back to the States, made her part of her plans. All Brandi wanted was a home. Somewhere to belong. She would kill for Angelica. The bomb that had almost killed her had left her with screaming tinnitus, and the only time the ringing in her ears ceased was when Angelica whispered to her.
Angelica, who sat in the passenger seat beside Brandi, was whispering now. ‘We know our mission.’
The other three, Brandi, Cindy and Simone, replied in one voice: ‘We know.’
‘We know who we are,’ intoned Angelica, looking intently at them all. Cindy was her first and favourite Sister. Angelica had found her in a bar in a one-horse town in Nebraska, passed out through drink, a group of local men circling her, gazing at her with lust and violent intent, and Angelica had rescued her, nursed her through her withdrawal from the alcohol, whispered to her and held her as she shook with the DTs, telling her of the great plan the Goddess had for all of them.
‘We know.’
‘We love our Sisters and the Goddess.’
They reached out and squeezed each other’s hands. ‘We love.’
‘We hate those who would stand against the prophecy.’
Their united voices dropped an octave. ‘We hate.’
Angelica was quiet for a moment and Brandi knew she would be communing with the Goddess. Even though it was dark in the car and all she could see were the black shapes of the trees through the windshield, she closed her eyes and dipped her chin, saying her own silent prayer.
‘Sisters,’ Angelica said when the prayer was done, ‘does everybody understand absolutely and without hesitation what they have to do?’
They murmured assent.
‘Sister Brandi, keep the headlights turned off and drive to the gate. If you don’t receive a message by one fifteen, we will have failed. You are to head back to the ranch immediately, contact Sister Heather and burn everything. The Goddess will give you further instructions.’
Brandi blanched. ‘But Dadi Angelica …’
Angelica leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Her lips were like ice. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Sister. It’s a precaution, that’s all. We won’t fail.’
Kate checked her watch. It was ten past midnight, and Junko was waiting for her outside the door to the lab. She was still bouncing from foot to foot, impatient for Kate to join her. There was nobody else around; Junko had been working on her own, although Kate noticed a light burning in the breakfast room as she passed it.
‘So what have you found?’ Kate asked. Her heart was beating hard now, infected by Junko’s enthusiasm. Could she really have figured out how to create a vaccine for Watoto? Surely that was too much to hope for.
‘I need to show you.’
Junko opened the thick steel security door and they stepped inside, finding their biosafety suits and stripping off, Kate wondering why she had bothered to get dressed in the first place.
Before they put on their helmets, Junko said, ‘It was all thanks to you, Kate.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your research paper. You left your laptop on the table earlier and, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but read it. I’ve read it before, of course, but not recently. I don’t understand why Kolosine didn’t circulate copies for all of us to read as soon as we got here.’
‘Of course I don’t mind – it’s public property. As for Kolosine, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing, Junko. His ego is so big it blots out every idea but his own.’
Kate had seen their head scientist only once since the failure to reveal the antibodies in her blood. He had called a team meeting in which he expressed his frustration in four-letter words, yelled at full volume, as he told them how useless and worthless they were. Kate and Junko had developed quite an extensive private language of facial gestures to indicate to each other exactly what they thought of him, as he ranted and swore and slammed his hand on the table. The rest of the team just put their heads down and stared at the floor, and William the epidemiologist looked as though he wanted to punch someone.
They donned their helmets and pushed through into the lab. Kate followed Junko across to the electron microscope that was kept in a darkened corner. Junko had already processed the samples of Watoto-X2 and prepared them for viewing.
‘Take a look,’ Junko said, ‘and I’ll explain.’
Angelica stopped and caught her breath, checking her watch – 00:15 – as she clung to the blue oak she was scaling. She had a slim but powerful Maglite attached to her belt, which illuminated the thick canopy of branches around her, the ground far below shrouded in darkness. Just below her,
she could see Cindy’s head; Simone was parallel with her in the next tree and Angelica could hear them both panting with the exertion of climbing so high. They had been practising night-climbing for days now, back at the ranch. It was exhilarating, being so far from the man-made world. Up here, in the silence, the cool breeze caressing her skin, her heart thumping in her chest, she felt closer than ever to the Goddess.
She waited a moment for Cindy to catch her up, drawing level and perching on a thick branch beside her.
‘Are you OK, Sister?’ Angelica asked.
Cindy nodded, but Angelica could see a flash of fear on her face, which was shiny in the torchlight.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ Angelica coaxed. ‘Sekhmet is watching over us.’
‘I know, I … Jesus!’ The branch on which Cindy was resting shuddered violently and she grabbed at Angelica, her fingers skidding across the soft, black leather of her leader’s outfit. They were all wearing black leather from head to toe. Earlier, Cindy had giggled as she’d dusted her legs with talcum powder and pulled on the skin-tight trousers.
‘Do not say that,’ Angelica hissed.
‘I’m sorry, Dadi. I—’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Simone from her position a few feet away.
‘Quiet, you two.’ Angelica felt the anger bubble up from within. She shone her torch into Simone’s face, and the other woman coolly shaded her eyes with her free hand. With her smooth ebony skin, and black outfit, she was almost invisible. Simone the Warrior. Simone had been living with a drug dealer in LA, a man who beat her daily and pimped her out to his clients, until one day Simone snapped and fixed him up with a lethal dose of heroin. Angelica had found her wandering the projects, penniless, shivering with fear and hunger. She had bought her a hot meal and as she ate Simone told her about her upbringing, about the men her mother brought home and what they did to her. Angelica hugged her and promised her a new, better life, and a way of getting back at those men and the world they had created.
Behind her, Cindy sat on a branch, her fear forgotten, seemingly as at home as a squirrel in the treetops. Not for the first time, Angelica was struck by how beautiful Cindy was. But now was not the time to be thinking of such things.
Angelica shone her torch in the direction of the fence. ‘Follow me. We’re losing precious minutes here. Go swiftly. And be careful.’
The fence was a distance of three trees, and Angelica moved across the branches, knowing that one false move would send her hurtling down into the darkness. They were already fifty feet up, level with the top of the fence, and the fall would mean death or paralysis. The others stuck close behind her.
Minutes later, Angelica reached the fence. Now was the moment of truth. If their helper on the inside had done their job properly, the electrified fence would be disabled, along with the CCTV. She checked her watch. The insider had been instructed to switch everything off at 00:20 and turn it back on ten minutes later. It was now 00.21.
Cindy touched her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, ‘Let me test it. If the power is still on, it’s better that I die than you.’
She reached out and stroked Cindy’s hair. ‘No. It is my destiny,’ she told her.
Straddling a thick branch that almost reached the fence, Angelica shuffled along as gracefully as she could, then, trying not to let the others see that her hand was trembling, stretched out her hand to touch the metal, aware that if the power was still on, the shock would char her flesh, send thousands of volts through her body and blow her out of the tree – she would be dead before she hit the ground. Intoning a silent prayer, she touched the metal.
Nothing. Just cool metal. The power was off.
She closed her eyes and exhaled, then snapped back into action. Gripping the top of the mesh fence, she launched herself off the branch and flung her body against the fifty-foot-high fence. It swayed for a moment, but she held tight and waited. Years before, she had helped break a political prisoner out of jail. That had been much harder, having to time her and the prisoner’s ascent to avoid sweeping searchlights. This was easier. She pulled herself to the top, swung herself over so she was on the other side, then stopped, removing the Maglite from her belt and pointing it at Simone, who was next in line. Cindy brought up the rear.
Angelica descended the fence as
swiftly and easily as a spider traversing a web. When she was ten feet from the ground she paused and listened, to make sure there were no guards waiting at the bottom. She heard no signs of life. The insider had, again, done a good job. An hour before, Angelica’s new would-be disciple had gone out to chat with the guards, offered them a drink of coffee which they’d gladly accepted, not knowing it contained a strong dose of rohypnol along with the sugar and cream.
She dropped the last few feet and reached the ground, landing like a cat and crouching in the darkness, waiting for the other two. They jogged as a group towards the building. It was so easy. A fire escape led up to the roof and they ascended it slowly, careful not to make any noise. They passed a lit window and Angelica peeped inside to ensure no one was looking out before they crept on by.
Now, on the rooftop, she would see if their helper on the inside had done everything she asked. She crossed the roof to a fire door and tested it.
It opened. Moments later, the three of them were inside. It was 00.39.
Angelica stopped and pulled off her miniature backpack. She produced a small roll of paper and smoothed it flat against the wall, shining her torch on it. It showed a floorplan of the building. The other women gathered around as she pointed out where each of them was to go, giving them a final reminder of what they had rehearsed at the ranch.
Finally, she pulled her gun from the holster on her outer thigh. It was a Sig Sauer P220, her favourite pistol, the first one she had ever been trained to use. A suppressor had already been screwed in place. Cindy carried the same gun, but Simone preferred a Glock 17.
Angelica spread out her arms and the Sisters drew close, putting their arms round each other’s shoulders and touching foreheads. She kissed their cheeks, lingering for a moment longer on Cindy’s soft face.
Then, without a word, they scattered, each with their own target; their personal mission in which they could not fail.
Kate peered into the microscope, staring for what felt like the millionth time at the Watoto virus. This new strain was so similar to the old that its morphology – its shape and size – was as familiar to her as the smell of Jack’s skin. Watoto was shaped almost like a seahorse, setting it apart from its haemorrhagic cousins – the worm-like shape of Ebola, and the cigarette-like form of Marburg.
