After a few moments, he said quietly, ‘God bless you, Jamie Brown. You were one of life’s nicer people.’ He was still staring at the fire when Eve picked up the gun, which he’d left lying at his feet, and fired it. The noise broke the spell and he dropped to his knees in time to turn and see Leadbetter fall dead.
Leadbetter had been circling round behind them and Eve, who was sitting on the ground, had seen him appear through the bushes: he had been unaware of her presence. He had been concentrating on Steven’s back, preparing to shoot him, believing him to be on his own. Eve had fired first.
‘Thanks,’ said Steven, feeling dazed but aware that it sounded woefully inadequate.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Eve. She sounded calm but Steven could see that her hands were shaking. He put his arms around her and held her close.
‘Please tell me it’s all over,’ said Eve, a sob catching in her throat.
‘It is. I promise.’ said Steven, rocking her gently and kissing her hair. After a long silence while they both looked at the flames and tried to come to terms with what had happened, Steven added, ‘and us? What about us?’
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Eve. ‘It would be so easy to fall in love with you. I’m half way there already but I’ve got a degree to get and a career to fashion and a life to live away from here. I don’t see how to fit in a serious relationship with a man who also has a daughter to consider. I’m not ready to end up pushing a shopping trolley round Tesco and wiping little noses. Does that sound awful?’
Steven smiled and shook his head. ‘No, my lady,’ he whispered. ‘You’re just telling it like it is.’
‘But I don’t want to be alone tonight,’ said Eve.
‘Then you won’t be. We’ll let tomorrow take care of itself.’
When the last siren had faded and darkness had descended on Blackbridge at the end of a very long day, silence returned. The only thing to remind people what had happened there that day was the smell that still hung in the air and the lingering smoke that obscured a view of the stars on an otherwise clear night. Childs and Leadbetter, the orchestrators of the whole sorry mess were dead but then so were Trish Rafferty, Jamie Brown and his cameraman, nineteen year old Kevin Miles, on only his third assignment. Ronald Lane had been blinded trying to defend his property, which had been razed to the ground. Brewer was in hospital with a broken arm and eight policemen, four security guards and ten ‘protestors’ had also been detained. The two senior civil servants — one from MAFF, the other from the Scottish Executive were currently in Intensive Care after the beating they’d taken and many others had been injured to a lesser degree by flying glass. The barn at Crawhill had burned with such ferocity that it and its contents were all but vaporised. Steven had never been so glad to leave any place in his entire life.
‘So what happens now?’ he asked John Macmillan as he sat in the offices of Sci-Med in London.
Macmillan seemed like a cat on hot bricks. Steven had sensed it as soon as he’d arrived after taking a few days off to visit Jenny and the others over in Norfolk. He watched him arrange the papers on his desk and then rearrange them.
‘Not very much, I’m afraid,’ said Macmillan.
‘You’re kidding,’ said Steven.
‘The official story is that these men, Childs and Leadbetter, were acting on their own initiative and went far beyond anything their brief had authorised them for.’
‘Acting on their own?’ exclaimed Steven. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to swallow that!’
‘Of course not,’ conceded Macmillan. ‘But proving it is another matter.’
‘So you’re going for the knighthood after all,’ said Steven angrily and then regretted it almost immediately.
‘It’s not that,’ said Macmillan with admirable calm, ‘I promise you. It’s just that I cannot afford the luxury of resentment or bitterness or even bad temper. I have to be pragmatic if Sci-Med is to survive and it must. I’ve done all the sums and I’ve decided that we can’t win. As I’ve said to you many times in the past, don’t get into a fight you can’t win.’
‘Why can’t we win?’
‘Childs and Leadbetter have been disowned — as I think we always knew they would be. Apart from that, they’re both dead. There will be nothing in writing that links them to any government department either in London or Edinburgh and the BSE cull material, which doesn’t exist any more was in any case being stored legally. On top of that, its connection to the rats’ behaviour is now little more than conjecture.’
Steven started to protest but Macmillan held up his hand and continued, ‘It could still be argued — and would be, I’m sure, that the problem was down to the GM crop, which no longer exists either.’
‘But we both know the truth!’ protested Steven.
‘Knowing is not enough. Defending a GM crop is not a tenable position for us to adopt in the current climate of popular opinion and that is what it would amount to.
‘Christ!’ said Steven, feeling helpless. ‘They’re going to get away with it. Isn’t that what you’re saying?’
‘That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?’ said Macmillan, leaning on his desk.
Steven got up to leave, shaking his head in disbelief but fearing that he might see that Macmillan was right when he’d had time to calm down. This only made it worse. As Steven reached the door, Macmillan said, ‘I got the letter about the knighthood this morning.’
‘And?’ asked Steven without turning around.
‘I declined.’