Macandrew nodded, quickly diverting his eyes in case Simone would see the uncertainty there.
‘Now it’s your turn to answer questions,’ said Simone. ‘Who were these people at Notre Dame today? What did they want from me?’
‘The man behind it all seems to be a discredited Roman Catholic priest named Dom Ignatius.’
‘A priest?’ exclaimed Simone.
‘He’s a disgraced academic, a scripture scholar and a specialist in the history and recovery of holy scripts and relics. He’d been working in the Holy Land for many years on old manuscripts and scrolls but apparently he did something dishonest and was found out. The Vatican recalled him to Rome and gave him a menial office job but it was through this that he came across reference to John Burnett. He learned what Burnett had been doing and became very interested. He travelled to the abbey in Scotland and persuaded him to tell him all about his work. According to the Abbot, Burnett told him everything — maybe hoping to gain some kind of absolution. From what you’ve told me however, it sounds as if Ignatius managed to get his hands on some of John’s synthetic protease and used it to carry out his own experiments, just like Mukherjee.’
‘John took what was left of the protease with him when he cleared out his lab for the last time.’ said Simone. ‘He didn’t want to leave it lying around.’
‘So that makes sense,’ said Macandrew. ‘He must have given it to Ignatius. Everything points to Ignatius having used the stuff on a group of men in Israel.’
‘But why?’ said Simone. ‘What did he hope to gain?’
‘Ignatius has formed an association with a doctor named, Stroud. Reading between the lines, they must have seen using the protease as a way of gaining more knowledge about the past. If they could regress native Israelis using the protease, they just might come up with some really interesting eyewitness accounts of times past in the Holy Land.’
‘But this man Ignatius must have known that he would damage the people it was used on,’ said Simone. ‘John would have told him that.’
‘From what I’ve learned about them, I don’t think that he or Stroud would see that as a problem,’ said Macandrew.
Simone shivered. ‘They must have used up the small quantity of protease that John gave them. They must need more. That’s what this must be about.’
‘I think, if I was them,’ said Macandrew. ‘I would want to know how to make the stuff. I suspect they’re really after Burnett’s lab notes but he didn’t keep them, did he? He gave them to you. John must have told them that.’
‘John wouldn’t...’
‘They tortured him.’
‘Tortured?’ exclaimed Simone, looking horrified.
‘I’m sorry but he would have told them everything.’
‘Oh, poor John,’ said Simone. ‘He was such a nice man.’
‘Well, he’s at peace now,’ said Macandrew, but he had to look away as the words conflicted with the image that sprang to mind of Burnett’s body, nailed to the back of the door in the seminary. ‘More coffee?’
Simone shook her head.
‘You know, what I don’t understand is why Ignatius still wants the stuff,’ said Macandrew. ‘He’s wanted by the police in Israel — probably for murder by now if some of his volunteers suffered the same fate as Mukherjee’s. He can hardly go back and do it all again so why does he want it so badly?’
Simone shrugged
‘The missing patient!’ exclaimed Macandrew, answering his own question.
‘What missing patient?’
‘One of the Israeli volunteers Ignatius was experimenting on; he and Stroud took him with them when they made a run for it. There must have been something special about him.’
‘You mean he already has his eye witness?’ said Simone.
‘I can’t think of any other reason for abducting someone when you’re trying to flee the country,’ said Macandrew. ‘Can you?’
‘No,’ agreed Simone.
‘It’s about time we made contact with the police and got you some proper protection. Do you actually have any of the protease?’
‘I have a little in the lab. I also have all John’s notes.’
Simone and Macandrew took a cab to police headquarters where they were shown to a second floor office. A handsome man in his early thirties, wearing a well-cut charcoal suit, blue shirt and red silk tie and holding a cigarette loosely between his fingers introduced himself as Inspector Paul Chirac. ‘So, Madame, you say you know something about the assault in Notre Dame Today and you think your life is in danger, is that right?’
‘I say her life is in danger,’ interrupted Macandrew.
‘Why?’
Macandrew took a deep breath and began, ‘It’s a long and complicated story but I suspect that recently you and the other European police forces have probably received a request from the Israeli authorities to keep a look out for a priest named Dom Ignatius...’
When Macandrew had finished, the policeman lifted the phone in front of him and asked for something to be checked. There was a long pause before he uttered several grunts and a final, ‘Merci.’ He dropped the phone down in its cradle and said, ‘We have had such an alert. Perhaps you would care to tell me how this concerns you?’
Macandrew wanted to give away as little as possible but had to say something and make it sound plausible.
‘What exactly does this chemical do?’ asked Chirac.
‘It’s a hallucinogen,’ replied Macandrew.
Chirac looked at him. ‘A synthetic hallucinogen? A designer drug?’
‘If you like.’
‘Why should a priest be interested in such a thing?’ asked Chirac.
‘I don’t think he’s a priest any more,’ replied Macandrew.
A uniformed man came into the room, saluted and put down a sheet of paper on Chirac’s desk. Macandrew could see in was a computer printout. Chirac read it while Macandrew and Simone exchanged reassuring glances.
‘This drug,’ began Chirac. ‘Is it responsible for the condition of the men found by the Israeli police?’
‘We think so.’
‘And you Madame are responsible for making it?’
‘I was involved in the original research,’ agreed Simone. ‘Unfortunately, some of it fell into the wrong hands.’
‘Why design such a thing in the first place?’ exclaimed Chirac with a Gallic spread of the hands.
‘It was a side product of our research into brain tumours.’
Chirac nodded in a way that suggested that he really didn’t understand but didn’t want to waste time pursuing it. ‘And now your life is in danger because this man, Ignatius, wants to know the formula for this drug. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
Chirac looked back over the notes he had been making then asked Macandrew, ‘Was Ignatius one of the men at the Cathedral today?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him.’
Chirac looked at the paper in front of him again and read out, ‘One metre ninety, slim build, sallow complexion, prominent nose, black hair swept back, brown eyes, a small scar on the left cheek — this is from the Israeli police.’
‘Doesn’t sound like either of the men in the cathedral,’ said Macandrew.
‘Probably travelling in the company of an Austrian psychiatrist named Stroud,’ continued Chirac. ‘Stroud is wanted by the Egyptian police after attempting to smuggle illegal artefacts out of the country.’ He read out a description.
Macandrew shook his head.
‘Can you describe the men in the cathedral?’
Macandrew told him what he could about height and build and the fact that they had both been wearing dark suits. One had been wearing dark glasses.
‘And you, Madame?’
‘I saw the face of the man with the knife but it was quite dark in the corner and I was terrified at the time. But there was one thing...’