A nurse set to work on cleaning up Steven’s scratches and abrasions while an A&E team worked on D’Arcy, with the angry inspector who had followed the ambulance to the hospital hovering beside Steven. Steven could appreciate the man’s frustration. Not only had he been unable to provide any description of the gunman, he had not managed to get the registration number of the Range Rover either.
‘You’re a professional. What were you thinking of, man?’ complained the policeman.
‘I was trying to keep my arse in one piece,’ replied Steven through gritted teeth. ‘It was dark and a man with a gun was trying to kill me.’
‘Even though…’ said the policeman.
‘He didn’t finish the job he set out to do,’ interrupted Steven. ‘I’ll need a guard on D’Arcy until we can move him.’
‘What’s this all about?’ growled the policeman. ‘If you think you can turn my patch into the OK corral and ride roughshod over…’
‘Stop right there!’ snapped Steven. ‘I appreciate that you’re pissed off but I know exactly what I can and can’t do and it might be in your interests if you were to find out too. I suggest you check with the Home Office if you’re in any doubt. In the meantime, just arrange an armed guard for D’Arcy and stop belly-aching.’
‘What a bloody circus,’ mumbled the policeman as he withdrew.
‘How’s D’Arcy?’ asked Steven as he saw the doctor in charge step back from the table and strip off his gloves.
‘Stable but not out of the woods by a long way. They’re prepping a theatre for him. He needs quite a bit of surgery,’ replied the A&E consultant. ‘Are you a friend? A relative?’
‘Neither,’ replied Steven.
‘Then what?’
‘Steven showed the man his ID.
‘You’re a doctor. So it was you who applied the paperclip?’
Steven nodded.
‘Well, if he lives, that’ll be the reason. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about?’
‘I’m not really sure myself,’ said Steven. ‘I was on my way to interview the man when a gunman decided to end the conversation before it had begun. I think it only fair to warn you that there might be another attempt. I’ve asked for a police guard to be mounted.’
‘What is he? Some big-time criminal?’
‘Far from it,’ replied Steven. ‘He’s a gifted scientist who, from what I hear, wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’
‘Why would anyone want to kill him?’
‘I’d like to ask him that when he comes round,’ said Steven. ‘I need to stay with him.’
‘You’re a doctor,’ said the consultant, ‘So I won’t give you the standard spiel about my only interest being the patient’s welfare and then tell you to fuck off out my department like they do on TV but you’ll appreciate just how fragile he is. Go easy.’
‘Thanks,’ said Steven. He left the emergency room and called Sci-Med on his mobile to inform the duty officer what had happened. He kept an eye on what was going on inside through one of the windows in the swing doors while he spoke.
‘Do you want me to wake Mr Macmillan?’ asked the duty man.
‘Yes,’ replied Steven flatly.
Macmillan called back within five minutes. ‘Is he still alive?’
‘Touch and go,’ replied Steven. ‘I’m going to stay with him but I’d like him moved as soon as it becomes possible.’
‘You think they may try again?’
‘Common sense says so.’
‘They may think he’d dead of course,’ said Macmillan.
‘Too many people at the flats knew he was still alive when the ambulance took him away.’
‘Right, I’ll arrange it. We have to speak. I have some news.’
‘As soon as D’Arcy’s safe,’ said Steven.
It was three in the morning before D’Arcy was brought from the operating theatre to the Intensive Care Unit. Steven spoke to the surgeon while D’Arcy was connected to the monitoring equipment. ‘What d’you think?’
‘He was in a right mess — I’d take a guess at a soft-nosed bullet judging by the state of the exit wound — but, providing there are no complications, he should get back to something approaching normality unless he happened to be a left-arm spin bowler, in which case he’s just retired.’
‘He wasn’t,’ Steven assured him with a smile.
‘A&E sent up the paperclip. He may want it to show his grandchildren one day,’ said the surgeon turning to look up at the clock. ‘The charge nurse has it.’
‘Any idea when he might come round?’ asked Steven.
‘He’ll be out for at least three hours,’ said the surgeon. ‘Maybe longer. You look as if you could do with some rest yourself.’
Steven satisfied himself that the two, armed officers outside the entrance to ICU understood that no one was to be allowed in without his say so before settling down in a chair beside D’Arcy’s bed and allowing himself to cat nap. The stifling warmth of the unit and the soft muted lighting from the consoles made it easy.
Steven was lazing on a sunny beach. Jane was tricking a handful of sand on to his back while Jenny played happily among nearby rocks when something touched his arm and the dream vanished in an instant. The speed of his recovery to full wakefulness alarmed the nurse who’d touched him and she took a startled step backwards and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you,’ she said. ‘I just thought you should know Dr D’Arcy is showing signs of coming round.’
Steven was equally apologetic. There had been occasions in the past when such a response to any strange sound or touch when asleep might have saved his life and old habits died hard.
D’Arcy was asking all the usual questions of a nurse who was used to answering them. Her soft gentle voice assured him that he was warm and safe in hospital and there was no cause for him to worry about anything.
‘Want to know…’ murmured D’Arcy.
‘All in good time,’ soothed the nurse. ‘You must rest.’
‘You were shot, old son,’ said Steven, attracting a critical look from the nurse. ‘You’ve undergone surgery but you’re going to be all right.’
‘Shot? But who?…’
Steven gave the nurse what he hoped was a reassuring look to signify that he would not overtax D’Arcy and she withdrew with a less than convinced expression on her face.
Steven told D’Arcy who he was and waited for a response.
‘Sci-Med… I know Sci-Med.’
‘Good. I know that you are going to find this all a bit much to take in, old son, but I have to make you understand what’s been going on.’
D’Arcy grunted his understanding.
‘A few weeks ago an old colleague of yours, George Sebring was murdered by the same people who tried to kill you last night. They wanted to stop you talking about something that happened many years ago when you were both working at Porton Down.’
‘That’s… crazy…’
‘Something happened,’ said Steven. ‘Something that was kept secret, something that not even the government were told about.’
‘Dr Crowe… told them.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said Steven. ‘They were never informed. It was a problem with a vaccine, wasn’t it?’
D’Arcy gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘They wanted HIV gene envelopes… George made… a mistake.’
Steven felt a sense of excitement well up inside him. He had to concentrate on keeping his voice calm as his throat tightened. ‘What kind of mistake, Michael?’
‘He gave them an early version of the agent we were working on,’ said D’Arcy.
‘What agent was that?’
There was a long pause, which strained Steven’s nerves to the limit, before D’Arcy said, ‘Special project; we were to design a new biological agent…’