Authors: J.H. Kavanagh
She doesn’t know how to tell him.
‘Just your face; it’s very funny, very…intense. Which is good. Sorry. I was just thinking about last time when we met. Very different, eh? And you’ve been so nice after all the trouble I’ve given you today.’
‘I’m used to trouble – I’m trained for it, remember? And you did say it would be your turn to be looked after.’
I didn’t quite mean it like that. Anyway, now I want to know about you.’ She leans forward. ‘How do they train you for trouble? Tell me all about it.’
He watches the waiter as he walks away.
‘Should I have gone for Sicilian? Why sell the damn stuff if…’
‘It’s a good choice; very nice.’
‘Don’t tell me – you’re an expert, right?
‘Well, a little bit. Actually quite a lot. We grow grapes. My family has a vineyard and so of course I grew up with wine and then started studying all about it…how you cultivate them, the different varieties, harvesting, problems you have to deal with, new ways and means…you know, all those things.’
‘Now she tells me.’
‘No, it’s great. Chianti is great.’
‘Is that how come you’re here? Studying I mean? But it can’t be about wine. We don’t do that very well, do we?’
‘Well, no. But when it comes to research – controlling pests which kill the vines and other crops – this place has a great reputation for that kind of work.’
‘Ah, typical – we’re good at the nerdy stuff. Don’t tell me – the moths!’
‘Yes of course – moths! But lots more than that.’
‘Well, cheers! Here’s to moths. They brought us together. Do they think they worry about moths in Chianti? Do they camp out there at night with strip lights too?’
‘Well, yes, perhaps they do. They do have grape vine moth in Tuscany of course. We all have to deal with that. But do you know I heard of a guy there who looks after his vines by playing them classical music out of huge loudspeakers – Mozart, Tchaikovsky. He claims it ripens them early and keeps all the bad things away – animals, parasites, mould, bacteria…He’s not even a nutter.’
‘You mean it works?’
‘They did some research at The University of Florence which bore out his results. How about that?’
‘Sounds very Italian, doesn’t it? I bet the workers hate it. I wonder what they played this one. Are you a music buff too?’
‘No, hopeless. I have terrible taste. I like Random Eye, Beaverbrooke and Missy Jay.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘And how about you?’
‘Music?’
‘Everything, you haven’t told me about the army, all you boys together training for trouble.’
So he tells her about the army. He tells her about the selection process and how many fail it. He talks about weapons and explosives. He doesn’t tell her the scheme he’s on. Doesn’t want to spook her. She’s hungry and eats pieces of bread while he talks.
‘You all live together – in the barracks? There are no women, right?
‘They have women in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment – we were attached to that.’
‘Are they sexy? Do you flirt with them?’
‘They’re all incredibly butch,’ he says, ‘we don’t really mix with them much but we’re expected to change their oil once a month. Anyway, they’ve moved us now.’
‘You’re wicked. No candidates to fall in love with?’
‘What? No. Even if you were tempted, you wouldn’t. We have a very vigilant sergeant major. I won’t be introducing you.’
‘Introduce him to Angela and get even.’ They both laugh.
But you’re very secretive, aren’t you, Rees? How do I get to know the real you – the you that is in here.’ She taps her chest. Something about her makes him want to tell her about himself. He doesn’t feel very good at it, doesn’t know where to start. But she does.
‘Tell me about your family. Have you got brothers and sisters? What about your parents? What do they do? Where do they live? Where did you go on holiday? What did your mother make him to eat? Did she buy his clothes? What did he do on his birthday? What are his favourite songs? How many girlfriends has he had? Who’s his ideal woman? She suggests Pandi McGraw’s body and Missy Jay’s voice. What last made him cry? She asks when his mother’s birthday is, where his parents met, what he thinks about when he tries to sleep.
‘Christ,’ he says, ‘you’ve asked more in ten minutes than my mates have since I joined up.’
‘I’m a woman. I want to know. You men don’t get down to business, do you?’
‘What?’
‘Okay then. When will you have to shoot people? Could you do that?’
The food comes as a ceasefire. He reciprocates her questions sporadically. She is one of four sisters, has two younger brothers, her parents live in Spain, she is an expert on disrupting mating moths by use of synthetic pheromones or parasitic wasps, knows all about toads, worms and mites. She has spent the last six months on a residential research programme. She doesn’t have a boyfriend…
He’s not big on sweets but the waiter rolls his eyes and waves his hands and somehow they finish up leaning in to share a slab of Cassata swimming in cream. She asks for a dessert wine she wants him to try.
‘Should we talk about what happened at your place?’
She sighs and considers for a moment.
‘I’d never have come if I’d met them at the beginning. I got on well with the old professor. It was because of him that I applied. His programme was very big picture and I had room for my interests. But when I got here it was all change.’
‘What happened?’
‘Different views, sponsorship. What we do is to intervene in nature in very specific ways – it’s very very detailed and you have to be painstaking and keep your eye on the complexities. Some of the impacts can be quite diverse and long term. Otherwise we’re back to endocrine disruption and food chain crises and all the rest of it. When it becomes industrial you just get pressure to produce results and in the momentum you lose the bigger sense of purpose, the balance. So there’s always an argument about pace and, in the end, I guess, integrity. But these guys? Oh my God!’
‘And your professor is out of it is he? He’s gone?’
‘Yes, he approved my application well over a year ago. By the time I got here he’d left. The new Director basically works for Melcheck – he’s a pesticides guy and it’s all sponsorship money. He thinks he’s going to be running a factory for them. And unfortunately, my research has come up with some problems with his new product. I probably only kept my place because they were behind schedule and thought I could plug some due diligence gaps. I was meant to do their set routines, just tick boxes and not find anything. It all blew up when I submitted my dissertation.’
‘He doesn’t like what you found.’
‘Not at all. His people say that I’m wrong – they have rerun my data, found, guess what, anomalies, basically wiped all my work. They will still grant my certificate if I let it go.’
‘Those guys today? The dickhead?’
‘Yes. Well, they are involved. The guy you saw is Tony Vinten. When I started here I worked with him. He shared with us. Remember what I told you about the little worms, the nematodes? Their pesticide damages some of the wrong ones. They want to know I won’t publish that. They have no right to go through my stuff…’
‘So what were they were looking for?’
‘I don’t know. Anything really: Samples, slides, documents…Tony knew I was packing up. I guess he knew I’d have all my stuff together in one place. They already have my field laptop back and all the software. I think they sent him to check I haven’t kept the original materials and the data.’
‘Did they get what they were after?’
‘They would have – except I had it with me in my case’
‘Way to go! So what happens now?’
‘I don’t know. They own the data so, legally, they can do what they want. Morally, they can’t. But after today, I’m gone.’
‘But with the stuff you kept – you could throw a spanner into the works?’
She’s been scraping her spoon around the rim of the plate, picking up a tiny bow wave of cream as her last mouthful. When the spoon slides back out from between her lips she holds it like a weapon. ‘I have my stuff. I wish I had all theirs. Then I’d know exactly how to throw the spanner.’
They look at one another.
‘What do you need?’ Maybe it’s the wine but he gets that feeling of heat rising and the internal drums rolling.
‘I could easily have copied everything. I should have. But I only have the parts I contributed. They’ll need to submit a ton of stuff and then I could see the context. There are lots of ways to get around some data you don’t like. I should have taken everything…then I would know if they ignore my work – or try to misrepresent it.’
‘So how do you get it?’
Her head tilts and she stops to think, eyes narrowing.
‘Rees, you mean…now? Are you thinking counter attack?’
‘I’m just asking. You said you could have. So how would you do it?’
‘The disk crashed on my laptop a few weeks back. I thought I’d lost all my stuff and got in a real stew about it. Eventually this IT guy shows up to help. My personal stuff is all under my user account that I remembered I’d signed up for – but all the Melcheck stuff goes off site somewhere else. And when he does the restore to get that I can see all the user files under the one project account. You just select the ones that you want. In theory I could restore anything. I bet the password hasn’t changed.’
‘That easy?’
‘It’d be a two minute job to grab that link. I could download the whole lot to a stick and be out in ten minutes. The only snag is it has to be a college computer address. I’d have to do it on campus.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Rees, you’re a very bad influence. But I’m not asking you to help. Just to drop me back, tonight, and wait for me, that’s all. Would you mind?’
‘I’m supposed to be looking after you. You sure about this?’
‘It’s a college, Rees, not a nuclear bunker. I just need one more trip to the department.’
He looks at his watch. It’s ten. Outside it’s dark. He wishes he could frame the way she looks, sighs, waves for the bill.
He’s waiting outside and down the street when she reappears.
‘I need you to do something.’
‘What took you? Have you got it?’
‘Almost. I got it – but then had to hand it in. Shit! It pauses if you change the device path and you have to get it authorised. The guy there started it for me but said he’d have to hold on to it until tomorrow. He said Monday at first. I told him I wanted it for some important work tomorrow but then he said he’d have to phone. I said I’d get my supervisor to pick it up tomorrow morning. I didn’t give my name and I’m not sure he believed me. Shit!’
‘What now then?’
‘I saw where he put it.’
‘And…’
‘I just need to distract him.’
‘This is fast turning into Bonny and Clyde.’
‘Oh yeah? Where are the guns?’
‘Well, we haven’t finished yet. Did they swipe your card?’
‘No.’
The library is all lights and glass. The woman on the desk ignores Eva but takes a longer look at Rees. The data guy is just where Eva described, rooting about behind a desk with three monitors. Rees can hear his fingers pecking the keys and when he looks over he sees his eyebrows go up behind thick glasses. Top drawer, she’d said.
‘Excuse me; the disk drive seems to be missing from that computer,’ Rees says, pointing across the room.’
‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ the guy says, unperturbed.
‘And now the keyboard,’ Rees adds. Data guy’s eyes pop up and he scans the room. He looks about him and then says ‘show me.’
They walk across the floor. There are several students sitting at desks and Rees leads him to the far side. ‘The one right in the corner,’ he says, ‘next to the guy with the red hair.’
He stops suddenly. ‘That’s a microfiche viewer.’
‘A what?’ He’s heading back. Eva is standing near his desk looking fixedly at nothing in particular. It’s obvious she hasn’t got it and even the nerd knows what she’s just tried to do. He accelerates to alarm pace. Eva looks desperate.
Rees is hardly going to harm the little guy – he just puts his finger to his lips and pulls the drawer. It’s one of those light modern things and the whole cabinet comes out and he has to tip it on an end and wrench off the front of the top drawer. It only takes a few seconds but the little guy is frantic and there are people looking from all around.
‘He’s completely drunk,’ Eva says, standing away with hands spread. That’s only enough for one or two of the watchers.
The contents spray out when he tips it back over and he sees only one stick amongst the debris. Eva is on it and clears the turnstile like a hurdler with Rees close behind.
He has to open her door from the inside. ‘They following?’
‘Just drive!’ She says, all hot breath and nervous laughter, her fist held high and clenched so tight the stick ought to pop and bleed its secrets down her sleeve. The Landy doesn’t do racing starts but they’re away and the trees are whipping past and then open roads unwinding. They part on the doorstep of her new home, a future expanding in a kiss that goes on and on with Eva folded in his arms while the yapping behind the door, the house, and the rest of the present recedes as though to another world.