The Gulf Conspiracy (20 page)

Maclean eased himself slowly out of the chair and shuffled over to a bureau where he supported himself with one hand while he foraged through a small mountain of notebooks and papers with the other.

Steven was appalled at how ill the man looked. He seemed to have aged ten years since the last time he saw him. His cheeks had developed cavernous hollows and the veins on his neck were standing out like cords. ‘Just let me know if I can help with anything,’ he said.

‘
Here we are,’ said Maclean, holding up a small notebook and keeping the place with his thumb in it until he had sat down again. ‘Dr Michael D’Arcy, Flat 12, Beach Mansions, Ramsgate. I remember now; he worked in Sandwich at the Pfizer plant but preferred to live in Ramsgate because he had fond childhood memories of the place. Apparently his folks used to take him and his sister there on holiday. I kind of warmed to him when he told me that. I used to feel the same way about a place called Rothesay. I was taken there on an annual basis when I was young. We used to get the steamer at Gourock and sail down the Clyde to Rothesay Bay. We went with the Grant family who stayed next door to us in Govan. My mother and Effy Grant were great pals. You’d have thought it was a Caribbean cruise we were going on if you’d seen what my mother packed for the trip.’

Steven smiled at Maclean’s obvious fondness for the memory.

‘
I took my own lassie there when she was a bairn, ‘watched her play in the same sand I’d done thirty years before. But that’s where it’s all ended. She’ll not be taking any kids of her own there. She never got the chance.’

‘
I’m sorry,’ murmured Steven. He looked away while Maclean wiped a tear from his cheek with an embarrassed flick of the back of his hand.

Maclean cleared his throat and continued. ‘Like I say, D’Arcy was okay. He had a bit of heart about him. Mind you, that probably marked him out as a loser.’

Steven looked at him quizzically.

‘
Nice people don’t make it to the top,’ said Maclean. ‘Niceness gets in the way. Assholes make it to the top. They trample over everyone in sight and then, when they’ve made it, they pretend they’re nice people.’

‘
I’d call that cynicism if I didn’t know it was true,’ said Steven. He got up to go. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘
Fancy a pint?’ said Maclean.

‘
Are you serious?’ said Steven. It was the last thing he expected to hear from a man who appeared so ill.

‘
Sure I am. I don’t believe in letting this thing get me down. If you can just hang on till I get some clothes on, we’ll be off. The pub’s just on the corner.’

‘
If you’re sure,’ said Steven.

Maclean reappeared wearing a white t-shirt and black Levi jeans, a black leather jacket and tan loafers. He still looked like death but managed to affect a smile at the way Steven was looking at him. ‘You’re buying,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

There were about a dozen people in The Rifleman and Maclean appeared to know all of them. Steven assigned them mentally into two classes, the retired and the unemployed. Several of the older men inquired after Maclean’s health, including the barman who anticipated what he would be drinking and started filling a glass. ‘Same for me,’ said Steven.

They took their drinks to a small table equidistant between a dartboard and a pool table although neither was in use. Steven noted that the pool table had a rip in its green baize.

‘
So what makes you think you’ll have any more success with D’Arcy than I did?’ asked Maclean, starting to search in his jacket pockets. Steven thought for one incredible moment that he might be about to bring out cigarettes but instead he brought out an inhaler, tilted his head back and squirted it twice into his mouth.

‘
I don’t think that at all,’ said Steven. ‘But I can’t think of anything else to do right now. I’ve managed to establish a connection between the team that Sebring worked for and the vaccines the troops were given but now I’m dependent on one of that team talking, particularly about anything that went wrong.’

‘
What sort of connection?’ asked Maclean.

‘
Crowe’s team was officially working on a vaccine against AIDS. At some point they were asked to supply something called gene envelopes from the HIV virus to help out with the troop vaccine programme.’

‘
What the hell for?’ rasped Maclean.’

‘
Apparently the vaccine makers had been using cytokines to elicit an improved immune response in the troops – cutting edge stuff at the time - but they’d run low on supplies. The brains reckoned that HIV gene envelopes would have much the same effect.’

Gus Maclean looked thoughtfully at his beer for a long time. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘There was a time when I thought the bastards had actually used the HIV virus against us.’

‘
What makes you say that?’

‘
The sheer range of illnesses and symptoms affecting the guys,’ said Maclean. ‘Although the government seized on that very fact to scotch any idea of a Gulf War Syndrome and Fatty Soames used it to suggest we were all a bunch of sickly wankers on the make, it seemed to me as if our immune system had been buggered.’

‘
Something that would make you highly susceptible to infection.’

‘
You got it,’ said Maclean. ‘Once the immune system goes you’re a theme park for the entire microbial world.’

‘
Did you ever float that idea in public?’ asked Steven.

‘
A couple of times,’ said Maclean with a wry smile. ‘A lot of the guys thought I was going too far. Apart from that they didn’t take too kindly to the suggestion they might have AIDS. Let’s say, no one was exactly comfortable with the idea, and it’s only fair to say that any HIV tests that were done were negative.’

‘
I wanted to have the vaccines that Crowe’s team contributed to analysed by an independent lab,’ said Steven. ‘But it turns out they were all destroyed after the stink you guys created over plans to use them again,’ said Steven.

‘
It was a funny business,’ said Maclean. ‘We got an anonymous tip-off that they were planning to use up the old stuff on the boys getting ready for the Gulf at the moment and no one denied it at the MOD when we asked - most unlike them. They usually deny that Tuesday follows Monday until the evidence becomes overwhelming. Then, when we got in touch with the papers about it, we found that they’d had the tip-off too. It was almost as if someone in government wanted the story to get out and wanted there to be a backlash. I remember feeling at the time that they were using us like lab rats to do some kind of a job for them.’

‘
Like giving them an excuse to destroy the old stocks,’ said Steven, thinking out loud.

‘
Because they had something to hide?’ said Maclean. ‘Devious bastards.’

‘
Well, it looks like they got away with it,’ said Steven.

‘
They always fucking do,’ said Maclean with feeling.

‘
Unless . . .’ said Steven, as an idea came to him.

Maclean looked at him expectantly.

‘
You told me you had carried out microbiological tests on yourself. What exactly did you do?’

‘
I carried out every standard test any hospital lab would do to determine cause of illness,’ said Maclean. ‘I took swabs and samples from everywhere. No orifice was left unprobed, you might say.’

‘
And you drew a blank?’

‘
No pathogens,’ said Maclean.

‘
What about non-pathogens?’

‘
Well, of course,’ replied Maclean. ‘I found all the usual harmless bugs you find in the human body. I identified each and every one, sub-cultured them, cross-referenced them and stored them, cos that’s the kind of sad bugger I am.’

Steven smiled but he had just heard what he wanted to hear. He leant across the table and said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but you have just told me that you have sub-cultures of all the bugs you isolated from yourself over the course of your illness?’

‘
That’s right,’ replied Maclean, looking puzzled. ‘But in the end it was just an academic exercise; they’re everyday, harmless beasties that we all carry inside us. I didn’t find any problem bugs.’

‘
When judged by any standard microbiological or serological tests,’ said Steven.

Maclean looked at him questioningly. ‘I don’t understand. What are you getting at?’ he asked.

‘
I suppose I’m suggesting that all may not be as it seems,’ said Steven. ‘One of the lambs could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

‘
Jesus, you’re talking about genetic engineering, aren’t you,’ said Maclean. ‘The introduction of foreign genes.’

‘
It’s an idea,’ said Steven. ‘It’s well known that the Russians altered smallpox genetically to make it even more virulent so it’s a fair bet that they weren’t the only kids playing with matches over the past few years.’

‘
But you are talking about something more than souping up a bug that’s already a pathogen,’ said Maclean.

‘
I am,’ agreed Steven. ‘We’d have to be looking at an everyday sort of bug that had been given new properties. A new personality, you might say.’

‘
A pathogen that looked harmless and wouldn’t actually be spotted as a CB weapon? How very British,’ said Maclean sourly. ‘It has that wee trademark touch of hypocrisy the world has come to know and love so well. Well, you’re right about one thing: routine hospital lab tests wouldn’t pick up on anything like that. So, what do you suggest?’

‘
I suppose it would have to be DNA testing,’ said Steven.

‘
I’m no expert but I do know we’re talking molecular biology here and sequencing the entire genome of a single bug can take years,’ said Maclean. ‘And I’ve got a collection of around three dozen cultures.’

‘
You’re right,’ said Steven. ‘I think we’re both out of our depth here. I’d have to get expert advice. Our best bet would be to get Michael D’Arcy to tell us what he and his pals were up to at Porton. That would save us all a whole lot of time and trouble.’

‘
What about the bug collection?’

‘
What form is it in?’ asked Steven.

‘
There are about three-dozen cultures, each in a glass vial containing soft agar. Each vial is about an inch long by a quarter inch in diameter. They all fit into a partitioned box about the size of an A4 notebook and weigh probably less.’

‘
Do you keep them at the hospital?’ asked Steven.

‘
In a lab fridge,’ replied Maclean.

‘
Let’s leave them where they are for the moment,’ said Steven. ‘At least until I’ve talked to some people. I take it you have an inventory of what they all are?’

‘
All numbered and catalogued and identified according to Bergey’s
Manual of Determinative Bacteriology
, complete with details of when and from where they were isolated. I’ve got a copy in the flat if you want one.’

Steven agreed that might be useful. He accompanied Maclean back to his flat where it took some time for him to climb the stairs. He paused at every landing, holding on to the banister with one hand while resting the other on his knee, looking down at the steps unseeingly until he got his breath back. Steven’s offer of an arm was dismissed out of hand. ‘It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.’

Maclean sat down for a few minutes when he got in before returning to the bureau and the pile of papers. This time however, he opened a small drawer and removed a floppy disk from a manila envelope. He handed it to Steven saying, ‘There you go, a complete list of the flora and fauna of Angus Maclean. David Attenborough eat your heart out.’

Steven smiled and slipped the disk into his pocket. ‘I hope you feel better soon,’ he said.

‘
I will,’ said Maclean. ‘A couple of days and I’ll be back at work and that’ll be it until the next time. That’s the way it goes. It’s the way it’s been for the past twelve years.’

Steven took a taxi back to the airport and called Jane while he waited for a shuttle flight. ‘What are you up to?’ he asked.

‘
Preparing classwork for next week,’ replied Jane. ‘It’s start of term. Where are you?’

‘
Glasgow Airport. I talked to Gus Maclean this morning.’

‘
Useful?’

‘
He gave me a name, Michael D’Arcy; mean anything?’

‘
As a matter of fact it does,’ said Jane. ‘He was an old friend of George’s. He always sent us a Christmas card although I don’t think I ever met him.’

‘
He and George worked together at Porton,’ said Steven. ‘From what Gus told me, I think they worked on the same team.’

‘
No need to ask where you’ll be going next,’ said Jane.

‘
Give that lady a prize. I’ll stop off at the flat when I get back to London and pick up the car. With a bit of luck I should manage down to see D’Arcy this evening, assuming he’s still at the same address.’

‘
You’re just going to turn up on his door step?’

‘
Best that way,’ replied Steven. ‘Doesn’t give him any time to start phoning anyone to ask if seeing me is a good idea.’

‘
Well, I learn something new every day,’ said Jane. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘
I have to go in to the Home Office tomorrow morning. After that, I could drive up to Leicester or maybe you could come to London? Whatever suits?’