All Fall Down

Let them take away his TV, his internet, his phone. They’d all be dead soon. If they knew what he knew, Hillier and the rest of them would be offering him all their money, their houses, their fucking wives in return for his help. Hillier was one of the people whose slow, hideous death he’d buy a ticket to watch.

He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long.

9

‘So, Dr Maddox,’ said Agent McCarthy, leaning back in the seat and stretching his arms over his head, linking his fingers together, palms facing the car roof. The leather underneath his buttocks complained noisily. ‘Been to Sequoia before?’

He was a big man, particularly when stretching, and his bulk seemed to fill the back of the car. His flesh had the compacted appearance of someone who works out a lot but who also loves his food a little too much.

‘Sequoia?’ Kate looked out of the window. All she could make out was the faint outline of bare rocky peaks rising against the deepening blue of the evening sky. ‘The big tree?’

‘The national park,’ said McCarthy, making a face at her.

‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I did know that. I blame the jet lag. No, I haven’t been there before. But it is the home of those giant trees, right?’

‘Right. We don’t get to drive through it, though.’

‘The park?’ The conversation felt to Kate, through her jet lag, as though it was going in claustrophobic spirals of incomprehension.

‘No, the real famous sequoia, the one everyone’s heard of: it fell across the road in the thirties and the sucker was way too big to be moved, its trunk is, like, twenty foot wide, so they cut a hole in it and made it into a tunnel instead.’ He made sawing gestures with his right hand, and then curved his palm in an arc, as if stroking an invisible cat’s head, to indicate the tunnel.

‘Redwoods are even bigger, though – they’re over the other side of the park. Those puppies are so big you can drive right through the middle of ’em, even when they’re still living.’

Jack would love that, Kate thought, driving right through a tree. She vaguely remembered seeing photographs of sequoias – or maybe redwoods – in an encyclopaedia. It was so surreal, she thought, to be in this car with two FBI agents, making small talk about big trees.

‘Right,’ she repeated dully, pulling out her BlackBerry to text Paul, but there was no signal. Being separated from both him and Jack within such a short space of time was making her feel irritable and lonely. And she felt nervous too. There were people out there who wanted to kill scientists. Still, this was probably the safest place she could be – in a car with two FBI agents.

‘Shit signal in this whole area,’ commented McCarthy, air-texting with his thumbs. Kate couldn’t decide whether she liked him or whether he annoyed her. At least he had a bit of personality, she thought, unlike the silent Thompson behind the wheel, who hadn’t said a single word the entire journey. Apart from his arms turning the steering wheel, he hadn’t even moved. Kate had spent some time staring idly at the back of his neck, small tight rolls of flesh from his bald head descending like supersized wrinkles into the collar of his black jacket, and it had remained completely immobile.

‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked, and was immediately reminded of Jack again. ‘Where exactly is this lab?’

‘Can’t tell you that, ma’am,’ said McCarthy. ‘Not its exact location, anyway. I can tell you it’s just inside the park. Actually, it’s only about an hour’s drive cross-country from the airport, but unfortunately there ain’t no roads through Sequoia that way, so we gotta go down and round and up again. Wouldn’t want to drive through those mountains anyhow. The air gets pretty thin at twelve thousand feet.’

‘What’s the set-up at the lab?’

McCarthy swivelled a forefinger into his ear and jiggled it about a bit. ‘I haven’t been there myself, but I’m told it’s a category four, state-of-the-art equipment, in a converted hunting lodge.’

‘Will you be staying there with me?’

‘For the foreseeable future, yes, ma’am. Plus we got Thompson here and some other security guards who’ll be looking after the joint. Not that anyone knows this place even exists, so you don’t have to worry.’

Kate nodded. That was a relief. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘McCarthy.’

‘No – your first name. Or do I have to call you McCarthy?’

He looked at her, slightly sheepishly. ‘Tosca.’

Kate laughed. She couldn’t help it. The name was ridiculous, but simultaneously kind of cool, and suited him perfectly. She held out her hand.

‘Call me Kate, then, Tosca, if we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.’

‘Nice to meet you, Kate,’ he said, shaking her hand and inclining his head. Kate thought that, all things considered, he was probably a good one to have on side – presuming he could move fast enough to pull his gun if required. But at least he had a sense of humour – and, God knew, there wasn’t a whole lot to laugh about in the state of California at the moment.

They drove in silence for another hour or so, and Kate was almost falling asleep, with her cheek against the cool tinted glass, when the car abruptly pulled off the road and bounced along on uneven ground on the edge of a densely wooded area. The sun was long gone, and the car headlights made eerie shadows of the trees. Her head banged against the window and she sat up, rubbing her temple. ‘What happened to the road?’

They were literally driving between trees now, with little other than tyre tracks in the soft undergrowth to indicate that any other vehicle had been here before. McCarthy pointed ahead. ‘Starts again over there. This is the back way in. The official road in is about five miles thataways, blocked off so curious tourists can’t drive up to take a look. Last thing they need is hikers banging on the door asking to use the bathroom, so they make it look like it’s deserted.’

‘Is this the national park?’ They were bumping along in dark forest now, and Thompson, behind the wheel, had an even more rigid set to his shoulders as he negotiated the BMW through the trees.

‘Edge of it. It’s right over there.’

‘Are there bears in here?’ Kate peered out at the foliage around her.

‘Lions and tigers and bears – oh my!’ sang McCarthy in a falsetto voice, and Kate rolled her eyes.

‘Just asking.’

The road suddenly reappeared in the middle of a clearing – as if someone had merely forgotten a chunk of it – and the smooth tarmac felt like a return to civilisation. After another ten minutes the car pulled up at a huge iron gate manned by a guard with a machine gun. Behind the gate, Kate could just about make out the rear of a huge building, neo-Swiss in appearance with gables and wood cladding. To the right of the house was a helipad, and to the left, a large coop filled with squawking chickens. The whole compound was surrounded by razor wire, giving it the unfortunate look of a prison. Guantanamo Bay for hens, thought Kate.

‘Here we are,’ said McCarthy, gesturing towards it. ‘Home sweet home. Plus chickens. What is this? Colonel Sanders’ secret HQ? Oh, I know – laboratories do keep chickens, don’t they, to culture flu vaccines in eggs?’

‘Biochemistry labs often keep chickens, but not outside like this,’ said Kate. ‘They’d need to be SPF – specific pathogen free, kept in sterile conditions. I think these are more likely to be providers of roast dinners.’

Thompson rolled down his window and exchanged some terse words with the guard, who said nothing in reply but opened the gate to allow them to drive in. Kate wondered if that was the first duty he’d had to perform all day. She couldn’t imagine there was much else to do, other than watch the chickens scratch away in their pen, and scan the width of the skies for eagles high above the forest.

A tiny but rotund Hispanic woman, dwarfed by a large flowery apron, came to the back door to meet them. She looked at them through eyes so narrowed that they almost vanished into the wrinkles on her face. She nodded at McCarthy, unsmiling, as he removed Kate’s suitcase from the trunk of the BMW and ushered them both into the lodge. Thompson stayed in the car.

‘Friendly round here, aren’t they?’ she whispered to McCarthy, trying to disguise her nerves with flippancy.

‘You are Dr Maddox,’ stated the Hispanic lady, still nodding. ‘We expected you.’

‘Yes, hello, do call me Kate,’ she said, holding out her hand. The woman stared at it with suspicion before giving Kate’s fingers the briefest of tugs. ‘I am Adoncia. Housekeeper.’

There was a considerable amount of luggage in the hallway, from designer suitcases to scruffy canvas rucksacks and, as McCarthy introduced himself to Adoncia (‘I am McCarthy. FBI Agent’), Kate flipped over a luggage label on the nearest suitcase, a smart gold Louis Vuitton, and read in neat capitals a name she recognized: Junko Nishirin, with a Tokyo address. She felt inordinately relieved – this confirmed that the team was only now being scrambled – so much easier to start when they were all on a level playing field, rather than having to catch up with an existing team’s efforts, and fit in with their social structure.

She heard light footsteps on the bare wooden boards of the wide staircase, and turned to see a petite Japanese woman descending, her hair an immaculate sheet of ebony and her make-up looking as though it had been professionally applied.

Kate felt very conscious of the fact that her own hair was in limp clumps, and the same mascara she had applied in the cottage yesterday morning was now resting in creases under her eyes. The Japanese woman was wearing a tight black miniskirt and ballet flats, with a perfectly ironed Ralph Lauren cotton shirt. When she saw Kate, she beamed at her. ‘Welcome!’ she said, with only a trace of an accent, coming down the final few steps with a slim white hand outstretched.

‘You must be Kate Maddox. We are so pleased to have you on board. I am Junko, one of the three other virologists here. I have been waiting for you. You’re in the next bedroom to me – shall I show you up there? It is so nice to meet you.’ Her face suddenly turned sombre and she cast down her eyes. ‘I am so sorry to hear of Dr Isaac Larter’s death. A terrible tragedy.’

Kate felt a little overwhelmed, and had to take a deep breath at the mention of Isaac’s name. But Junko was so friendly, and she liked her immediately. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I still can’t believe it. Yes, please do show me the room. It’s great to meet you. I’ve read your paper on …’

She tailed off, her mind having gone completely blank as to the subject of Junko’s paper, but the woman kindly pretended not to notice.

McCarthy, with Kate’s rather battered old suitcase in one hand, moved across the lobby and picked up Junko’s solid Louis Vuitton. ‘Allow me, ladies,’ he said.