Read The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) Online
Authors: Ken McClure
The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10)
THE SECRET
KEN McCLURE
Saltoun
www.kenmcclure.com
First published in Great Britain by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd. in 2013
Original ISBN 978 1 84697 261 4
This electronic edition published in The United States of America and Canada by Saltoun in 2013
Copyright © Ken McClure, 2013
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people either living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
KEN McCLURE is an award-winning medical scientist as well as a global selling author. He was born and brought up in Edinburgh, Scotland, where he studied medical sciences and cultivated a career that has seen him become a prize-winning researcher in his field. Using this strong background to base his thrillers in the world of science and medicine, he is currently the author of twenty-four novels and his work is available across the globe in over twenty languages. He has visited and stayed in many countries in the course of his research but now lives in the county of East Lothian, just outside Edinburgh.
'His medical thrillers out-chill both Michael Crichton and Robin Cook.'
Daily Telegraph
.
'McClure writes the sort of medical thrillers which are just too close to plausibility for comfort.'
( Eye of the Raven)
Birmingham Post
.
'Well wrought, plausible and unnerving.'
(Tangled Web)
The Times
'A plausible scientific thriller . . . McClure is a rival for Michael Crichton.'
(The Gulf Conspiracy)
Peterborough Evening Telegraph
.
'Contemporary and controversial, this is a white knuckle ride of a thriller.'
(Past Lives)
Scottish Field
.
'Ken McClure looks set to join the A list at the top of the medical thriller field.'
The Glasgow Herald
.
'McClure's intelligence and familiarity with microbiology enable him to make accurate predictions. Using his knowledge, he is deciding what could happen, then showing how it might happen . . . It is McClure's creative interpretation of the material that makes his books so interesting.'
The Guardian
.
'Ken McClure explains contagious illness in everyday language that makes you hold your breath in case you catch them. His forte is to take an outside chance possibility, decide on the worst possible outcome . . . and write a book.'
The Scotsman
'Original in conception . . . its execution is brilliantly done . . . plot and sub plot are structured with skill . . . the whole thing grabs the attention as it hurtles to its terrifying climax.'
(Requiem)
Independent Newspapers (Ireland).
'Absolutely enthralling.'
(Crisis)
Medical Journal
'
Pacey thrillers from Scotland's own Michael Crichton.'
Aberdeen Evening Express
'Fear courses through the narrative, unhinging the characters. It leaks through the government, corrupts the body politic and infects the nation. It is fear, too, tinged with curiosity, that keeps the reader turning the pages.'
(White Death)
The Independen
t
THER TITLES
The Steven Dunbar Series
LOST CAUSES
DUST TO DUST
WHITE DEATH
THE LAZARUS STRAIN
EYE OF THE RAVEN
THE GULF CONSPIRACY
WILDCARD
DECEPTION
DONOR
Other Novels
HYPOCRITES’ISLE
PAST LIVES
TANGLED WEB
RESURRECTION
PANDORA'S HELIX
TRAUMA
CHAMELEON
CRISIS
REQUIEM
PESTILENCE
FENTON'S WINTER
THE SCORPION'S ADVANCE
THE TROJAN BOY
THE ANVIL
Table of Contents
Laura McAllister opened the curtains in her daughter’s bedroom and paused for a moment, feeling the morning sun on her face and thinking she should count her blessings. Life was good. She had a loving husband in a well-paid government job, a beautiful home here in
Deansville, a small Maryland town situated halfway between Washington DC and Fort Detrick where Mark worked, and an adorable daughter Jade whose blonde curls currently spilled round her face on the pillow like a halo in the sunlight.
Laura sat down gently on the edge of the bed and ran her fingertips lightly
across Jade’s forehead. ‘Good morning, birthday girl,’ she whispered. ‘Who is four years old today?’
It took a few moments for the question to make its way through the land of nod and bring Jade to consciousness
; then she opened her eyes and broke into a big smile. ‘I am,’ she said excitedly.
‘Happy birthday, darling.’
Hugs and kisses later, Jade began looking past her mother and Laura moved out of the way so she could see the colourful pile of presents waiting for her.
‘Yippee.’
Laura squatted on the floor beside Jade to help with the unwrapping and to identify the source of each present. She waited until they’d all been opened and the succession of oohs and aahs had abated before saying, ‘I think you’ll find a rather special present through here.'
She took Jade by the hand and led her through
into the playroom where a large doll’s house stood in the middle of the floor, the lights in its windows already switched on. ‘Daddy built it for you, honey. What d’you think?’
‘Wow,’ said Jade. ‘It’s the best.’
She explored the building from every angle, her eyes wide with delight. ‘I wish Daddy was here, Mom.’
‘So do I, honey but he’ll phone you later and he won’t be away for long. Daddies with important jobs sometimes have to go away on business trips:
he’ll be back before you know it. Meanwhile, we’ve got a party to organise. All your friends are coming this afternoon and we have to make sure there’s enough cake and ice cream for everyone.'
‘Can we keep a piece of cake for Daddy?’
Laura felt a lump come to her throat. ‘Of course we can, honey.’
The phone rang and Laura answered briefly before handing it to Jade. ‘It’s Grandma,’ she said and smiled broadly
when she heard her mother and father singing Happy Birthday at the other end of the phone. It was shaping up to be a good day.
Several thousand miles away in
Islamabad, Dr Mark McAllister was reflecting on his day. He was no great fan of long-distance travel but business-class flights from Washington to London and then on to Islamabad after only minimal delay had gone without a hitch. Having no personal knowledge of any country further east than France – which he had visited once on a student trip – he had been slightly worried about the conditions he might encounter in Pakistan but his fears had been allayed by being met at the airport by someone from the embassy and driven in an air-conditioned car to the Islamabad Marriott Hotel where he was now ensconced in a very comfortable room.
Mark was a molecular biologist, a lab scientist who’d worked for the
US government since gaining his PhD some ten years before. The nature of his job meant limited contact with people and very little need to travel. This was especially true since he’d been seconded to the top secret facility at Fort Detrick where his work was highly classified and even participation in international scientific conventions was not encouraged – even prohibited without careful scrutiny beforehand.
It had come as a surprise
, therefore, when he’d been informed that his presence would be required at an intelligence meeting to be held in Islamabad – a top secret meeting called by the CIA, MI6 – the British secret service - and Pakistani intelligence. He had not even been allowed to tell his wife where he would be heading, only that he wouldn’t be away for long. Happily, Laura, the daughter of a former colonel in the US army, understood how these things worked and accepted the situation without question although knowing that he would miss out on his daughter’s fourth birthday had been more painful. He had been briefed by a CIA officer beforehand about what he could and could not say at the meeting. ‘We’re allies in name only,’ he was cautioned. ‘Things can change quickly in Pakistan.’
Mark wasn’t at all certain
what this implied but took it to mean keep your mouth shut unless given the okay by the CIA. He still wasn’t sure why he was there: he was a specialist in DNA manipulation not the war on terror. He spent his days cutting and pasting pieces of DNA molecules rather like journalists with words and phrases on their laptops. When seconded to Detrick he’d been asked to continue work on a project started by one of their scientists who had been called away on assignment to London. He’d been asked to design an activator and a deactivator for what had been termed an ‘interesting molecule’. What it was exactly the powers-that-be had decided he didn’t need to know, and he knew better than to ask.
Mark glanc
ed at his watch: it was seven p.m. A ten-hour time differential meant that it would be nine in the morning in Maryland and the girls would be up and about. He called home using the hotel instruction card and was successful at the fourth attempt. He deduced immediately through hearing excitedly whispered questions that Laura had let Jade answer the phone.
‘Daddy, Daddy, it’s my birthday. I’ve got lots of presents and I’m going to have a party and all my friends are coming . . .’
Mark let the words wash over him, closing his eyes and picturing the scene at home until Jade asked if he wanted to speak to Mummy.
‘Yes please, Jade. Daddy loves you very much, honey.’
‘Come home soon, Daddy.’
Laura came on the line and
asked him about his journey, then told him all about the plans for the day. ‘Wish I was there,’ he said, feeling quite emotional. Little girls were good at doing that to their fathers.
‘I hope the government doesn’t make a habit of this,’ Laura joked.
‘They won’t,’ replied Mark. ‘I’m pretty sure this is a one-off. No one has said anything about doing any lab work here so I’m figuring that I’m just meant to be some kind of consultant to bring some other guys up to speed. After that, I should be homeward bound.’
‘No need to pin a yellow ribbon on the apple tree in the garden then?’
‘None at all, honey.’
Mark felt much better for having spoken to Laura and Jade. He was now going to shower, change, have dinne
r over at the embassy and be given a personal briefing. After that, it had been suggested he have an early night. He would be picked up at six a.m. the following morning for ‘quite a long drive’.
Mark was briefed by a CIA man named Brady. Brady had been present at dinner where the conversation had largely been embassy staff chatter about the conditions in
Islamabad. Mark had been struck by how ordinary it had all sounded – they could have been working for an insurance company – but now he and Brady were alone in an upstairs room.
‘I take it you’ve realised the molecule you’ve be
en working on is a virus?’ Brady asked.
‘Frankly, I'
d expect to be fired if I hadn’t,’ joked Mark.
Brady nodded. ‘You’re here because your work on it has been going pretty well
, by all accounts.’
‘I think I’ve come up with what was requested of me
, although there will have to be tests, of course.’
‘Of course
, and that’s also why you’re here. Your predecessor, now working in London, and his English associates have been having problems in designing what you’ve succeeded in doing. This will be a chance for you guys to get together and exchange information. I take it you have the details with you?’
Mark nodded, thinking it was a stupid question but limiting his reply to, ‘I was told to bring them.’
