All Fall Down

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for a respite from the dilemma whose ramifications were multiplying like a virus in her brain.

‘I’d better get Jack,’ she said, eventually, checking the time on her mobile. ‘I told Shelley I’d pick him up at seven.’

‘Want me to go?’ asked Paul.

‘No, it’s OK, thanks. I could do with some air.’ The heat from the fire had burned a flush in her cheeks, and Kate suddenly yearned for the cold wind to cool them down. Slipping on her coat and wellies, she set off along the lane into the village.

A weak evening sun briefly struggled through the clouds, gently highlighting hawthorn hedges and the swaying branches of trees overhead until the clouds once more overtook it. The thought of having to leave Jack with his dad for however long it took to develop the vaccine, knowing that could mean anything from six months to a year, was intolerable.

No. I can’t do it, she thought. I won’t.

But then she wavered, thinking of the thousands of lives that could be saved. Weighing up the opportunity to work in a state-of-the-art lab with resources second to none, money no object …

The image of Jack’s face when she’d picked him up in the playground flashed into her mind. He was so happy here. A normal little boy again. Nothing, not fame nor fortune nor acclaim, could persuade her to jeopardise that for a second time.

Not even thousands of innocent lives?

Still deep in thought, she rounded the corner of the lane leading to Isaac and Shelley’s small but beautiful Georgian manor house, bought as a wreck five years ago and lovingly restored. When she saw what was outside, she stopped in her tracks.

A police car was parked in the driveway. Suddenly, cutting through the evening silence of an English village came the ear-splitting sound of a scream, loud, high and panicked. A scream of primal pain – and it was coming from the house of her best friend.

Kate started to run.

4

San Diego

Angelica stood in the shadows of an alleyway that ran alongside the Metropolitan Hotel, one of San Diego’s finest, the kind of place where senators and rock stars stayed when they were in town. She reached down and patted a knee-high leather boot, just to double-check, touched her auburn wig to make sure it was still neatly in place, and carefully adjusted her designer backpack. She closed her eyes, briefly clasped the obsidian ankh that hung round her neck, and then she was ready.

She waited until the doorman was occupied with another guest, hailing them a taxi, then drifted in through the revolving doors.

It was cool inside the lobby, but busy, women in suits wheeling miniature cases behind them, businessmen barking into BlackBerrys. She stayed away from the front desk, keeping her eyes downcast whenever she passed someone. Angelica had practised this many times: the art of switching that inner light on and off. Revealing her beauty when she needed to dazzle a room or put somebody under a spell, then dimming it, rendering herself almost invisible. It was all about projection, confidence, attitude. Mousy little people naturally scurried through the world without being noticed. She was able to tap into her inner mouse, or reveal the lioness, at will. She avoided eye contact, wore no perfume, thought no sexual thoughts lest she give off pheromones that attracted attention. She was good at this. That was why she was doing this important job herself. Cindy had already played her part well. But this job was going to require far more skill.

Propped on an easel, a sign confirmed what she been looking for:

INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE OF IMMUNOLOGY & VIROLOGY, Main Ballroom

A shot of adrenaline raced through her system, but she breathed deeply, staying calm. So many of them here: virologists, academics, doctors, biochemists, representatives of big pharma companies. Most of the top experts in immunology under one roof, from all over the world. She had studied the delegate list in detail and had been thrilled, though not surprised, as it was predestined, to see that her two main targets were here.

They would be in there now, enjoying post-conference drinks, chatting with their fellow academics, perhaps discussing a paper they had read, or where to go for dinner. None of them, yet, would have any inkling of what was to come. As she had foreseen, the authorities were keeping the outbreak under wraps. Part of her would love to stride into the room, get their attention by switching on her inner light and tell them what was on its way – not only today but in the future. She would love to witness the panic, the horror. Because, more than anyone else, the people in that room would understand the threat faced by the world.

And they wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

But she couldn’t draw attention to herself, couldn’t risk leaving any witnesses who had seen her. She needed to be patient. She took a seat in the lobby, in the shadows near the elevators, and waited.

She only had to wait ten minutes before he appeared: Dr Isaac Larter. He was tall and gangly, balding, the remains of his hair sticking up at crazy angles, with large expressive hands and a grin on his face. He was talking to another man, Japanese perhaps, and they were both laughing as they exited the ballroom. No sign of Dr Maddox. She must be inside. The woman would love to lay eyes on her, see her in the flesh while her flesh was still intact. But she was pleased Larter had come out. It suited her plan perfectly.

For a moment she thought the two men might be heading out together, which would have made things tiresomely complicated, but then Dr Larter lifted a palm to say farewell to the Asian man.

Angelica rose from her seat and followed him towards the elevators, padding silently across the lobby. The elevator doors pinged open as she got there and she stepped in after him. It was just the two of them. More good luck. Not that she believed in luck – everything was going exactly as it was destined.

Larter pulled a BlackBerry from the pocket of his linen jacket and started tapping away on it with his thumb, smiling to himself. Now was the moment for her to step out of her self-imposed shadow and flick the switch that would illuminate this small space. She widened her eyes, licked her lips and pushed out her chest.

‘Dr Larter? It is Dr Larter, isn’t it?’

He looked up from his phone, curious. He swayed a little – he had clearly had a few glasses of something, which was more good news for her. ‘Yes … that’s me. I don’t believe …?’

She stuck out her hand, ensuring she made eye contact as he took her hand in his and shook it. She let the handshake linger for a moment longer than was natural.

‘Sonia Tyler,’ she lied. ‘I’m a huge fan … I mean admirer of your work.’

‘Really?’ Her words had the desired effect. Surprised, but flattered. And she was pleased to see him quickly look her up and down, taking in her beauty. He might be happily married, the thought of an affair or even a dalliance while away from his wife far from his mind, but he was not immune to her charms.

‘Yes. I’m sorry, I hope I’m not embarrassing you.’

He smiled, showing her a mouthful of crooked teeth. Disgusting. ‘Not at all.’

She smiled back, coyly. ‘I’m studying immunology at the University of California and writing my thesis on the attempt to find a vaccine for the Watoto virus. Your work is so important and groundbreaking. Your new research paper has really inspired me. I was very excited when I saw your name on the delegate list, but I had no idea I would actually get to speak with you.’

‘Well …’

She could see how happy the attention and praise made him, but he was lost for words. ‘That’s marvellous.’ He eyed her backpack, no doubt thinking it was full of textbooks. If only he knew the truth.

‘I’m so happy that you came all the way to America for this conference.’ She meant it. This was destiny in action again.

The elevator glided to a halt and the doors opened. ‘Er … this is my floor,’ he said, clearly disappointed that the conversation was about to end.

‘Mine too!’ she exclaimed as if this was the most exciting coincidence of her life.

They walked down the corridor together, Dr Larter awkward, her gushing about how she had been reading about a breakthrough in the UK, where they had discovered that antibodies could pass into cells and fight viruses from within. ‘It’s so exciting. To think we might only be a few years away from cracking the code of how to defeat viruses.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It might take years of further research but …’

She flung herself forward, as if she had tripped over her own feet, making it look like she had gone down hard on her wrists. Letting out a girlish shriek, she sat up and clutched her left wrist, tears filling her eyes.

He crouched beside her. ‘My goodness. Are you all right?’

She blinked up at him. ‘My wrist … it really hurts. I think I might have broken it.’

‘I’m sure …’

She interrupted him with a cry. ‘Oh, Dr Larter, it really hurts. I need to put some ice on it immediately. I guess if I …’ she moaned ‘… go downstairs they might be able to help me.’

Men were so predictable. The damsel in distress, the beautiful woman in need of help – especially one who had pumped up his ego with praise – there was no way he would leave her to fend for herself.

‘Let me call down for you, get someone to bring up some ice,’ he said.

She nodded pathetically. ‘That would be … so kind. I’ll go into my room and wait.’

‘No, no, come into my room. I’ll call them from there and tell them how urgent it is. Look, here we are.’

He put his arm round her and helped her up, and she made sure to lean into him, to press her warm body against his, so he would feel the swell of her breasts. He produced his keycard and a moment later they were inside. He hurried over to the phone and she reached behind her and locked the door while he wasn’t looking. Then pulled a small pistol from her boot.

As he picked up the phone to call the hotel desk, she said in an urgent tone, ‘Dr Larter.’

He turned and his mouth fell open. She enjoyed seeing the expression on his face: the shock and confusion.

‘Put down the phone,’ she commanded, aiming the gun at his forehead.

‘What are you doing?’

She stepped towards him. ‘Get on the bed,’ she said.

He froze. ‘Miss Tyler,’ he said with a shaking voice. ‘I’m only a scientist … I don’t have any money …’

‘I said, get on the bed. I have no interest in your fucking money.’

He let out a weird noise, like a squeak, and half-turned. She moved quickly, aiming a kick at his back, sending him crashing into the bedside table, the phone and lamp tumbling to the floor. She grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him on to the bed, straddling him and holding the gun to his temple.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, trying to stay calm. But his terror and shock were making him shake.

‘Take off your jacket and shirt,’ she commanded.

‘What?’

Confusion flitted across his face, but he obeyed, pulling off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt. It was almost funny. Did he think she wanted his body? He had no idea how much he disgusted her, how nauseous his pale, flabby body made her feel.

‘Now lie on the bed, and don’t move. If you do, I’ll shoot you in the balls. Understand?’

He nodded. There were tears in his eyes. Pathetic, how some people crumbled at the first sign of pressure. It astounded her sometimes how weak most people were. If they had been through what she had experienced in her life, they would end up killing themselves or going insane.

She really hoped he didn’t soil himself. That would be highly inconvenient. She decided she needed to calm him down.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Dr Larter. So try to relax. Close your eyes, OK?’

He did as she asked, his eyelids flickering like they were resisting his attempts to keep them shut.

She straddled him on the bed, ignoring the smell of alcohol that wafted off him – wondering if, despite his fear, he would grow hard from the feeling of her warm, leather-clad body against his crotch. It had been known to happen. Other men had died with an erection and a smile on their lips. That wasn’t going to be Larter’s fate, though.

She reached behind her and pulled off her backpack, unzipping the front pocket and producing a syringe that she had already prepared with a colourless, odourless liquid. GHB. She took hold of Isaac’s arm and slipped the needle in, injecting the drug directly into a vein before he could pull his arm away.

‘What was that?’ he asked, alarmed, opening his eyes.

She pointed the gun at his face. ‘Close your eyes. It was just something to help you relax. Now, keep quiet.’

She checked her watch. The drug would take effect in fifteen to twenty minutes, leaving Dr Larter intensely drowsy and disorientated. The fact he had already consumed several glasses of alcohol helped. After a while, he stopped trying to open his eyes. He wasn’t unconscious but was relaxed, probably feeling as if he was in a dream. His heart rate would have slowed, and beneath the drowsiness he would be experiencing a mild euphoria. He was in the perfect state for what she needed to do.

‘Don’t go to sleep, Dr Larter,’ she whispered.

A smile appeared on his lips.

‘I need you to sit up, OK?’

Again, he obeyed. ‘Good boy,’ she said. Then she unzipped the main compartment of her backpack.

A little while later, Angelica led Isaac out of the room. She had put his shirt and jacket back on, buttoning the jacket across his belly. She held him by the crook of his arm, leading him slowly down the corridor towards the elevator. To anyone who might pass, he would look like a drunk being helped along by, well, she probably looked like a call girl.

They took the elevator back to the ground floor and she walked him over to the ballroom. Isaac barely seemed to register where he was or what was happening. But he was still smiling faintly.

She took him inside. The drinks reception was in full swing, lots of middle-aged men and women standing around in groups of three or four, chatting, pontificating, exchanging views and business cards. She looked around for Kate Maddox, whose photo she had found online, but there was no sign of her. No matter.

She sat Isaac down on a chair near the centre of the room.

A heavyset man standing nearby grinned at them.

‘He’s had too much to drink,’ she said. ‘But he insists he doesn’t want to go to bed … again.’

The man guffawed at that and she winked at him. It didn’t matter that he’d had a very good look at her face.

‘Do you mind keeping an eye on him while I go to the ladies’ room?’ she asked. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘No problem, sweetcheeks,’ the man said, clearly wondering if he could take a turn at hiring her.

She walked out of the reception and all the way out of the hotel, back out through the revolving doors. Striding briskly away, she covered three blocks until she found her car, the sleek white Maserati, where she had parked it. She brushed aside the two Hispanic men who had stopped to admire it, whistling as they watched her climb inside.

She pulled the cellphone out of her pocket.

While Isaac had been in a semi-conscious state, she had taped three pounds of Semtex around his midriff, then covered it with a bandage. Three pounds of the plastic explosive was enough to destroy a two-storey building. Certainly sufficient to decimate the reception room at the hotel and kill everyone in it.

She thought of Dr Larter, sitting in his chair, the heavyset man probably wondering where she had got to. Larter, in his delirious state, would have no idea that beneath his shirt was the Semtex and a detonator that she could trigger by calling it from her cellphone.

She dialled the magic number now.

And heard the explosion from three blocks away, saw smoke shoot up above the rooftops. She closed her eyes and pictured the flying body parts, the carnage, the balls of flame. She could almost smell it. It made her feel hungry.

Angelica put the car into drive and headed out of the city, thinking about the end of the world.