‘So, what can I tell you about Bellerophon? Did Rachel explain what we’re working on now? We’re doing some cutting-edge research into tinnitus. It’s estimated a hundred and forty million people around the world suffer from it—twenty million in the States alone. At the moment all they can be offered, even in the most severe cases, is antidepressants and possibly an anti-psychotic. Thirty-six billion dollars is allocated to AIDS treatment each year, but only six hundred dollars per tinnitus sufferer. So there’s a bit of catch up to do. Imagine if we could find a drug that totally alleviates it. And we’re branching out to do some work on Alzheimer’s too. Up to eleven percent of us will suffer from some form of dementia in our old age—some from early onset too. Dementia was almost unheard of for our ancestors because so few people lived long enough to bump up against it. What do you think the life expectancy of someone in 1900 was?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Forty-seven. Now? Over eighty. With our ageing populations, a cure for dementia is the Holy Grail of the pharmaceutical industry, trust me. Find a treatment for that, and you’d literally be hailed as the second coming of Christ.’
‘Your sister used that term as well—Holy Grail.’
‘Look, don’t get me wrong: Rachel is amazing and I love her to death, but she’s completely jumped the shark over this quest of hers. I blame our mutual friend Tim in some ways. Ever since she got involved in that court case when he raided the Middlesex lab, she started to get all these ridiculous ideas about saving the world or something. Recompense she calls it. As if. The world is as it is. All we can hope to do is profit from the chaos.’ He took a sip of his tea and leaned forwards. ‘The potential for our work is enormous. Absolutely unlimited. I’ve actually got a few other projects on the go right now which are more hush, hush. If you invested, you’d be getting in on the ground floor of an impending billion-dollar market. Once you find a miracle drug, people are prepared to pay absolutely anything to get it. If you can get it onto the NHS here, or covered by insurance in the US, well, you’re looking at an endless stream of income. But it does take up-front money. Even if you’ve developed a drug, to manufacture it in global quantities and market it takes enormous resources. Little independent laboratories like ours are always seeking investors. After all, sickness and death are the gifts that keep on giving.’
‘Like wars, I suppose—if you make the weapons needed to wage them. Supplying both sides, I find, is always the most profitable. Or, rather, not recognising the termsidesin the first place. Ah, no, my English, forgive me:redefiningthe word would be more accurate.’
The younger man grinned. ‘Exactly. Sure, we’re profiting off human misery. But sickness is like the ocean. You’re sailing along in your boat and suddenly it capsizes and you’re plunged into churning waves. What would you pay for a lifeboat to come along and save you? Do you think someone should just give you one for free? No, nothing in this life comes without cost.’
‘Your thinking is…visionary. I believe we could work well together.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, an attractive and disarming gesture that had always worked well for him in the past. Did his promises to Ben prohibit lying for the greater good? He didn’t think so.
‘Look, do you get it in the neck for supplying weapons to places like Yemen? Or Syria?’
Aleksey narrowed his eyes. ‘There have been the occasional legal challenges.’
‘And yet you’re probably hailed as a hero when you supply exactly the same weapons to, I don’t know, Ukraine! Suddenly you’re the saviour, the peacemaker, the defender. Well it’s exactly the same in our job, too. We’re blamed if something goes wrong. Thalidomide, for example. No one made those women take it, did they? They didn’t want morning sickness. The pharmaceutical industry gave them what they wanted. Imagine if there was a worldwide pandemic and we made a vaccine for it. Would it be our fault if thousands died or became chronically sick because that jab was faulty? Of course not—millions more would thank us for it and say those individual dead or sick people were just necessary collateral damage for the collective good. There arealwayscasualties in war.’
Aleksey leaned back in his seat.
Max looked puzzled for a moment, as if chastened at his own intensity. He shook himself a little, apparently rewinding some of what he’d just admitted. He blew out his cheeks and checked his watch. ‘Would you like a tour of the place? I showed Tim around the other day, and he made some really useful suggestions. He said you were interested in renovations too? It’s an intriguing project. This place used to be home to the Devonshire Regiment.’
Something in this offer sparked a small flicker of memory in Aleksey’s mind. He couldn’t place it, but felt that it was important somehow. Distracted, he nodded and rose to follow Max out.
It had clouded over since he’d gone in and the wind had picked up. A storm brewing, possibly. Once more, he resisted the desire to glance into the sky to check for a plummeting aircraft. He pondered the likely response he’d get if he now told Ben he didn’t want him to learn to fly at all. If he told him being on the ground was better. But then, would he also stop Ben riding his bike? Nearly three thousand people died in motorcycle accidents a year; death in a plane was statistically unheard of. But the very fact he’d asked Peyton to research these things told him he was probably just being paranoid. Most of what he asked the big man to do was a result of his wrong-thinking brain, according to Ben.
This train of thought reminded him that he’d yet to read Peyton’s attachment from the previous evening. He also wanted to check the time, but he’d left his phone in the car. They would be in St Mary’s by teatime and on the island shortly after that. A few more hours, therefore, and his sense of unease would settle.
Max was showing him the front elevations of the mess, explaining a little about his plans, which included far-reaching and wildly expensive additions. Aleksey kept his own counsel.
While they were walking around to the side of the imposing structure, a small car Aleksey vaguely recognised trundled through the gates and came towards them. It was Rachel’s, and she was at the wheel, peering at him in pleased surprise.
When she pulled up and got out, she gave a desultory air kiss to her brother then greeted Aleksey, colouring. ‘Hello. Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.’
‘I’m just giving him the tour, Rach. Why don’t you come too? We’ll have lunch afterwards.’ He didn’t wait for a reply, but headed off towards the gardeners.
She didn’t appear too keen, considered her shoes and the grass, but shrugged and fell in alongside him. Max appeared to be telling the man with the strimmer to stop making so much noise, for he quickly turned off the machine, hefted it over his shoulder, and strode away.
‘Did you enjoy the other night? Sorry, I think I went on a bit. I got it in the neck the next day.’ She glanced furtively at her brother’s back.
He gave her his best winning smile, one he reserved for just such an occasion, and consequently hadn’t brought out to play for quite a while. ‘I did, very much. How are you coming along with your Holy Grail? I was in the abbey grounds here in Topsham the other day and thought of you.’
She blushed once more, and Aleksey thought he really must find an opportunity to drop Ben’s name into the conversation. But maybe not just yet.
‘It’s lovely there, isn’t it? All going to be redeveloped for housing soon, so I was told.’
‘By an old man with a white dog?’
She laughed. ‘Snodgrass! Do you know him?’
Aleksey wasn’t sure if she meant the man or the dog, but nodded to both.
‘We had a lovely long chat. Such a character.’
Again, not sure if she meant Harry or Snodgrass, he just nodded and offered her his arm when they reached a low wall that led to some rough ground before one of the buildings. Ack, he was a bad man. Did it count he’d rather have Ben on his arm? He smiled at this thought and at the reaction he’d likely get if he ever offered his other half an arm over rough ground, and they continued towards the concrete bunker. This was the original armoury, according to Max. Aleksey really didn’t want to spend his Sunday touring such a place; he knew what the inside of an armoury looked like, after all, but politely stepped in after the brother and sister.
It was much colder inside than it had been out. Some of the old racks were still in place from when rifles had been stored for the infantry soldiers. Aleksey wondered idly why there hadn’t been a guardroom at the gate, and assumed this had long since been demolished. His Keep would stand for a thousand years. He smirked at his own idiocy and progressed further into the building.
There was the distant sound of a car, and a few moments later they heard the sound of Austin’s voice by the house, shouting wildly for Max. As they made their way back into the first room, he came bursting in, the solid wooden door slamming back into the wall as he hit at it in fury.
