All Fall Down. Mark Edwards

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      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.

      ‘This is Tosca McCarthy,’ Kate told Junko. ‘He’s an FBI agent. And a bit of a joker. But at least he’s a gentleman.’ Junko inclined her head towards him, and led them both up the stairs. Adoncia had vanished, with a loud ‘tut’ – presumably it had been her job to show Kate to her room.

      Junko paused on the landing of the first floor. A thick steel door stood in front of them. ‘The lab is through here – more secure on the first floor, and better light. It’s a great facility. But we’ll take a look at it later, after you have freshened up.’

      She continued up another flight, and Kate sniffed discreetly at her own armpits, blushing at the thought of how obvious it might be that she needed a shower. McCarthy was puffing and panting behind them, sounding like a stressed buffalo. ‘Jeez, ladies, you got rocks in here?’

      ‘Who else is in the team?’ Kate asked Junko, ignoring McCarthy’s grumbles. ‘Is everyone here? Have you started already?’

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