Steven Dunbar gets the news that an old friend, Dr Simone Ricard of Medicins Sans Frontieres, has died in an accident while attending a scientific meeting in Prague. She and her team have been working to eradicate polio in the border region between Pakistan and Afghanistan and have discovered a possible reason for their failure to do so — fake teams put in by the CIA. She has gone to Prague to publicise this but the meeting organisers won't let her speak — they already know the reason and have accepted the CIA apology. They think it will only make matters worse if wider publicity is sought.
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.’
