“What’s going on?” the doctor asked shakily. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“This knife,” Reeve said quietly, “could bisect you from skull to scrotum and still have an edge on it.”

The doctor swallowed and licked his lips.

“I have some questions,” Reeve said. “I want answers to them. You’re being watched, round-the-clock protection. Why?”

“That’s absurd. Why would anyone watch me?”

Reeve smiled without a trace of humor. “You worked for Co-World Chemicals, didn’t you? Did you ever meet Dr. Owen Preece?”

“I’m sorry, I want to help you, but I don’t know that name.”

Reeve angled the dagger so light glinted off the blade, causing Killin to squint. The doctor licked his dry lips again.

“Fear can do that,” Reeve told him. “It stops the saliva getting to your mouth. Here.” He reached into his left-hand jacket pocket and handed Killin a small plastic bottle of mineral water. Killin took the bottle and stared at it. “Can’t answer questions with a dry mouth,” Reeve said. He drew out an identical bottle from his right-hand pocket. “Can’t ask them either.” He broke the seal and unscrewed the top. Killin was still staring at him. “You don’t want it?” Reeve said. “Want mine instead?”

Killin thought about it then shook his head, broke the bottle’s seal, and unscrewed the top. He sipped at the water, tasting it, then gulping a mouthful. Reeve put his own bottle on the passenger seat and lifted the video camera. To do so meant putting down the dagger.

“Now,” he said, “I hope you’ve noticed this car has no back doors. Your only exit is past me, and I don’t think you want to try that.”

“Look, I’ll answer your questions if I can, but I want to know what’s going on.”

Killin was growing either testier or more confident-confident that Reeve wasn’t the type to kill him.

“I’ll tell you,” Reeve said. “I want to know about Co-World Chemicals. I want to know about Dr. Owen Preece and the work he did for CWC. I want to know about a man called Kosigin who set the whole thing in motion. I want to know about pesticides, Doctor. I want to know what you know.”

Killin took his time answering. “It’s true,” he said, nursing the bottle, “that I worked for CWC. I headed the R & D team for four years, but I’d worked for the company for fifteen years before that. You are correct that a man called Kosigin also works for CWC, though in what capacity I’m not sure. He may not still be there; I don’t keep in touch with CWC, and I believe executives in most companies flit about from competitive salary to competitive salary. And that,” he said, “is all I do know.”

“Did a man called Reeve ever come to see you?”

“I don’t recollect.” Killin sounded impatient.

“A British journalist? He came to your house wanting to ask questions.”

“If he did, I didn’t let him in.” He tapped his forehead. “My memory’s not what it…” His fingers stayed on his forehead, rubbing at beads of sweat which were appearing there. He blinked hard, as though trying to focus. “I don’t feel well,” he said. “You should know that my heart has been giving me trouble. There are some pills back at my home…”

“You’re all right, Doctor. You’re just drugged.” Reeve hadn’t started the tape running yet, but he had his eye to the viewfinder. Even in color, Killin’s face looked gray, like he was acting in a black-and-white movie. “You don’t need to break the seal to inject something into a plastic bottle. You just need a dot of glue to seal the bottle up again.”

“What?” The doctor lost the faculty of speech for a moment. Reeve took the doped bottle from him and replaced it with his own.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“You’ll feel a lot better when you clear your conscience. The birdy will help with that. Now, where were we? Yes, Co-World Chemicals.” Reeve started the tape running. “You were telling me, Dr. Killin, that you worked for CWC-what was it-nineteen years?”

“Nineteen years,” Killin agreed, his voice dull and metallic.

“The last four of those heading the company’s R & D?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you know a man called Owen Preece?”

“Dr. Preece, yes, he was a psychiatrist.”

“Well respected?”

“They might have invented the word eminent with him in mind.”

“Did he do any work for CWC?”

“Yes, he headed a research team looking into pesticides.”

“Specifically?”

“Specifically side effects.”

“And these pesticides were…”

“Organophosphorus.”

“So he was looking at PrPs?”

“Well the team examined all aspects of a great many pesticides. Its conclusions were published in several journals.”

“And those conclusions were accurate?”

“No, they were faked.” The doctor stared out of the car’s back window. “Is that the ocean out there? Doesn’t it sound angry?”

“Yes, it does,” Reeve said.

“It should be angry. We dump so much dangerous trash into it. Our rivers trickle mercury and other poisons into it. You wouldn’t think you could kill an ocean, would you? But we’ll do it one day. That’s how negligent we are.”

“Is CWC negligent?”

“Monstrously so.”

“Why haven’t you spoken out about it?”

“To protect my career, for one thing. I discovered early in my professional life that I was a coward, a moral coward. I might seethe inside, but I’d do nothing to upset the status quo. Later, after I’d retired, I could have done something, but that would have meant admitting my silence, too. You see, I’m just as culpable as anyone. Preece was a psychiatrist, not a scientist; it was easy for him to believe that the cause of certain diseases might lie in the mind itself. Even today there are people who refuse to acknowledge the existence of ME as a valid disease. They say it’s psychosomatic. But Preece’s group, the scientists-we had proof that pesticides and certain neurological diseases were causally linked.”

“You had proof?”

“And we let them cover it up.”

“Who’s them?”

“CWC.” He paused, gathering himself. “Kosigin primarily. I’ve never been sure whether those above him knew about it at the time, or are any wiser now. He operates within his own sphere. Those above him allow him this leeway… Perhaps they have an inkling of what he’s like, and want to distance themselves from him.”

“What is he like, Doctor?”

“He’s not evil, that’s not what I’m suggesting. I don’t even think he’s power-mad. I believe he thinks everything he does is in the genuine interests of the company. He is a corporation man, that’s all. He’ll do all he can-anything it takes-to stop damage being done to CWC.”

“Did you tell him about the journalist, James Reeve?”

“Yes, I did. I was frightened.”

“And he sent men to guard you?”

“Yes, and then he told me to take a short vacation.”

“There’s still a man guarding your house, isn’t there?”

“Not for much longer. The threat has disappeared.”

“Kosigin told you that?”

“Yes, he told me to put my mind at rest.”

“Do the guards work for CWC?”

“Oh, no, they’re policemen.”

“Policemen?”

“Yes. Kosigin has a friend in the police department.”

“Do you know his name?”

“McCluskey. If there’s any trouble, any problem, I can always phone this man McCluskey. You know something? I live about a half a mile from the ocean, but I’ve never heard it sound so angry.”

“They’re just waves, Dr. Killin.”

“You do them an injustice.” He sipped undoped water. “We all do.”

“So let me get this straight in my head, Dr. Killin. You’re saying you were part of a cover-up instigated by Kosigin?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re not sure whether anyone higher up in CWC knew about it at the time, or knows about it now?”

The old man nodded, staring out of the window. Reeve recorded his face in profile, the face of a sad old man who had little to be proud of in his life.