[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
peering at him over the top of her glasses. Reeve paid for the water and took
his glass to her booth.
Mr. Reeve?
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He sat down and nodded.
A good journey? There was irony in the question.
First-class, Reeve replied. He would place her in her early fifties. She was
trim and well dressed and had taken care of herself, but the lines around the
neck gave it away. Her hair was salt-and-pepper, swept back over the ears from
a center part and feathered at the back of her head. She had the word
executive stamped on her.
So, she said, now you will tell me about your brother?
I d like to know a bit about you first, he said. Tell me about yourself,
how you came to know Jim.
So she told him the story of a woman who had always been a writer, ever since
her school days, a story not dissimilar to Jim s own life. She said they d met
while she was on a trip to London. Yes, she d known Marco in London, and he d
told her his suspicions. She had come back to France and done some research.
In France the farming lobby was even stronger than that in the UK, with close
ties between farm owners and their agrichemical suppliers, and a government no
matter whether left- or right-wing which bowed to pressure from both. The
investigation had been hard going; even now she wasn t much further forward,
and had to leave the story for long periods of time so she could do work that
would earn her money. The agrichem story was her labor of love.
Now tell me about Jim, she said. So Reeve told his side of it, a seasoned
performer by now. She listened intently, holding the pen as if about to start
taking notes. The book she d been reading was the biography of some French
politician. She tapped the cover absentmindedly with the pen, covering the
politician s beaming honest face with myriad spots, like blue measles. The
barman came over to take another order, and tutted and pointed. She saw what
she d been doing, and smiled and shrugged. The barman seemed not much
mollified.
Do you know this man? she asked Reeve. She meant the politician. Reeve shook
his head. His name is Pierre Dechevement. Until recently he was responsible
for agriculture. He re-signed. There was a young woman& not his wife.
Normally, such a thing would not be a scandal in France. Indeed, there was no
trace of a scandal in Dechevement s case. Yet he still resigned.
Why?
She smiled. Perhaps because he is a man of honor? That is what his biographer
says.
What do you say?
She stabbed the pen at him. You are shrewd, Mr. Reeve. For years Dechevement
took bribes from the agrichemical compa-nies well, no, perhaps bribes is too
strong. Let us say that he enjoyed hospitality, and received favors. In my
opinion one of those favors was the young lady in question, who turns out to
have been a sometime prostitute, albeit high-class. Dechevement was quite
brazen; she accompanied him to functions here and abroad. He even became her
employer, giving her a position on his private staff. There is no record that
she contributed any work, but she was paid a generous salary.
Marie Villambard lit a fresh Peter Stuyvesant from the stub of the old one.
Her ashtray had already been emptied twice by the barman. She blew out a
stream of smoke.
Dechevement s closest ties were to a company called COSGIT, and COSGIT is a
French subsidiary of Co-World Chemicals.
So Dechevement was in CWC s employ?
In a manner of speaking. I think that s why he was told to resign, so no one
would bother to backtrack and find that the young prostitute had been paid for
by Co-World Chemicals. That might have created a scandal, even in France.
Reeve was thoughtful. So you weren t working along the same lines as my
brother?
Wait, please. We have not yet& scratched the surface.
Reeve sat back. Good, he said as his second Perrier arrived.
In a sense, Dechevement is only a very small part of the whole, Marie
Villambard said. The waiter had brought her a new pack of cigarettes, which
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she was unwrapping. Reeve noticed that all the customers who d been in the bar
on his arrival had now been replaced by others which didn t necessarily mean
there wasn t surveillance.
I have become, she went on, more interested in a man called Owen Preece.
Doctor Owen Preece. Your brother was interested in him, too.
Who is he?
He s dead now, unfortunately. It looked like natural causes. He was in his
seventies a cardiac crisis. It could happen to anyone that age&
Well then, who was he?
An American psychiatrist.
Reeve frowned; someone else had mentioned a psychiatrist in connection with
CWC&
He headed what was supposed to be an independent research team, funded partly
by government and partly by agrichemical companies, to look into BSE, what you
call mad cow disease.
Reeve nodded to himself. Josh Vincent had mentioned something similar research
funded by CWC itself, using psychiatrists as well as scientists.
This was in the early days of the scare, Marie Villambard was saying. The
team comprised neurologists, viral specialists, experts in blood diseases, and
psychologists. Their initial reports were that the disease ME Yuppie Flu as
it was called at the time was not a disease at all but was psychosomatic, an
ailment brought on by the sufferer for some complex psychological reason.
They were working on prion protein?
That is correct, and they found no evidence to link prion proteins found in
organophosphorus substances, or any pesticides currently in use, to any of the
range of diseases that other scientists claim are closely linked to them.
They were got at by CWC?
Not exactly, but there is good reason to believe Dr. Preece was in the employ
of CWC, and he was head of the team. He gave the final okay to their results.
He had access to all the data&
And could have tampered with it?
One member of the team resigned, claiming something along those lines. He was
killed in a boating accident only weeks later. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
peering at him over the top of her glasses. Reeve paid for the water and took
his glass to her booth.
Mr. Reeve?
Page 81
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
He sat down and nodded.
A good journey? There was irony in the question.
First-class, Reeve replied. He would place her in her early fifties. She was
trim and well dressed and had taken care of herself, but the lines around the
neck gave it away. Her hair was salt-and-pepper, swept back over the ears from
a center part and feathered at the back of her head. She had the word
executive stamped on her.
So, she said, now you will tell me about your brother?
I d like to know a bit about you first, he said. Tell me about yourself,
how you came to know Jim.
So she told him the story of a woman who had always been a writer, ever since
her school days, a story not dissimilar to Jim s own life. She said they d met
while she was on a trip to London. Yes, she d known Marco in London, and he d
told her his suspicions. She had come back to France and done some research.
In France the farming lobby was even stronger than that in the UK, with close
ties between farm owners and their agrichemical suppliers, and a government no
matter whether left- or right-wing which bowed to pressure from both. The
investigation had been hard going; even now she wasn t much further forward,
and had to leave the story for long periods of time so she could do work that
would earn her money. The agrichem story was her labor of love.
Now tell me about Jim, she said. So Reeve told his side of it, a seasoned
performer by now. She listened intently, holding the pen as if about to start
taking notes. The book she d been reading was the biography of some French
politician. She tapped the cover absentmindedly with the pen, covering the
politician s beaming honest face with myriad spots, like blue measles. The
barman came over to take another order, and tutted and pointed. She saw what
she d been doing, and smiled and shrugged. The barman seemed not much
mollified.
Do you know this man? she asked Reeve. She meant the politician. Reeve shook
his head. His name is Pierre Dechevement. Until recently he was responsible
for agriculture. He re-signed. There was a young woman& not his wife.
Normally, such a thing would not be a scandal in France. Indeed, there was no
trace of a scandal in Dechevement s case. Yet he still resigned.
Why?
She smiled. Perhaps because he is a man of honor? That is what his biographer
says.
What do you say?
She stabbed the pen at him. You are shrewd, Mr. Reeve. For years Dechevement
took bribes from the agrichemical compa-nies well, no, perhaps bribes is too
strong. Let us say that he enjoyed hospitality, and received favors. In my
opinion one of those favors was the young lady in question, who turns out to
have been a sometime prostitute, albeit high-class. Dechevement was quite
brazen; she accompanied him to functions here and abroad. He even became her
employer, giving her a position on his private staff. There is no record that
she contributed any work, but she was paid a generous salary.
Marie Villambard lit a fresh Peter Stuyvesant from the stub of the old one.
Her ashtray had already been emptied twice by the barman. She blew out a
stream of smoke.
Dechevement s closest ties were to a company called COSGIT, and COSGIT is a
French subsidiary of Co-World Chemicals.
So Dechevement was in CWC s employ?
In a manner of speaking. I think that s why he was told to resign, so no one
would bother to backtrack and find that the young prostitute had been paid for
by Co-World Chemicals. That might have created a scandal, even in France.
Reeve was thoughtful. So you weren t working along the same lines as my
brother?
Wait, please. We have not yet& scratched the surface.
Reeve sat back. Good, he said as his second Perrier arrived.
In a sense, Dechevement is only a very small part of the whole, Marie
Villambard said. The waiter had brought her a new pack of cigarettes, which
Page 82
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
she was unwrapping. Reeve noticed that all the customers who d been in the bar
on his arrival had now been replaced by others which didn t necessarily mean
there wasn t surveillance.
I have become, she went on, more interested in a man called Owen Preece.
Doctor Owen Preece. Your brother was interested in him, too.
Who is he?
He s dead now, unfortunately. It looked like natural causes. He was in his
seventies a cardiac crisis. It could happen to anyone that age&
Well then, who was he?
An American psychiatrist.
Reeve frowned; someone else had mentioned a psychiatrist in connection with
CWC&
He headed what was supposed to be an independent research team, funded partly
by government and partly by agrichemical companies, to look into BSE, what you
call mad cow disease.
Reeve nodded to himself. Josh Vincent had mentioned something similar research
funded by CWC itself, using psychiatrists as well as scientists.
This was in the early days of the scare, Marie Villambard was saying. The
team comprised neurologists, viral specialists, experts in blood diseases, and
psychologists. Their initial reports were that the disease ME Yuppie Flu as
it was called at the time was not a disease at all but was psychosomatic, an
ailment brought on by the sufferer for some complex psychological reason.
They were working on prion protein?
That is correct, and they found no evidence to link prion proteins found in
organophosphorus substances, or any pesticides currently in use, to any of the
range of diseases that other scientists claim are closely linked to them.
They were got at by CWC?
Not exactly, but there is good reason to believe Dr. Preece was in the employ
of CWC, and he was head of the team. He gave the final okay to their results.
He had access to all the data&
And could have tampered with it?
One member of the team resigned, claiming something along those lines. He was
killed in a boating accident only weeks later. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]