The Firemaker by Peter May Read Free Book Online Page B

that persuade politicians and governments not to put sensible constraints on the work of people like you.’ Margaret’s passion was born of years of argument and discussion, and it was resurfacing now in a blur of painful memories.
    McCord seemed taken aback by her vehemence. Others around the table sat in fascinated silence, initial offence overcome by curiosity at the spectacle of these two yangguizi battling it out. As a puzzled Veronica returned to the table, Bob slipped inconspicuously away.
    ‘Sensible constraints? What’s sensible about them?’
    ‘What’s sensible about them is that they stop arrogant scientists with God complexes releasing genetically altered materials into the environment without the least idea of what the long-term effects are likely to be.’
    ‘I’d have thought the effects were obvious. Long-term or otherwise. A lot of hungry people are getting fed.’
    ‘But at what cost? How did you develop this “super-rice”, Dr McCord? Built-in insecticide, antifungal, antiviral genes?’
    He was genuinely taken aback by the extent of her knowledge. Then he remembered. ‘Of course, you’re a doctor, aren’t you? Well, I’m glad you’re interested.’ He relaxed again. ‘Naturally, I realise genetics isn’t your speciality, so let me explain it to you – in terms that you’ll understand.’ He made a fist and extended his little finger. ‘Think of my little finger as being like a virus,’ he said. Then he smiled salaciously. ‘Or perhaps you’d be more comfortable thinking of the virus as being like something more familiar to you – like a penis.’ Veronica blushed deeply, and Mr Cao and Dr Wu’s husband turned their eyes down to the table.
    ‘No, let’s stick with your little finger,’ Margaret said, ‘since your penis probably isn’t any bigger.’
    He grinned. ‘Bear with me. My little finger represents a penis, representing a virus I’m going to put into the rice. Okay? Now imagine I slip a rubber over my penis.’ And he ran his forefinger and thumb down the length of his little finger. ‘And this represents the protein overcoat of the virus. Because, after all, what is a virus except a gene with a protein overcoat?’
    Margaret nodded. ‘Okay.’
    McCord said, ‘So, to this overcoat I attach the gene fragments I want to introduce to the rice – the stuff that’s going to make it disease and insect-resistant. We insert the virus into the rice, like the penis into the vagina. Only, once inside the rubber slips off and sends my gene fragments to all the right places, like sperm to the egg.’ He sat back, pleased with himself, and drained his glass.
    Margaret was incensed. ‘So, effectively, you’ve contaminated the entire rice crop of China with a virus.’
    McCord nodded happily. ‘Sure. But it’s a harmless plant virus. Hell, we eat the damned things all the time. And a virus is the best carrier for the genes. ’Cos, you see, a virus only has one aim in life, and that’s to reproduce. So it carries the genes into every cell, and bingo! We just helped Mother Nature do a better job.’
    Margaret shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you’ve actually gone into production with this stuff, that you actually think you’re somewhere up there with “Mother Nature”. Jesus Christ, McCord, you’re tinkering at the edges of a billion years of evolution. You can’t possibly know what kind of monster you’re releasing into the environment.’
    ‘Dr McCord,’ a friendly voice boomed out, and a big hand slapped down on his shoulder.
    Margaret looked up, startled to see Bob with Li Yan and Li’s animated friend from the table downstairs. It was the friend who greeted McCord with such bonhomie. McCord looked up at him, confused.
    ‘What … Who the hell are you?’
    ‘Ma Yongli. Chef at the Jingtan. Don’t you remember? Good friend of Lotus. She’s waiting for you back at the hotel.’ He grinned and winked.
    ‘Is she? I didn’t know that.’
    ‘She says you