Free The Swan Song of Doctor Malloy by Robert Power Page A

value. To give. My work. My quest to stop the spread of disease. I have strived for this breakthrough, achieved it against the expectations of peers and detractors. And how much of it is for self-aggrandisement and acclaim? To feel a sense of worth? To be applauded? Some, there is no doubt. But it is also to help the last to be helped. The children in hospitals in the forgotten countries whose parents are asked to select from a tray of blood-encrusted syringes: Russian roulette in Asia and Africa.
    â€˜You’re deep in thought,’ says Mary. ‘Cappuccino or espresso?’
    â€˜Oh, latte please. Decaffeinated, no sugar.’
    For someone who has funnelled up cocaine and downed whiskey as though there was an imminent worldwide shortage, I have always been careful about my coffee and sugar intake.
    We take a seat in the corner of the room. It is time to focus on the matter in hand and clear up a few issues.
    â€˜Okay, Dr Foster, maybe you could explain a few things for me. To start with, why here?’ I look around at the banners with their messianic proclamations and the acolytes riveted to the video screens.
    â€˜There is nothing to be concerned about,’ she says. ‘I wanted us to meet somewhere where we could speak openly and privately. Somewhere where we wouldn’t be disturbed.’
    â€˜I hadn’t given it much thought, but for some reason I imagined this would be some kind of a medical convention or pharmaceutical meeting.’
    â€˜Not quite, as you can see. But it’s a place where we can have a frank discussion.’
    Looking around at all the studious faces transfixed by the speaker, I’d have to agree it’s unlikely we’ll be interrupted.
    â€˜Let me get to the point,’ continues Mary, the tone of her voice changing. ‘I want to make you an offer you are most unlikely to refuse.’
    She pauses, making sure she has my full attention. She does.
    â€˜You have developed a brilliant product. A syringe that can only be used once. Our research team briefed me and I am cognisant of its implications. If we can persuade the big international donors to take it up it will have massive impacts on disease control and immunisation programs.’
    â€˜Very good.’ I’m impressed. ‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have some prototypes, but we need to see if we can produce it first. If we can source the right materials for mass production.’
    â€˜In any event,’ she says, ‘it all comes down to you and the revolutionary one-use syringe. A syringe that locks once its contents are emptied. No passing on of dirty syringes, no infection through injection. Sounds like an ad. We could use that. Anyway, you need to find a sponsor to take your syringe idea around the world. As you say, to find the best raw materials. To select the right partners. I represent that kind of backing. We will put up all the expenses. The hotels, the air flights, per diems to meet all your needs. We can, and will, make all the right contacts for you. Government ministers, heads of big pharmaceutical corporations, lab directors. As I said before, we have a special budget to promote your type of work. It’s good for our image, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
    â€˜I’m not that aware, to be honest,’ I say. ‘Until you called me I’d not come across your company before. I know your parent company, Doreale. My department has received research funds from them before. In fact, most of the equipment in my lab came out of that grant.’
    I fail to mention the grant also part-funded my cocaine habit for most of that particular year.
    A baby cries loudly in the background. Mary F places a classy-looking briefcase on the table, clicks it open and produces a glossy brochure that she hands to me.
    â€˜This is our business plan and portfolio. It’s no surprise you haven’t come across us yet,’ she says, closing and