Radical Reaction Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  RADICAL REACTION

  First edition. May 31, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Dawn Marsanne.

  ISBN: 978-1386610496

  Written by Dawn Marsanne.

  RADICAL REACTION

  by

  Dawn Marsanne

  For Jonathan

  My constant companion

  With love

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Author’s note

  Prologue

  ‘How reliable is he?’

  ‘He’s solid. He’s passed all the tests.’

  ‘You trust him?’

  ‘I do. We’ve been on the lookout for someone in that location. He fits the bill perfectly.’

  ‘Excellent. Good work.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘The usual training programme. Then we make a decision based on that. Too early to say at the moment.’

  ‘You aren’t worried he will be too keen, take too many risks?’

  ‘Stop worrying. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

  ‘OK, keep in touch. Another disciple. We need a name for him.’

  ‘Leave it to me. I’ve got one in mind.’

  Chapter 1

  The young girl known in the profession as Sylvie climbed off Ron Radford and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Ron lay on his back, satisfied and spent. A faint sheen of sweat was visible on his flushed face. He was using one of the smaller rooms reserved for his own personal use, in his hotel, The Cedars. He was in the intermediate world between sleep and consciousness where time blurred at the edges and his thoughts and senses felt subdued after being pushed to the limit by the recent intense sexual encounter.

  Sylvie emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.

  ‘Will you be requiring me again this evening, Mr Radford?’ she asked, dropping the towel from her voluptuous figure.

  ‘Take your money, it’s on the side and piss off,’ he replied without turning to look at her.

  Despite owning a large seven bedroom house, Brensford Manor on the outskirts of Persford, there were certain activities which were confined to a location remote from his own hallowed domain. He didn’t want the likes of Sylvie to contaminate his possessions or surroundings which he’d spent a lifetime accumulating. Now in his sixties, Ron availed himself of Sylvie’s company on a weekly or sometimes twice-weekly basis. Perhaps if he met someone in the future for a longer term relationship he would be able to dispense with Sylvie or one of her colleagues. On this occasion as frequently happened his animal desires managed to overcome his feelings of shame and embarrassment.

  Sylvie dressed in silence, unperturbed by his brusque manner which she had become accustomed to. Had other clients spoken to her in the same way she would have responded in the same vein but she knew better than to upset Ron. On the whole, the job was bearable, she serviced the higher end of the market and some of her customers gave her gifts in addition to the agreed payment.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Radford,’ she asked.

  ‘Just fuck off and leave me alone,’ he replied cruelly.

  Ron’s reply had been uttered without making eye contact. She would return when summoned probably in a week’s time. She had noticed that the twice-weekly requests were becoming less frequent. Her client was definitely losing some of his potency which was only to be expected for someone of his age. She had heard through the grapevine that he’d had some slight heart problem a few years ago so, in view of that, he was in quite a reasonable shape for his age. He still had an adequate head of dark hair with a sprinkling of grey most noticeable at the temples. He couldn’t be described exactly as handsome but far from repulsive like some of her customers. Even though he had always been pleasant with her she knew that he had a cold, callous streak and rumours abounded about the fate of people who had foolishly dared to challenge him. At times, just like now, he seemed to have drifted off into another world, totally consumed by his thoughts. Was she imagining it but could she detect a hint of evil lurking beneath the surface?

  Sylvie left the room and Ron felt relieved that he was once more on his own. The familiar feelings of depression and disgust began to encompass him. It was six months since the death of his second wife Shirley and now that a respectable period had elapsed perhaps he could start to socialise a little more. He was a wealthy man and that would certainly attract the ladies but he would make sure to weed out any gold-diggers, he wasn’t a charity. Hopefully, he could meet someone of a similar social standing to himself and with some financial independence.

  Shirley had been a trophy bride with little money to her name when they first met although she had served as a useful tax vehicle and director in name of some of his enterprises. At the time he’d needed a wife who would care for his only daughter who was still grieving for the loss of her birth mother. Sadly he no longer needed anyone to be a step-mother to Natasha. Now it was time to find a partner who would be a perfect fit for himself and might be mutually advantageous in growing the Radford empire even more. He had more money than he would ever need but acquiring more wealth and employing it in new ventures became a drug to feed a habit. As with all habits, a tolerance developed and more and more was needed to achieve the same satisfaction. So it was with money and power.

  Ron sat up and swung his legs off the bed, stopping in front of the full length mirror to study his reflection. He was under no illusion that age was taking its toll on his physique but as he turned sideways he was pleased that his stomach was carrying only a few pounds more than it ideally should. He walked slowly into the bathroom stretching his arms above his head and rotating his back from side to side. He set the shower to hot and left it to run a few minutes. He leaned against the basin and peered into the mirror. His face was looking rugged as the seven o’clock shadow, as it used to be known, was quite apparent. Nowadays the youngsters had permanent designer stubble, an excuse for laziness in his opinion. He stepped into the shower and allowed the comforting jet of the power shower ease away any aches and pains. After ten minutes he emer
ged and donned the white towelling robe which was provided as standard for guests to his upmarket hotel.

  Returning to the bedroom, he saw that whilst he’d been in the shower he’d missed a call from his accountant, Sidney Failsworth. He listened to the voicemail.

  ‘Ron, I’m just letting you know that I’m emailing you through the documents for you to look through. We should be able to tie up the sale in the very near future. Give me a call back if there’s anything you need to discuss. Bye.’

  The documents concerned the sale of The Flamingo lap dancing club. Following recent events, Ron had decided that it was time to offload that particular avenue of his business empire. He’d decided on a shift in emphasis. Besides, he was bored with it and sick of sorting out the hopeless staff and problems with troublesome punters. The manager Clive had started to let things slide and a poor choice of doormen and security staff had resulted in accusations of brutality on several occasions.

  Now that Ron had decided to branch out into venture capital and support research at the university he felt this no longer fitted his portfolio. Several acquaintances had hinted that the site towards the edge of Persford would be an attractive plot for a property developer. There should be no problem gaining planning permission and the land could easily accommodate a block of eight or more flats. Ron didn’t care what the future held for The Flamingo as long as it was off his books and that was looking almost a done deal. This encouraging news was helping to dispel Ron’s post-coital air of despondency, he felt a sudden lightening of his mood. Carefully scanning the room, he was about ready to leave when his mobile rang again.

  ‘Hello, Gerald,’ he said. ‘How are things? How’s the world of drugs?’

  ‘Ha, very funny. Oh, fine, fine. Actually, it’s a social call. We’re having a dinner party on Wednesday evening, just a few friends at the house. We wondered if you’d like to come along?’

  Ron knew Gerald Shipton through the golf club and he’d also met him at various business dinners and fundraising events. Shirley hadn’t got on very well with Gerald’s wife Felicity so they’d not socialised very much but Ron liked the couple and Felicity was an excellent cook. Gerald owned a chain of independent pharmacies in the county having qualified as a pharmacist many years ago. More recently he had swapped dispensing for a life of leisure on the golf course, allowing his managers to spend their days standing in the shop dealing with the general public coughing all over the place and moaning about prescriptions not being ready immediately.

  ‘Er, well, that’s kind of you. I’ll just have to check my diary and get back to you,’ lied Ron.

  ‘Well, we hope you will be free. Felicity wants to catch up with you as well, it’s been too long. It’s 7 p.m. for 7.30 pm, nothing fancy so no need to dress up. Text me if you can make it.’

  ‘Thanks, Gerald, I’ll get back to you soon. I’m just sorting out some problems here at the hotel. Usual staff problems giving me grief. You know how it is,’ laughed Ron.

  ‘Oh, tell me about it,’ sighed Gerald. ‘Hope to see you. Also, it’s time I showed you how to play golf properly,’ he joked.

  ‘In your dreams, mate,’ said Ron. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Ron ended the call. He felt he would definitely take them up on the invitation. It was time to get back into circulation.

  Chapter 2

  Matt Pearson, Brett Chandler and Nick Thomas were in a small meeting room at the University of Persford. The three partners of PerzSolve were discussing the next action points along the pathway to set up the University spin-off company PersCure. Their initial six-month contract had proved so beneficial that it had been extended for another term of the same length and as the drug discovery process inched along their input was still invaluable. The multi-faceted nature of the project relied on the disparate talents of the three scientists.

  ‘It’s times like this when I really miss Erin,’ said Brett, pressing the keys on his laptop and trying to get it to connect to the projector on the ceiling. ‘She was always so helpful getting it to work, she used to know exactly which keys to press!’ He smiled at the others and winked.

  ‘You wished she’d pressed your keys, you mean,’ added Matt. ‘She scared me, though.’

  ‘It brightened the day when she had to lean over and sort out the projector,’ laughed Brett.

  ‘Did you ever find out what happened to Erin?’ asked Nick.

  Brett shrugged. ‘It’s assumed she fled the area after her boyfriend got killed. I don’t think we will ever know. Apparently she wasn’t close to her family who were a bunch of criminals, allegedly,’ he added. ‘She’s not been reported missing by them, so she must be in hiding somewhere. We will never know, I guess. That’s what happens to a certain percentage of people, they just disappear.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think we have time for an episode of Crimewatch, today,’ said Matt. ‘I hope you can bring your minds back to chemistry and away from memories of Erin’s how shall we say, hourglass figure.’

  ‘You must be getting old, mate,’ said Brett. ‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have been tempted, given half a chance.’

  ‘That’s right, I wouldn’t, I would have been afraid of being eaten alive!’

  The three men laughed.

  ‘Right, let’s make a start,’ said Matt Pearson. ‘Firstly we need to discuss the final details for equity in the company. Brett, perhaps you can update us with the ongoing financial support we can be assured of?’

  Brett nodded and shuffled his papers in front of him.

  ‘Secondly, we need to ensure that we give the clinicians a gentle reminder to send us a protocol for Phase I and Phase II trials. I’ve contacted Rebecca in oncology to impress on her that we need to watch the timelines. It’s a bit frustrating sometimes with these academics, they aren’t business oriented.

  Professor Plumpton’s original discovery of this particular class of tyrosine kinase inhibitors for the treatment of glioblastoma brain cancers was still years away from a licence but so far it was looking extremely promising.

  ‘Well it’s a good thing they have us to advise them,’ added Brett. ‘At times they seem to take their eye off the ball.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll let you tell them that,’ smiled Matt.

  Dr Rebecca Levinson was the oncologist at the Persford Medical School and was the adviser in the field of cancer therapy for the project along with senior pharmacologist Dr Steve Carter. Rebecca had a reputation for being direct and intolerant of any criticism.

  ‘By the way, have you heard how Derek is?’ asked Brett.

  ‘I spoke to his wife a couple of days ago. It’s not good,’ said Matt. ‘He’s not well enough now to contribute anything to the project, he’s too ill. They are making plans for him to be admitted to a hospice.’

  ‘Poor, bugger, it’s such a shame,’ said Brett becoming serious after his earlier levity.

  It was a cruel twist of fate that the professor would most likely not even see the prototype drug UP-627-TK make it into a clinical trial involving patients. Derek had left the university with an ill-health retirement package a couple of months ago and had been forced to follow developments at a distance. Now he wasn’t able to even maintain the smallest connection with the department where he’d spent the majority of his research career.

  Matt continued, ‘Nick, there are a few related issues in your field which we need to thrash out, OK?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  ‘OK, Brett, you kick off,’ said Matt.

  ‘Well, I spoke to the lovely Hilary and it’s more or less agreed that there will be a fifty to fifty split of equity between private investors and the University. Everyone seems happy about it so we can get that incorporated into the business documents. Within those percentages then we need to allocate the equity and that’s not quite finalised yet. That’s the tricky part.’

  ‘Timelines?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Brett, raising his hand. ‘Let me carry on. Professor Plum will be a
llocated around five percent of the university equity in recognition of his initial concept. That seems standard.’ Brett could never resist shortening the professor’s name to Plum as in the board game Cluedo. ‘Our friend Phil Sweetman is pushing for some equity but Hilary is arguing against it. He’s not really made a huge contribution although he likes to make out he has. But in my opinion if he gets some shares then Pat should get some as well as he’s been managing the chemistry input just as much, that’s why his name is on the patent.’

  Pat Dunford was the senior post-doctoral research chemist on the project and had been responsible for supervising most of the work in Derek’s absence. They’d managed to secure another twelve-month contract for him and to their relief, he had accepted.

  ‘This is always a problem,’ said Matt, ‘people making out they’ve been instrumental when they’ve merely been passengers trying to capitalise on the success of others.’

  ‘Well, I’ve told Hilary to speak to him and she’s going to run it by Ian, as well.’

  Hilary Worksop was head of Innovation and Technology at the university with specific responsibility for finance in the area of start-up companies. Professor Ian French was head of the Science Faculty and thus Phil Sweetman’s boss. It was a well-known fact that Hilary had a bit of a crush on Brett and at times behaved like a coy schoolgirl in his presence. It was true that Brett was indeed handsome but as Hilary was now in her mid-forties her behaviour was rather embarrassing. Brett, of course, enjoyed the attention and was quick to capitalise on it at every opportunity. He’d managed to offload several tasks to Hilary as she was only too pleased to oblige, particularly when Brett suggested they should discuss progress over lunch or even a drink after work.

  ‘So, as for the remainder of the non-university funding. The venture capital side of things is going well. Subscriptions far exceeded our original expectations. There are a few weeks to go before we get notification of the final amounts but it’s looking very healthy. Also, there are some business angels willing to invest. Jake Marsfield being the one we’ve known about the longest. I’ve been keeping in regular contact with him since my trip to London.’