The Secret

TWENTY EIGHT

Steven replaced the Glock in its holster and took out Andrews’ gun from his pocket. He removed the magazine and threw the clip in the river before handing the weapon back to Andrews. ‘You’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘What happens now? Where are we going?’ asked Andrews at the top of the steps.

‘My place.’

With Andrews sitting at his kitchen table, his socks and shoes drying on a radiator, Steven put a mug of coffee down in front of him and said, ‘Now, tell me everything.’

‘Only a few at the very top know everything,’ said Andrews ruefully.

Steven didn’t feel inclined to argue. ‘Then tell me what you do know. Tell me why my friend and four other people have been murdered and tell me exactly what your lot and mine have been up to in Afghanistan.’

‘As I understand it, we’ve been trying out an agent developed at Fort Detrick on remote populations of people in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. I know it sounds awful but I’m told it was absolutely essential to carry out this work in the national interest of our countries.’

‘Why?’

Andrews grew uncomfortable. ‘I don’t rightly know.’

This elicited a cold, blank stare from Steven.

‘I really don’t. To be honest, the agent didn’t appear to make people that sick but I was told that there was to be more than one stage to the operation. Fort Detrick and your Porton Down were preparing the next stages.’

‘Go on.’

‘Your friend, Simone and her team came across one of the villages by accident. I don’t think she realised what was going on but she was pretty upset about the children’s vaccination schedules and wanted to complain about that. It was no big deal for us. By that time all the right people had been told about the CIA teams looking for Bin Laden’

‘So why kill her?’

Andrews swallowed nervously. ‘I swear to God, man, I don’t know. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘But?’

‘Presumably, Simone knew more than she let on or maybe she got hold of something that really pissed somebody off.’

‘Like Khan?’

‘I guess. We thought Khan was with us but it turns out that he is part of a Pakistani faction that has plans for taking on India in a big way. The old enemy.’

‘How did you reach that conclusion?’

‘My boss told me something had gone badly wrong. The guys at Fort Detrick were ready with the final stage of the experiment — or whatever you want to call it. One of their top scientists was sent out to a top-level meeting in Pakistan with a CIA led team. The guy was supposed to bring our allies up to speed but they never made it. They set off from Islamabad one morning with a guide from Pakistani Intelligence and disappeared off the face of the planet. We think the guide set them up.’

‘So the information fell into the wrong hands?’

‘We thought not. The agency didn’t trust Pakistani Intelligence. They had a plan B in place if there was any kind of double cross. It was deployed when our guy didn’t call in by a certain time and we thought the info had been destroyed along with the punks who ambushed our guys but new intelligence says not. Khan’s behaviour suggests it’s still out there somewhere.’

Steven didn’t tell Andrews what it was or where. ‘But presumably Fort Detrick still has all the details?’

‘Oh sure, it’s just a question of them not wanting the info to fall into the wrong hands.’

‘Or any hands other than theirs,’ said Steven.

Andrews shrugged. ‘Hey, maybe that’s what Simone discovered?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So where do we go from here?’

‘I take it you’re taking steps to deal with Khan, now he’s no longer one of your pals?’

Andrews looked uncomfortable again. ‘Khan’s crimes are seen as a European affair. We don’t like to… interfere in the internal affairs of our allies.’

‘Isn’t that just the sweetest thing…’ said Steven.

Andrews looked down at the table top. ‘What do you intend to do now?’ he asked.

Steven shook his head. ‘Just go,’ he said. ‘Just go.’

Nothing more was said as Steven waited for Andrews to put his socks and shoes on before showing him the door. Steven opened the kitchen window to let out the lingering odour of Thames-soaked footwear before closing the door behind him and going through to the lounge where he poured himself a drink.

‘Jesus,’ he muttered as he started to assess what he’d learned from the encounter with Andrews. Not a lot was his conclusion although it was nice to have what he’d already worked out confirmed. The British, US and Pakistani governments had colluded over the testing of a new bio-agent on people in the North West Frontier — or whatever they called it now. If that was good enough for Kipling, it would do for him he thought, feeling bolshie about the whole business.

Andrews had said that carrying out the experiment was of the utmost importance to the security of all their countries although he didn’t know why. That, Steven concluded, was still a secret — the secret known by the few. He’d had enough for one day; he called Tally. He didn’t want to tell her anything about his day; he just wanted to hear her voice.

Macmillan called just after ten when Steven, feeling better after talking to Tally, was watching the news on TV. He killed the sound and listened expectantly.

‘The computer people have recovered the content of a letter sent from the prime minister’s office to Tom North. ‘It impresses on North that what they call “the discovery” must remain secret at all costs until such times as Porton or Fort Detrick have come up with a way of dealing with what they term “the problem”. Make any sense?’

After considering for a few moments, Steven said not.

‘I’m going to tell the computer people to go home and get some rest,’ said Macmillan. ‘They’ve done well and with a bit of luck they’ll come up with more tomorrow.’

‘I was going to leave off telling you this until tomorrow,’ said Steven, ‘but, as you’ve called, I had a bit of a run-in with Bill Andrews of the CIA earlier on…’

Steven heard the short intake of breath at the other end of the phone which translated in his mind into, “All I need”. ‘I caught him following me. He insists he was going to warn me about Khan having gone rogue. After a bit of a chat, I think I believe him. He says Khan is part of some militant anti-India faction but he doesn’t know what he’s after.’

‘Did you tell him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ask him about the secret?’

‘He doesn’t know any more than we do.’

‘Pity, still, let’s hope for a more productive tomorrow.’

Steven went through to the kitchen and closed the window: all traces of his earlier guest had now gone. He felt hungry but, as he hadn’t made a visit to a supermarket for some time, wasn’t quite sure what he had in store and he thought it too late to send out for take-away food.

The fridge revealed some bacon with a slightly greenish sheen to it when held at an angle and a small slab of cheddar cheese that Sir Alexander Fleming might have been able to make a significant discovery on in another era. The lettuce looked as if the US Air Force had attacked it with Agent Orange and the duck paté might have served well in the pointing of brickwork. The cupboard above the fridge however, yielded a large tin of corned beef and a small one of baked beans which gave his morale a boost and prompted him to murmur, ‘And a Michelin star goes to… Steven Dunbar.’

As always, after a day in which a lot had happened, Steven was finding it difficult to unwind. His earlier plan to have a long soak had of course, been scuppered by the encounter with Andrews, something which had sent his adrenalin levels soaring and it was taking a long time for them to subside. He was no longer hungry; he didn’t want any more to drink; he didn’t want to watch TV but he knew if he went to bed, he wouldn’t sleep. He seemed destined to continue fidgeting until he realised there was a way he could speed the unwinding process up. He checked the weather outside from the window before changing into a track suit and trainers. It was one in the morning but he was going out for run. He would run until exhaustion freed him from restlessness.

An hour later Steven arrived back at Marlborough Court thinking he might have overdone it as sweat dripped from his face on to the floor of the lift and he experienced the slight feeling of nausea that athletes encountered when pushing themselves to the limit. It passed without incident however and was replaced by a pleasant endorphin rush once he had showered and settled down with a cold Peroni beer. He was enjoying a warm feeling of well-being when the phone rang.

Phone calls were never welcome in the small hours of the morning; no one ever phoned with good news at that time. Steven answered in trepidation, running through a range of possibilities in his head. None of them applied.

‘Dr Dunbar?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Perhaps you’d like three guesses, Doctor?’

The cultured voice and Pakistani accent made Steven’s blood run cold. He was talking to Simone’s killer, Khan.

‘You have something I want Doctor and I would be grateful if you would deliver it to me.’

Alarm bells were ringing in Steven’s head. Khan sounded too sure of himself, like a man about to show a hand of four aces. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Forget the nonsense, please. There isn’t time as you are about to appreciate. I want the memory card or the next time you see your daughter will be at her funeral.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Steven, feeling sick to his stomach. ‘My daughter? What the hell are you talking about?’

Steven stopped when a familiar voice came on the line. ‘Daddy, Daddy, there’s a bad man in the house…’

‘Jenny?’

Khan was back on the line. ‘I don’t have to warn you about involving outside agencies. That goes without saying. Start by flying into Edinburgh Airport with the card. Be there by noon and await my instructions.’