Miasma

Eighteen

They rose and stretched their limbs. Steven looked down into the lab as his attention was caught by one of the bio-safety people coming in to disconnect the CCTV camera and deal with the glass capsule container. He was wearing boots and protective overalls, but had taken off his hood and visor. He looked up at the gallery, unable to communicate because there was no intercom; he was looking for guidance as to where the capsules should be taken. He pointed at the glass container and Mary signed to him with five fingers, which Steven presumed was a lab number. The man held up his hand to confirm the direction.

Unfortunately, he was holding a handful of cable in that hand and it caught the edge of the glass capsule container, knocking it clean off the bench. It hit the floor and smashed into several pieces, causing him to throw up his hands in dismay. He looked up at the gallery, making a gesture of apology and Mary held up hers, wearing an expression somewhere between resignation and reassurance. The man bent down to recover the capsules and start clearing up... before recoiling in horror and attempting to leap backwards — unsuccessfully as it turned out because of the boots he was wearing. He tumbled to the floor and was left sitting there, making signs repeatedly to indicate that things had burst open.

‘The capsules have ruptured!’ exclaimed Steven.

Burns turned away immediately and smashed the glass over an alarm button on the wall, using the small hammer attached and filling the air with whooping sounds.

‘How in God’s name did that happen?’ demanded Mary to no one in particular.

Steven looked to the audio technician who had turned pale and he stammered, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t switch it off... I’d finished going through the whole range of frequencies and nothing had happened so I thought it was all over and done with. I didn’t bother switching the transmitter off completely because I thought I would be re-setting the intercom: it would still be transmitting at the highest possible frequency in the range.’

‘We all thought it was over and done with,’ said Macmillan reassuringly to the man who was obviously stricken with guilt.

‘Can you get on with restoring the intercom?’ Mary asked. ‘I have to talk to the man down there.

‘Sure,’ said the technician, who immediately got to work, still muttering about how sorry he was. He had communications up and running within a matter of minutes.

Mary looked down at the man below, ‘Terry, isn’t it?’

The man nodded, unable to take his eyes off the gaping capsules on the floor.

‘Terry, did you touch anything or did you feel anything touch you when the capsules opened?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I wasn’t conscious of anything.’

‘Good, you have been exposed to Marburg virus, but it can’t harm you unless you touched it or anything contaminated with it touched your bare skin. Norman Burns is organising a decontamination team who will be with you shortly and they’ll deal with what’s on the floor. They’ll wash you down with strong disinfectant as you stand in your overalls and then you’ll remove all your clothing before going through to the exit shower and spending at least ten minutes scrubbing yourself thoroughly. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sure you know the routine.’

‘Sure.’

‘We’ll send you off to hospital where they’ll keep you in, just to keep an eye on you for few days, but the chances are, you’ll be as right as rain, all understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good man. This took all of us by surprise, but, if it’s any comfort, you’ve just saved us the trouble of setting up another experiment. We already know the answer.’

Terry, a man of very few words in his current situation, did not comment.

Mary turned to the audio technician and said, ‘Charlie, do you think you can get someone to turn off that bloody awful noise?’ She glanced up at the still-whooping siren.

‘You bet.’

Steven had been watching Mary Penrose deal with the emergency and was full of admiration for her. She had been calm, efficient, decisive and concerned throughout and he wanted to tell her that, but, like many men in 2018, he was unsure about what he should and shouldn’t say to women any more. He settled for, ‘Well done.’

‘I think that’s something I should be saying to you,’ said Mary. ‘You were absolutely right in your thinking... although the world is a sadder place for it.’

‘She is absolutely right,’ said Steven to Macmillan on the drive back to London.

‘Who? About what?’

‘Mary Penrose and what she said about the world being a sadder place. Think of all the money and talent that has been poured into creating these damned capsules, Jesus! It makes you despair of the human race.’

‘Mm, unfortunately, people like us cannot afford the luxury of such proclamations from the moral high-ground,’ said Macmillan. ‘we have to figure out why the bastards did it.’

‘Touché,’ said Steven with a smile.

‘Don’t take it personally, I know exactly what you mean.’

The two men lapsed into silence, looking out the windows of the police Range Rover at the world flashing past until Macmillan said, ‘Penny for them.’

Steven laughed and said, ‘I haven’t heard anyone say that in years, but, as you’ve asked... I know the two English scientists took a shed-load of money for contributing their expertise and design skills and it looks awful, but I’m finding it hard to believe that either of them would have agreed to any plan that would have involved anyone using their lifetime’s work to murder people.’

‘You don’t think it’s a case of scientists handing matches to a baby and absolving themselves from all responsibility over what happens afterwards?’

‘I suppose... I suppose,’ Steven conceded.

‘But you think they may have swallowed some different story?’

‘I think it possible they believed they were doing what they were doing for genuine humanitarian reasons. They might well have accepted that they were designing something to enable multiple vaccine inoculations at varying times from one tiny implant and that some pharma company must have come up with the cash, perhaps looking for a world monopoly.’

‘But there was no pharma company money,’ said Macmillan, ‘The Russian expats have been financing it for their own ends and that can only mean making money — even more than the fortune they shelled out to make the damned things. Can’t see why myself, the capsules are pretty useless as a weapon; who is going to buy them.’

‘We’ll have to tell the World Health Organisation,’ said Steven. ‘We must assume that it was capsules Petrov was sending to Lagarde in Geneva in the other containers he sent from Beer Sheva.’

‘Do you think they might be lying around there?’

‘Actually, no,’ exclaimed Steven with a pained expression, suddenly remembering that someone at Beer Sheva had said that Lagarde forwarded the containers almost as soon as they arrived in Geneva.

‘To where?’

‘No one who was asked knew.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t tell WHO just yet,’ said Macmillan, ‘it might get to the wrong ears.’

‘Agreed,’ said Steven, ‘but, who should we tell?’

‘I think the PM will have to be told.’

Steven seemed unsure, prompting Macmillan to say, ‘You don’t agree?’

‘It’s going to create an... unusual situation,’ said Steven. ‘We don’t know if MI6 found their snake in the grass and we can’t request that she keep Six out of the loop — same goes for the Home Secretary; Six is his responsibility.’

‘Oh my God,’ sighed Macmillan, ‘we’re faced with that old adage again, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.’

‘The PM doesn’t actually know about our visit to Porton today,’ said Steven, ‘the last request she was involved in was over my asking them to keep the capsules somewhere isolated and safe.’

‘And what she doesn’t know can’t harm her?’

‘Just for the time being.’

Steven waited for Tally to call with what were becoming the usual feelings of trepidation surrounding the prospect of having to tell her the truth about anything that had been going on, so much so that he decided he would ask her if they could agree to avoid the subject of his investigation entirely until they were together again. He just couldn’t face the prospect of opening a cupboard so full of skeletons over the phone and then try telling her there was nothing to worry about. Amputated limbs, dead Russians, keeping secrets from the prime minister and Marburg virus being set free were just all part of the daily routine.

This line of thought brought Steven to considering what he was going to say or do if Tally announced that she was coming home in the next few days. He was staring at the Glock pistol hanging over the corner of a chair in its holster and thinking how much Tally hated seeing it in their flat... when the phone rang.

‘How good to hear your voice,’ said Steven.

‘And yours, I’m not even going to ask you where you were last night when I called, I’m just so relieved that you answered tonight. No, don’t say anything. I know you are engaged in some awful investigation and that you will be in danger whatever you say. I’ve learned from the past, I won’t ask any questions until I come home because doing so will make it even worse for you and I need you to concentrate on taking care. We can talk about things then.’

Steven felt a lump come to his throat. ‘We both have to concentrate on taking care.’ Feeling slightly silly, he asked, ‘How was your day?’ which made Tally laugh and Steven to think what a lovely sound that was.

‘Uneventful,’ said Tally, ‘none of us have managed to make plans because our regional manager, Marcus Altman, hasn’t returned from his tour round the entire region: he’s checking that there are no cases of Ebola being concealed. We’ll all just have to wait.’

‘Have you seen your friend, Monique again?’

Tally said not. ‘She doesn’t like being seen with me, the villagers start thinking she’s consorting with the enemy.’

‘Surely she knows you’re not the enemy.’

‘I think she does, but she’s the one who has to live here.’

‘Nothing’s ever easy,’ Steven said with a sigh.

‘Loving you is,’ said Tally out of the blue and the lump returned to Steven’s throat.

‘Are you still there?’

‘MI6 want to speak to you,’ said John Macmillan when Steven arrived at the Home Office in the morning.

‘Any idea why?’

‘C didn’t say.’

Steven noted Macmillan’s clipped tones and suspected that he wasn’t too pleased at not being told what was going on. He felt obliged to assure him that he didn’t know either. ‘Maybe he has some news about Jane Sherman,’ he suggested.

‘Only one way to find out,’ said Macmillan.

Steven made his way over to Albert Embankment, enjoying the walk but feeling curious about what he was going to hear. Good news or bad news, he wondered.

‘Thanks for coming,’ said, C, the head of MI6, not M as people imagined from the Bond movies.

‘I was actually preparing to go over to the hospital to see how Jane Sherman was doing when Sir John said you wanted to see me,’ Steven said, ‘Have you heard anything this morning?’

‘She’s holding her own, the doctors think they’ve found the right antibiotic combination. They’re optimistic.’

‘Good.’

‘I understand you and Jane have been... collaborating over a few things?’

‘There’s nothing like being run over by a Range Rover for bringing people together,’ said Steven, immediately regretting his hasty tongue.

C ignored the comment and said, ‘As Jane is hors de combat at the moment, is there anything you would like to tell me?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Steven thoughtfully, matching C’s steady gaze with his own.

‘Are you sure?

‘I think so... have you found the mole who leaked information about Jane’s whereabouts, which led to the loss of her leg?’

‘Point taken,’ said C after more than a moment’s thought. ‘We have, the problem has been... resolved.’

‘Good,’ said Steven, ‘then perhaps there are things we should talk about.’ He told him about the capsules and what had gone on at Porton.

‘Ah,’ said C. ‘We knew about Marburg disease going walk-about, now we know why.’

‘Perhaps you have some information for me?’ Steven suggested.

C smiled and said, ‘US Intelligence have been making progress with their investigation into world-aid authorities. They have discovered a network of some highly placed individuals who they believe are involved in a very high-level conspiracy, although they don’t know or aren’t giving details about at the moment. Phillipe Lagarde, you know about, I’ll give you the names of some of the others in case you should come across them.’ He handed over a memory stick. ‘It’s encrypted, but I’ve made you the addressee: you can open it with your log-in details. Read and make any notes you want to within thirty minutes. After that it will self-destruct.’

‘Thanks.’

‘When I exchanged a few words with Jane this morning, I mentioned I would be seeing you. She said to tell you, “Macallan”. That’s all, I’ve no idea what she meant...’

‘Our little secret,’ said Steven.

‘Cheers,’ said C, making Steven smile at his choice of word.

With two miniatures of Macallan malt delivered to Jane Sherman along with a warning to wait until her antibiotic course was finished, Steven went back to the Home Office and brought John Macmillan up to speed, telling him that C had been wondering about the apparent sharing of information between himself and Jane Sherman.

‘He knew about the Marburg problem at Porton, so I told him about the capsules after he assured me that the mole at Six had been dealt with. In exchange, he gave me some information about the progress US Intelligence has been making into infiltration of organised crime in world-aid organisations.’ Steven took out the memory stick he’d been given. ‘He gave me some new names, they think there is some big conspiracy currently active.’

‘Endless bad news,’ sighed Macmillan, ‘When it came to good versus evil in the world, I always used to think that good had the upper hand, now I’m not so sure.’

‘Then us good guys will just have to work harder,’ said Steven, noticing that he’d managed to make Macmillan smile.

‘Well,’ said Macmillan, ‘In that capacity, I am off to a meeting to discuss Brexit and its effect on security matters at the Foreign Office.’

‘Good luck with that.’

Steven sat down at his computer and inserted the memory stick C had given him. There were six names on it. Apart from Phillipe Lagarde — who had a little cross next to him — Steven only had eyes for one other and it brought him no comfort at all, Marcus Altman.

He knew that Altman was the WHO manager of the region in DRC where Tally was working and that he was currently checking the region for any last-minute problems before okaying a withdrawal. Tally had mentioned his name from time to time, suggesting that he was one of the more experienced and helpful people she had come across, a long-term employee of WHO, who had worked all over the world, often in dangerous situations, but then he remembered feeling much the same about Phillipe Lagarde without ever having met the man.

Altman’s name had come up again when he had insisted on paying for food and drink for Tally’s get-together for her area volunteers when the outbreak was declared over — although he remembered Tally saying that he had been nervous about any suggestion of throwing a party for fear of adverse press coverage. That might suggest he was aware of heightened scrutiny of aid organisations.

He muttered a series of expletives under his breath as he struggled to understand what was going on. To say that Altman’s name popping up and appearing to forge a connection between his investigation and Tally’s work was unwelcome would be a huge understatement.

Steven tried thinking of any other occasion when Tally had mentioned Altman’s name, but couldn’t come up with anything concrete, then he remembered an official WHO report, which Tally had asked him to check out for her. When he pointed out that she had already seen the report — she had requested it from the WHO manager, planning to check the spread of the Ebola outbreak back in 2014-16, Tally had agreed that that was the case, but she’d returned it and didn’t want to ask for it again. She had been reluctant to discuss her reasons, preferring instead to ask him to check for her. On that occasion she had been seeking reassurance that the vaccine used at the time had not harmed anyone. Was there something else in the report she had been concerned about?

Steven had read through that report too and recalled feeling appalled at the huge numbers of people who had been killed or affected through loss of family and friends. It had been a tragedy on a monumental scale. He hadn’t read the report in minute detail, but he did remember the graph charting the spread of the disease — the one that Tally would have been most interested in. It charted a normal spread until, at a certain point... the disease appeared to pop up everywhere at once. Did that catch Tally’s eye too? In a few hours he could ask her.

In the meantime, he went back to thinking about Phillipe Lagarde, brave, selfless Phillipe, who, according to US Intelligence was involved in high-level crime. Had he conned them all with his apparent care and concern in DRC at the height of an Ebola outbreak, and in Afghanistan when tackling persistent Polio outbreaks... and in Uganda... during an eruption of Marburg disease... Brave Phillipe followed disease around the globe... or did he really? was the thought that nailed Steven to his chair. Was it conceivable that it was the other way around... that disease followed Phillipe around the globe?

The familiar feeling of ice on his spine and a hollow in his stomach appeared as he steeled himself to think things through. He found himself beckoned into a world of absolute horror. The capsules were not one-offs, they were versatile — Steven backed off; what a word to use, but he couldn’t find a suitable alternative, adaptable? multifaceted? These words were kind and complimentary — how could they possible be used to describe a vehicle made to deliver a killer disease of choice? Marburg, Polio, Ebola, Lassa Fever... That’s what Petrov had been doing in the lab at Beer Sheva before sending them off to Lagarde to re-direct at will. The capsules were not designed as, or being used as, any kind of direct weapon, they were implants! Implants to be inserted under the skin of selected groups of people under the pretence of vaccinating them. At any time after that, the implants could be triggered by exposing the carriers to appropriate sound waves, causing the implants to rupture and epidemic disease to break out in the population.

Steven’s imagination was under severe challenge when it came to estimating the amount of damage that could be done in the world. It seemed limitless.

What kind of a sick mind would... Steven had to apply the brakes again; it couldn’t be that simple. This was a very long way from being the action of one sick individual... there were lots of people involved, rich people, clever people, brilliant people, successful people... there was still so much more to this.