The Beijing conspiracy

CHAPTER 87

‘W elcome back guys,’ Curtis said, refraining from giving Kate a kiss on the cheek. He shook hands with her and Imran as they arrived at his office. ‘Coffee? It’s my own machine you know,’ he said, giving Kate a wink.

‘So what’s been happening while we’ve been away?’ Imran asked.

‘Usual suspects on the TV,’ Curtis replied. ‘President Bolton’s closing the gap on Halliwell but if either of those get up it’ll be bad news in my book. I suspect the average American is beginning to get very nervous about Kadeer’s final solution threat and Bolton’s taking a hard line. We’re not getting anything definitive on Beijing but the hooplah is in full swing and the American athletes leave for the Games shortly. How was Singapore and the world of microbiology?’

‘Singapore was a good break but the world of microbiology is more dangerous than ever I’m afraid,’ Imran said somberly. ‘I think we should be suggesting that this program be shut down. Dolinsky’s proved it can be done and we can store his vaccine; that’s been a truly remarkable achievement, but I think the Ebolapox stocks should be destroyed.’

‘I suspect we won’t have much more luck with that than we’ve had with smallpox but we can give it a shot. The DDO’s still tied up, he’ll give me a yell when he’s ready.

‘I grabbed this before I left Halliwell just in case your in-tray gets low,’ Kate said with a grin, retrieving ‘The Halliwell Report’ from her bag and handing it to Curtis. She relaxed back into a chair that would not have been out of place among the relics in Tom McNamara’s office. ‘The latest piece of extravagance to come out of the thirty-seventh floor.’

‘Must have cost a fortune,’ Curtis said, as he idly thumbed through over a hundred glossy pages covered in marketing hype and coloured photographs. A sizeable proportion of them were of Richard Halliwell presenting cheques to charity organisations or hosting luncheons and dinners for visiting dignitaries. He was about to put the report back on his desk when he came to the start of the financial pages. The section began with a letter confirming the outstanding financial position of the company and predicted even greater growth for Halliwell in the years ahead. At the end of the letter was a signature – Dr Alan Ferraro, Chief Financial Officer, but it was the photograph of Ferraro that caught Curtis’ attention.

‘Have you met Halliwell’s Chief Financial Officer, this Dr Ferraro?’ Curtis asked.

Kate shook her head.

‘I’ve been introduced to him very briefly; he works on the floor below us so we don’t have any contact. Why?’ Imran asked.

‘I have the distinct feeling I’ve seen a photograph of this guy or someone very like him somewhere before,’ Curtis said, racking his brain, then he remembered. It was the nose.

‘I wonder.’ With a mixture of anticipation and rising anger at the memory of it all, Curtis turned to his computer and called up the gruesome images of the young agent’s burning car outside the Taliban madrassa in Peshawar. Although Dr Alan Ferraro was no longer sporting a beard, the resemblance was uncanny.

‘Have a look at this,’ Curtis said to Kate and Imran, turning his screen so they could see the images. ‘Some time ago we lost a young agent near Peshawar. We’ve been looking for that guy there,’ Curtis said, pointing to the image of al-Falid’s bearded face and hooked nose, ‘and I’m wondering if Dr Alan Ferraro might also be Dr Amon al-Falid.’

‘There’s a strong resemblance,’ Kate agreed. Curtis knew only too well that al-Falid had left the country on an academic sabbatical but despite extensive efforts to track his return, he hadn’t shown up on any of the Customs or Homeland Security’s crosschecks and Michigan University had never heard of him.

Curtis typed in a request to Homeland Security for a report on Alan Ferraro’s movements in the past two years. Even with the most sophisticated checks, if the two passports had never been matched, it was still possible for someone to leave as Dr Amon al-Falid and return as Dr Alan Ferraro.