The Gulf Conspiracy

FOUR

‘You know, Warner, all my life I’ve looked forward to the springtime but not this year,’ said Sir James Gardiner as he and Peter Warner sauntered slowly through the park in the pale yellow sunshine of a spring afternoon. ‘It should have been obvious to me that I was getting old but for some reason it’s come as a bit of a shock.’

‘We all have days like that, Jimmy,’ said Warner.

‘No, I’m serious,’ said Gardiner. ‘I’ve had to face up to my own mortality and come to terms with the fact that it’s just not going to happen.’

‘What’s not going to happen?’

‘Our dream, man. Our dream of making England a place fit to live in again, an England where brains and initiative are rewarded, competition is encouraged and courtesy and manners are the norm. It’s just not going to happen. The party’s still a mess; they’ve had five bloody years to get their act together and they’ve blown it with their continual squabbling and manoeuvring. They’ve ended up with all the credibility of a used-car salesman. It’s quite clear Blair’s going to get in for another five years.

Warner offered no argument.

‘Well, that’s going to be an end to it as far as I’m concerned. By the time the next parliament’s over, or maybe the one beyond that if I’m still around to see it, our future will be entirely in the hands of an whole generation of foul-mouthed, nose-picking louts with degrees in media studies and social work from toy-town universities that couldn’t even teach the buggers to read and write. They’ll sit on their arses and expect to be pampered as their right because they always have been. When they find out that isn’t going to happen, there’s going to be anarchy but by that time there’ll be nothing worth saving anyway. New Labour, the patron saint of mediocrity, the guardian of all that is worthless, shallow and banal will have pissed away our entire heritage against the wall.’

‘It’s not like you to be so negative, Jimmy,’ said Warner. ‘I’ve never heard you speak like this before.

‘I’m not used to losing,’ said Gardiner. ‘It’s a bitter pill to swallow but our England has gone, Warner, it’s just a memory. I want you to call a meeting of the others. I’m going to disband the group and the organisation.’

They walked another ten paces in silence before Warner said, ‘I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve really thought this through because you obviously have but I really must ask you to reconsider, James. Surely at a time like this our country needs people like us more than ever?’

‘As a soldier, Warner, you know better than most that you don’t get into a fight you can’t win and we cannot win this one. We need the party to be in power for us to make a difference. We need a sympathetic infrastructure and that isn’t going to happen. The Tories are spiralling down the toilet in a vortex of their own making. You’d almost think they had a death wish. What ever possessed them to make that idiot schoolboy leader?’

‘He’ll go after the election, Jimmy and then we’ll get a more credible hand at the tiller. Word is it’s going to be Ken Clark. He’ll give Blair a run for his money at the despatch box.’

‘He’ll split the party right down the middle over Europe,’ said Gardiner. ‘Then we’ll be back to square one.’

‘I still think you should reconsider.’

‘No, my mind’s made up. I want you to call a meeting as soon as possible. We’ll clear up any loose ends and that’ll be that.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Alice and I have a place in the Highlands of Scotland where, thank God, it’s still possible to lead a civilised life without demands for wheelchair access and signs in Urdu.’

‘And only the Gordons are gay,’ added Warner with a smile.

‘Being called a nation of shopkeepers was bad enough,’ said Gardiner. ‘But God help us, we’ve become a nation of bent hairdressers. Set up that meeting, will you?’

‘If your mind’s made up I’ll try for next Friday.’

George Drummond, the lab manager, looked up from his desk and smiled as he saw Gus Maclean come in through the door of the bacteriology department. Maclean was wearing the same navy duffel coat that he seemed to have been wearing for decades. He watched him hang it on his peg by the door and then asked, ‘How did you get on at the weekend?’

‘Quite well,’ replied Maclean, donning his lab coat. ‘The MOD has agreed to look at the position again and come back to us with a new report before the end of the year.’

‘Well done. I’ll say this for you guys, you certainly don’t give up easily,’ said Drummond.

‘Damn right we don’t,’ said Maclean with a conviction that even Drummond, who had known Maclean for over twenty years, found chilling. He saw in his friend and colleague the same obsession he’d seen in certain relatives of those who had died in the Lockerbie air disaster. It was as if their lives had been frozen at a moment in time.

‘We even managed to get a commitment from them to make enquiries as to what was going on at Porton just before the war started,’ said Maclean.

‘Good,’ said Drummond, not at all sure that he meant it. He would much rather his friend had gotten over the tragedy that had struck at his life with the death of his wife and daughter and returned to being something more like the man he had known when they were younger, the man he had gone climbing with every weekend in the Highlands, the bloke who had played the dame with side-splitting success in the hospital pantomime, the bloke he had got drunk with on his stag night and ended up explaining to the police why he happened to be tied to a lamppost wearing a nurse’s uniform at four in the morning. But that Gus had gone. They were still friends but there was no place in Gus’s life for fun any more. The Gulf War had put an end to that. The veterans’ association that Gus led was now his sole reason for being.

‘It looks as if George W is determined to have another go at Saddam,’ said Drummond.

‘So I see,’ said Maclean, without giving anything away.

‘And taking us in with him if the papers are to be believed.’

‘Where the master goes the poodle must follow,’ said Maclean.

‘That’s pretty much what the papers are saying too,’ said Drummond.

‘They’ve probably got teams of writers working on condolence letters as we speak,’ said Maclean bitterly. ‘Rest assured your boy did not die in vain, Mr and Mrs Smith. He died fighting for democracy, freedom, human rights and any other high-sounding crap they can come up with. Bastards. These buggers have no idea what war is really like. They pretend they do but they haven’t. And what’s more, they haven’t even begun to deal with the thousands of guys they maimed in their last little expedition to the desert sands.’

Drummond nodded. ‘Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ he said, anxious to steer the conversation away from Maclean’s favourite hobby-horse. ‘There seems to be quite a strong body of opinion that says nothing should be done without the agreement of the United Nations.

‘Aye, right,’ said Maclean, making clear his lack of any high regard for the UN organisation.

‘Mary has called in sick,’ said Drummond. ‘Maybe you could cover for her in serology this morning? Make sure her juniors know what they’re doing.’

‘Will do,’ said Maclean.

‘Oh, and Ward Seven phoned earlier. They’d like confirmation of the menigococcus that you reported finding in patient, Robin Chester’s CSF last night as soon as possible. I take it you were called out?’

‘At three this morning,’ said Maclean. ‘Just when I was getting into a deep sleep.’

‘Always the way,’ said Drummond.

There was silence round the table as Sir James Gardiner sat down after telling of his intention to disband the group.

Peter Warner said, ‘I can see everyone here is as stunned as I was when Sir James told me last week. Believe me, I’ve tried persuading him to change his mind, but without success.’

‘We simply must be pragmatic, gentlemen,’ said Gardiner. ‘We are sitting here on the eve of an election that’s going to see Labour in power for another five years. With our own party still in disarray and unlikely to be even able to mount a credible opposition, we have become an irrelevance. We cannot hope to change things under these conditions.’

‘Sir James,’ began Donald Crowe; he sounded polite but looked angry. ‘I know that you have always regarded the scientific input to this group with a scepticism bordering on contempt and, it might be argued that you had some reason to after what happened at Porton, but if you will hear me out. We have spent over ten years building up our organisation. We have people, like-minded people, in just about every sphere of modern life. This is not the time to throw this all away. It is tantamount to a betrayal of them and what we believe in. If we can’t change things using the ballot box, we should at least start considering other means.’

‘I think I agree,’ said Mowbray.

‘I think I do too,’ said Rupert Everley, clearing his throat in deference to the fact that he was daring to disagree with Gardiner, a man so clearly his intellectual superior. ‘Our country needs us more than ever if we’re to stop the rot.’

Gardiner had a face like thunder. ‘What other means did you have in mind?’ he growled.

‘Nothing specific,’ said Crowe. ‘I just think we should take time to consider our position and perhaps apply a little more lateral thought to our situation.’

‘It wouldn’t do any harm to delay a little, James’ said Warner.

‘We really should explore every avenue,’ said Mowbray.

In the face of general agreement from the others, Gardiner looked down at the table in front of him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll delay informing our people of disbandment for six months but when we meet again I expect to hear concrete proposals for action — within the law.’

When Donald Crowe left the house he found Cecil Mowbray standing beside his car ‘We need to talk,’ said Mowbray.

He and Mowbray started to walk slowly along the path leading to the rose garden. ‘Never been that fond of roses myself,’ said Mowbray. ‘Fine when they’re in bloom but a mess at any other time. God, that was a close call in there.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Crowe. ‘Disbanding now would scupper everything. We need another few months. The agent’s ready but we’re going to need the help of one or two people in setting up the trial.’

‘Is a trial absolutely necessary?’ asked Mowbray.

‘There’s no deal without it,’ said Crowe. ‘They demand a successful demonstration before they’ll pay.’

‘Have they stipulated any conditions?’ asked Mowbray.

‘They have,’ said Crowe,

Mowbray noted a reluctance to answer in Crowe’s voice. ‘And?’ he asked.

Crowe told him.

‘You can’t be serious?’ exclaimed Mowbray.

‘We either do that or we wave goodbye to twelve years work and twenty million dollars.’

‘It sounds as if you haven’t dismissed the idea out of hand,’ said Mowbray as they continued walking.

‘It can be done,’ said Crowe. ‘I’ve had a think about it and it can be done but we need money and reliable key people. Money means Everley. How do you feel about taking him on board?’

‘The man’s an idiot,’ replied Mowbray. ‘But a vain and predictable one. If we can convince him that joining us is the way to his dream of a seat in parliament I’m sure he’ll cough up without too much trouble. Leave that to me. What do you need in the way of people?’

‘We don’t need many but we do need specialists. I’m relying on you for the derring-do input and I’ll have a look at the group’s database for the others. I’ve already come up with a couple of key people but we have to get them on board before Gardiner pulls the plug. Time is not on our side.’

‘There’s something else we have to worry about,’ said Mowbray. ‘Intelligence says that Bush has set his heart on another Gulf War within a year. He’ll go through the motions with weapons inspectors and the like and try for UN support for military action but the smart money is saying he’s going to go it alone if that doesn’t happen.’

‘So?’ said Crowe.

‘Blair will back him and take us in with him.’

‘Where is this leading?’ asked Crowe.

‘Plans are already in place to have the troops vaccinated against biological attack.’

Crowe felt an icicle move up his spine as he thought he saw where Mowbray was going. ‘My God, you’re going to tell me that they’re going to use the same vaccine as last time?’

‘They’ve enough left over for five thousand men. They plan to use that up first. Financial prudence, I think they call it.’

‘Hell and damnation,’ said Crowe.

‘I didn’t say anything inside because I felt sure James would have insisted that we immediately come clean about it and confess all,’ said Mowbray.

They had come to the lily pond at the end of the rose garden where they turned round to look back at the lights of Channing House behind their reflection in the stagnant water.

‘Can’t you find some way of destroying the old stocks?’ asked Crowe.

‘Destroying stores of vaccine would require some explanation, I fear,’ said Mowbray.

‘But some of your people are sympathetic aren’t they? That’s the sort of thing they do, isn’t it. James Bond stuff and all that?’

‘None of them know about the accident twelve years ago. They didn’t need to, so I never told them.’

‘I see,’ said Crowe.

Mowbray continued hesitantly. ‘If it should prove necessary to call on them for some other reason in the near future I’d rather not involve them in anything else beforehand.’

‘I understand,’ said Crowe. ‘But we have to do something to stop them using that damned stuff?’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mowbray. ‘Many of the ’91 Gulf War veterans maintain that the vaccine they were given was to blame for their symptoms. If we were to let it be known openly that HMG were planning to use up old vaccine stocks on today’s troops there will almost certainly be an outcry. With a bit of luck HMG will be forced to back down over the issue and destroy the old stuff.’

Crowe shivered against a chill that had crept into the night air. ‘And no need for us to be involved,’ he said, starting to walk again. ‘That sounds attractive.’

‘I think it will work,’ said Mowbray. ‘We know all the leaders of the Gulf War veterans’ associations so we can quickly make them aware of what’s going on and make sure the papers get on to it too. But there is still one fly in the ointment.’

Crowe gave him a look that suggested there always was.

‘When the story gets into the papers, the original Beta team at Porton are going to start wondering just why HMG was going to use a vaccine they knew to be faulty. And if any of them should work out…’

‘That HMG didn’t actually know that to be the case,’ completed Crowe.

‘Exactly,’ said Mowbray.

‘The last thing we need right now is for a scandal to break out over a twelve year old accident. Do you think you can deal with any problems that might arise?’

‘I think so,’ said Mowbray.

Crowe gave a cursory nod and said, ‘Good.’ He rubbed his arms. ‘God, it’s getting cold.’

As he opened the door of his car, Mowbray turned to Crowe and said, ‘We’ll talk again soon.’