The Secret

PROLOGUE

Laura McAllister opened the curtains in her daughter’s bedroom and paused for a moment, feeling the morning sun on her face and thinking she should count her blessings. Life was good. She had a loving husband in a well-paid government job, a beautiful home here in Deansville, a small Maryland town situated halfway between Washington DC and Fort Detrick where Mark worked, and an adorable daughter Jade whose blonde curls currently spilled round her face on the pillow like a halo in the sunlight.

Laura sat down gently on the edge of the bed and ran her fingertips lightly across Jade’s forehead. ‘Good morning, birthday girl,’ she whispered. ‘Who is four years old today?’

It took a few moments for the question to make its way through the land of nod and bring Jade to consciousness; then she opened her eyes and broke into a big smile. ‘I am,’ she said excitedly.

‘Happy birthday, darling.’

Hugs and kisses later, Jade began looking past her mother and Laura moved out of the way so she could see the colourful pile of presents waiting for her.

‘Yippee.’

Laura squatted on the floor beside Jade to help with the unwrapping and to identify the source of each present. She waited until they’d all been opened and the succession of oohs and aahs had abated before saying, ‘I think you’ll find a rather special present through here.'

She took Jade by the hand and led her through into the playroom where a large doll’s house stood in the middle of the floor, the lights in its windows already switched on. ‘Daddy built it for you, honey. What d’you think?’

‘Wow,’ said Jade. ‘It’s the best.’ She explored the building from every angle, her eyes wide with delight. ‘I wish Daddy was here, Mom.’

‘So do I, honey but he’ll phone you later and he won’t be away for long. Daddies with important jobs sometimes have to go away on business trips: he’ll be back before you know it. Meanwhile, we’ve got a party to organise. All your friends are coming this afternoon and we have to make sure there’s enough cake and ice cream for everyone.'

‘Can we keep a piece of cake for Daddy?’

Laura felt a lump come to her throat. ‘Of course we can, honey.’

The phone rang and Laura answered briefly before handing it to Jade. ‘It’s Grandma,’ she said and smiled broadly when she heard her mother and father singing Happy Birthday at the other end of the phone. It was shaping up to be a good day.

Several thousand miles away in Islamabad, Dr Mark McAllister was reflecting on his day. He was no great fan of long-distance travel but business-class flights from Washington to London and then on to Islamabad after only minimal delay had gone without a hitch. Having no personal knowledge of any country further east than France — which he had visited once on a student trip — he had been slightly worried about the conditions he might encounter in Pakistan but his fears had been allayed by being met at the airport by someone from the embassy and driven in an air-conditioned car to the Islamabad Marriott Hotel where he was now ensconced in a very comfortable room.

Mark was a molecular biologist, a lab scientist who’d worked for the US government since gaining his PhD some ten years before. The nature of his job meant limited contact with people and very little need to travel. This was especially true since he’d been seconded to the top secret facility at Fort Detrick where his work was highly classified and even participation in international scientific conventions was not encouraged — even prohibited without careful scrutiny beforehand.

It had come as a surprise, therefore, when he’d been informed that his presence would be required at an intelligence meeting to be held in Islamabad — a top secret meeting called by the CIA, MI6 — the British secret service — and Pakistani intelligence. He had not even been allowed to tell his wife where he would be heading, only that he wouldn’t be away for long. Happily, Laura, the daughter of a former colonel in the US army, understood how these things worked and accepted the situation without question although knowing that he would miss out on his daughter’s fourth birthday had been more painful. He had been briefed by a CIA officer beforehand about what he could and could not say at the meeting. ‘We’re allies in name only,’ he was cautioned. ‘Things can change quickly in Pakistan.’

Mark wasn’t at all certain what this implied but took it to mean keep your mouth shut unless given the okay by the CIA. He still wasn’t sure why he was there: he was a specialist in DNA manipulation not the war on terror. He spent his days cutting and pasting pieces of DNA molecules rather like journalists with words and phrases on their laptops. When seconded to Detrick he’d been asked to continue work on a project started by one of their scientists who had been called away on assignment to London. He’d been asked to design an activator and a deactivator for what had been termed an ‘interesting molecule’. What it was exactly the powers-that-be had decided he didn’t need to know, and he knew better than to ask.

Mark glanced at his watch: it was seven p.m. A ten-hour time differential meant that it would be nine in the morning in Maryland and the girls would be up and about. He called home using the hotel instruction card and was successful at the fourth attempt. He deduced immediately through hearing excitedly whispered questions that Laura had let Jade answer the phone.

‘Daddy, Daddy, it’s my birthday. I’ve got lots of presents and I’m going to have a party and all my friends are coming…’

Mark let the words wash over him, closing his eyes and picturing the scene at home until Jade asked if he wanted to speak to Mummy.

‘Yes please, Jade. Daddy loves you very much, honey.’

‘Come home soon, Daddy.’

Laura came on the line and asked him about his journey, then told him all about the plans for the day. ‘Wish I was there,’ he said, feeling quite emotional. Little girls were good at doing that to their fathers.

‘I hope the government doesn’t make a habit of this,’ Laura joked.

‘They won’t,’ replied Mark. ‘I’m pretty sure this is a one-off. No one has said anything about doing any lab work here so I’m figuring that I’m just meant to be some kind of consultant to bring some other guys up to speed. After that, I should be homeward bound.’

‘No need to pin a yellow ribbon on the apple tree in the garden then?’

‘None at all, honey.’

Mark felt much better for having spoken to Laura and Jade. He was now going to shower, change, have dinner over at the embassy and be given a personal briefing. After that, it had been suggested he have an early night. He would be picked up at six a.m. the following morning for ‘quite a long drive’.

Mark was briefed by a CIA man named Brady. Brady had been present at dinner where the conversation had largely been embassy staff chatter about the conditions in Islamabad. Mark had been struck by how ordinary it had all sounded — they could have been working for an insurance company — but now he and Brady were alone in an upstairs room.

‘I take it you’ve realised the molecule you’ve been working on is a virus?’ Brady asked.

‘Frankly, I'd expect to be fired if I hadn’t,’ joked Mark.

Brady nodded. ‘You’re here because your work on it has been going pretty well, by all accounts.’

‘I think I’ve come up with what was requested of me, although there will have to be tests, of course.’

‘Of course, and that’s also why you’re here. Your predecessor, now working in London, and his English associates have been having problems in designing what you’ve succeeded in doing. This will be a chance for you guys to get together and exchange information. I take it you have the details with you?’

Mark nodded, thinking it was a stupid question but limiting his reply to, ‘I was told to bring them.’

‘Encrypted?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Our friends in Pakistani intelligence know all about the virus and the initial field tests — they were instrumental in setting them up — but your side of things must remain confidential. Understood?’

Mark nodded uncertainly. ‘The field tests?’ he asked.

‘We’ve been trying out the virus.’

‘On people?’ Mark asked, betraying disbelief.

‘Yeah. It’s OK; nobody died.’

‘But that’s…’

‘Life, doctor,’ Brady interrupted. ‘Some of us have the privilege in life of doing what’s decent, moral and honourable and some of us have to do what’s necessary. Uncle Sam expects you to just do your job, OK?’

Mark agreed, feeling he was doing so on autopilot as he struggled to come to terms with what he was hearing but knowing that any protest he might make would probably result in his being asked what the hell he thought he was doing at Fort Detrick anyway: making toys for Christmas?’

‘Have you heard of the Khyber Pass, doctor?’ Brady asked.

‘Of course, in boyhood stories.’

‘Tomorrow you’ll be driving through it.’

Mark was the last to be picked up in the morning. He had been told it would be a low-key affair. This translated into two vehicles which looked military in origin with the ability to handle rugged terrain but lacking any markings. Brady introduced Mark to two others who would be travelling in their vehicle, a Pakistani intelligence officer named Faisal and a US marine driver named Mick. The other vehicle looked to contain four more marines, judging by their haircuts.

‘Faisal hails from the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa,’ said Brady.

Mark looked blank.

‘It’s the modern name for what used to be called the North West Frontier in your story books, doctor.

‘Now, a little less romantic, perhaps,’ said Faisal, speaking perfect English with an accent that even sounded English to Mark’s ear: he guessed at English schooling.

‘A troubled place,’ said Mark.

‘Still is,’ said Faisal. ‘One of the English poets described it as having blood on every stone.’

‘Let’s hope for a quiet day,’ said Brady. ‘The others will be coming up from the Afghanistan side. We’re meeting at a small village away from prying eyes.’

They fell to silence as the day wore on, Mark mesmerised by the mountains that towered above them on the ascent through the pass and thinking about the carnage they’d witnessed through the years.

‘Not much longer now,’ said Faisal to Mark before giving instructions to the driver. ‘The vehicles can’t manage the final stretch; it’s too steep,’ he explained. ‘We’ll be met.’

He made a call on what Mark noted was a satellite phone and ten minutes later they pulled off the road at the foot of a rough track that wound up into the mountains. A number of heavily bearded men in traditional dress were waiting there, sitting astride mopeds, automatic rifles slung across their backs.

‘Not exactly Harley D’s, are they,’ murmured Brady, eyeing the bikes as they got out.

‘I’m just relieved they’re not donkeys,’ Mark confessed.

Faisal and Brady agreed the order of travel for the pillion passengers. Faisal would be a passenger on the first bike with Mark riding pillion on the second then Brady and finally two of the marines. Their driver Mick and the remaining marines would stay with the vehicles.

Mark, clutching his briefcase, mounted the second moped, looked for something to hold on to rather than the rider, and sent a nervous glance towards Brady, who smiled back. He took comfort from knowing that by travelling upwards they would remain in sunlight a little longer, avoiding the darkness which was already stalking the valleys below. The angry insect-like rasp of two-stroke engines rose to fever pitch and the party moved off through a blue fug of exhaust, the bike wheels scrabbling for grip on the loose stony path and sending a hail of pebbles over the edge of an increasingly precipitous drop. Mark closed his eyes and turned his face sideways to seek the shelter offered by his rider’s back. He maintained this pose until the noise began to fade and the column drew to a stuttering halt at a spot where the track split into two.

Mark didn’t know why they’d stopped but didn’t care: he immediately took the chance to dismount and stretch his calf muscles, which had been threatening to cramp through being confined in the same position for such a long time. Surely they couldn’t be lost? He was dusting himself down when Faisal walked over to him and said, ‘This is your first time here, doctor. Come, you should see the view; it’s something special.’

Brady nodded his agreement.

Mark could already see that the view was indeed spectacular, the dying rays of the sun turning the mountain tops red as far as the eye could see. He followed Faisal up on to a rocky promontory and gasped in admiration as all was revealed.

‘Some say it’s a reflection of the blood in the sky,’ said Faisal of the crimson landscape.

Mark’s imagination knew no bounds as he struggled to take in the rugged beauty of all that lay before him: he was on a distant planet in the outer reaches of the universe, he was a time traveller, he was a speck of dust in something that was infinite. Eventually, when reality made its pitch, he turned to thank his companion for the experience but was chilled to the bone by what he was confronted by. The demeanour of the pleasant, smiling man with the language and accent of an English public schoolboy had changed dramatically. The look in Faisal’s eyes was one of pure hatred.

‘What the…’

Faisal let out a yell and all hell was let loose as more than a dozen Kalashnikovs opened fire from the rocks above and around them. Brady and the others didn’t stand a chance: they were mown down in a matter of seconds, leaving Faisal and Mark the only two of the party left alive. Two of the men from the rocks materialised beside Mark and pinned his arms behind his back as Faisal inspected the corpses on the ground, using his foot casually and apparently without emotion.

Mark felt trapped in a bad dream from which there was no escape: it was the running-in-mud scenario. He couldn’t take his eyes off his erstwhile travel companions, their riddled bodies lying in pools of blood which were already drying into the dirt, and he seemed to have lost the power of speech. His throat had contracted to the point where he could only make gasping noises.

One of the bodies moved. Amazingly, Brady was still alive, though clearly mortally wounded. Mark saw he was looking up at him. ‘Don’t tell them, doctor… Don’t fucking tell them…’

They were Brady’s last words. A full stop was applied by Faisal putting a pistol shot through his head, causing his brains to splatter out over the stones and Mark to throw up.

Mark deduced that they were in some kind of cave complex when the blindfold was removed and he’d stopped blinking against the light. As a scientist, he immediately took on board that it was electric light, quickly correlating this with the distant but distinctive sound of a generator. Several computer monitors sat on a bench to his left. Two were manned by turbaned men; three others had screen-savers lazily doing their thing, tumbling cubes and fish going nowhere. Faisal stood there with an armed man on either side. ‘You have something we want, doctor. I’d appreciate your cooperation. In fact… I must insist.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Mark, glad he’d got the words out but afraid his insides were turning to water.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?’ said Faisal, holding up a disk salvaged from the contents of Mark’s briefcase, which were at his feet. ‘This is encrypted; I need the key.’

Mark swallowed, his head swimming with all that had happened. Cut to the chase? he thought. Cut to the fucking chase? That was the sort of thing English actors said in some crummy olden-days drama on TV, not some fucking psycho in a cave in the middle of fucking nowhere. When would this nightmare end? His head lolled in silent appeal. ‘I don’t have it.’

‘Shit,’ said Faisal although not angrily, more as if it had been the response he’d been expecting and he was mildly irritated. He punched numbers into his satellite phone and then held it by his side until it beeped twice. He examined it and nodded in satisfaction before turning it round and holding it up in front of Mark’s face. Laura and Jade filled the small screen. Their mouths were taped but their eyes spoke of the terror they felt. A knife blade hovered at Laura’s throat. Jade wore a badge that said I am 4.

‘Now, do we understand each other?’

The dam broke inside Mark and he unleashed every expletive he could think of at Faisal, who remained impassive throughout the outburst. When he finally ran out of energy and imagination, his curses degenerating into disjointed sobs and appeals, Faisal said simply, ‘Give me the key.’

Mark, unable to take his eyes off Laura and Jade, nodded silently and was released from his bindings. He picked up his empty briefcase from the floor and said, ‘I need a knife.’

Faisal nodded and one of the armed men handed Mark his knife, handle first, to the accompaniment of clicking gun mechanisms. Mark picked away at the stitching of an interior side panel of his briefcase and extracted a computer memory card. He handed it to Faisal who passed it to one of the men sitting at the monitors. After a few moments, the man appeared satisfied and indicated as much to Faisal, who smiled. The intelligence agent took back the memory card and put it along with the disk he’d held up earlier in an envelope which Mark noted was marked Vaccination schedules. He handed the envelope to one of his men and told him where to take it, adding, ‘When you get to the village, leave it at the clinic. Dr Khan will pick it up from there.’ Then he turned to Mark who was now suffering the agony of having betrayed his country on top of everything else.

Mark said, ‘You’ve got what you wanted. Let my wife and daughter go.’

Faisal didn’t bother with a reply. He nodded to the armed men flanking Mark and they gripped his arms to drag him outside, ignoring his questions and pleas before ending his suffering with a burst of gunfire that echoed off the surrounding rocks in a fading, repetitive requiem.

Back in Deansville, Laura's and Jade’s lives also came to an end. Not being in the wilds of the Khyber, gunfire would have aroused suspicion in the small Maryland town, so a knife was used. What had started off as such a good day for the McAllister family had ended very badly indeed.

When Faisal received confirmation that the marines left to guard the vehicles down in the pass had been dealt with and that the vehicles themselves had been destroyed, he felt a warm glow of satisfaction. All he needed now was a message confirming that the information he’d obtained from the American had arrived safely at the pre-arranged collection point in the village for his mission to have been a complete success. He got it before sunrise.

When Faisal emerged from the cave complex to watch the sun come up, his conclusion that life was good was to be short-lived. He had underestimated the CIA man Brady who, unsure of whom or whom not to trust in Pakistani intelligence, had attached a tiny GPS transmitter to Faisal's clothing, thus ensuring that the CIA would know exactly where he was within a one-metre range of any spot on the planet. If for any reason Brady did not report back within an agreed period of time, a train of events would swing into operation. Brady was dead, but from beyond the grave he was responsible for a little black speck's appearing in the morning sky as Faisal drew deeply on his first cigarette of the day. The speck was an unmanned drone that had locked on to Faisal’s GPS signal.

The calm gaze with which Faisal watched the speck get bigger had barely time to change in response to the awful dawn of realisation before the drone unleashed its fiery equivalent of hell on earth and Faisal, together with his friends and accomplices, were all but vaporised in the firestorm that swept through the caves. The CIA wasn’t to know that the information they wanted most to destroy wasn’t actually there.