Gray Genesis

by Alan McDermott

  ‘Didn’t this woman have any kind of life?’ Duke asked as he wrote down the name of another heavy tome. He flicked through the pages in case anything had been slipped in between them, but like the rest it was empty. He placed it in the box with the others.

  ‘Would you rather be sorting through a pile of used needles and pizza boxes?’

  ‘Good point,’ Duke said. ‘You’d just expect a few DVDs or CDs for relaxation. It’s like she never switches off.’

  ‘Some people are driven, others plod through life,’ Sarah shrugged.

  ‘I guess.’

  Sarah wrote down the name, date and supplier of the gas bill and slipped it into a clear plastic evidence pouch, writing the corresponding log number on the front of the bag. She dropped it in a box, then moved on to the next document.

  ‘This proves it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision,’ she said to Duke. ‘It’s confirmation of the sale of her property in the US. It went through a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘How much did she get for it?’

  ‘Just over nine hundred grand. Dollars, of course.’

  ‘Any idea what she did with the money?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Sarah put the completion document aside and leafed through the rest of the papers she’d found in the sideboard drawer.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, holding up a bank statement. ‘She received the money in her local NatWest account four days ago. Two days later it was gone, transferred to another account. I’ll have to speak to the bank to find out where it was sent.’

  Sarah noted down the date and amount of the transaction plus the sort code and account number in her notebook, then bagged the bank statement and logged the details.

  She was halfway through cataloguing the next document when her phone rang.

  ‘Keogh.’

  ‘It’s Randall. I’m sending a forensics team to relieve you.’

  ‘What? Why? I though you wanted this to be compartmentalised.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. Dagher recorded another video and Al Jazeera have been showing it non-stop for the last half hour. The cat’s out of the bag.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Exactly,’ Randall said. ‘Just drop everything and get back to my office as soon as they arrive. I’m going to be giving a press conference in an hour.’

  The phone went dead and Sarah fed Duke the gist of the conversation.

  ‘It’s a relief, to be honest,’ he said. ‘With these things you always worry that if news gets out you’ll be the one accused of talking to the press. Now that it’s all over the news, we can probably get back to normal duties.’

  Sarah had to agree, though she’d enjoyed delving back into some real police work.

  They only had to wait ten minutes for the forensics unit to arrive. Sarah showed them what they’d done so far then left it to them, handing over the house keys. She drove Duke back to the station.

  ‘Looks like the shit just hit the fan,’ Duke said as they pulled up outside New Scotland Yard. A gaggle of reporters was gathered outside the front entrance, and several news network vans were parked up nearby.

  ‘Let’s go in the back way,’ Sarah said, before she drove around the building.

  Five minutes later they were in Randall’s office once more.

  ‘Well, this is a royal pain in the arse,’ the commissioner said.

  ‘At least the leak didn’t come from inside,’ Duke offered. ‘The PM can’t apportion blame to anyone.’

  ‘There’s that,’ Randall conceded, ‘but who knows what else the press will dig up.’

  ‘If they look hard enough, they’ll find out that Dagher sold her house in the US a couple of weeks ago and transferred the funds a couple of days after they hit her bank here in London. Apart from that, we didn’t find anything.’

  ‘Where did she send it?’ Randall asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet. I’ll have to go to the bank when it opens in the morning.’

  ‘Okay, but when you have something it stays between us. I’m going to feed the wolves the bare minimum for now. Professor Farmer arrived at Paddington Green an hour ago, and we soon hope to have an idea as to what this virus can do.’

  ‘In the video she claims it’ll be a huge boost to the Taliban,’ Duke said.

  ‘Yes, Sarah told me. I’ve already passed that on to the Home Secretary and he said he would keep the MoD informed.’ Randall sighed, then stood and adjusted her jacket. ‘Okay, let’s go face the press.’

  Chapter 11

  Word of the match-up had spread throughout the camp and by the time Gray and his team arrived there were at least a hundred observers eagerly awaiting the action. They’d formed a large circle around a patch of dirt roughly the size of a boxing ring, and there was a big US contingent, plus the other three four-man teams from 8 Troop. Captain Russell was nowhere to be seen, but Gray had a feeling he would be close by.

  Gray went over to the area where the rest of the SAS contingent had gathered.

  ‘Give ’em hell,’ Sergeant Bob Jones said as he slapped Gray on the shoulder. ‘Fucking yanks need taking down a peg or two.’

  ‘I know,’ Gray said, ‘but it won’t be me doing it.’

  ‘No? Len, then?’

  Gray winked at him and smiled. ‘Watch and see.’

  Balmer emerged from the throng of American soldiers. He turned and waved his arms around, whipping them into a frenzy, then turned again and approached Gray.

  ‘You ready to do this?’

  ‘Sure am,’ Gray said. ‘Who’ve you chosen?’

  Balmer whistled, and the American ranks parted once more to allow Hank Lomax into the arena. He was shirtless, his vast chest glistening with sweat.

  ‘Fancy your chances?’ Balmer asked.

  Gray chuckled. ‘Against him? No way. But I know a man who does.’

  Sonny stepped forward and removed his T-shirt.

  It was Balmer’s turn to burst out laughing. ‘You’re kidding. You’re pitching Tiny against the bear?’

  ‘If your man wants to back out, now’s his chance.’

  Balmer shook his head in astonishment. ‘It’s his funeral. What about the rules?’

  ‘No biting, no gouging, no hitting below the belt,’ Gray said.

  ‘You got it.’

  Balmer walked over to Lomax and whispered something in his ear, earning a malicious grin from the big man.

  ‘He’s gonna fight dirty,’ Gray warned Sonny.

  ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  Gray patted him on the back and retreated to the British lines.

  A roar erupted as the two combatants walked towards each other, Lomax flexing his muscles while Sonny whirled his arms to loosen up.

  ‘You ready to feel some pain, little guy?’

  ‘Bring it on,’ Sonny taunted. He danced on the balls of his feet, waiting for Lomax to make the first move.

  Gray watched on as Lomax launched his attack, and he was shocked at how quickly the big man moved. Lomax’s fist shot towards Sonny’s head, but he ducked under the swinging arm and jinked to the right, delivering a punch to the big man's kidney before dancing out of reach. Lomax didn't seem to notice the contact. He faced Sonny once more, took a couple of steps towards him, then lashed out with a leg the size of a tree trunk. Sonny put his arms out to protect his stomach, but it was like trying to stop a moving train. Sonny was lifted off his feet and landed on his back.

  ‘Get up!’ Gray shouted, while from the other side of the crude circle shouts of ‘Kill him!’ and ‘Finish him off!’ rang out.

  Sonny got back to his feet and Gray was glad to see he didn’t look injured.

  ‘Should have stayed down,’ Lomax said, as he came in for more. He feigned another kick, then pirouetted and caught his opponent with a roundhouse to the head. A mad cheer went up from the American contingent as Sonny crashed to the ground, drowning out the groans from the British side.

  While Lomax walked around with his arms raised in v
ictory, Sonny pushed himself onto his knees and shook his head. He got to his feet and brushed the sand from his body, then adopted a boxer’s stance and waited for Lomax to come at him once more.

  ‘You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that,’ Lomax said as he paced towards Sonny. He kicked out again with his left, which Sonny blocked easily, then scissor-kicked with his right. Sonny took a step back, anticipating the move, and when Lomax’s foot was level with his head, Sonny grabbed his boot and twisted. Lomax had no option but to go with it, and he landed heavily on his back, much to the elation of the British in the crowd.

  Lomax bounced back to his feet and started to circle Sonny, looking for an angle. Sonny let him get to his nine o’clock, and Lomax aimed a kick at his lower back. Sonny jumped back—the heavy boot missing his kidneys by millimetres—and as Lomax’s impetus spun him around, Sonny pounced. He leapt towards the big man and landed a punch to the side of his face. Lomax stumbled backwards, and Sonny followed up with another strike to the face and a combination to the body. He looked to be gaining the upper hand when Lomax lashed out with a right and caught Sonny high on the head. It wasn’t a devastating blow, but enough to knock Sonny off balance, and Lomax sought to push the advantage. He lunged at Sonny, his right arm pulled back to deliver a piledriver. He swung, but Sonny stepped inside and crouched, pushing his body into Lomax’s abdomen to make the most of the American’s momentum. Lomax rolled over Sonny and landed on his back and Sonny went in for the kill. He jumped and landed on Lomax’s chest with one knee, knocking the wind out of the giant, then hit him twice in the face. Sonny wrapped his legs around one of the massive arms and started bending it backwards.

  ‘Yield, or I’ll break the fucker.’

  Lomax tried to punch Sonny with his free arm, but the way his body was contorted meant he could barely move more than a couple of inches.

  ‘Fuck… you!’ Lomax spat, his face going purple as he used all his energy to keep his arm from snapping at the elbow.

  ‘That’s enough!’

  The crowd was immediately silenced as Captain Russell walked into the ersatz arena.

  ‘Corporal Baines, let him up. That’s an order.’

  Sonny released his grip and kicked Lomax away, then got to his feet and dusted himself off.

  Russell waited to ensure the fight wasn’t going to flare up again, then started walking away. ‘Master Sergeant Balmer, Sergeant Gray, on me.’

  The two men followed the captain as the crowd scattered in different directions.

  ‘Lomax was just about to kick his ass,’ Balmer whispered.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Gray responded. ‘He was lucky the CO came along when he did.’

  ‘That’s enough, gentlemen. I call it a draw.’

  Russell led them to the American section of the camp, and as they approached the office of Lance Durden, Gray had a sinking feeling.

  The last mission he’d been given had been another bust. The packages that had been filmed being unloaded into the small village had gone by the time Gray and his team arrived on the scene, and the old men and women who lived there claimed to know nothing. Balmer, on the other hand, had managed to engage Asadi Mansour and his men, resulting in six confirmed kills—including the main target.

  When they entered the office, Gray positioned himself once more near one of the electric fans. Durden was sitting behind his desk with Captain Bridges of Delta Force who was leafing through a folder.

  ‘Gentlemen, we’ve received word about Miriam Dagher,’ Durden told them.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Gray said. ‘They killed her already.’

  ‘I wish.’

  That wasn’t what Gray was expecting to hear. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We got word from home that she was in on the abduction,’ Durden said. ‘The childbirth virus was a cover for her real work, which was to create something that would enhance the Taliban soldiers… some sort of magical instant training potion. Once infected, a kid who’s never even seen a rifle can be transformed into an experienced soldier in a matter of weeks, sometimes even days.’

  Gray stole a glance at Balmer, who appeared as shocked as he was.

  ‘How do we know this?’ Balmer asked.

  ‘She made a couple of videos; one before she left London, the other soon after her staged kidnapping. The British government has authenticated her claims.’

  ‘What this means,’ Russell added as he sat back in his chair, ‘is that you can expect to come up against a better prepared enemy in the coming weeks and months. Since we arrived here over a year ago, we’ve been fighting a war of attrition. We’ve taken out a lot of their most experienced fighters, but now it looks like they can replace them at will.’

  ‘Is there a cure?’ Gray asked, still reeling from the revelation. ‘An antidote?’

  Bridges shot him a look that had Dumbass written all over it. ‘Even if there was, you’d have to get close enough to the enemy fighters to administer it intravenously. Might as well shoot them while you have the chance.’

  ‘Do we have any idea how much of this stuff she has?’ Balmer asked.

  ‘As yet we don’t. It’s believed she took a small amount with her, and from what I gather, it wouldn’t be too hard to create more in a home laboratory. Let’s just assume there’s a lot of it out there.’

  ‘What about contamination?’

  ‘It can’t be passed from person to person through physical contact,’ Durden said, ‘and we’ve been able to rule out airborne transmission. The only way to get it is intravenously.’

  ‘Our priority,’ Russell said, taking over from Durden, ‘is to find her before she can create enough of the virus to cause us any problems.’

  ‘Any idea where she is?’ Gray asked.

  ‘Unknown,’ Durden said. ‘Sentinel is probing, but he can’t push too hard in case it raises suspicion. We’ll just have to bide our time.’

  ‘And in the meantime, our men are in the firing line,’ Russell pointed out.

  Bridges concurred. ‘It would be nice to know exactly what this virus could do before sending my men out to face them. Are we talking super-soldiers? Invincible warriors?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ Durden assured him. ‘It focuses the mind and enhances memory, allowing training to be conducted over a much shorter time. It also makes them more alert. You men know what it’s like in battle; it takes years of experience to remain calm and do your job under heavy fire. While the bad guys are panicking and firing blindly, you’re able to remain in control, and that’s your advantage. Now imagine injecting that capability into a raw recruit.’

  It sounded ominous. Gray had never come up against elite troops; men whose skills were on a par with his own. The Taliban fighters were fierce warriors, all willing to give their lives for what they believed in, but few had what it took to succeed in combat. Now it looked as if the balance of power was shifting in the wrong direction.

  ‘You mentioned before that she was born in Afghanistan. Was she a sleeper agent all this time?’

  ‘It doesn’t appear so. In the videos she mentions her growing disdain for the Western governments. I think she just decided to switch sides.’ Durden wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘Be careful out there. We have no idea how long it’ll be before they start testing this thing in the field. It could be tomorrow, or a couple of weeks. Just be prepared.’

  Russell took that as his cue to leave, and Gray followed him out the door.

  ‘Unbe-fucking-lievable,’ Gray said as they walked back to the British quarter.

  ‘My thoughts exactly, but it doesn’t change the fact that the enemy has evolved. As the senior NCO for 8 Troop, I want you to brief the other team leaders. Do it now, before we get our new mission orders.’

  Russell broke off towards the coffee stand, and Gray went back to the area where the rest of 8 Troop were stationed.

  There were sixteen men in the troop, which consisted of four 4-man patrols, also known as bricks. They rarely operated together, though wh
en they had to they worked as a cohesive unit. Each patrol was led by a sergeant, and Gray gathered them together to give them the shocking news.

  Chapter 12

  The solitude of the night desert was a great comfort to Saif Ahmadi—always reminding him of more peaceful times. But today wasn’t going to be one of them; today was going to be about war. About violence. About death.

  By the light of a midnight waning crescent moon, Ahmadi began to dig. The sound of the shovel hitting hard ground seemed to travel for miles, but he knew there was no-one around to hear it. His men were scattered over a wide expanse, looking out for signs of unwanted visitors. They would call him as soon as an enemy patrol was spotted, giving him ample time to reach a hiding place. His biggest concern was the drones that plagued the skies, invisible to the eye, ready to deliver death without warning. That was why he was working underneath a thermal canvas that would hide his body heat from the onboard infrared cameras. It made the work hot and difficult, but it was preferable to having half a ton of ordnance dropped on his head.

  Ahmadi stopped digging every minute to take on water, but eventually he had a hole big enough to accommodate the improvised explosive device he’d created. It consisted of four artillery rounds connected with a series of wires which would ultimately be attached to a satellite telephone.

  Ahmadi placed the four shells in the hole, making the shape of a cross—the tips of each round facing into the centre. He had already primed them and connected the wires before setting off from his camp, and all that remained was to link the pieces together. Using electrical tape, he bound fresh wire to the pieces sticking out of the shells then twisted all four strands together. He had to constantly pause to wipe the sweat from his hands, and it took a lot longer than expected to have everything in place. The last part of the puzzle was the satellite phone. He dialled the number from his own phone, and seconds later the screen on the detonator phone lit up. He ended the call and turned his phone off, just in case he triggered the device by mistake. Then performed the final step. Once the sat phone was in place, Ahmadi began to carefully fill the hole in. By the time he’d finished, there was still a pile of dirt left over on the plastic sheet he’d brought along. He carefully pulled the corners together and tied them up. He would take the excess soil with him and hide it in the hills overlooking his current location so as not to leave any tell-tale markers.