Apex (Ben Bracken 2)

by Robert Parker

  ‘Yes,’ Amina replies.

  ‘Who would want such a thing?’ I ask, but I know what a naive question that is, to the point of rendering it rhetorical. Anyone with a hint of greed would want this stuff - it’s instant power in a bottle. No wonder I am being hunted down so ferociously.

  ‘Do you know how much you have here?’ Amina asks.

  ‘Is that a real question, because I honestly don’t know.’

  Amina pushes her chair back so she slides in reverse across the lab floor.

  ‘You have approximately a gram.’

  ‘Is that a lot?’ I say. It doesn’t sound a lot.

  ‘We’ve got enough here to kill about 1.4 million people - and one of the most horrible ways imaginable.’

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, my gusto pummeled away to a flat plateau of base horror. The horrors mankind is capable of... What mind could possibly want, under any circumstances, to create an irreversible mass killing tool? Why?! Where did this come from?

  The identity of the woman on the plane is crucial, as she seems to be the vessel designed to get the weapon into the country. But the budget behind this, the power, influence and control required, to charter a jet and fly it to an army base in the United Kingdom, not to mention shooting the bugger down... it is staggering.

  There are dark powers at work here. Emphasis on dark and power. Coils of injustice strangle my stomach, twisting out a vengeful toxin of my own. Who would dare do this? And who would dare bring this to the UK?

  ‘Can we destroy it?’ I ask.

  It awakens Amina from her own reverie.

  ‘It’s a possibility, but it may prove too risky,’ replies Amina.

  ‘Why?!’ I demand. ‘Surely if this godawful stuff is wiped out then it can’t harm anybody else! It certainly won’t be able to wipe out a significant portion of the population like it is capable of.’

  ‘Think about it, Ben,’ Amina pleads. ‘We don’t know if there is any more if this out there. If this is the only existing sample of the toxin, which I find highly unlikely, then fair enough, destroy it now and this all goes away. But if there is more out there, and if it rests in even remotely the wrong hands, then we have perhaps the only chance to synthesize our own antidote. We have an opportunity to save lives with this.’

  That is an extremely good point. But what a risk it is, not destroying this heinous substance that has found its way to these shores.

  ‘How long will it take to create an anti-toxin?’ I ask.

  ‘A few months, at the minimum. Maybe years. And that’s if this lab was fully staffed.’

  Far too long. ‘There’s no way we can pull that off. It won’t take those hunting me long before they work out what happened to me. And they’ll come knocking on this door sooner or later.’

  I think about the men chasing me, the soldiers I encountered. Do they even know what they are involved with? If they did, would they continue their pursuit? And what about that lying MP, Lloyd Weathers? Does he know about that? I’d love five minutes alone with that fat fucking worm - I’m sure I’d make him sing the truth.

  It’s time to boot that phone up and stick it on charge. Any information is good information at this point.

  ‘I need to make a call,’ I say. ‘Can you give me a minute?’

  11

  My smartphone still has no reception, but I jacked it into the mains anyway. Amina gave me a cordless, and I dialed, all the while fretting who might be listening in, but knowing that there is no time to waste and caution must now be thrown windward. The phone is answered after only half a ring. Even at this time of night, Jeremiah has obviously been nursing the phone like a wounded baby bird, waiting and hoping for any sign of life.

  ‘Yes?’ he answers in a hurry.

  ‘It’s me, Jeremiah,’ I say. Amina has gone to take a moment, and I think that has come at a good time. Her composure, once playful and sure, seems now fragile and sieged.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m alright. A lot has happened. This line is fine.’ I don’t like lying but there’s no time to spare.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You will have to trust me. I don’t know how much time we have but I need you to be candid with me.’

  ‘OK. Do you have the item?’

  ‘Why, the bespoke super-botulism? Yes, I have it here.’

  Silence. Just for a second. A long second which betrays Jeremiah’s surprise.

  ‘Apex. That is what it is called,’ he says.

  I blurt out a retort before I have even considered it.

  ‘You realize the position that you have put me in here, don’t you?’ I hadn’t realize that my own anger towards Jeremiah had frothed so quietly, so much so that I could’t resist confronting him on it, and the lack of information he sent me to the frontline with.

  ‘You understand why I couldn’t risk explaining it?’ he replies immediately. ‘I know precisely what I was asking you to do. But, now knowing what it is, would you rather it was in anyone else’s possession but yours?’

  He is right, of course, and my anger simmers immediately. I wouldn’t trust another soul on this planet with this. If anyone is going to be in possession of this vile abomination of science, with the immediate gift of power it bestows on the carrier, I want it to be me - and not for any of the traditional reasons. I want no power, only the power to keep people safe. And this stuff is the very definition of unsafe.

  ‘Jeremiah, I’ll tell you where I am up to, then fill in the blanks where possible - and there will be a lot of them,’ I say, settling back down on the edge of the cot bed, sighing with the weight of my own body lifted. God, I am tired. I ache whole. I try to remember everything that has happened in the last few days.

  ‘I made it to Morte Point, just in time for the plane to ditch. I entered the wreckage, which was empty save for a skeleton crew and a solitary woman, who was carrying the earring containing the substance in question. I took the earring just before an army unit arrived under the command of MP Lloyd Weathers. I managed to escape, but in the process they were made aware that I had the earring in my possession. They have followed me inland for two days, and I am now in Exmoor National Park. I have avoided capture so far. I am now in the care of Dr Amina Ridgewell at the National Park field centre, and she assisted me in the analysis of the contents of the earring. She identified the chemical contents as a modified strain of botulism, enhanced for potency. On top of this I am aware of a cover-up taking place regarding the true circumstances of the crash. I will be leaving here soon, and will keep heading north to you, unless advised otherwise. Your turn.’

  ‘Just give me a second,’ Jeremiah replies, and I can hear thepush-push-scratchof him jotting something down on a pad. I wait, and breathe. I hope his intel will answer the questions that itch me the most about this whole dastardly thing.

  ‘OK,’ he says, ‘firstly, thank you. By getting your hands on that and keeping it out of harm’s way, on behalf of the NCA, thank you.’

  ‘Your welcome, I suppose.’

  ‘There is indeed, it seems, a conspiracy about the plane crash and the events since. In terms of the NCA, we first got wind of this a couple of years ago. Organized Crime Prevention is something that we are very occupied by, and we try to keep abreast of all things in that area that grow, change and evolve. These... trends, help up us predict what certain less-careful organized crime groups will do next, with varying degrees of success.’

  Yes? Yes? I think. Come on, get to the nitty gritty.

  ‘We intercepted a very obvious communication to the country, by way of a classified Craigslist advert. A common way for the criminal fraternity to communicate is through classifieds, but with the growth of Internet classifieds, this communication can now be expanded to incorporate an international scope.’

  ‘I think I follow,’ I murmur.

  ‘The ad was, on the surface, an opportunity to buy a classic Ford Mustang, a supposedly rare model.Coming Soon, Baby Blue Ford Mus
tang C6760, bespoke alterations for maximum performance, never seen before, if enough interested parties will bring to UK. Sounds mundane enough. But it was actually an awareness piece, to drum up interest in a new product - to assess demand. There is no Ford Mustang C6760 - that is the beginning of the chemical formula for the botulism toxin, as confirmed by the mention of blue, botulism’s natural color. ’

  Interesting, to say the least.

  ‘Now, what makes this different is the fact that it is coming from an entirely independent source. The production of synthetic botulism is so time-consuming and so regimented, that mere mortals can’t just get their hands on it. Which is why botulism for sale in a Craigslist ad was so unique, and why it caused such a stir.’

  ‘I get it,’ I say, hoping I’m not lying.

  ‘The ad, however, was so obvious. It had to be to get the attention of official authorities as well as the criminal bodies. And if it got our attention, who else’s attention did it get? We answered the ad with a fake email naturally, in pursuit of the lead, because obviously, someone attempting to bring a highly potent modified chemical weapon into the country is somewhat within our area of interest, and we were placed in an email group - which we could all see. All these fake email accounts and monikers, of which there are over 40. Who knows who all these people are, but it is scary to see genuine parties interested in getting their hands on such a thing, and you can only assume the identities of these possible buyers are both criminal and governmental.’

  I find it hard not to gulp in fear. Dear God.

  ‘With such parties vying for this item, this becomes a matter of not just national safety, but world safety. We don’t know who wants this, but they are powerful enough to put their names in the hat for it.’

  ‘So what brings it to the UK right now?’ I ask.

  ‘We were emailed out of the blue last week. To say that it was finally coming. The item, 1 gram of Apex, a synthetic, modified super-botulism, from which to synthesize as much as you like, not to mention an antitoxin, would be coming to the the south of the UK, and that there would be an auction at a time and destination to be confirmed. Simply put, the item goes to the highest bidder.’

  ‘And that’s when you told me about it?’

  ‘Not quite. When we received that email, we were called off by Westminster, on orders of the Secretary of Defense herself. We didn’t even know they were aware of our involvement. That’s when I told you to come back to the UK. I had to let it go in an official capacity, but couldn’t... unofficially. I felt you were the perfect man for the job.’

  ‘But the South West, Devon, Woolacombe, Morte Point... How did you know?’

  ‘We have our own intelligence sources here. Some even you are better off not knowing about. We are never, ever, fully out of the loop. We are an intelligence agency after all.’

  He is right, and I suppress a smile. Their networks for information gathering and intel collection are exactly why I sought to work in conjunction with the NCA in the first place. Not to mention that they have the clout to bring the scumbags I bring their way to justice.

  ‘So what are you thinking? What’s the play?’ I ask.

  ‘First off, we can’t trust anybody. No-one. Here at the NCA, the team under my direct control and command is fifteen strong - only three of them know about this. They have their own assignments away from the main group. My superiors are also unaware. Nothing about this sits right with me, which is why I can’t let it go. It might end my career, but I have to try to stop this.’

  ‘And that’s where I come in?’

  ‘You’re our man in the field.’

  ‘What is your gut telling you?’

  ‘I think our own government is one of the parties seeking to buy the toxin. I think they are behind one of the email accounts in the pool. And I think they have ordered us off the project under some bollocks pretense that they have got a special unit on the matter, when in fact they are positioning themselves to take the botulism for themselves. And before you suggest that they might have wanted to get their hands on it to destroy it and save the day, think about it... If that was their goal, surely they would have kept us around and worked with us, since two heads are always better than one. No. They want that shit for themselves.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ My image of quaint little England, the one buried in my heart that I gaze at like the faded picture in a locket, takes a huge hit. The black powers swirling behind the green... it reminds me of sinister days in history. ‘You think... they downed the plane?’

  ‘Absolutely. In such a way that they would get first dibs on the spoils. But you beat them to it, my friend. Tell me... Your Dr Ridgewell, what did she say about the chemical?’

  I’m spinning figuratively. Rage and pity burn my cheeks as I smash my eyes shut. The sheer bastardy this world has to offer. The years I spent crawling through mud and blood with bullets slicing the air above my head, all for a government that was as twisted and power-driven as any other evil I have faced. I can’t face it. I feel my life was a lie. What was I fighting for?

  ‘That it is indeed very nasty, and that what I have here can kill 1.4 million people alone.’ That stuns Jeremiah into a a breathless silence.

  They must be stopped. I must destroy the toxin. I must do it now. How does one safely do that? Amina.

  But wait... A flicker of mischief alights in my mind, a whisper of something... A plan and a resolution.

  ‘And all these interested parties - they have headed to England too?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, the auction is expected to take place somewhere in and around the London area within the next couple of days. They are there waiting for the date, time and place.’

  ‘How convenient. Right at the seat of government.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Is there anyone there we can count on? The entire government can’t be bent out of shape!’

  ‘There may be. We obviously have some people there -’

  ‘Then that’s where I’m headed. I’ll call you when I get there.’

  ‘Wait. If you head up north I can help protect you and we can figure this out -’

  ‘No. I need to find out who’s responsible, and that will only come from taking this thing to London.’

  ‘I will, but you have an opportunity to end this by destroying it. You don’t need to run anymore.’

  ‘That’s not good enough. We need more. I’ll call you when I’m in the capital.’

  I hang up. And this wild ride takes a new twist.

  ‘Amina!’ I call, tossing the phone onto the bed next to me. The lab door opens almost immediately, and she walks in. She is ashen, he body language carrying the hallmarks of defeat.

  ‘Amina, can you assist me in the safe handling of this chemical?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies in a whisper.

  ‘Is there a way you can help me transport it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies again, her eyes narrowing this time.

  ‘Then we need to leave, and I need your help.’

  12

  It only took about an hour’s persuasion. I outlined the situation very carefully to Amina, and painted her role in obvious shades. I went heavy on the part about what is at stake. She understood, and with a grim frown, agreed. I think that, since she is the person who positively identified the chemical, she feels unjustly responsible for it. Her commitment has looked sound since, but we are only an hour in.

  I mustn’t forget, despite my natural state to take people as I find them, that Amina herself is on the payroll of the very government I suspect of betraying the public. I believe she can be trusted but... Who really knows?

  So, under my gaze, she transferred the contents of the earring to a clear vial from one of the lab cupboards, and placed it in what looked like a kitchen tupperware filled with foam under a clip lid. She cut a nest out of the centre of the foam in which the vial sits snugly inside. I grabbed a quick wash in the centers toilets. She grabbed her things, and I grabbed mine, and she put the lab ba
ck the way she thought it should be. We took her car, a red late 90‘s Mitsubishi pickup truck with muddied flanks, and we are heading east, with her driving. I sit next to her, in the passenger seat, my bag in the footwell between my feet, while a saline drip hangs from the grab handle above the passenger window, a tube connecting it to the back of my hand. Cleaning me up, rehydrating me.

  The radio burbles along, a sleepy late night DJ guiding us between heartbreakers. Intermittently, the music is interrupted by traffic updates. I find it funny - I haven’t seen another car since I set off.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Amina,’ I say reluctantly. ‘But we are going to have to ditch this car soon.’