My next question is one that I want to navigate carefully.
'For background, how would one weaponize such a thing. I mean if I were to say to you, please go ahead and use that botulism in a way that could harm people on a grand scale - what would you do?'
Amina shrugs off her slight surprise at the question, and breathes out.
'It depends on the number of targets. If you have a small number of targets, mere contact is fine, preferably ingested to be sure. A high number of targets, well, you'd have to get it airborne. Or in a water supply. I'd probably get a crop duster, mix it with an agent to increase volume, and spray it over a community. I feel terrible even thinking that because those things might actually happen if this thing goes to auction.'
'Right. I hope we can come up with something that stops it from coming to that.'
Silence befalls, the chasm of either indecision or magnitude squashing the need for words.
'So what should we do?' Amina eventually asks.
'We see if there's a way that we can settle this that keeps all parties happy, even though that seems highly unlikely. And if it doesn't, I think we hit the road again.'
'OK,' Amina says, smoothing the front of her jeans that were already smooth, which is a bit of a nervous habit of hers. I find it endearing despite myself.
'Just… Don't unpack or anything,' I say. 'And I won't mess up again. You didn't bargain for this. This is your payment for trying to be a good samaritan. I value your safety as the highest priority, even above my own.'
She doesn't reply, but her brow uncreases. It's another indication that she is thawing towards me. But before I can say another word, one that I suspect may make our situation a little more awkward if anything, I hear the low rhythmical thump of a helicopter approaching. It's unmistakable. I’m bloody sick of hearing them.
I hop up, and cross the room to the windows, flooding the room with such bright daylight that it is almost cold. Sure enough, a chopper is coming in low and hard over the trees, tracing an aggressive nose-down line, right for the building. My sinews tense, but I notice that it is a lot smaller than I imagined. It is certainly not carrying an army, and, as it passes closer over the garden, I note that it looks civilian in nature. No gunship, put it that way. It touches down on the broad gravel patch that ends the driveway, which widens to make a turning circle for the stable vehicles.
As soon as it lands, the pilot jumps out, leaving the rotors whirring. I hadn't noticed Amina has joined me, but I can sure feel her presence and warmth. After opening the door, the pilot pulls out a steel ramp, the end of which he lowers to the stone. Within a few seconds, a man in a wheelchair is descending the ramp briskly, his jade green tie blowing up into his thick dark hair, and the whole lot buffets wildly above his head.
'Oh man,' I whisper.
'Who is it?' Amina asks.
'Someone who I was not hoping to see face to face just yet. We have met once, but it was in pitch darkness. It's Jeremiah Salix.'
20
I gently pad downstairs, and it's only halfway down that I realize I forgot to wear my shoes. I feel a bit rude about it, but I like the soothe of the carpet on my battered feet. I changed clothes before coming down, so at least there’s a vague attempt at an acceptable appearance, in case anyone is keeping score. Amina follows me, her interest in developments expanding with every step.
I feel like I've got my tail between my legs, although I shouldn't. Resolve has been a cornerstone of my actions since escaping jail, and faith that my actions, however legally complicated, are right. But now faced with a man who is entrusted completely with upholding the law, and seems so rigorous in doing so, I feel a little like I have duped him into consorting with a criminal. It makes me feel especially uneasy.
We find them in the hotel restaurant, settling side by side at the central square table, both men with their backs to us., Jeremiah in the wheelchair that I know he is stuck in for the rest of his life. John is nowhere to be seen, nor Denise, but considering John's supposed history, he must be very au fait with discretion.
'Hello gentlemen,' I say as I enter, and both men immediately turn to us.
'We were just about to call for you,' says Grosvenor. 'I'm sorry to have seemingly gone over your head on this one, but I know this is a man you trust. I thought we could use his help on this one. Nobody knows he is here.'
'You can tell me how you know that later,' I say, crossing the room to pass around the end of the table, as Jeremiah looks up to meet my gaze. There is warmth there, certainly, his eyes deep brown and skin olive, his hair thick and wild. His tie is loose, shirt crumpled and suit worn. He looks like he must have flown directly from the NCA offices in the clothes he left for work in this morning. I extend my hand to him, and he smiles an interesting mix of curiosity and knowing, as it becomes apparent that we have built a trust relationship without ever looking each other in the eye. He takes my outstretched hand, and I know that in this moment our relationship is forever changed. He has sighted me. He knows my face. And he could track down my identity with ease if he wanted to. This will take some navigation.
'It's nice to finally meet you in a less dubious setting,' he says, referring to when I first made contact with him in a pitch black disabled toilet at the North West Regional Basketball Centre in Stockport.
'I'm pretty sure that dubious is the perfect way to describe the predicament we find ourselves in,' I reply. 'Can I introduce to you Dr Amina Ridgewell, who has both saved my life and assisted me on this little journey.'
Jeremiah shakes Amina's hand, saying 'A pleasure, Doctor. Thank you for everything you have done.'
'And you will know me as... Ben,' I say. It is very difficult to know how to play this, as far as salvaging any anonymity goes. I'll have to feel this out as we go. Ben is a pretty popular name, so not all is exposed by revealing it.
'Have a seat,' Grosvenor suggests, and myself and Amina sit opposite the two government men. 'Jeremiah, would you like to take a bit of a lead here, since this seems to be your baby, to a certain extent.'
'Of course, thank you Mr Grosvenor,' he replies, laying his palms flat our on the table in front of him.
'Please, just call me William,' Grosvenor responds, waving the formalities away with a swish of his hand. The formalities suggest that this is their first meeting too.
'Thank you, William. Ben, as I said it is very nice to meet you, and if you permit me, I will refer to both yourself and Dr Ridgewell as separate parties here - the protector, if you will, and the microbiologist - the other two parties present being myself representing the NCA in an anti-organized crime capacity, and William here representing the Prime Minister and the British Government, or at least those members of the British government that aren't aligned with Defense Secretary Kirsten Sweetmore.'
We all nod.
'So, to get the ball rolling I feel here we need to try to come up with a passable solution to this unenviable conundrum. Namely, what to do with Apex. Now I must admit it does seem strange that we should be the four entrusted to make such a decision but when I think of our 4 separate roles here, it appears we are uniquely positioned and are, essentially, as good as anyone for such a task. We have the view of the government in William, the view of an anti-crime force in myself, the view of a microbiologist in Amina, and the view of the substance's custodian who has seen it safe since it came into our midst in Ben.'
It's hard to argue with that. It's also very hard to imagine arguing with Jeremiah on anything. He exudes a competence that makes it very easy to see why he has elevated swiftly through the ranks of the NCA's organized crime command. I imagine him rehearsing it all the way down here.
'Now, time for all the cards on the table,' says Jeremiah. 'In broad brush strokes, what is the ideal result to this godforsaken scenario? If I can get the ball rolling by saying that there is no clear written directive or policy as to what the NCA should do in terms of a preventative strategy here. We definitely haven't trained for clandestine auctions of be
spoke super-toxins. So I'm speaking from guts and instinct as much as anybody here. William, we spoke on the phone earlier about your conversation with Ben this morning, and I believe you explained the gist of the PM's way of thinking.'
'And I've relayed that to Amina,' I say.
'That's correct,' says Amina.
'I'm afraid it's not just the PM's position,' Grosvenor states, sighing, 'It's mine as well. With as much chagrin as I can muster.'
'And that option,' clarifies Jeremiah, 'is to allow the auction to go ahead, and hand over Apex to be sold to the highest criminal bidder. Now, how would that work? It seems a good time to fill in the blanks of what we know about the auction and the intended process of its execution.'
They've obviously been busy behind the scenes if more information has come to light. Jeremiah keeps speaking, addressing each of us in turn. He is fiery in his honesty and forthright in his delivery. The gravity of this situation is clearly not lost on him, moreover if it resonated any more with him I'm sure there'd be an echo.
'The plane was an OdyrAir 737, from Reykjavik. An Icelandic jet, chartered by a company going by the name Globex Communications, paid for from an account held at the Zurich branch of Credit Suisse. That's right, a good old fashioned bank account. Globex were also incorporated right there in Zurich also. There is no other reference to Globex Communications anywhere we can find, and most certainly not online. On examining the account, the charter jet hire is the one solitary expenditure ever made by the account, which suggests that this account, and possibly this company identity, was created for this one single project. There is no paper trail detailing how the account was opened or anything like that, but if you know the right people in the right banks, you can grease the wheels of anonymity quite easily. So essentially what I am saying is that our search net for the perpetrators is extremely wide indeed. So in the short time frame we have, dealing with the spruce is not going to be an option.'
'What about the woman on the plane?' I ask.
'She was never found. The only mention of her at all is through yourself, Ben. Certainly, the official reports make no reference to her, but the official reports do contain reference to some 250 people dying when the plane went down, so I think we know how reliable such sources are.'
'But she must have some direct relation to the powers at work here?' says Amina.
'Maybe, but perhaps she was just the mule for getting Apex into the country,' interjects Grosvenor.
'That's a possibility,' says Jeremiah, 'and this is just an opinion, but I think she was to liaise on arrival with a team here which pre-exists to organize and handle the auction itself. In fact, I’m sure of it.'
'More traitors,' I find myself saying, wishing I'd consigned my utterance to no further than the walls of my head, but I am angry. I can't help it.
'We think there is a team on standby somewhere in the vicinity of London who was liaising with the Secretary of Defense. We have a a very talented digital cryptologist at the NCA, and I have had him working on the email accounts in the email group through which the various parties made their interest known. Some were fire walled to hell, like the seller’s for example, others not so. Most were invented for the sole purpose of communicating with the vendor, and only ever sent that one message for confirmation. But someone slipped up. Our man is as close to a professional hacker as I’m allowed to employ, and he found a digital trap door through which he could sneak through, via an IP address. Long technical story short, what we do know is that someone one email account, which was entirely anonymous on the surface, contacted the vendor to report that, after a hitch, Apex was safe in their possession after transit and would be ready for the auction on the proposed date. Now who is this you might ask, telling porkie-pies? My man pinpointed the origin of the email to have been sent from a computer at Whitehall.'
'The Ministry of Defense offices,' Grosvenor clarifies.
I can't stop my eyes from blinking at how sloppy that was.
'Kirsten?' I ask.
'Who else do we know that has a vested interest in Apex who has the backing of the Ministry of Defense?' replies Jeremiah.
Stunned silence.
'So,' Jeremiah continues, 'it doesn't make sense to me that Kirsten was trusted to host the auction, considering that she is one of the hopeful buyers herself. I think she acted as the middle party to assist the substance's passage to the country, offering a safe airport in RMB Chivenor for a chartered plane to land at, all in exchange for favor.'
'But she shot it down,' I say, computing the possibilities.
'She couldn't wait, it seems,' says Grosvenor. 'She couldn't leave it to chance that she might not have it in the end. And if she felled the plane into the sea, she could recover the item while making it look like the item was unfortunately destroyed in an unforeseeable accident. That's when you became the ultimate fly in her ointment, Ben.'
'No wonder she chased me down so hard,' I ponder. I had ruined her plan royally.
'Is there a possibility,' says Amina, 'that there are powerful parties in the MoD that want Apex too?'
Jeremiah and Grosvenor exchange glances, betraying the fact that they have already shared the same suspicions.
'That is for another time, and another discussion,' says Grosvenor. 'With the timeframe we have, we have to work with what we know.'
'But we must assume that's a possibility,' adds Jeremiah.
'It's a damn certainty,' I say, again wishing my head would put a clamp on the words spewing from my heart. But I'm frothing. These people, these parties, every single one of these people, voted for and employed to look after a populous. A populous who doesn't essentially question them, and puts unequivocal faith in them to do what is right. To guide the grand ship of England through stormy waters and dark, dangerous nights - only to reveal that the only compass point they follow is one calibrated for greed and personal gain, no matter the cost. And the cost here is so high - the safety of the populous itself. Never, ever, have I felt so cynical and jaded about power, government and the relationship between the two.
This government, and these elected officials, are the ones that sent myself and many like me around the world on missions of bloodshed and combat. Modern day crusades to spread and enforce what we deem as 'good' and 'democratic'. And while we were away, unquestioning our reasons for being there, those that sent us turned their attentions back to the power plays and tactical chess matches of their ivory towers. We were nothing more than pawns in a grotesque charade, a vile cut and thrust dance of power, influence and greed.
That word again. Greed. Amina used it only last night, when telling me how greed had ripped her family apart and got the majority of them killed. Greed is a killer as bad as any disease or affliction. Man's infallible desire to better oneself at the expense of another, for personal gain. And while the personal gains may be high, when you bring greed into a political furnace, those gains come at the expense of the very point of government in the first place. The good of the people. Greed, when acted upon, always generates a loser. And when greed is in government, we all lose.
I can't let that happen. Not on my watch. So it surprises me all the more when I find myself saying: 'The auction has to go ahead.'
My three companions each turn to look at me, as if I've just spoken in tongues. I continue.
'Like William said. Allowing the auction to progress is the least of a great number of worser evils. If it stops Great Britain being the enemy here, then that's at least something.'
'Fair enough,' says Grosvenor. Amina sighs, and Jeremiah shifts in his seat.
‘Amina?’ I ask, ushering her opinion.
‘We could destroy it, and hope for the best. But I worry that that will only inflame prospective buyers further. They would want answers. And then there’s the seller, who will be angry with Kirsten for messing things up, and since she represents government, that puts the country in the firing line again.’
Couldn’t have put it better myself.
'So,
hypothetically,' Jeremiah begins, 'we call Kirsten and tell her that the auction will take place. She gets to take credit for keeping her supposed word -'
'And no international super-scientist will want to get revenge against her for her deception, because there won't appear to have been any,' I interrupt.
'Right. So, any suggestions?'
'We pick the location. One that is set for another purpose, which is surveillance.'
'Go on,' urges Grosvenor.
'This cause is all but lost, and damage limitation is the only real prospect here. But if we look deeper, and think laterally, we can get something useful out of this situation after all. Intel. Think about it. Any of the parties who want to attend the auction are obviously of criminal intent. The list of attendees will be a roll call of international criminal power players. And if we can control the event, we can get a fix on them, and learn about them. Most importantly, we have to find out who buys it, so we know who to keep an eye on.'
Apex (Ben Bracken 2) Page 20
