‘Perhaps they don’t realise it but the children of Africa are indebted to your care,’ he began.
As soon as she had got the information from Sue Jones, Nathalie had rung Geoff. Now she, Geoff and Nick Coburn were sitting in his office.
‘So that’s the story Nick,’ said Geoff. ‘Here’s the address. Could be completely innocent, the guy might really be on a charity jolly, or on the other hand…’
‘He could be spreading the Ebola virus,’ completed Nathalie.
‘But we don’t want you sparking off an international incident,’ said Geoff. ‘And we don’t want any premature disclosure buggering up our film.’
‘Geoff,’ exploded Nathalie. ‘If it means stopping people catching Ebola, who cares about the film.’
‘I’m just asking Nick to be sensitive, not always his strong point. Of course, if he’s carrying any of that nasty stuff, we’ll stop him. But we don’t want his mates to know, anyway not before we get them on film.’
Nick was looking at the address. ‘He’s right Nathalie, and it’s not just for his bloody movie, I’m sure the security services would prefer to have the whole gang rather than one of their sacrificial lambs.’
‘Sacrificial lambs?’
‘You don’t think they’ve left any trail connecting him to them do you? No, if he gets caught they’ll wash their hands of him. That’s why you need to get their faces on camera.’ Nick got to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and check out this Child-Aid outfit. Although it’s not exactly the place I’d visit to start an Ebola epidemic.’
Thirty-one
The visit to the charity had taken longer than Joseph had planned and the guilt-generating applause was still ringing in his ears as he hurried towards the Tube station. He felt conspicuous but in the busy London streets no one seemed concerned about the dark Zimbabwean man paying for his ticket and tracing out his journey on the underground map with his finger. The train was crowded even in the middle of the afternoon. All the seats were occupied and so he stood clutching his bag against his chest like a baby, anxious not to bump into the sides of the careering carriage. His destination was near the end of a line. He hadn’t realised how long London’s underground system was. It took nearly an hour. Fortunately with each stop the crowd in the carriage thinned, eventually providing spaces in the seating. He sat, still holding his cargo close.
He was the only one left in the carriage when his stop arrived, the signs slowing down through the grimy windows. The turnstiles were open, no one to take his ticket, and so he strolled into the late afternoon sunlight squinting his eyes to take in the scenery. This was not like the London he had left. A few derelict buildings were scattered among some not so green fields. More like a Zimbabwean township than a metropolitan capital. His map was easy to follow and hardly necessary. The lane was signposted and he could see the warehouses in the distance, just like the photographs. If there was a guard he must have been patrolling the other side of the compound, for the gatehouse stood empty. Joseph pulled his collar around his neck, it was getting cold, and walked slowly towards an outer building. The door was unlocked, he was told it would be. Inside the row of lockers. He opened the nearest and pulled out the grey overalls. One size fits all. The white fitted mob-cap and mask completed the uniform. Now ‘one of the guys’ he made his way towards the main warehouse. He was ignored by a forklift truck operator and given a passing nod by an identically clothed man who was struggling with a large wooden pallet. The building was as large as an aircraft hangar. The interior was lit by strings of cold fluorescent lights. Slotted aluminium shelves held row upon row of brown cardboard boxes reaching far into the distance. Joseph pulled out his sketch of the warehouse. Aisle 6, row 29. He patted the front of his overalls, just to make sure that it was still there. Stupid really, he had checked the canister several times before transferring it from his bag and putting it into his inside pocket. The aisles were clearly marked, the rows less so. He counted them off, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and studied the labels on the next shelf. They corresponded. How and who had gleaned this information he had no idea but they had done their job well. He reached up for one of the boxes and almost dropped it in fright.
‘Oi you!’
Joseph turned around, almost too quickly.
A man in a cheap suit thrust a clipboard into his hands.
‘You’re on time. Makes a change from the regular. Keep this up and you’ll have his job.’
Joseph stared at him over his mask, breathing heavily.
‘Don’t worry lad, I don’t bite, that is if you count these boxes properly.’ The man looked at his watch. ‘You’ve got half an hour, then if you’ve finished you can knock off okay?’
Joseph nodded, stared at the clipboard and then at the man.
‘Right, get on with it then.’
Joseph turned and pretended to count the boxes with his fingers. He heard the footsteps of the man walk away through the corridor of box-laden shelves. When the footsteps had faded he turned to check the aisle. Not a soul in sight. He turned back to the boxes only this time not to count them but to carefully prise one open. His heart was beating so loudly that he thought it might be echoing around the warehouse. When he had volunteered for this task he had been angry. Hundreds of African mine workers killed in an accident that was waiting to happen. The British company had put profit over safety. A not uncommon practice. Peaceful protest had done nothing, it was time they had to listen. This would be a warning. Next time it would be worse, a lot worse. He looked over his shoulder before slipping the plastic bottles out of their containers and his hand trembled as he took out the hypodermic from its case. The meeting with Child-Aid had really shaken him. These weren’t anonymous Western suits, donating for their consciences. They were kind men and women with a genuine care for children’s health. He slowly plunged the needle into the vial. How many innocent children would this action affect? He had been reassured that this would be targeted at adults, but what if they passed it on? The UK wasn’t like Africa, they had the best antibiotics, isolation units. It would be bad but they eventually would contain it. If their threats succeeded more would benefit in the long term, and he had come this far. The clear liquid trickled into the hypodermic. He was careful not to spill any onto his skin. The plastic bottles had a seam. The best place he had been told. The faces of the charity group still haunted him. But then he remembered the fate of the miners. He had seen pictures of the crushed and mangled bodies. It had been avoidable but they did not, would not listen. He made a decision. He had seen first-hand the symptoms of Ebola. It was a terrible way to die. They would listen now.
His lodgings had been booked for two nights. Tomorrow was meant to be a day off, a day sightseeing, taking in the culture of a country he was about to attack. He carefully lifted one of the bottles and inserted the needle into the seam. There was no way he could stay here. He would go straight to the airport, change his ticket and take the last flight to Harare. He would inform Sue Jones and the hospital that he had to return early to attend to a sick relative. No one would be the wiser. He gently pushed down the plunger. Not too deep, he had many bottles to do. He had come this far…
It was dark by the time Nick returned to Bagatelle’s offices. There appeared to be no one about, but a glow under the door of the boardroom gave the indication that there was a presence. He went in. The whole team were sitting around the boardroom table, the large monitor on the wall lit up with a single drop-box icon. Temba’s video from Harare was due at any moment.
‘The fucking bastard’s disappeared,’ Nick used the expletives, foregoing any greeting formalities. ‘Chased him all round London, first to the charity and then to his digs. No sign of him.’
He had phoned Geoff as soon as he had reached the Child-Aid offices. Admittedly he had taken a few minutes pretending that he represented a corporation wanting to donate to their charity. After that it didn’t take long to establish that they had just been visited by a young Zimbabwean who
had provided evidence of the benefits that their contributions had made. Without trying to make it too obvious that he was searching for him, Nick then had to devour several cups of tea before ascertaining that the young man had left and they had no idea where.
The room at the bed and breakfast address that Sue Jones had provided was empty. The accommodation had been booked for two nights but the young African man had taken what little luggage he had with him. He was probably exploring the city. If the gentleman would like to leave his number then when he returned they would ask him to call. Other than the lack of luggage there was nothing suspicious. Karasa had attended his scheduled meeting and had checked into his digs. Nothing he could call out the security forces for. On Geoff’s approval Nick had called one of his many contacts and for fifty quid had posted him outside the B&B.
‘Just called him again to see if he’s awake,’ said Nick. ‘Got an earful about how cold it was but still no sign of him. Sorry guys.’
Geoff pointed to a seat. ‘Did your best. We still don’t know if he has anything to do with this Ebola threat. Doesn’t sound like he had time to do much to me. Perhaps the charity thing was the real deal.’
‘No,’ said Nathalie. ‘Everything is too coincidental. The guy’s never been to London before. Why today when we’ve been told that there’s a threatened attack? Don’t you think it fishy that there is no luggage in his room and he’s not turned up?’
‘The country’s strange to him,’ said Geoff gesturing to Stefanie to check the video link. ‘Probably doesn’t trust anyone with his stuff. First trip to London? Living it up in the nightclubs most likely.’
‘Joseph is not that kind of guy. Serious, a bit intense. I’m sure there must be a reason why he’s not returned to his digs.’
‘Well, when it comes to you, let us know,’ said Geoff, pointing at the screen. ‘But after this. Looks like Lloyd is transmitting the video to our drop-box.’
He was right, the icon on the screen was flashing to show that someone was sending through a file. Stefanie walked up to the computer and hovered her hand over the keyboard.
‘Are you all ready?’ she asked.
‘As ready as we’ll ever be,’ said Nathalie anxiously.
There was no attached message to the video. It started with a wobbly shot of Lloyd counting to ten and asking Temba to angle his baseball cap a little lower.
‘Just checking out the equipment,’ explained Geoff unnecessarily.
The video then went to black and cut in again to a tracking shot along a hotel corridor. A door opened and the person wearing the camera was greeted by two black Zimbabweans. Some time was spent manoeuvring whilst the three men gathered around a low coffee table.
‘Those the guys?’ asked Geoff.
‘Difficult to say,’ said Nathalie. ‘They had masks on. They look about the same build. Hush though, let’s listen to their voices.’
The sound quality was very poor but they could just about make out what was being said. The two men began by boasting about their current operation. Their operative had arrived in the target area. If he had been successful all that they had to do was to wait for the first victims to be declared and then for the Ebola to spread.
Nathalie was hoping that Temba would ask who the operative was, but he was silent, the camera just dipping up and down slightly. He must have been smiling for the larger man smiled back and thanked his comrade for offering to help the cause.
The camera again slowly nodded up and down, Temba was really playing this cool.
‘I told him to let them do the talking,’ explained Nathalie. ‘Even with what they’ve said so far we’ve got them, and we’ve also got the video so Temba must be okay.’
‘Unless it’s a live feed,’ said Tom, who had been quiet until now.
‘If it’s live, I hope someone’s bloody recording it,’ said Geoff.
‘All being laid down to the hard drive,’ said Stefanie quietly, pointing to the computer.
Geoff sighed, ‘Technology again; all in the ether, in my…’
‘In your day, you wouldn’t have got a micro-camera into a baseball cap visor,’ interrupted Nick. ‘Why don’t you all shut up so we can hear what’s being said.’
They hadn’t missed anything. After taking a drink, Temba put down the cup of tea he had been offered. For the first time, they heard him speak. His voice was clear and without any sign of nervousness.
‘I understand you are looking for an anti-Ebola virus drug to protect your agents. Aren’t they using one already?’
As he spoke the camera moved from one man to the other. Nathalie noticed a large watch on the wrist of one of them. It was the man who she had nicknamed Rolex who fended the answer.
‘They have been yes, something called XEBO. Unfortunately it’s not reliable. In fact we have just heard that the person who obtained the virus for us has died. If our demands are not met we need something more effective for our large-scale attack. Our contact, Muzi, tells us that you have such a drug.’
There was a pregnant pause in the room. The two men in the chairs opposite sat back casually and sipped their tea. Nathalie couldn’t stand the tension.
‘Tell them you have one,’ she shouted at the screen. ‘Get them to say they will use it for their large-scale Ebola attack.’
But Temba said nothing of the sort. After what seemed an age he asked another question.
‘You say that one of your agents has died? Is that the person you have sent to launch your initial attack?’
Rolex, put down his teacup. ‘Fortunately, to the best of our knowledge, no. He knows the consequences and has decided to take the risk. We trust he will return safely from his trip. No, Salina died this morning in a Harare hospital. She caught the disease several months ago when obtaining the virus for our cause. She was a brave warrior and…’
The rest of his sentence was lost as the camera lurched violently to one side and the picture cut to black as it hit the floor.
‘Christ,’ called out Tom. ‘They’ve shot him!’
Nick put his hand on Tom’s arm, ‘Don’t think so Tom, we would have heard the report on camera. I think something that they said made him faint.’
The screen was still black and the room full of white noise. Geoff got to his feet. ‘Nathalie take my office, ring Lloyd on that number he gave you. Find out what’s going on. Nick, we’ve got our footage, time to give your security mates a call. Say we’re pretty sure a Zimbabwean guy is planting the Ebola virus in the country. The Karasa thing could be a coincidence but, like Nathalie, now I don’t think so. They could start by looking at his hotel and the charity. If they need any evidence tell them that they can have a squint at this footage. Stefanie, make sure we’ve got a backup of those files.’
Nathalie left the room and dialled Lloyd’s number. He picked up immediately.
‘Did you get it?’
‘Yes, what happened at the end?’
‘Not quite sure. I recorded it a few doors down from their hotel room. Had to be close enough to pick up the signal. About five minutes after we lost transmission Temba stumbled into my room. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. Garbled something about telling them he’d swooned with jetlag and told me that he had to check on a woman at the hospital.’
Nathalie was relieved and disturbed at the same time. ‘So he’s all right? Did they know he was filming them? Did they accept the placebo drug?’
‘He’s not injured, if that’s what you mean and I don’t think they knew what we were doing, otherwise I’m sure they would be in here by now. Placebo drug? I’ve no idea, he said that he had arranged to meet them again to give them a drug that would really work.’
Nathalie was very confused, this wasn’t the plan at all. ‘Where, when? What does he mean by that?’
‘No idea, the guy looked really crazy. That’s all he said, tore off the camera and ran out of the room.’
Nathalie returned to the boardroom and told Geoff and Tom what Lloyd had said. She could see that Tom
had been shaken and now looked visibly relieved.
‘Looks like he got away with it,’ said Geoff, studying Nathalie’s face. ‘I’ve seen that look before Miss Thompson, come on out with it.’
‘I can’t be sure,’ said Nathalie thoughtfully. ‘Somehow swooning over jetlag is one thing and collapsing on the floor is another. I think I know why Temba fainted.’
Geoff waited patiently.
‘It was at the mention of the woman who died in the hospital. It was as soon as he heard her name: Salina.’
‘You think he knew her?’ Geoff asked.
‘More than that, the first time I set my eyes on Temba Murauzi was in Central Harare Hospital. I think that Salina was his sister.’
‘So the guy didn’t know she was working for WEXA.’
‘Why should he. I think he was angry because the hospital were denying that she had Ebola. They said she had a non-specific infectious disease but he knew they were lying. He’s a pharmacologist, he would know what her XEBO treatment was for.’
‘And she caught Ebola whilst getting it for these terrorists?’
‘Evidently, it’s not the easiest thing to contract but if she had some exchange of fluids somewhere…’
‘What is it Nathalie, you’ve got that look again?’
‘Fluid exchange. He just can’t smear the virus on door knobs and seats, it would probably die within minutes. They need a way of getting the virus into people’s body fluids. If we can think of ways in which they could do that, we may have a chance to stop them.’
Drugs to Forget Page 30
