“What happened to the five hundred and fifty-seven new cases you mentioned in your last report?” challenged the colonel, referring to a previous page in his notebook.
Doctor Hardy glanced at the major as if the colonel’s question confirmed something to both men. “We’re redirecting our limited resources towards prevention. As you know, my recommendation to the Council was that we discontinue treatment for those already infected.”
The colonel nodded his agreement. Zed had independently reached the same conclusion. The survival rates no longer justified further investment of limited healthcare resources. Though he was surprised the Council had rubber-stamped this approach. It meant a death sentence for hundreds.
“And the Ventnor programme?” asked the colonel.
“Nothing additional to report. We’re running the next phase of the oral vaccine in two parts, six weeks long with a break in the middle. Fifty-four kids in total, aged four to sixteen, subjected to a battery of tests: blood, temperature, mental acuity, glands checked, noses and throats swabbed.”
“And?”
“So far, the results show promise. All the children who lacked antibodies prior to the trial developed some resistance within two to three weeks of treatment.”
“Meaning they’re resistant to infection?”
“Correct.”
“I understood the intravenous vaccine was the more effective?” challenged Zed.
“Yes, but we’ve designed the oral version to be ‘fool-proof’. Virtually anyone can administer it.”
Zed scribbled the word ‘fool-proof’ and underlined it with an exclamation mark.
“Are the Sisters satisfied we are keeping to our promises?”
“Absolutely. Everything that was agreed with the Council.”
“And these ‘side effects’ you mentioned,” the colonel located the relevant note, “I quote, ‘Just under half of the subjects suffer some form of adverse reaction’.”
“Apologies, I should have been clearer. We’re talking very mild flu-like symptoms, swollen glands, headaches, sore throats, that sort of thing. Perfectly routine for this type of trial. Only one little girl experienced anything more life-threatening.”
“We were discussing this earlier before you came in,” explained the colonel, noticing Zed’s surprise. “Some recipients of the vaccine passed on their symptoms to other children not in the trial.”
“Meaning volunteers develop immunity themselves but still pass the virus on to others?” asked Zed. “How is that possible?”
“We’re not sure,” admitted Doctor Hardy. “We think their bodies somehow act as reservoirs for the virus.”
“That’s a pretty big problem,” scoffed Zed.
“Not really. Genetic engineering is still a relatively new field of science,” explained Hardy. “Studying the virus was just the beginning. Re-equipping our bodies with the antibodies we need to fight the virus is simply a stepping stone. Our real goal is a new generation of kids born with natural immunity.”
“That’s all well and good for future generations, but you’re ignoring the fact that thousands of people are still dying every day. Just because you’ve brought that number under control with this latest lockdown, we’re still looking at catastrophic loss of life here and on the mainland.”
“We’re well aware of that,” acknowledged the doctor with growing irritation. “We need to look at the bigger picture.”
“Doctor Hardy has his sights set on something more significant. He’s promising a revolution in human health,” claimed the colonel.
“I’m not following you,” apologised Zed.
Hardy sat forward in his chair, “Long before the Millennial Virus, teams around the world, including mine, were working flat out to develop cost-effective oral vaccines capable of delivering lifelong immunity against common infections like the flu or measles.”
“You’re talking about permanently eradicating the flu?” challenged Zed.
“At St Mary’s, we are planning to do to the Millennial Virus what our predecessors did with polio and smallpox. The health benefits would be unprecedented. Imagine lifelong levels of protective antibodies that require only a booster shot every five to ten years. Not to mention the wider benefits to society. Increased productivity, an end to all those millions of work days lost per year to sickness.”
“The priority, surely, is saving as many as we can, right now, not some pipe dream for universal health in years to come.”
“We thought the same until just a few weeks ago,” admitted the doctor. “We’ve seen a massive spike in cases of measles, mumps, rubella. Outbreaks we’ve not seen in our lifetimes. Overrunning our hospitals. We’re already dangerously short of antibiotics and a whole host of other drugs.”
“Hence the renewed interest in a universal vaccine,” explained the colonel. “Why focus on one threat to human health when you can deliver resistance to a basket of common infections?”
“Look, this could be our moonshot,” claimed the doctor with a magician-like wave of his hand. “My team is attempting to do something that has never been done before. Who knows? This could be our Philosopher’s Stone.”
“Then you’re claiming this universal vaccine could boost resistance across the spectrum of infection?” asked Zed.
“It already has. In some patients, this treatment is boosting hormone levels, stamina, fitness, even life expectancy. We’re talking about the medical equivalent of the Holy Grail. A tonic for life itself,” added the major with a flourish. “An elixir vitae.”
“Sir, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” cautioned the doctor. “What we’re attempting is actually quite simple. We’re training the immune system to identify features of common viruses that don’t change.”
“And no one has tried this approach before?” asked the colonel.
“Many have tried. Many have failed. Look, we’re not claiming we have all the answers,” explained the doctor. “Science, like life itself, is chaotic. A jumble of mistakes, accidents, unintended consequences that sometimes lead to small but important breakthroughs. Like baking a cake using incorrect ingredients, salt instead of sugar,” added the major.
“Isn’t that how real innovation happens?” added the major. “We all start with good intentions but the path to progress is anything but straightforward. Those random connections and unplanned interactions lead us to discoveries. Each accident helps shine a light on the solutions we seek.”
“Most non-scientists think science is for geeks,” mocked the doctor. “People think goatees and bad breath, endless repetition of experiments, meticulous observation and recording of results, but real scientists are some of the greatest innovators who’ve ever lived. They’re tenacious, relentless in their pursuit of a dream.”
Zed nodded quietly, noticing the major’s fervour and intensity.
“Mr Samuels and I have witnessed your team’s professionalism. I assure you, we require no further proof,” confirmed the colonel, encouraging the doctor to continue.
“For these researchers, it’s more than just a job. Just as it was for Louis Pasteur or Francis Crick, it’s about the chase.” The doctor paused, as if making a connection, struck by a thought. “Imagine how Christopher Columbus felt when he first glimpsed the shores of the New World. That’s what this work represents. The dawn of a new era of human health. An end to disease. Consider us explorers at the very edge of a new frontier, no less significant.” His enthusiasm seemed to subside.
“No one is questioning the scale of the challenge,” replied the colonel. “The Council has given you everything you’ve asked for.”
“Not quite everything,” corrected the major. “I fail to understand how answering Mister Samuels’s endless questions helps matters. It’s rather like having your grandmother on a date.”
“He’s a fast learner,” claimed the colonel.
“Maybe, but instinct only gets you so far. Without scientific training,” began the major.
“He may not
have the doctor’s years of experience,” replied the colonel, “but you can’t deny, sparks fly when the two of them are in the same room. That creative conflict is exactly what’s needed.”
“I’m afraid the Doctor’s right,” acknowledged Zed with a shake of the head. “It’s a very steep learning curve.”
“Nonsense, your lack of experience is an advantage.” The colonel produced Zed’s personnel folder from the desk drawer and handed it to the major who flicked through the printed pages with disinterest. “Back in the Nineties Samuels was part of an elite group of MoD problem solvers called the ‘Braintrust’. I quote,” he said, picking up the photocopied sheet in front of him, “‘expert in recognising patterns in complex data sets’ and ‘making sense of incomplete and often contradictory information’.”
“We have algorithms and super computers to do that these days,” replied the major.
“That may be, but these test scores are some of the most impressive I’ve ever seen. ‘A near photographic memory’, ‘almost instant recall of names, places and dates’,” quoted the colonel.
“That was a long time ago,” admitted Zed.
“Memory is like a musical instrument, you simply have to practice.”
Hearing the colonel quote from his personnel file had sparked a dozen memories Zed had tried his level best to forget. Back in the day he had been the darling of the department’s Braintrust quiz team, reigning champions for three consecutive years. Zed smiled at the memory. It was the same reason he had always loved jigsaws from an early age. Those hundreds of pieces of fragmentary information that somehow fit together to form a complete picture.
The colonel continued: “I’ve spent a lifetime in the intelligence community. The ability to conceptualise, to synthesise the sheer volume of conflicting data into a coherent narrative, extracting meaning and significance from a fog of uncertainty, is surprisingly rare.”
The major finished reading the report and closed the folder. “If Mister Samuels is such a hot shot, perhaps he can explain to us why they managed him out?”
“We’ve been through this already. The accusations were without merit. He never faced formal charges.”
“Only because he left before they convened a disciplinary board. You didn’t last long at your next job either. BioPharma, wasn’t it?”
“That was different,” protested Zed.
“What’s your point, Major?” challenged the colonel.
“I remember BioPharma. Head office in Maryland, wasn’t it?” asked Donnelly, as if testing Zed.
“Just outside Baltimore.”
“A couple of my colleagues went there, experts in antibody therapeutics and autoimmune disorders. What made them hire an analyst like you?”
“I suppose they wanted someone with links into the Ministry of Defence, to navigate the corridors of power,” replied the colonel.
“I doubt that. His UN contacts were what they were really after,” challenged the major. “Access to high-ranking scientists and military procurement from half a dozen different countries?”
“I never found out why they really hired me. There didn’t seem to be a real role. I was a square peg in a round hole,” added Zed.
“Vaccine development is an unpredictable business. Perhaps they weren’t ready,” volunteered Doctor Hardy in rare support. “There are normally delays or setbacks.”
“Politics, more likely,” acknowledged the colonel. “Shifting priorities. A change of leadership. Ultimately, government grants determine which vaccines get funding.”
“Your CEO was a Muslim, wasn’t he?” suggested Donnelly.
“He was Lebanese, if that’s what you mean. I’m not sure what his religion’s got to do with anything?”
“Don’t be so naïve. BioPharma was bidding for big military contracts. Trying to pivot, become a vaccine manufacturer. Your CEO had known sympathies for Hezbollah. Who was that cleric? The one they deported.”
“BioPharma was a billion dollar operation. We had a US Admiral and a three-star General on the board. Those were rumours spread by our rivals.”
“I remember. And agreements in principle to supply anthrax and smallpox vaccines to the US military. Contracts worth billions.”
“I think the Major’s still sore that Porton’s commercial arm lost out,” suggested the colonel with a wry smile.
“Of course. We simply couldn’t compete with BioPharma’s PR machine. Then there was that scandal,” said the doctor with unmistakable glee. “Falsification of test data, wasn’t it?”
“That was after I left, Major.”
“I’m sorry Mister Samuels but I’m still struggling to see how a British MoD contractor who signed the Official Secrets Act ends up working for an overseas organisation with dubious links to Islamic clerics. It shows poor judgement, don’t you think?”
Zed bridled at the suggestion of impropriety but said nothing.
“I read that BioPharma’s CEO El-Farhi headhunted you. Is that right?”
“We met through Doctor Kelly. El-Farhi’s first company had a licence to develop one of Porton’s drug discoveries.”
“Typical Kelly. He was always working both sides.”
“Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re suggesting Kelly was doing backdoor deals? There was no evidence to support impropriety.”
“We can’t be sure.”
“Can’t we? I’ve been through the entire archive, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything like that would have been red-flagged.”
“You’re hardly impartial though, are you? You worked for him.”
“Briefly, he was in charge when I first arrived at Porton. What happened to Kelly was a tragedy,” added Zed.
“Hardly. He only had himself to blame,” suggested the major.
“I’m sorry?”
“We all were. Look, Kelly was one of a kind. A legend. But he was an idealist, head in the clouds. The MoD don’t like mavericks.”
“What are you suggesting, Major?”
“Simply that Kelly got himself isolated and paid the price. He kept his own counsel. Never part of the establishment.”
“Just the sort of person we could do with now,” suggested the colonel.
“Kelly would have been a disaster. Worse than having Mister Samuels here interfering and asking questions.”
“Well, as I’ve told you both before, we don’t have time for personalities and ego to impede progress. We pull together or I’ll find someone else who can get the job done.”
“Really, Colonel, I just hope Samuels is not wasting everyone’s time. We’ve already created a shadow team back at Porton rerunning every trial. Everything we do is subject to peer review. But if you really think someone like Samuels can contribute anything…” The major’s voice trailed off. He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“The Council is well aware of Porton’s reputation. This is in no way a reflection on Doctor Hardy’s team. I’ve asked Mister Samuels to observe and challenge only. I expect your full cooperation. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“While you two remain at St Mary’s, you fall under my jurisdiction. I expect total professionalism at all times.”
Both men answered ‘Yes, sir’, in unison.
“Now if there’s nothing further, gentlemen, I’m sure you have reports to prepare for the Council meeting at eleven.”
Chapter 8
As soon as Major Donnelly and Doctor Hardy left the room, the colonel visibly relaxed, leaning back in his chair and blowing out his cheeks in a rare sign of frustration.
“Sorry about that. I don’t remember scientists being this hard to work with.”
“I know. It’s like prising a pearl from an oyster sometimes. Gill says they’re all like that at Porton Down.”
“The Major insists on total secrecy from the outside world. Their entire culture is predicated on a code of silence, Chinese walls everywhere.”
“Donnell
y’s just a bureaucrat. Hardy’s the real enigma. I can’t get a read from him at all.”
“Remember what I told you. In this game, if you meet an immovable object, go round it. Don’t waste your energy on Hardy. Remember the KGB’s assessment? They said he was loyal to a fault, unbreakable.”
“Loyal to whom, though? He gives nothing away.”
“What do you expect? He’s a scientist, not a politician. Trust me, the more time you spend with him, the more he’ll let his guard down.” The colonel reached into a drawer, found a set of keys and unlocked the small document safe behind his desk. He produced a dark blue folder bursting with documents. “Now where are you up to with Wildfire?”
Zed struggled to hide his confusion. “You mean the project you gave me a direct order to stop working on?” asked Zed with a raised eyebrow.
“When’ve you ever done what you’re told?”
“Let me see.” Zed scratched his head, trying to remember their last conversation. “You were going to get me those transcripts. You know? The debriefing interviews with the UN inspection team.”
“Yes, of course, I completely forgot.”
“We needed Donnelly’s written authorisation to release them.”
“I have the paperwork here somewhere,” the colonel replied, rummaging through his in-tray. “If there’s anything else you need from Porton, I’ve got someone running an errand for me today.”
“I’ll put together a list.” Zed paused, wondering if now was the right moment. He retrieved the envelope from his inside breast pocket. “Colonel, there’s something else I need to ask about. I received this rather strange letter last week from Gill.”
“Oh really? How’s she doing? Back on active duty yet?”
“Not yet, but she’s getting there. Ditched the crutches last week.”
“Good. So what makes you think the letter was strange?” asked the colonel, reaching for his reading glasses.
“It’s a hunch more than anything,” said Zed, handing over the envelope. “She’s either suffering from acute amnesia or the letter is deliberately riddled with factual errors. Places, names, things she knew only I would realise were incorrect.”
The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger Page 5
