The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger

by Crumby, Robin

  “Making that dossier public was the biggest mistake we made. Intelligence should never be used selectively, as with Iraq.”

  “Politicians have always attached to certain bits of evidence above others.”

  “We stretched what we had to breaking point. There was little new. We recycled everything. Bush and Blair simply took a tougher stance on Iraq’s non-compliance.”

  Zed rubbed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair. How many thousands of Iraqis had died because of those erroneous decisions? He had asked himself the same question so many times, seeking closure on his own part in the tragedy. Regret was pointless but inevitable. As if sensing Zed’s inner conflict, the colonel added: “Nothing any of us could have done would have changed what happened. In my experience, there’s always a price to pay for trying to shortcut the gathering of reliable intelligence.”

  The colonel picked up the UN report covering the death of the British weapons inspector, Doctor David Kelly. “Does it say who was on the ‘grassy knoll’? Who was responsible?”

  “Not explicitly, no, but there’s little doubt Kelly paid the ultimate price for taking a stand against the government. Betrayed by the Ministry of Defence. The whole thing stinks of a cover-up.”

  “In what sense?”

  “Remember how febrile the atmosphere was back then. The war on terror was gaining momentum. Two years after 9/11, Bush was taking aim at any nation openly supporting terrorism. Saddam was defiant. Bush and Blair wanted him gone. Then you have Kelly, an experienced weapons inspector of unimpeachable competence and integrity, thrust into the media spotlight, contradicting the government narrative, casting doubt on the very case for war. His intervention was pivotal. Public sentiment shifted quickly. The anti-war movement suddenly had a credible champion whose view undermined the central pillars of the September Dossier. Blair panicked, set his political attack dog, Alistair Campbell, on Kelly and Gilligan, the BBC journalist behind the story. Kelly needed to be silenced at all costs. Discredited, prevented from speaking out.”

  “Then you think they leaked Kelly’s name to the press?”

  “Undoubtedly. They put him under unbearable pressure. Even for a man of Kelly’s fortitude, those appearances before the Foreign Affairs Select Committee took their toll.” Zed shook his head at the memory, chewing his lip. “Kelly was utterly fearless, as tough as they come. He thrived on that kind of pressure. How many Iraqi or Russian officials did he face down, screaming at him or firing weapons over the heads of his inspection team? No one could intimidate Kelly.”

  “Pressure gets to everyone, eventually.”

  “I still remember his performance in front of the Foreign Affairs Committee. Determined to speak out even if it meant losing his job, his pension, his reputation, everything. The Kelly I remember would never have taken his own life, never. I reread the Hutton report about a dozen times trying to figure out what really happened.”

  “The facts are undisputed. He took an overdose of co-praxamol and slit his wrist.”

  “Even in combination neither of those factors was sufficient to kill him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “How many people die in the UK each year from severing their ulnar artery?” said Zed, indicating the point on the inside of his wrist.

  “I have no idea. Two hundred?”

  “I checked. The number is zero. The ulnar artery is the size of a matchstick. Even if you severed it completely, the blood would clot long before you lost consciousness.”

  “The coroner’s report seemed very clear on the cause of death. He had an undiagnosed heart condition, meaning co-praxamol may have exacerbated the condition.”

  “Seems unlikely in the quantities he took.”

  “Except we also know co-praxamol was later withdrawn because of safety concerns. All these things add up.”

  “Regardless, how on earth was he meant to have cut his own wrist with a blunt pen knife? Everyone who worked with Kelly knew his right arm was so weak he could barely open a fire door. He had to ask people in the cafeteria to cut up his food. There are so many other inconsistencies when you look closely.”

  “Such as?”

  “For a start, Lord Hutton suspended the original coroner’s inquiry, ordered that all documents, including photos relating to the post-mortem be sealed for seventy years. Why would he do that if there was nothing to hide?”

  “To protect Kelly’s family from the media?”

  “Do you realise his dental records were stolen from his local surgery in Abingdon? They needed them to formally identify the body.”

  “A simple clinical error is the more likely explanation, I believe.”

  “No witness ever came forward who could place Kelly near the woods prior to his death. He just disappeared off the face of the planet and then his body mysteriously turned up the next day.”

  “He was a very private person. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see him.”

  “The police checked his mobile phone records, searched the area he was found in several times with thermal imaging equipment. There was no trace of a heat signature. Doesn’t that all strike you as beyond strange?”

  “Not really. The truth is normally much more mundane than fiction.”

  “Okay, let’s assume he really did commit suicide. Why was there no suicide note? Are we really to believe that Kelly, the unflappable weapons inspector, just snaps one day and disappears off to the woods to kill himself? It’s so out of character as to be laughable.”

  “Who knows what he was thinking? What does the UN report actually say?” asked the colonel, becoming increasingly frustrated by such speculation.

  “The independent forensics report raised some new questions. Apparently, Kelly’s penknife had no fingerprints on it at all, suggesting someone wiped it clean. It’s possible someone moved his body after he died. Made it look like suicide. They just didn’t do a very good job.”

  “You’re not seriously suggesting the police covered up the death of a civil servant?”

  “Look, I know how this all sounds. I feel the same way about most conspiracy theories, but after what they tried to do to me, I honestly don’t know what to believe.”

  Zed was still haunted by memories of the witch hunt conducted by the Ministry of Defence in the aftermath of the war, their collective failure to find evidence of the weapons of mass destruction cited in the various intelligence briefings, the accusations, the blame, the search for a scapegoat. Those dark days still held the power to unsettle Zed, like it was yesterday. “You want to hear a really wild theory?”

  “Indulge me.”

  “It’s entirely possible the body they found in the woods wasn’t even Kelly’s.”

  “You’re suggesting his wife didn’t recognise her own husband? She positively identified his body.”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Zed. “All I’m saying is that the original post mortem recorded Kelly’s weight as fifty-nine kilos, height five feet six inches, but I know for a fact he was taller and heavier than that. When the post-mortem measurements were queried, the hospital admitted their scales may have been faulty.”

  “Well, there you have it. Mistakes happen. None of this is evidence of any conspiracy.”

  “Sherlock Holmes once said that, once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

  “So you’re saying that if Kelly didn’t commit suicide, someone must have had a motive to kill him?”

  “Exactly. I’d be interested in your views. Humour me, please.”

  “Well,” said the colonel, sitting up straighter. “I’d imagine in his line of work, Kelly must have made a lot of enemies, not just at home, but in Russia and Iraq. He also had first-hand knowledge of weapons programmes undertaken by a whole host of Allied countries.”

  Zed paused as if a thought had just occurred to him. “I don’t suppose you know what Kelly was working on before he died?”

  “No, but there must b
e an official record. I know the security services recovered a cache of documents from his private residence. He had a flight booked to Baghdad.”

  Zed leaned forward in his seat, alive with possibilities. “What if Kelly discovered something explosive. Something that got him killed. I don’t know, say, about Wildfire? Lies about Iraq, links with Russia? What if Kelly’s death was part of something bigger?”

  “Bigger than the Iraq War?” mocked the colonel.

  “In the department, there were whispers about Kelly’s past. That he was on the payroll of several commercial organisations, that he moonlighted for other nations?”

  “We investigated them all. Rumours to discredit Kelly.”

  “Have you ever asked Doctor Hardy what Kelly was working on?”

  “Why would I?”

  “No harm asking. The other name listed in the UN report was a certain Stephen Lawrence Donnelly, Chief Scientific Officer at the Defence Evaluation and Research Agency before it became part of DSTL.”

  “Really? There was no mention of Donnelly in any of the UNSCOM reports.”

  “Exactly. The only explanation is that his service record has been modified.”

  “For what reason?”

  “That’s what I aim to find out.”

  Chapter 23

  Later that same morning, the colonel summoned Major Donnelly to appear before the Council to answer fresh allegations based on new information received from the United Nations. At first, the Governor and head of the Council, Captain Armstrong refused, citing more pressing business, but when the preliminary list of evidence was made available, he backed down.

  Once everyone was seated, the stenographer poised to record the exchanges, the colonel called the special hearing to order. Zed studied the major for the slightest hint of trepidation. He appeared nerveless, aside from his hand trembling almost imperceptibly as it rested on the Bible. Donnelly was immaculately turned out in pressed combat fatigues, his thinning hair combed to one side.

  “Thank you for making yourself available, Major. I appreciate this is a busy time for all of us,” began the colonel. “We’ll try to keep this session as brief as possible. I’d like to start by asking you to clarify the sworn statement you gave to this enquiry about your involvement with UNSCOM back in the Nineties.”

  The colonel met Donnelly’s defiant stare as he handed round a document obtained from the United Nations listing the experience and service record of one Lieutenant Stephen Lawrence Donnelly. “Before joining DSTL in 2001, you held the role of Chief Scientific Officer at the Defence Evaluation and Research Agency, the UK’s largest science and technology organisation at that time. Is that correct?”

  Major Donnelly adjusted his collar, sitting up straighter in his seat. Zed struggled to hide a thin smile savouring the Porton chief’s growing discomfort.

  “Where did you get this?” said Donnelly, scanning the biographical extract from a United Nations report.

  The colonel ignored the question. “You provided assistance to several UNSCOM inspection teams sent to Iraq in the late Nineties.”

  Major Donnelly cocked his head as if surprised by the question. “No, I was never part of any UNSCOM team.”

  The colonel stared back at him in disbelief. “Then why are you cited multiple times in UN cables?”

  “It’s true, I did go to Iraq on several occasions, but never as a member of any UN team.”

  “Perhaps a family holiday or city break then? I hear Baghdad is very nice at that time of year.”

  “No.” The major smiled defiantly. “I went there as an independent observer. We were part of the so-called TEMs, or Technical Evaluation Meetings. At the time, UNSCOM was mired in politics, they’d lost the trust of several key UN members. Infiltrated by the CIA, accused of spying on Iraq, following its own agenda and generally having far too much power. My team was independent, free of bias. Tasked with verifying the work of the UN team, but conducting our own investigations where necessary.”

  “I see. Then how did your assessment differ?”

  “Look, we visited the same factories, research facilities, saw the same thing. There were a few things we disagreed on?”

  “Namely?”

  “You have to understand, the Iraqis were doing everything in their power to obstruct, making our lives very difficult. No-one was talking, scientists were terrified at what might happen to their families if they spoke out. Undercover GSD operatives and Saddam’s Republican Guards lurked everywhere, reporting back, anticipating our every move, destroying or concealing evidence before we arrived. Each site we visited had been meticulously cleaned. Our success required a change of tactics.”

  “Go on.”

  “In the end, we focused on the little stuff. The details that might provide insight into the bigger picture. We talked to the janitors and the lower-level workers. Recovered staff rosters, bus itineraries, cleaning schedules. Everything suggested an Iraqi production programme working at full capacity until very recently.”

  “Producing what?”

  “Weapons-grade pathogens, for the most part. Anthrax or botulinum.”

  “The same pathogens Doctor Hardy claimed were destroyed?”

  “It’s impossible to be certain. UNSCOM accounted for the vast majority of chemical and biological weapons, but that still left potentially a huge arsenal we believed was hidden away.”

  “There’s no doubt in your mind that Saddam had a viable biological weapons programme?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Then, in your view, the grounds for invasion were legitimate?”

  “I’m a scientist, not a politician, Colonel. My job was simple: to report back what we found and let others decide what sanctions were appropriate.”

  “Then what exactly did you find?”

  “One of the largest weapons programmes ever conceived, hiding in plain sight. Massive dual-use production facilities made to look like industrial units for animal feed or milk powder.”

  “For the record, when you say dual-use, you mean production could be switched to produce biological agents. Anthrax, Botulinum?”

  “Correct. The site at Al Hakahm was truly breathtaking, even by Russian standards. Vast hanger-like spaces, buildings set kilometres apart.”

  “What makes you so certain they weren’t producing milk powder as the Iraqis claimed?”

  “Because the specifications were all wrong. High-capacity air handlers, stainless steel storage tanks, painted black to conceal their true purpose.”

  “What sort of time frame are we talking for switching production lines?”

  “A few days, maybe less.”

  “Not forty-five minutes?” interrupted Zed to the irritation of the colonel.

  Donnelly laughed. “As Mister Samuels well knows, the forty-five minute claim in the ‘September Dossier’ related to Scud missiles armed with nuclear warheads.”

  “No evidence of those warheads was ever found,” countered the colonel.

  “Look, we knew the Iraqis had buried a lot of stuff they didn’t want us to find in underground bunkers or disused railway tunnels. Do you have any idea how much desert there is in Iraq? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “So, the expert opinion of your independent team was that Iraq still maintained a weapons programme that posed a clear and present danger to the West?”

  “Without question.”

  “Chemical and biological?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Certainly, the chemical arsenal included mustard gas, tabun, CS, and limited evidence of nerve agent.”

  “And the biological?”

  “Predominantly anthrax, botulinum, and weaponised aflatoxin.”

  “But there was also compelling evidence the Iraqis had researched a whole range of viral weapons. West Nile Virus, camel pox, and coronaviruses.”

  “Researched, yes. We disagreed with UNSCOM on this point. Our experts concluded that the Iraqis lack
ed the sophistication to weaponise those pathogens.”

  “In doing so you discounted first-hand testimony from several witnesses who worked at those facilities?”

  “Our legal counsel determined that confessions were obtained through illegal interrogation methods and could not be relied upon in a court of law.”

  “I see,” said the colonel, making some notes. “On what else did your team disagree with UNSCOM?”

  The major declined to answer, perhaps anticipating the trap the colonel had set.

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Your boss, David Kelly, went on record to say…” began the colonel.

  “Kelly was never my boss.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I never reported to Kelly.”

  “I stand corrected. Nevertheless, Doctor Kelly went on record confirming, in his opinion, that Iraq had complied with UNSCOM and shut down all chemical and biological weapons programmes, as instructed.”

  “Kelly was playing both sides.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Kelly would say that. He knew full well that whatever stockpiles they gave up, Iraq retained the capability and knowledge to restart at a moment’s notice. Look, we never worked together, but I knew Kelly well. No airs and graces, a man of impeccable honour and integrity. A proud Welshman from the Rhondda Valley.” The major smiled to himself. Perhaps a private joke. “But he was also a loner, a maverick. He painted himself into a corner.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The MoD warned everyone not to speak to the press, but Kelly couldn’t help himself. He continued speaking with journalists he trusted, like Susan Watts who worked for the BBC. Apparently Kelly had no idea the interview was recorded and a transcript openly shared. When he denied the remarks at the parliamentary hearing, he was caught in a lie.”

  “Major Donnelly, if Kelly was the loner you portray him as, then why was everyone so worried about what he might say?”

  “Because Kelly was still one of the most senior UN investigators. He retained the power and influence to bring down the government’s case for war. Kelly was playing a very dangerous game which ultimately cost him his life.”