“Claims he strenuously denies. Samuels worked for BioPharma, an American vaccine manufacturer in Baltimore.”
“Baltimore is a forty minute drive from the Pentagon,” continued Donnelly. “BioPharma was a known front for intelligence gathering on vaccine development.”
“Captain, none of these allegations are listed in the prosecution’s case,” warned the colonel.
“I apologise. This came to light only last night. I’ll make sure all documents are disclosed ahead of the next session, proving UNSCOM had become a puppet for American imperialism. The whole war was really about oil and power, the removal of Saddam, regime change. There never were any hidden biological weapons. They were all destroyed prior to the invasion.”
“A view that runs counter to the consensus in intelligence circles.”
“Apart from Kelly, there wasn’t a single member of the later inspection teams that we deemed qualified to judge. They were all generalists, bureaucrats with no technical experience. PhD academics who wouldn’t recognise a biological weapon if they tripped over one.”
“Major, those scientists were hand-picked from an international expert community,” challenged the colonel. “They were the best of the best.”
“No one denies they were all great scientists. I should know, I worked with some of them, but not one was trained as an inspector. They didn’t know what to look for. It was too easy for Rockingham and the Iraqis to pull the wool over their eyes.”
“How are you suggesting my client did that?”
“Look, a scientist examines a fermentation tank and sees, well, a fermentation tank suitable for the production of pesticides, just as the Iraqis wanted us to think. But an experienced inspector, like Kelly, encouraged his team to think outside the box, to ask: what’s missing? He taught us to think differently. ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’, he would ask. The job requires acute powers of perception and advanced analytical capabilities. A healthy dose of common sense to uncover the true purpose.”
“So, just to clarify, you’re saying that the real reason no weapons were found was that they were invented by Mister Samuels and his team?” asked the colonel, taking notes.
“The only rational conclusion is that the initial clean-up teams were successful in destroying stockpiles of chemical weapons and pathogen-filled munitions. The later inspectors found little or no evidence of a hidden, more sophisticated, undisclosed weapons programme, as claimed by Rockingham. The truth is that the bulk of the Iraqi programme was crude. There was never a shred of proof that Saddam developed viral weapons capable of human-to-human transmission. The entire theory about a weaponised flu virus was preposterous.”
“Just because the inspection teams didn’t find proof, doesn’t mean those pathogens didn’t exist. They established intent beyond any reasonable doubt. Intent to develop genetically modified viral weapons capable of targeting civilian population centres. In any normal court of law, that would be sufficient.”
“Guilt of fabrication and deception, perhaps. We all know the September Dossier was a sham. There never were valid grounds for an invasion. Most of the suspected WMD sites were destroyed in airstrikes prior to the invasion. Mister Samuels and his Rockingham colleagues were exposed as frauds and charlatans, spreading rumours and lies about threats that never existed.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves,” reminded the colonel, “when Saddam expelled the UN inspectors, our security services were rendered deaf, dumb and blind, forced to rely on second-hand information, satellite imagery, and what amounted to fragmentary inputs. Nevertheless, Iraq found it near impossible to hide the tell-tale signs of biological weapons production.”
“Which were?” asked Captain Armstrong.
“Export orders for growth media, industrial machinery, fermentation units, bioreactors, air-filtration systems, the list was long. There could be little doubt.”
“Without ‘boots on the ground’, it was impossible to be sure.”
“Our intelligence services rarely provide hard data, Major, unless we’re lucky enough to find an insider willing to blow the whistle.”
“The truth is that Rockingham and UNSCOM got caught in the middle of a political firestorm. A tug of war between powerful forces. The UN inspection regime was only ever meant to be temporary. A year or two at most. They wielded far too much power, clandestine diplomacy at its worst. Influencing the world by unseen means. Most of it was just PR nonsense. Too easy to deny,” sneered Donnelly.
“Major, you saw for yourself. Visiting those dual-use factories, what was your conclusion?”
The major paused again and poured himself a glass of water.
“There was no doubt we were dealing with a weapons programme of enormous scale, an incredibly complex jigsaw puzzle whose pieces did not fit neatly together, impossible to get your arms around. The Iraqis made us work hard for even the smallest of details, denied everything we couldn’t prove.”
“The prosecution documents reference a particular visit to Al Muthannat, one of the sites Mister Samuels identified. Perhaps you can tell us what you really found?” asked the captain.
“It was one of the few times Rockingham produced anything of substance. We found stockpiles of R-400 aerial bombs with peculiar markings to denote the pathogen they contained: anthrax, botulinum, another had a cancer-causing agent.”
“The report you submitted included photographs of other bomb casings too. Were their contents analysed?”
“They were incinerated. We suspected they contained other liquid agents. They found similar markings on SCUD missile warheads we recovered.”
“I see. You also made visits to Al Hakam and Al Daura?”
“Correct. None of us had ever seen anything like Al Hakam. Larger even than the facilities Kelly described in Russia. A facility of breath-taking proportions in the middle of the desert. To get from one building to the next required a ten minute drive, protected by surface-to-air missiles and anti-aircraft batteries.” He nodded towards the Americans. “The site layout was almost an exact copy of a US bioweapons site like Fort Detrick, down to the location of the fermenters, tanks, centrifuges, everything.”
“So, in your opinion, what was the purpose of this facility?”
“There was no question it had been used to test and manufacture weapons. The inspection team found cages suitable for hundreds of chickens, ducks, pigs, even horses. All the animals had been destroyed prior to our arrival, but we saw their carcasses. The Iraqis claimed it was a product testing lab for pharmaceuticals, but the technical set up was all wrong.”
“In what way?”
“High specification air handlers, not to mention the aerosol chambers and biocontainment facilities were the type used in Russia.”
“Which suggests they were working with a number of communicable diseases. In the report, Marburg, Plague virus, or Ebola were suggested.”
“That was one theory but the consensus view was that the Iraqis lacked the sophistication to weaponise these pathogens.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because anthrax, or even botulinum, is much easier to work with, suitable for deployment in their Scud missile warheads or bombs to target Israel or Iran. Viruses are far harder.”
“Kelly’s opinion was starkly different to yours,” challenged the colonel, knowing full well the answer.
“Kelly believed the Iraqis were more advanced than the evidence suggested.”
“Based on what?”
“His team conducted a series of interviews with one of the virologists at the Al Daura Foot and Mouth Disease Vaccine Centre. Hazem Ali’s research on camel pox was particularly well known, but the team around him was not considered credible.”
“Nevertheless, isn’t it true that one of Kelly’s team found an industrial freeze drier in for repair with ‘Spanish Influenza’ written in Arabic?”
There was a gasp from the back of the room and the murmur of quiet conversation, until the captain silenced them with a raised hand.
�
��I think it was intended as a joke at the expense of the inspectors,” explained Donnelly.
“A joke? In what way?”
“Look, the Iraqis went out of their way to mislead UNSCOM, employing glamorous models posing as lab workers, factory staff who couldn’t answer the simplest questions about their work. There were many other players hiding in the shadows, pulling the strings. We didn’t find out who they were until much later.”
“You mean when Kamal defected?”
“Kamal?” asked Captain Armstrong, seeking clarification.
“Kamal was Saddam’s cousin. He blew the whistle, lifted the lid on what they were really hiding.”
“The truth was far more mundane. Kamal was barely literate,” dismissed the major. “The cache of documents they found on his farm was much too good to be true. The Iraqis disavowed him.”
“Then how do you explain his later execution for betrayal?”
“Smoke and mirrors.”
“But you don’t deny that critical data was overlooked?”
“Undoubtedly, the so-called experts misunderstood some of the evidence we gathered. In the end, the UN and everyone else was taken in by Saddam’s lies, but he overestimated his ability to deceive. If Kelly had not taken his life, the house of cards would have come crashing down much sooner.”
“It is unfortunate then that neither Kelly nor Mister Samuels are able to speak for themselves.”
Zed had been straining to follow the back and forth, frustrated by his inability to respond or react in any way. Like a pressure-cooker slowly building, first his legs went into spasm then his entire body began to convulse. With almost superhuman effort he managed to force the breath from his lungs in a strangled scream that silenced the room. All heads turned his way. The Chief Medical Officer from the Chester rose to his feet and was at Zed’s side in an instant. He checked his vital signs.
“His pulse is off the charts.”
Major Donnelly barged the American out the way as a uniformed nurse unpacked a syringe and vial of colourless liquid. Zed felt a small nick in his forearm and the familiar warm oblivion spread from his shoulder. Then he passed out.
Chapter 37
Terra stared absentmindedly at the passing trees, overgrown hedges and dense foliage that lined the approach road to Milford-on-Sea. The Range Rover slowed to a crawl, straddling the white line, avoiding the innumerable potholes in the blistered road surface, washed away by the deluge of rainwater, pooling near blocked drains.
The village green had become a tangle of tall grasses and thorny bushes, surrounded by boarded-up shops, all that remained of a settlement that once boasted five thousand residents, now home to less than a dozen families clinging on to some semblance of existence. Terra recognised the once-familiar pub sign, bleached by the sun, for The Smugglers’ Inn on the corner. The image called to mind moon-lit nights, salty pirates, cutlasses and eyepatches, dodging customs officials and import duty. The salt marshes and shallow sloping beaches around Milford had proven ideal for landing contraband, casks of rum and brandy, ferried inland by wagon into the New Forest. If the Allies tightened their grip on the surrounding territories, Terra wondered whether smuggling could make a comeback.
She leaned forward and tapped the professor on the shoulder.
“How much vaccine did you bring?”
He unzipped the rucksack and produced a grey plastic case, releasing the catches. Inside were several dozen vials of colourless liquid, each protected by foam. He removed one, handing it to Terra. “Enough for all of them.”
“Perhaps you should do the talking? Explain how this vaccine is different from the one they already have? If it comes from me, Riley will be sceptical.”
“I was planning to present them with the facts about the Allies’ vaccine and let them decide for themselves.”
“What did you call it? ‘A dangerous placebo with worrying side-effects’,” Terra laughed, imitating the professor’s voice. She held the vial up for closer inspection. It looked like water. Hard to believe this liquid was the answer to their prayers.
“Those remarks were taken entirely out of context,” countered the professor playfully. “Vaccines save lives. Anyone with a modicum of education knows that, Terra. Any side effects, dizziness or nausea, are perfectly normal in a trial like this. Perhaps we should remind everyone that we’re attempting to short cut a process which normally takes years. It’s virtually impossible to get this right first time. I do hope you’re not turning into one of those awful metropolitans who trust emotion over logic?”
“I happen to believe Riley and the others deserve to know the truth.”
“As do I. I’m simply reminding everyone that hysteria about vaccines costs lives. Pseudo-experts wilfully mislead public opinion.”
“I hope you’re not blaming me?”
“No, but we’re in danger of forgetting what happened with measles when inoculation rates dipped below the level needed for herd immunity. It was a virtual death sentence for anyone unable to have the jab, those with underlying health issues. Populism facilitated the renaissance of a disease we virtually eradicated in the Western world.”
“For the record, I was never anti-vaccine, Professor.”
“Maybe not, but you do believe in choice, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’ve never been a fan of the nanny state, if that’s what you mean. We should never force vaccination on anyone.”
The professor shook his head, cheeks turning crimson. “Safety should be mandatory. The state has a responsibility to intervene when lives are at stake. We cannot allow public health to suffer because of people’s wilful ignorance. Is it really so different to wearing a seat belt when driving? Children should never be left unprotected because of parental indifference.”
“Yes, but where does it end? A slow slide towards authoritarianism?” claimed Terra with a flourish. She had grown fond of provoking the professor.
“My dear girl, if the flu jab had been compulsory, the impact of the Millennial Virus might have been altogether different.”
“Some people blamed vaccination for causing the outbreak in the first place. Doing nothing felt like the safest option.”
“Disgraceful and dangerous rumours. As Roahl Dahl famously pointed out: anti-vaccine sentiment is driven by obstinacy, ignorance and fear.”
“Roahl Dahl? The children’s author? As in George's Marvellous Medicine?”
“The same. His daughter died of measles.”
“I had no idea.”
“Perhaps if more parents knew the truth, they would act differently?” he mumbled tersely. “Sorry. I get a bit stirred up when scientific facts are drowned out by those who shout loudest. The so-called media influencers, bloggers in their bedrooms, railing against public health programmes, shouting down reason and logic. Next time little Jonny gets a rash, mum decides to blame the medicine rather than a lifetime of parental choices that weakened her son’s immune response. Suddenly, entire communities panic and start missing GP appointments. Real experts look on in horror,” said the professor with a shake of the head. “When truth is ignored, ignorance becomes a virtue.”
At the junction to New Lane, they entered a narrow chicane of sand-filled oil drums and farm machinery designed to block larger vehicles turning south towards Hurst Castle, forcing their Range Rover to continue east down Keyhaven Road. A hand-painted sign read simply: ‘Here be Dragons: Enter at your own risk.’ Terra smiled, remembering Jack’s eccentric choice of words to deter the curious. The occupants of Hurst Castle farmed much of the land from here to the south-western edges of Lymington and Pennington, an area Jack claimed was five hundred acres, but Terra suspected his estimate included the salt marshes.
At the end of the roadway, above the single-story buildings of the yacht club, fluttered a yellow and blue pennant, its leading edge tattered and thread-bare from the incessant gales blasting this exposed outpost. They turned right past the Old Post Office along Saltgrass Lane. Splashing along the tidal road t
hat flooded in spring tides, they parked in the lee of the raised spit that ran along the seafront, linking the castle to the mainland. They crossed the narrow footbridge spanning the tidal estuary on foot. Terra offered her arm, helping the professor up the sharp incline, his boots slipping on the loose pebbles. They both paused, breathless on top of the raised sea defences, enjoying the panoramic views of Christchurch Bay, the Needles Rocks and the island.
Copper and his men set off along the raised walkway, scanning the castle battlements half a mile away. Terra fell into step alongside the professor, eager to finish their discussion.
“What happened when you made vaccination compulsory at Camp Wight?”
“It was a a condition of entry. Anyone who refused was sent back to the mainland on the next ferry.”
Terra stopped, unsure whether he was joking or not. “And you wonder why the Allies endured so much hostility from the local population. It was a gift for Briggs, you know that?”
“These decisions are much too important to leave to the common man. Besides, I don’t remember you complaining when we vaccinated everyone at the school.”
“Look, all I’m saying is if we want Riley and the others to trust us, we should start by telling them the truth. That quarantine alone only gets you so far. Without a vaccine, we all remain at risk.”
“What’s the alternative? Thousands more men, women and children dying every week. The truth is that, even if these new vaccines only partly work, they’re better than nothing.”
“Like you say, just give them the facts, Professor. Let them decide for themselves.”
Copper raised his arm and the group came to a halt a few paces behind. They could hear a bell rung by hand to warn the castle’s occupants of their approach. Copper handed Terra his walkie talkie. “You’re better off on your own from here.”
Terra walked the rest of the way in silence, lost in her thoughts, with only the professor for company. When they got to within spitting distance of the thirty-feet high walls, a voice on a loud hailer ordered them to stop, get down on their knees and remove outer clothing to prove they were unarmed. Terra put her arms behind her head and faced the ground, bracing at the sound of approaching footsteps on the shingle.
The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger Page 27
