“Of course, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Take as much time as you like. It’s very private up here.” Gill winked, clasping Riley’s hands. “You won’t be disturbed. But go easy on him, won’t you? He’s had a tough time.”
Riley waited for Gill to turn the corner before slipping inside the darkened room. Zed was fast asleep, on his side facing the wall, snoring. An empty bottle of vodka sat on his bedside table. She leaned over and kissed his temple, stroking his hair until he began to stir. His eyes opened but he didn’t react to her presence.
“Zed, it’s me. Riley.”
He opened his eyes wider, levering himself up on his elbows, staring at her in disbelief. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, Zed. I’m really here.”
“How?” he asked flatly.
“Because the Colonel sent for me.”
The languid smile dissipated on his lips as quickly as it had formed. The light in his eyes began to dim. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s too dangerous.” He slumped back against his pillow, eyes half-closed as if the physical effort was too much to bear. His cheeks were hollow, unshaven. His breath stank of alcohol.
“Relax. You’re safe here. On the Chester,” she said, stroking his face. “Peterson’s not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Nowhere’s safe,” he scoffed. “Not any more.”
“What happened to you?”
Zed broke in to a dreamy nursery rhyme:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
“They even assigned me a protection officer, but it didn’t make any difference. I’m only alive because they need what’s in my head.”
“What are you talking about? What’s in your head?”
He laughed to himself. “When I work it out, you’ll be the first to know. They say I’m a traitor, an enemy of the state.”
“No, Zed. That’s not true. You did what you thought was right. Don’t let them fill your head with lies. You’re a patriot.”
“I thought so at first, but not any more. They say I deserve to spend the rest of my life in prison. Even Heather blames me for what happened.”
“That’s not true. She loves you. We all love you.”
“I made mistakes. Terrible mistakes.”
“We all did. That’s all in the past.”
“Not like mine. Heather would never forgive me.”
“You’re wrong. You’re her father. That will never stop meaning something. I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with Heather, to get to know her. She’s a smart, resourceful, go-getter, just like her Dad. You both have a fresh start. Seize it with both hands.”
“But how can I look her in the eye, Riley? I’m a monster responsible for the death of tens of thousands of Iraqi civilians.”
“Nonsense. No one believes that.”
“I believe it and that’s what matters. If you knew half of what I did…” His voice faltered, close to breaking. She held both his hands in hers.
“Listen to me. Believe me when I say, we all feel responsible. You’re not the first or the last to feel guilt, anger or depression. It’s natural. Part of the healing process. Do you realise how many service men and women I treated, returning from conflict zones with these same symptoms? Everyone thinks they’re to blame. The mental scars run just as deep as physical ones. I can help you put things into perspective. Don’t get caught in this vicious spiral of blame and recrimination.”
“You don’t understand. I lost everything. My life, my family, my reputation. I’m left with nothing. I was so stupid. Too blind to see what was really going on,” he sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he dissolved into self-pity. Riley threw her arms around him, rubbing his back. “I should have listened to Kelly,” Zed continued, “he knew the truth.”
“Hey, hey,” she comforted. “Open your eyes, before it’s too late.” Her words seemed to give him pause, catching his breath. He blinked away the tears, looked deep into her eyes. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last two years, it’s ‘life is for living’. Focus on what’s in front of you, not behind. Don’t waste energy on hindsight and regret. Let’s face it. Sooner or later, we’re all going to die. It’s simply a question of how we choose to spend our remaining time. And I for one want to spend mine with you.”
“Why?” said Zed, his bottom lip quivering like a child’s.
“Is it so hard to understand?”
“Sometimes I wish I’d never survived and died with all the rest. That way I would have avoided living through this.” He gestured impotently at the world around him, reaching for the empty bottle of vodka, raising it to his lips and shaking the last drops. She snatched it from his grasp and placed it out of reach.
“You won’t find answers inside that bottle of yours. Just more pain. Who gave you that anyway?”
“One of the officers.”
“And they thought they were doing you a favour?” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m going to recommend to the Colonel that you come home, back to the castle. It will do you some good to be amongst people who care about you.”
“Home? Is that what you call that monolith? King was right, we went there to die. I was too blind to realise that before now.”
“Listen to yourself. This isn’t you. Someone’s filled your head with nonsense. When have you ever given up so easily?”
“All I’ve ever done is disappoint people.”
“You’re wrong.”
“What did my investigation ever really achieve? I kicked the can down the road. Big deal. Stirred the pot, and for what? I changed nothing.”
“You gave people like me hope. If it hadn’t have been for you, some of us would have given up a long time ago.”
“Riley, they took everything away. What don’t you understand?”
“You’ll get nowhere wallowing in self-pity. It doesn’t suit you. When have you ever rolled over in your life? Don’t start now. Come back towards the light, before it’s too late.”
With that she disentangled her fingers from his and rose to leave, pulling the door to behind her. Outside in the passageway, she slumped against the wall, hyperventilating, repeatedly clenching her fists to stop herself screaming out loud. What had they done to him?
Chapter 44
Terra and the others lined up to receive the colonel’s motorcade as it pulled up outside the front entrance to Lymington New Forest Hospital with all the pomp and circumstance of visiting royalty. The rear door of the armoured personnel carrier swung open to disgorge a succession of VIPs from St Mary’s, including the Right Honourable Member for Southampton and Itchen, MP David Woods. He emerged, squinting into the sunlight, flanked by two security personnel, wearing Kevlar body armour under their blazers.
Terra stood at the faded end of a red carpet dating from the hospital’s opening by Princess Anne. The charade of formality amused Terra. An excuse to don her ‘glad rags’. Chanel trouser suit. The diamond earrings and necklace, a tasteful gift from Briggs. The visitors took it in turns to exchange pleasantries, shaking hands, progressing down the line. Victor appeared the least at ease of all of them, wiping perspiration from his brow. At first, Terra struggled to grasp the cause of his nervousness, in marked contrast with Briggs, who proved the consummate host, making a fuss of his guests, introducing each of his people in turn. She studied the colonel’s and Briggs’s body language. A comfortable detente prevailed amongst the leaders, suggesting this was not the first time they had met. Perhaps this was a first step towards reconciliation, thought Terra? Did she really just catch Briggs wink as he inclined his head?
David Woods was exactly what she expected of a former cabinet minister. Plummy, articulate, public school-educated. The sort of man her aunt would describe as a good catch for a girl like Terra. ‘Do you like men?’ Terra was once asked as a debutante at a family wedding. The MP maintained a haughty detachment, a supe
rciliousness that demanded her attention. She couldn’t remember which exact government departments he had served. Work and Pensions perhaps, followed by a brief stint as Culture Secretary.
She suspected an ulterior motive for their visit. Even if the prospect of a ceasefire was real, it seemed an unnecessary risk for the Allies, so far from St Mary’s if discussions broke down. Anyway, since when did politicians kowtow to self-proclaimed warlords who, until recently, were at Her Majesty’s pleasure? Had the colonel seriously forgotten how Briggs plagued Allied reconstruction efforts at every turn? Terra could only assume that the UN’s arrival had helped redraw alliances and allegiances in the region. The rebels and disenfranchised elements of the Council now found themselves on the same side.
“Copper, take our guests to the conference room,” commanded Briggs, leading the colonel to an anteroom where they planned to speak in private. Terra exchanged a puzzled glance with Victor who shrugged and followed Copper and the others. MP David Woods lingered at the rear of the group waiting for Professor Nichols. Terra walked just in front of them, pretending not to listen.
“You look well, Professor. I trust they are not treating you too harshly.” The professor ignored the politician’s sarcasm.
“I don’t stay here out of choice, Minister.” He turned his head to point out the two-inch scar on his temple. “Any resistance is routinely punished.”
“Still, I hear your team is making good progress with this prototype vaccine they keep talking about at St Mary’s. Did none of you stop to think about the power this would give Briggs?” he whispered under his breath.
“My first concern is saving lives. I leave the politics to people like you.”
“You can’t seriously be that naive? Whoever controls the vaccine, controls everything else. This deals Briggs a winning hand.”
“Is that why you’re really here? The ceasefire is a smokescreen?”
“Well, we didn’t come for you, if that’s what you were thinking,” sneered the Minister. “Fortunately, you’re not as irreplaceable as you led us to believe. The team at St Mary’s is making great strides in your absence.”
“I’m not surprised. I hand-picked them myself. Here, in Lymington, we are somewhat more resource constrained. Perhaps if you could get us more laboratory equipment, we could further accelerate our efforts.”
“Why on earth would we do that? With the progress Doctor Wu is making in Ventnor, we expect to go into full production in a matter of weeks.”
“I doubt that. You’ll find these things take longer than you realise. I wouldn’t believe your own propaganda.”
“Sour grapes, Professor?”
“Hardly. Briggs makes sure we have regular deliveries of your vaccine, sometimes within hours of its release. The latest formulation was as disappointing as the last. Surely they admitted as much?”
“No more than teething problems. The final remaining kinks to be ironed out.”
“Clinical trials can’t be rushed, you know. You’re asking them to compress a process into a matter of weeks that can take up to ten years. Based on the trials data, as few as forty per cent of test subjects showed any increase in antibodies. For the rest, it proved no better than a placebo.”
“That’s certainly not the information I’m being given. A faulty batch perhaps?”
“Minister, your response would be entertaining if it wasn’t so tragic. Don’t you people ever get tired of pumping out this never-ending stream of disinformation? Are people on the island really this gullible?”
“Doctor Hardy warned me about you. He said you’ve been stuck in academia so long, you’ve got a permanent chip on your shoulder. You’ve never seen eye to eye, have you? He referred to it as professional rivalry, but this smacks of petty jealousy. Really, Professor, I expected more from you. You shouldn’t let a personal feud stand in the way of a public health emergency. Perhaps if the quarantine measures you designed had worked as you promised, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“They’re the same protocols endorsed by the World Health Organisation and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. I simply tailored them to the UK.”
“Professor, you can’t wriggle out of this one. Your plans failed, comprehensively, I might add. The Council holds you personally responsible.”
“May I remind you that you and your government voted against the budget increases I campaigned for.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how many people claim to have seen this coming.”
“It was me who warned the Council at the very beginning that a fresh outbreak like this would be impossible to contain. If you don’t identify the index cases early enough, we simply never catch up.”
“The Isle of Wight was your recommendation in the first place, was it not? You claimed using the sea as a natural barrier against the spread of disease was our best option.”
“I did, and had we implemented the military lockdown sooner, we could have blocked all new arrivals, as I suggested.”
“It was naive to think we could ever stop every rowing boat and rubber ring crossing the Solent.”
“Then we all share some responsibility, Minister. Even you.”
They took their seats around an imitation mahogany Board room table in the executive suite of the hospital. Terra sat within earshot of the minister who continued to berate the professor in a resumption of hostilities from a different time, serving on the Council. Something caught her eye at the back of the room. Briggs and the colonel slipped in, unnoticed.
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing,” insisted the professor, trying to have the last word.
“Perhaps if we had heeded Doctor Hardy’s advice rather than your own, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” suggested the minister with some finality in a voice that silenced the room.
“Gentlemen,” warned the colonel, taking his seat. “I would not be so easily taken in by the Allied version of what really happened. Doctor Hardy’s agenda was obvious from the beginning. Porton Down was determined to secure additional funding for their research.”
“Why?” asked Briggs.
“Because, as the Minister was just saying, in the run up to the pandemic, Doctor Hardy’s team produced successive risk assessments claiming that, without further investment, Britain was on the brink of disaster. After decades of budget cuts, scientists like him were desperate. The only way they could secure additional funding was to exaggerate the risk from bioterrorism. Wild theories circulated suggesting Islamic fundamentalists were at large in Europe, armed with dirty bombs and bioweapons. Suicide bombers infecting themselves with disease as super-spreaders for infection. GCHQ dismissed his reports as inconclusive.”
Terra spotted Briggs leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking rather pleased with himself.
“The government didn’t act because there were far bigger security threats to deal with. The chance of a full-blown pandemic in Britain was wholly improbable, alongside wide-spread flooding and drought, acts of God to be dealt with retrospectively as and when they occurred,” derided the minister. “Let’s not pretend scientists always get it right. An overreaction can be just as dangerous to society and the economy. Suspending international travel, closing pubs and restaurants, forcing people to stay at home can be far more damaging than the premature death of those with underlying health conditions.”
“No, political indifference made this country more vulnerable than ever,” suggested the professor. “Training was wholly inadequate. First responders were trained to deal with chemical spills, not infectious disease. Most front-line staff failed to recognise the symptoms of the Millennial Virus until it was too late. Hospitals sent patients home with an aspirin to further infect their families and friends. By the time the new virus was correctly identified, thousands of health workers were already infected. Pharmacies, hospitals and vaccine distribution points were quickly overrun. The entire public health machinery ground to a halt.”
“Enough,” shouted Briggs, banging his fist on the
table. “Is this how the Council spends its time? Endlessly passing the blame and debating past decisions?”
“Briggs is right,” acknowledged the colonel, frustrated by the bickering. “We didn’t come all this way for this.” He looked around the faces of the half dozen rebel leaders. “Gentlemen, we may not share the same politics but we all want the same thing.” There were several nods of agreement. “A three-day ceasefire will allow everyone to catch their breath.”
“A ceasefire requires the unanimous support of the Council,” insisted one of the minister’s aides, leafing through the bundle of papers detailing the draft political declaration Terra had glimpsed earlier.
“Not any more,” dismissed the politician. “Captain Armstrong has invoked emergency powers that supersede the draft constitution. The military has mobilised all available reserves. They’re in the process of seizing control of strategic assets: water, power, food stores.”
“This sounds increasingly like a coup.”
“That’s why we asked for the meeting to be brought forward to today. With the imminent arrival of the UN, Armstrong claims there is now a ‘clear and present danger’ to the safety and security of Camp Wight.”
“Have you tried talking to him, Minister? He would surely listen to you,” suggested the professor with irreverence.
David Woods straightened his collar. “I was denied that opportunity. I fear the military is tightening its grip on power.”
“To them, the Allied vaccine is a bargaining chip, supported by a propaganda war. The Lymington vaccine could actually help level the playing field.”
“Colonel, we must not permit the military to play Russian roulette with people’s lives.”
“What choice do we have, Minister? Each day that passes, the military tightens its grip on the island. They peddle hope where none exists, boasting of food surpluses, crop yields, advances in vaccine technology, victories over various rebel groups.” The colonel was rewarded with hearty laughter from the rebel leaders.
“Therein lies the paradox,” insisted the minister. “Every politician knows: hope is both our greatest strength and our biggest weakness. Public opinion is malleable.”
The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger Page 33
