The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger

by Crumby, Robin

  As he rose to greet them, his diminutive stature disappointed her. Next to Captain Anders, a bear of a man some six feet-two, LaSalle was nearly a foot shorter, though that didn’t diminish his aura of power. There were butterflies in her stomach as she neared the front of the line.

  “Enchanté,” he purred, kissing her fingertips as he looked Terra up and down.

  “Je vous en prie,” she whispered, unsure if that was quite the expected response. He smiled, nonetheless. “Tout le plaisir est pour moi.” The pleasure is all mine. Yes, she acknowledged silently, I could definitely make an exception for you. It was only when LaSalle’s attention returned to his other guests that the spell was broken. Terra straightened her dress, expecting Briggs’s scorn, but to her surprise, she realised he was no longer amongst them.

  Chapter 46

  LaSalle’s opening statements had impressed Terra. His voice echoed metallically around the Charlotte’s hold, enclosed on all sides by container stacks. There was a calm authority about the Belgian that reminded her of Lieutenant Peterson. A natural leader, the kind anyone would follow and engage with. LaSalle appealed for unity, for cooperation, taking his time to set out an ambitious agenda for the next phases of the UN clean-up of southern England.

  “Our teams are working around the clock to ensure the ports of Folkestone and Dover remain fully operational.”

  “Are there any further updates on the Southern central sector?” asked the colonel, keen to assert his authority. Terra assumed he meant Bournemouth, Southampton and Portsmouth.

  “Convoy twelve is scheduled to leave Le Havre in the next forty-eight hours. One hundred and forty-two thousand tons of humanitarian aid.”

  “How many ships?”

  “Four initially, including escorts, as agreed.”

  “Very well. The container port at Southampton will be clear by tomorrow evening,” confirmed the colonel. “All access roads are defended. We have established a functioning perimeter.”

  Terra studied the mix of emotions on the faces of those in the rows behind hers, betraying those with advance knowledge of the UN plans. There was a stunned silence as everyone processed the news. She spotted Riley and Zed towards the back, several men and women in uniform from the USS Chester, others she didn’t recognise.

  “What precautions are being taken to prevent the spread of disease?” challenged the professor to the confusion of the UN team. “The UK has been isolated from the rest of Europe for nearly twenty-eight months. The deployment of your men could introduce new strains of the virus. We may have no resistance to a European strain, and vice-versa.”

  “I think the Professor is referring to what happened to the Aztec and Mayan civilisations,” added the minister. “Both were wiped out by the arrival of the conquistadors in the new world.”

  “I appreciate the history lesson, Minister,” acknowledged LaSalle with heavy sarcasm. “Let me reassure you both, we have Europe’s best scientists working on this. All our personnel have been vaccinated and wear protective equipment. This is not our first cleanup operation. Right now, I’m more concerned about the personal safety of my team. We’ve already suffered several attacks.”

  “The safer option would be to supply our teams direct and have us distribute the vaccine,” suggested the professor.

  “Neither approach is perfect. In the past the UN has been guilty of placing too much faith in local health authorities. Political considerations meant resources were not distributed as planned. Perhaps I’m misunderstanding your concerns.”

  “I did try to warn you,” insisted Lieutenant Peterson. “The crew of the Chester experienced similar hostility when we arrived. We came to realise that some local people prefer chaos and disorder to reconstruction.”

  “Earlier today, we agreed a ceasefire that guarantees the safety of UN teams.” The colonel nodded in gratitude to Copper and Victor.

  “And yet I notice Briggs is not amongst you,” countered LaSalle. “What are we to make of his absence?”

  “I apologise. A minor emergency required his immediate return to Lymington,” explained Victor, to Terra’s consternation. “I speak for the rebels in saying we welcome your arrival.”

  What emergency could be important enough for Briggs to miss the meeting, thought Terra? Perhaps he found out about Victor’s stash of valuables on board the Charlotte. She knew Briggs demanded absolute loyalty from his henchmen. Any double dealing would be discovered and punished. Victor’s greed had blinded him.

  “Mister Woods, have you won the support of the Council?”

  “Not yet. Captain Armstrong has reiterated his opposition to the UN landings in Folkestone. I’m afraid your tactics played right into his hands. It allowed the military to paint you as some invading force, demonising the UN.”

  “We admit that mistakes were made in those first days. The commander responsible was relieved.”

  “We’ve all heard the stories about UN brutality,” continued the minister. “What did you expect using gunships to drive civilians from their homes, soldiers using flamethrowers, rounding up survivors, kettling them into camps, completely unsuitable for human habitation, rife with disease, separating children from their parents? Rumours spread like wildfire from group to group, village to village, all along the south coast. ”

  “Scare stories,” dismissed LaSalle, with a wave of his hand. He turned to face his accuser. “I suppose, by now, we should not be surprised by British scepticism,” scoffed LaSalle. “The UN is here to help. What other motive could there be? Once food and vaccines are made available, reputations can be quickly repaired.”

  “I would not underestimate the damage done,” warned Lieutenant Peterson. “That one rogue commander has made all our jobs significantly harder. Once you lose civilian support, everything changes. Operating in a war zone demands different tactics. None of us can do our jobs properly if we’re looking over our shoulders the whole time. We learned that the hard way in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “What about the rest of the Council? Do they share Armstrong’s views?” asked LaSalle.

  “The Council is currently suspended. When the UN first landed, the Captain invoked emergency powers.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “It would appear so,” sighed the Minister. “Whether we like it or not, from now on, the military is calling the shots. The island and large parts of Portsmouth are now under their control.”

  “What does that mean for the UN landings?”

  “We have already adjusted the proposed convoy route,” reassured the colonel. “We recommend the relief convoy uses the western passage via the Needles. Lymington and Yarmouth are sympathetic to our cause.”

  “Until you can guarantee the convoy’s safety, I remain reluctant to allow those ships to leave port,” insisted LaSalle.

  “My command team on board the Chester will monitor the convoy’s progress twenty-four-seven,” replied Peterson. “We’re more than capable of dealing with any threat long before it gets near the convoy.”

  “Has anyone actually tried reasoning with Armstrong?” asked LaSalle.

  “He’s simply following orders. We believe Major Donnelly is the one pulling the strings,”

  “Is the Governor really that spineless?”

  “Donnelly must know that it’s only a matter of time before the UN tries to force access to Porton Down.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” warned the colonel. “Since the arrival of those armoured brigades from Bulford and Tidworth, the entire base is heavily defended. The place is a fortress.”

  “Once we have Porton Down surrounded, Donnelly won’t have a choice,” suggested Peterson.

  “He’s such a cowboy,” whispered Anders to muted laughter, pretending to pull a Smith and Wesson revolver from an imaginary holster, blowing smoke from the barrel. Peterson frowned at the interruption.

  “I refuse to believe that British soldiers would fire on UN peacekeepers,” insisted LaSalle.

  “In normal times, I agr
ee. But these are not normal times.”

  “It’s imperative we restore trust in the United Nations before we commit more boots on the ground.”

  “If it comes to it, we can secure your men British uniforms,” suggested the colonel.

  “We can’t afford further mistakes,” cautioned the minister. “Survivors in the south-east are voting with their feet. They’re running away from help not towards it.”

  “The seizure of a Royal Navy ship has done nothing to engender a sense of partnership.”

  “Armstrong’s men left us with no choice,” responded LaSalle. “We could not allow a British vessel to leave territorial waters and risk spreading the virus to the European mainland.”

  “They were making for the Channel Islands.”

  “They broke quarantine. We gave them ample warning, they ignored us.”

  “You gave Donnelly the excuse he needed. He’s characterised your attack as an act of war.”

  “This was no attack. Your men are alive and well. We placed them under quarantine.”

  “We all heard the gunfire over the radio. We assumed the worst.”

  “Warning shots, perhaps.”

  There was a silent exchange between the minister and his advisers. “You had no right...”

  “No, Minister, we had every right. The quarantine measures were put in place for everyone’s protection. Ours and yours. If anyone is to blame, it is British arrogance, always believing you can flout international law.”

  “The Tracer was in international waters. May I remind you the Channel Islands remain a sovereign British territory.”

  “Mister Woods, if I remember correctly, this is not the first time we have locked horns over access rights for British vessels, yet your position remains the same. Have you learned nothing in all these years? Time and again, you seem to follow your own advice, ignoring the warnings of your closest neighbours and allies, overriding all other considerations. At the European Council we even had a name for it: ‘superior British knowledge syndrome’.”

  “You may serve a new master, Monsieur LaSalle, but you still enforce rules when it suits you and seek to punish Britain for pursuing a different path.”

  LaSalle shook his head at the minister’s claims. “Politicians like you have never come to terms with your country’s diminished status on the world stage. You cling to notions of imperial glory. How many times did we try to warn the British government about unilateral action on pandemic prevention? You followed the United States, like some tail-wagging puppy.”

  “Are the UN’s actions any less conflicted or contradictory? Let’s not forget, Monsieur, how you waited on the sidelines, unwilling to come to the aid of your so-called closest ally. Now you seek to blame us for our lack of cooperation.”

  “If it had not been for the Colonel’s intervention, we would have waited longer, until the virus had run its course, but we risked Donnelly and Armstrong tightening their grip on power. In a few more weeks, the situation would have been irreversible.”

  “The use of force to defeat tyranny is a difficult dance,” claimed the minister. “You played right into Donnelly’s hands. He can now point to the presence of foreign soldiers on British soil as an invasion.”

  “Would a leadership vacuum be any less disastrous?” countered the colonel. “The sooner we can hold democratic elections and restore a system of government, the better. I was rather hoping you would throw your hat in the ring, Minister.”

  David Woods sat up straighter. “As you know, Colonel, I would be honoured to serve in any capacity. We cannot allow this country to surrender to tribalism and military dictatorship.

  “But here can be no prospect of peace without military support. We need to get Captain Armstrong on side if we are to have any hope of isolating Porton Down.”

  “Why do we need to isolate Porton Down?” asked the minister.

  The colonel deflected the question to LaSalle. “Because the UN believes Porton is guilty of blatant hypocrisy. The contempt they have shown the world, passing judgement on other countries’ research programmes, refusing to collaborate with their counterparts in Europe.”

  “Monsieur LaSalle is right. The futures of all our people are inextricably linked. It’s critical we work together. This crisis demands it,” said the colonel, appealing to everyone present. “Don’t you see? This is all exactly what Donnelly wants,” suggested the colonel. “We can’t afford to lose faith in each other. We need to find a path forward and quickly. In a little under forty-eight hours those humanitarian supplies will start arriving in Southampton.”

  “Very well. My team will concentrate on securing the convoy route,” confirmed Peterson. “We’ll neutralise any coastal sites capable of launching an attack.”

  There was a polite cough from the doorway and several of Anders’ crew appeared holding trays of hot drinks and bowls of steaming soup.

  “I don’t know about you but I think we could all use a break,” conceded LaSalle. Anders handed a mug out to each guest and as the hubbub of conversation filled the echoing chamber, Terra noticed a small delegation that included the colonel, Zed, LaSalle and Gill head towards the passageway. Terra thought about following them, but Anders intercepted her with a cup of tea.

  Chapter 47

  Zed, Gill and the colonel held back at a respectful distance, waiting for LaSalle to finish an animated conversation with his entourage.

  “Might we have a word?” asked the colonel, “in private?”

  LaSalle excused himself with an extravagant gesture of dismissal. His advisors resumed their exchange in rapid French without him. The colonel led the four of them down a dimly-lit corridor to an austere store room devoid of furniture bar wooden crates, slamming the door shut with a metallic clang.

  “I don’t have long. What is it?” demanded an impatient LaSalle.

  “I wanted to introduce Zed Samuels and Gill Stephens.”

  LaSalle gave them both a curt bow. “Yes, of course, the Colonel has told me much about your investigation, Mister Samuels. My team is eager to hear your latest hypothesis.” Turning to Gill, his tone abruptly changed. “But if Miss Stephens is here to change my mind about Porton Down, you’re wasting your time.”

  “My advisors believe that trying to force our way into Porton is a mistake. We cannot be certain how the Major will react. It’s unlikely to yield the meaningful answers we all hope for.”

  “I do not agree.”

  Gill stiffened at his intransigence, just as she had done during his speech. Every cheap shot at Porton’s expense prompted a sharp intake of breath. Now she seemed fit to explode. “With all due respect, I’ve worked with Major Donnelly for the last decade. He’s meticulous, methodical, he doesn’t leave loose ends, nor does he make mistakes. If he thinks he’s cornered, he’ll follow protocol and destroy anything incriminating long before you get within five miles of that place.”

  “Gill’s right,” added Zed. “Forcing Donnelly’s hand now risks eliminating any remaining chance of discovering the truth.”

  “Perhaps you both weren’t listening,” added LaSalle. “I’m not here to assign blame. That will come later. The UN’s first priority remains the vaccine. Collaboration with Porton is still the best chance we have of saving lives. Creating the circumstances for civil war solves nothing. It would simply tear everything apart.”

  “Most of the team has relocated to St Mary’s Hospital on the island. Right now, there’s little more than a caretaker team working at Porton. I don’t see why you’re so focused on gaining entry.”

  LaSalle paused, angling his head. “Then perhaps you’re all too close to see. Porton Down has one of the most advanced research programmes in Europe, perhaps the world. One hundred years of experience. That knowledge and expertise can accelerate the search for the cure.”

  “Not if you keep insisting Porton is somehow responsible for the outbreak,” challenged Gill.

  “I will reserve judgement until our investigation is complete.”

>   “Though you make no secret of your suspicions. In this country, we believe in ‘innocent until proven guilty’. What evidence does the UN have?”

  “Let’s be frank, shall we? Porton’s fingerprints are all over this pandemic.” LaSalle turned to the colonel, waiting for his permission to divulge potentially classified intelligence, clearing his throat. “Mister Samuels confirmed that, back in the mid Nineties, Russian scientists were working on a prototype virus that mimicked the symptoms of influenza. The resulting strain proved unsuitable as a potential biological weapon. The programme was duly mothballed like so many others like it.”

  “Initially we dismissed the stories as propaganda,” added the colonel, “until Anton, Porton’s resident Soviet-era scientist, convinced us of the rumours.”

  “When UN inspectors went into Iraq, they found evidence of Soviet involvement. Interrogation of several scientists confirmed that Biopreparat had outsourced elements of its research programme to Iraq.”

  “The documents Monsieur LaSalle’s team were kind enough to share with us proved that, in early 2003, just before the commencement of Operation Iraqi Freedom, Saddam began evacuating his biological weapons programmes. AWACS tracked two separate convoys crossing the border to Syria. We now believe that British special forces captured an Iraqi mobile laboratory and airlifted samples of that research to Porton Down. GCHQ were able to use flight tracking data from Boscombe Down airfield to corroborate the UN intelligence. Sources inside the programme suggest that Doctor Hardy’s team synthesised a strain of the virus which shares striking similarities with the Millennial Virus.”

  Gill placed her hands on her hips, head tilted in disbelief. “Look, I’ve worked at Porton for almost twenty years. Whatever anyone thinks they know about that facility, you’re talking about people who’ve dedicated their entire careers to fighting disease, working throughout the pandemic in the hope that they can save lives, in many cases leaving their friends and families to face their fate. Does anyone seriously believe Porton scientists set out to deliberately infect civilians? I mean, it’s beyond ludicrous.”