by Robin Crumby
“I’ve been waiting ages. They say I’m well enough to leave tomorrow.”
“That’s fantastic news.”
The nurse spotted them and wandered over. “She’s responded well to the treatment so providing there’s no relapse this afternoon, she’s all yours.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Major Donnelly slammed the door behind him, hands on hips. He looked flustered, his usual mask of calm and control temporarily absent. Zed set aside the document on quarantine controls that Gill had passed him.
“We’ve completed our search of the lower levels. We’re evacuating all remaining injured to the medical centre,” announced the major.
“How many more?” asked the colonel.
“Three more seriously injured,” he said, shaking his head. “That makes seven dead and eighteen wounded.”
“Worse than we hoped, but less than we feared.”
“Much worse. None of this should have happened.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that now. Have you got hold of the base commander yet, major?”
“Just now. They came under sustained attack by a large force. First incursion was reported at 2045. It was a slaughter, but they just kept coming. Apparently, they used kids as human shields. They knew we wouldn’t risk killing children. Sniper teams picked off a couple of their leaders, but by the time reinforcements arrived, at least a hundred had made it through the fence. Our guard towers were flanked and overrun.”
“Have we heard anything from 12th Armoured?”
“They fell back towards the vehicle compound. An hour ago they reported intermittent contact. The rebels seem content to contain our men for now.”
“Show me on the map. Where are they?”
“They’ve regrouped here,” he said, pointing to Building Four on the western edge of the complex. “There’s a small armoury in that building. Lieutenant Thorogood says they’re rearming and will be ready to move within the hour.”
“How far away from their position is the biohazard storage unit you mentioned?”
“Less than four hundred metres. We’ve already briefed them. They’ll retrieve the items Doctor Hardy requested. We’re making securing that storage unit our top priority.”
“Do they intend to evacuate us?”
“Colonel, this bunker is one of the most secure places in the country. We just need to take back control and get our systems back online.”
“At some point, we’ll need to get the team and the vaccine samples back to St Mary’s.”
“I’ll pass that on.”
“You’re not still thinking of using chemical weapons?” asked Zed in disbelief.
“We’re not at that stage yet, but I’ve asked the doctor to give us a range of options, should we choose to deploy those assets. I suspect he’ll go with something like chlorine or mustard gas.”
“But those are primitive First World War weapons.”
“Exactly. Simple to produce and very effective in confined spaces.”
“You can’t seriously be considering authorising their use, colonel?”
“I understand your concerns, but right now all options are on the table. We hold a technological advantage. We should use it.”
“They knew the risks in attacking a military facility,” agreed the major. “They deserve to face the consequences. Our men are equipped with hazmat suits. I suspect theirs are not.”
“I simply cannot support the use of chlorine gas against women and children,” Zed objected vehemently.
Major Donnelly’s eyes narrowed as he stared back at Zed. “Mr Samuels, all methods of killing are distasteful.”
“But there must be another way,” Zed appealed to the colonel.
“Look, we’ve encountered these groups before. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. They think we have a vaccine. This is our opportunity to deal with the threat once and for all.”
“Why not get word to the Chester? We’re in range of their weapon systems.”
“And risk collateral damage to this facility and its personnel? Look, if it comes down to a choice between losing more of our people in a firefight and eliminating a rebel threat without a shot being fired, then chemical weapons are an option we must consider.”
“Let us hope then that it does not come to that. Major, let me know as soon as the 12th Armoured are ready to begin their assault.”
“Yes, sir.”
****
After the meeting broke up, Zed took a much-needed break to clear his head. He was still haunted by what he had seen years ago. Photographic evidence of chemical attacks from the Bloody Friday artillery and air bombardment of Halabja. Hundreds of images of children’s bodies contorted into agony. Thousands dead and wounded. He would never support the deployment of those same tactics here.
He went to look in on Gill at the infirmary and found her in the waiting room where a nurse was checking her pulse.
“What’s with the bandage?” Zed asked, pointing to her forehead.
“Oh, that. I must have whacked my head when I passed out. Next time you take someone out for a first date, you might want to warn them they’ll wake up in a strange bed stinking of disinfectant.”
“You can talk! Ever since I drank that Porton Dark stuff, I’ve had a splitting headache.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I normally save the disinfectant for the second date.” He sniffed.
“Who said there’d be a second date, you charmer?”
“Look, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“It could have been worse. Sealing the room did its job, maybe saved our lives.”
“You were right, you know. They’ve just confirmed that it was VX.”
“I knew straight away it wasn’t a leak. It had to have been sabotage.”
“I still can’t believe you keep VX on-site.”
“Why not? This is where it was invented. If you knew half of what else they keep down there, it would do your head in.”
“So why did no one ever speak up? The tabloids would have died for that story.”
“We’ve all signed the Official Secrets Act. Everything we do here is classified.”
“And this wall of silence is getting us nowhere, Gill. If Porton Down is concealing the truth, then it’s your duty—”
“You don’t know these people. They’d never let anyone speak out.”
“The colonel can protect you, give you immunity, move you someplace safe. Please, Gill.”
“You don’t understand. This place is my life. I’ve spent my whole career here. You can’t ask me to risk everything I’ve worked so hard for, to betray these people. We’re part of one family.”
“Just talk to the colonel, please. See what he has to say.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
Zed nodded and got up to leave.
****
Half an hour later, there was a light knock on the door. Zed found Gill waiting outside, with a wan smile.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispered, grasping her hands in his. “Colonel, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Gill Forrester is the epidemiologist I mentioned earlier.”
“Yes, of course. Ms Forrester. I’ve heard a lot about you. How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.”
“I’m familiar with your work. We followed your team’s advice on quarantine procedures on the island.”
“At least someone reads those reports.”
“I was telling the colonel what you told me earlier,” said Zed. “About vaccines and unintended consequences.”
“You mean Gulf War Syndrome? I’m sure the colonel has heard this all before.”
“I’m familiar with the official version but suspect someone with your access knows the real story.”
“With genetic engineering, it’s all very new and mostly trial and error. With some of these experimental vaccines, there’s always a small risk that things can backfire.”
&n
bsp; “How exactly?”
“Basically, whenever you roll out a large-scale immunisation programme, occasionally you get side effects. With so many combat vets suffering unexplained symptoms, it suggests there’s a problem either with the vaccine itself or an incompatibility between the different shots. Occasionally you see some sort of reaction in the subject. In extreme cases, a vaccine can actually make people more susceptible to a virus.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the whole object of a vaccine?”
“Not entirely. It’s still effective for the vast majority, but for a small number, when they do become infected, they can actually have a more severe infection.”
“Could there have been similar issues with batches of flu vaccine?”
“Unlikely, but I can’t rule it out. Influenza vaccines are big business. Hundreds of millions of shots administered annually. Before they move to production, numerous approvals need to be sought. They’re normally very thorough. Normally. Maybe there was a rogue batch, I don’t know.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
“There was a case a few years ago with Dengvaxia, a vaccine for dengue fever. It was a public relations disaster for Sanofi, the French drugmaker. For some reason, they ignored the early warnings about side effects and went ahead and vaccinated more than a million children in the Philippines. They tried to hush it up, but word got out. It prompted a crisis in confidence for other vaccine programmes. We’re all still suffering blow-back from that mistake.”
“Earlier you said that these emerging gene therapies require a degree of trial and error. What did you mean by that?”
“Look, gene therapy has been a medical dream for years. The ability to repair faulty genes or enhance their function to perform better. They already had limited success against inherited diseases such as haemophilia or cystic fibrosis. A few years ago, there was some pioneering work going on in the fight against flu. They were trialling new approaches.”
“I remember. Squirting antibodies up people’s noses or something?”
“That’s right. After the last avian flu pandemic, our teams got very excited about a universal treatment against the multitude of influenza strains, but a breakthrough always eluded us.”
“Didn’t they do something similar with malaria?”
“The intended outcome was similar. They were looking to genetically modify mosquitoes to be incapable of transmitting malaria to humans. It was hoped that successive generations of mosquitoes would inherit this trait and in time malaria could be eradicated altogether. Before genetic engineering, they tried to eliminate whole populations of indigenous mosquitoes using pesticides like DEET in the Vietnam War, but it was a disaster. There were numerous side effects to human health.”
“Playing God usually has unintended consequences.”
“True, but the health benefits of wiping out malarial infection were too great a prize to ignore. Forty per cent of the world’s population lived in areas prone to malaria. Five hundred million cases annually.”
“And that same prevent strategy presumably held for influenza? By vaccinating the world’s entire population, you could theoretically wipe out influenza?”
“There was a lot of money at stake. It was worth billions of dollars annually to whichever pharmaceutical giant came up with a universal flu vaccine, not to mention the health benefits, productivity gains, and cost savings for the NHS alone meant it paid for itself. Gene therapy had the potential to change medicine forever. The promise of herd immunity.”
“Except in the wrong hands that same technology could just as easily be deployed to weaponise any number of viruses or bacteria.”
“In the scientific community, we call that ‘gain of function’ research. It’s still a very specialist field of science. Very closely regulated, a bit like nuclear technology. Much of the science of pathogens is still very poorly understood. There are probably less than two hundred people in the world capable of undertaking that type of research on viruses. Even fewer now. Most of those would have been in the US or Russia.”
“So, say a team was assembled with the requisite skills, what would they actually need to create an effective virus? I don’t suppose they have a Haynes manual for that yet?”
“Look, I’m a data geek, not a virologist, but I’m told you can find any number of genetic sequences for viruses published on the Internet. As far back as 2001, a British team published the genetic code for the bubonic plague. A few years later, another team did the same with smallpox and cholera. It’s a bit like the Human Genome Project, except no one stopped to think of the risks.”
“My point exactly, but surely a student with a Petri dish could hardly recreate the bubonic plague from a recipe they found on the Internet?”
“That’s the thing with viruses. Once you have a live sample, you don’t need much in the way of special equipment at all. A single chicken egg could be used to provide enough virus to kill every human being on the planet.”
“If that’s the case, then why were terrorist attacks using biological agents not more common?”
“For starters, you can’t just walk into a supermarket and buy these pathogens. They’re stored in secure facilities, like this one. Anyway, even if terrorists did get hold of a virus sample, it’s still unlikely that they could start a pandemic. Viruses are extremely vulnerable outside a host. They don’t react well to sunlight, wind, or temperature change.”
“Is there any way of tracing where a genetically engineered virus sample came from?”
“It doesn’t come with a barcode, if that’s what you mean. As soon as a virus is released from a laboratory environment, it quickly becomes unrecognisable, exchanging genetic material with natural strains.”
“Doctor Hardy told me once that gene therapists are like artists. They have their own quirks and traits, patterns in their work. I was rather hoping that, like Van Gogh or Rembrandt, they might have recognisable brushstrokes.”
“I suspect he was pulling your leg. It’s messier than you think. I suppose they all use short cuts, the same as anyone else. If they always spliced in the same sequences from other viruses, then it might just give you enough to act like a signature. You’d have to ask Doctor Hardy. Come to think of it, another theory you might want to ask him about is whether someone resurrected a paleo-virus.”
“A what?”
“A paleo-virus. You know, like pre-historic viruses. A few years ago, one of the earliest known examples of a virus was discovered frozen in the Siberian permafrost.”
“Like a dinosaur virus?”
“Yes. At the time it was said that modern-day humans, even homo sapiens, might never have been exposed before.”
“So we might have little or no immunity?”
“Correct. In fact, we simply have no idea how the human body would react at all.”
The colonel had been taking copious notes during their conversation. He underlined the final sentence and put his pen down.
“Miss Forrester, how do you feel about going on record? I’d very much like you to act as an expert witness in the enquiry I’m organising.”
She glanced at Zed who smiled his encouragement.
“You don’t know these people. They’ll close ranks.”
“We could protect you. Relocate you to the island if necessary,” added Zed.
“Without documentary evidence, there’s very little we can do. Rumour and hearsay are not going to be enough. If I’m right, this goes right to the top. Beyond even Major Donnelly,” said the colonel.
“Everything here is compartmentalised. It would be impossible for me to gain access. I suppose I could try and use my boss’s login.”
“We’d need copies of project folders, internal memos or correspondence. Whatever you can find.”
“I’ve already looked,” added Zed. “None of those are in the main archive. I believe they may have been systematically deleted.”
“There might be a departmental backup. With all the power outages, we kept lo
cal copies of files on our team server. I can see what I can find and report back.”
“We will still need you to testify against Doctor Hardy.”
“You know he’ll deny everything.”
“Leave that to me,” reassured the colonel. “I’ll find a way to make him talk. You have nothing to fear.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Terra sat up in bed, jolted awake by raised voices outside her room. The key rattled in the door, and two heavy-set figures stood framed by the dim light from a lantern.
Without ceremony, they strong-armed Terra to a waiting car and drove her to Lymington Hospital in silence. There was a palpable tension between them that suggested something had happened. A setback, their plans disrupted, perhaps a counter-strike by the allies. They were refusing to answer her questions.
In the empty staffroom, sat two hooded figures with their hands tied behind their backs. The denim jacket of the male on the right was darkly stained with dried blood. At the sound of footsteps, the captured prisoners looked up anxiously.
“Why am I here?” asked Terra, gesturing towards the pair. She didn’t recognise their clothing but instantly feared the worst.
Hearing her voice, one of the hooded figures sat up straighter, suddenly alert.
There was a knock at the door, and one of the guards let Copper in. There was a sheen about him, his chest heaving as if he’d jogged here. His black shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing richly tattooed forearms. The snarl on his lips suggested he was far from happy about something.
“Where’s Briggs?” she demanded.
“He’s with King.”
“Then what am I doing here, Copper?”
“We found these two creeping around the place. They had this.” He picked up what looked like a hunting rifle with a wooden stock and matt black telescopic sight.
“Who are they?” she said, almost dreading the answer.
The hooded figures seemed very animated as they listened to the exchange, wrestling against their bonds, their mouths gagged.
“I was rather hoping you could tell me,” he mocked.
Copper strode over and removed the first man’s hood. Terra stared wild-eyed at the frightened figure, barely believing her eyes. It was Tommy. There was a large swelling above his right eye and a cut on his cheek which had bled profusely, soaking into his jacket and collar.
