The Black Art of Killing

by Matthew Hall

  FT: Hello, my name is Daniel Riley from Hamilton Bray solicitors, Panama City office. I’ve an urgent message for Mr Mathis. It concerns my client, his colleague, Colonel Auguste Daladier.

  PA: Is he expecting your call, sir?

  FT: No, this is an unexpected emergency.

  PA: I’m afraid Mr Mathis isn’t available at this time.

  FT: Please tell him that Colonel Daladier is in Venezuelan military detention and that I am about to have a meeting with President Maduro. Maduro is threatening to nationalize the whole Sabre operation.

  PA: Could you please give me your number, sir?

  FT: I don’t have one. I’m on an extension in the presidential palace in Caracas and they’ve taken my mobile phone. Please just tell him. I’ll hold.

  PA: I’ll see what I can do, sir.

  (Pause – 20 seconds)

  CM: Hello? Who am I speaking to? Hello? Hello …? Is anybody there …? Shit.

  ‘Enjoy that?’ Towers looked over from behind his monitor and beamed. ‘Thought I’d leave him dangling, thinking his eight hundred million had gone down the Swanee. Can you imagine?’ He grinned.

  ‘I’m sure it was a lot of fun.’

  ‘It proves Daladier and Mathis got together for a Venezuelan operation. Fat lot of good it did comrade Chavez. He sold out, turned up his toes and the country still went bust. Nearly there with this thing. Won’t be a moment. I’ve got images of what we think is their coltan mine down near the Brazilian border. They’ve recently added what looks like a military compound.’ He returned to his computer.

  Black put the document aside. He was prepared to believe that Mathis and Daladier had found each other and that, like many old rich men before him, Mathis had decided on one last spectacular roll of the dice to cement his legacy. What persuaded a man with more money than he could ever use to embark on a reckless South American adventure wasn’t a question he could answer. It was no different to asking a soldier why he wasn’t working in the safety of a warm insurance office. Human beings did what they felt they had to.

  Black glanced around the room as Towers continued to stoop over his keyboard, cursing as he jabbed at the keys. It was a functional military office like any other with no remarkable characteristics except the fact that it had been supplied with a computer connected to the most sensitive images available to the British Armed Forces. Usually, such material was closely guarded by the Intelligence Corps, who would share their precious information with SAS teams only once they had assembled at Pontrilas for their compulsory period of isolation in the days before departing on a mission.

  ‘I don’t know what it took to put this together, Freddy, but it’s looking rather like an official operation,’ Black said.

  ‘Not exactly, Leo. No one likes to be too precise, but we’re what the Committee has termed “irregular extraordinary”. Cooperation from the Regiment this end but no official cover once we’re out in the field – including for the two extra pairs of hands I’ve negotiated for you.’ Responding to Black’s look of surprise, he said: ‘I couldn’t send you alone, Leo. You’re the only one I could trust to lead such a mission, but not even you can handle something of this scale alone.’

  ‘And what have these two men been told about me? I’m not sure I’d have agreed to a grey op under the command of a man I’ve never met.’

  ‘A reputation like yours doesn’t take much selling to serving troopers, Leo. They both knew Finn and they’ve been picked. Received their orders straight from the Director.’

  ‘Back up a minute, Freddy. Let’s begin with the objective.’

  ‘In an ideal world the Venezuelan government would simply hand our people back unharmed. But of course we would first have to prove they’re there and being held against their will.’

  ‘So this is a reconnaissance mission?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Black gave a slow nod and waited for further clarification. Insisting on drip-feeding unpalatable information was yet another of Towers’ many infuriating habits.

  ‘This is how it looks to me. We can safely assume that Sabre have invested heavily in a highly secretive operation with the blessing of their Venezuelan hosts. We all know the rules of the diplomatic game – if we were to establish the presence of the hostages we could only expect a protracted series of persistent denials, while meanwhile Sabre remove the evidence and shift their operations elsewhere. The Committee has concluded that for all practical purposes we have only one small bite of the cherry.’

  Black glanced impatiently at his watch. ‘Is this going to take all day? I could be doing something useful, like fixing my roof.’

  Towers tapped the tips of his fingers together, his features twitching uncomfortably. ‘Much as we feel for the hostages, safeguarding our national security is the principal priority. I’m certain Sabre have turned a number of our agents. I admit we’re all speculating on the basis of limited evidence, but on my advice the Committee has concluded that what we’re dealing with is a private mercenary army that diversified into the espionage business. Having skilfully succeeded in cornering the market in the commodity of the day, like all ambitious men Mr Mathis needed another challenge. He’s made each of his many fortunes anticipating the next big thing. What more valuable commodity is there in this globalized world than information? For a relatively small investment his spies were able to go to scientific conferences, meet scientists, seduce a few government agents and, hey presto, they got their hands on some of the hottest intellectual property on the planet. It was too exciting for Mathis to resist. He had to have it by whatever means. He had a ready-made facility in one of the most inaccessible places on earth and decided to turn it into his R & D department. It’s the perfectly logical thing to do. Surprisingly commonplace, in fact. It isn’t much talked about, but I can tell you for certain, Leo, there are a number of countries in the world more than happy, for a fee, to host the most unethical forms of scientific research. I have concrete evidence that there are biological weapons being developed by Western scientists in laboratories in the Middle East that are the stuff of nightmares.’

  Black peered through the fog of Towers’ meandering speech and tried to discern its meaning. ‘So this is a sabotage mission? You want the facility destroyed.’

  ‘That would be the most desirable outcome.’

  ‘And the four scientists?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do what you can … but in the grand scheme of things, I’m afraid they’re a lesser consideration.’ He turned back to his computer and hit several more keys. ‘At last! Come and look at this.’

  Black came alongside Towers as he homed in on a satellite map of an area of south-eastern Venezuela, deep in the Amazonian rainforest close to the Brazilian border. One of the most impenetrable areas on the planet, inaccessible by road and navigable only on foot or by canoe. He zoomed in further until the images on the screen were of such high definition they might have been filmed from a low-flying aircraft.

  ‘This area here is the Parima Tapirapecó National Park. The only thing approximating a town for hundreds of miles is this place – Platanal.’ He pointed to a cluster of buildings on the banks of a wide river that ran through the dense forest: the Orinoco. ‘Our focus of interest is fifty miles or so to the east.’ He zoomed in further on what appeared to be a large rectangular clearing in the otherwise unbroken canopy. As the resolution increased, the area revealed itself to be an opencast mine working with a number of buildings positioned in a grid formation at its western end.

  ‘This photograph was taken exactly a month ago,’ Towers said. ‘Now look at this.’ He brought a second image up on screen alongside the first depicting the same area. The date at its foot showed it to be two years old. The difference between them was striking. ‘Two years ago a clearing of approximately ten acres appeared. It’s hard to see beneath the canopy, but here and there you catch glimpses of a dirt track that you can just about trace all the way back to the airstrip at Platanal. Now look at last month.
The clearing has trebled in size. There are mine workings this end and more than half a dozen substantial buildings at the other.’ He zoomed in further. They could now make out vehicles – earth movers and a number of pick-up trucks – and grainy clusters of pixels that were distinguishable as workers on the site. ‘Look at the roof of this building – three, four, five satellite dishes. You don’t need all those to run a mine. It’s a communications station. And look at this area on the right – a helipad. And, over here, what looks like a military parade ground.’

  ‘Can we go tighter?’

  Towers went to maximum resolution. The helicopter had five rotor blades and the bulky body of a large heavy-lifting machine. They were looking at a machine capable of carrying thirty personnel or a five-ton cargo.

  ‘That would certainly get their coltan to market,’ Towers said.

  Black scoured the blurred image and picked out the other necessary components of a permanent off-grid base. Besides the six substantial buildings at the heart of the complex, there were large above-ground fuel tanks, a water tower and various smaller buildings necessary to house pumps, generators and maintenance equipment. It was impressive. As sophisticated as any of the similar operations he had come across in far more developed parts of Africa.

  ‘We’re sure it’s coltan they’re mining here?’

  ‘It’s sited right in the Orinoco arc, where all the major known deposits are to be found,’ Towers said.

  Black considered the alternative explanations to this being Sabre’s enterprise and by a process of elimination discounted them. No commercial mining company would choose such a remote location with no infrastructure unless they had an ulterior motive. But it was also sufficiently accessible to get personnel in and out. A fifteen-minute helicopter flight got you to the airstrip at Platanal, which was sufficient to land a Gulfstream or even something a little larger. From Platanal it was only a little over 1,000 miles to Cayenne, French Guiana. Two hours’ flying time.

  ‘What do you think?’ Towers said. ‘Can three of you take it out?’

  Black looked at the huge swathe of rainforest on the screen and tried to imagine a fifty-mile hike through its midst loaded with ammunition and kit. He had been in his mid-thirties and at his physical peak when he had last undertaken anything comparable.

  ‘I don’t feel I’ve been given much of a choice.’

  ‘You’ll be in your element. Think of it as research. The new enemy – private armies in the Amazon. I bet you didn’t see this one coming.’ Towers laughed, as if it were all a fantastic joke. He was certainly in his element. One of the bravest armchair soldiers in the world.

  Still smiling to himself, Towers got up from his chair, crossed to the window and looked out towards the open fields that lay beyond the camp. ‘It really is a most peculiar world we live in, Leo. The great powers continue to spend trillions on fighters and aircraft carriers, but the real battles are being fought in different realms entirely, against enemies we can’t even identify. We’re all groping in the dark, not knowing who to trust. Who’s for us, who’s against us? We don’t even understand their motives, if indeed they have any beyond the obvious. I couldn’t tell you whose interests Sabre represents and nor could all the spooks in Vauxhall … It certainly makes you wonder. Who knows who is in whose pocket in this brave new world?’

  He continued to gaze out at the landscape, prolonging his meditation for a long silent moment, then turned abruptly. ‘Fancy some lunch? They’ll be waiting for us.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘The others!’

  Black struggled to keep Towers’ Jaguar in sight as he drove at high speed along the narrow Herefordshire lanes. If he had met a tractor or a milk tanker, he would have been crushed, but he rode his luck and it held, as it always had. After several miles they arrived in the hamlet of Tillington, which was little more than a cluster of houses set among apple orchards. Towers braked abruptly and pulled over into the car park of the Bell Inn.

  He was already waiting impatiently outside his car by the time Black drew up next to him. ‘Thought you’d never make it.’

  He strode off across the grass towards the beer garden.

  Black followed towards an unlikely scene for a meeting with his potential comrades in arms. Couples and family groups were enjoying lunch in the afternoon sun. A play area was busy with excited children. Towers headed for a table at the far end of the lawn beneath a spreading cherry tree, where two men in their mid-thirties, both dressed in shorts and T-shirts, were seated at a table drinking pints of lager.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, chaps,’ Towers said. ‘Leo Black, Sergeant Chris Riley and Lieutenant Ed Fallon. I believe you’ve already met.’

  ‘Hello again,’ Black said as the two men he had first seen at Finn’s funeral rose to exchange handshakes. ‘What have you done to deserve this?’

  ‘We volunteered,’ Riley said. ‘We must be off our heads.’ He laughed. Fallon, the quieter of the two, gave a faint smile.

  ‘Steaks all round?’ Towers asked and was met with nods of approval. ‘Another drink, gentlemen? Excellent.’ He set off for the bar, not waiting for a reply.

  ‘I don’t know what Freddy said to persuade you,’ Black said, taking a seat on the wooden bench and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. ‘If I’d been in your position, I wouldn’t have been in any hurry to set out with some has-been I’d not worked with before.’

  ‘That’s Fireballs,’ Riley said. ‘You don’t say no to him, do you?’

  ‘Finn talked a lot about you,’ Fallon added quietly. ‘That helped. We feel like we know you.’

  Black smiled and nodded, appreciating the compliment. It was good to know Finn had spoken well of him despite his neglect.

  ‘How much has Freddy told you?’

  ‘Briefed us this morning,’ Fallon said, reaching for his glass.

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘Fucking insane,’ Riley said, ‘but that’s what we live for, isn’t it?’ He grinned broadly and necked the remains of his pint.

  And then Black felt it.

  The old thrill.

  He was going to war.

  39

  Sarah Bellman watched Professor Kennedy inject the pieces of fruit with a liquid that would carry nanoparticles into the digestive tracts of the four macaques crouching listlessly in their cage. She noticed a tremor in his normally steady hands. His skin had taken on an unhealthy grey pallor as if he were coming down with a fever and he looked a decade older than his sixty-five years. The breezy, permanently cheerful man she had worked alongside for five years was reduced to a silent, brooding ghost of his former self.

  She knew the reason why. She was young enough to spend several years in obscurity and later emerge from their ordeal to redefine herself, but this was the end of her mentor’s career. What they were about to achieve here in this place would be his legacy: a black stain that would cancel out forty years of pioneering work.

  Kennedy dropped the syringe into the trash, lowered himself stiffly on to a chair and gestured for her to continue.

  Bellman pulled on a pair of gauntlets, opened the principal cage and reached for one of the two male macaques – the friendliest and most amenable of the four. He clung to her hand like an infant to its mother. Even through the layer of tough fabric that separated them, she felt the warmth of his belly and the rapid beating of his heart as she transferred him to a smaller cage on a bench at the side of the room. She placed him inside, secured the door, then fed several pieces of fruit into the feeding chute. Having been starved for several hours in readiness, he devoured them greedily. Bellman stared, entranced, at his tiny semi-human face and marvelled at the fractional differences in genetic make-up that separated this creature from a human being.

  They waited for ten minutes for the nanoparticles to be delivered through the monkey’s bloodstream to their target. Sarah attempted to lighten the atmosphere with small talk, but the professor was too deep in thoughts of his own to engage.
She wanted to ask him what he was thinking, whether he was as appalled by the perversion of their work as she was, but decided to spare him. He had a wife, three adult children and a clutch of grandchildren to think about. One day soon he would have to answer to them. She guessed that in his silence he was composing his defence or even his confession.

  An alarm sounded the end of their wait. If their modelling was correct, the particles would now be attached to the target cells, primed and ready to activate.

  Without exchanging a word Bellman and Kennedy went about their tasks. While Kennedy recorded the experiment on a video camera, she produced a small red chew-toy, moulded, for reasons known only to the manufacturer, into the shape of a bear. She poked it through the bars and quickly turned to her computer.

  With her finger poised ready to hit the key that would play a short burst of white noise the moment their subject’s skin came in contact with the toy, she waited and watched. The monkey approached the unfamiliar object cautiously, searching for signs of life or danger. He studied it for a while and only when he was sure that it posed no immediate threat reached out a tentative finger and prodded.

  Bellman hit play.

  A sound like a burst of static resounded around the room. The codes it contained activated the nanoparticles, stimulating the target cells. The effect was instantaneous. The macaque took a step backwards as if suddenly having to correct his balance, then, without any trace of fear, picked up the toy with both hands. Sarah played the sound a second time, reinforcing the program. The monkey clung to the plastic bear and rolled over on his back, all four of his limbs wrapped around it.

  They allowed him to hold on to it for a full minute before Sarah opened the cage door and attempted to prise it away. The macaque screamed and kicked and scrabbled, holding on to its new possession as if his life depended on it. Finally, Sarah used her superior strength to tear it away from him and slammed the cage door shut. The macaque shook the bars and screamed and screamed with wild, staring eyes.