by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 68
It was Larry Brown's third night at the Quincy Hotel in Washington and as there was little hope of his expenses being paid for by the US Embassy in Nigeria or any other organisation he could think of, he was beginning to wonder if he should downgrade.
But Senator Mary Collis's PA, Collette, had phoned him three times with requests for more information. The problem now was that he was running out of evidence. He had started to repeat himself too much and it was now becoming embarrassing.
At Daniel's Queensway apartment in London it was past midnight. Anna was making coffee. Colin and Daniel were sat either side of the stained coffee table that was the centre piece of Daniel's living-room.
In Washington, Larry was lying on his hotel bed in his room wondering if he could afford to eat in the hotel or whether he should go and get something outside when his phone rang.
"Larry, it's Daniel. I'm back in London. So much to tell you. Any chance you could fly over for an urgent recap and to decide where we're going."
"Jesus, I was just thinking of you, Daniel. Yeh, I'm running out of steam here. You'll know from Colin that I've got Senator Mary Collis interested - but she's a busy woman, Daniel and I need to give her far more. Passionate opinion and argument is no substitute for written evidence and facts."
"So what's she done so far?"
"Not enough, Daniel - that's my honest opinion. But that's partly my fault. I'm well aware from what Colin has told me, that you've been chasing around trying to piece together the commercial side and I've given her bits on that. But all I've really been able to do is explain the risk of a deliberate plot to spread a flu virus and it sounds so weak and implausible when you start to describe it.
"Yes, it worries the shit out of her but she's having the same problems as I did in trying to get anyone to listen and take action because no-one knows what action to take. She gets asked too many questions that she can't answer and the scientists say that modifying viruses for research purposes is perfectly legal. Yes there's a risk of it escaping but it's such a small risk that it'll never happen.
"And who the hell, they ask, would want to do it deliberately?
"But if we could add in the commercial element with questions about fraud and corruption then I think we can start to have an impact. And that's where you come in, Daniel."
"So far, who has she spoken to in USA?"
"She started by checking with the WHO - it's the obvious place. Yes, they admit to knowing something but she's clearly hit a wall there. Then she spoke to all the other bodies I'd already spoken to - Homeland Security, USAMRID and so on. More fucking brick walls. Today she got back to me through her PA, Collette, to say she'd spoken to the US Department of Defence to ask about this risk being classified as bioterrorism. Of course, they needed more like something from the WHO or specific evidence about the virus. She asked them about the definition of bioterrorism and then, according to Collette, got mad with them after they started quoting chapter and verse about the need to define terrorism. You really don't need to know, Daniel.
"But, for your information, the definition is the calculated use of unlawful violence or the threat of unlawful violence to inculcate fear, intended to coerce or intimidate the government or society in the pursuit of goals that are generally political, religious or ideological.
"I said to Collette that that is exactly what we've got here - the threat of unlawful violence by using a virus as a weapon. Collette laughed. And I know why she laughed."
In London, Daniel was past laughing. He was tired, still worried about Jimmy and desperate to spend some time with Anna without Colin, dear friend though he was, sitting there listening in to the conversation.
"Larry, can you get over here? If that's not possible or you think you can do more by staying in Washington then we'll talk on the phone or Skype or something. What somebody needs to do, Larry, is to take a few key people out of circulation very quickly. We know the names and roughly know where we can find them. But that means international arrest warrants and, as I see it, Interpol is the only organisation capable of doing this. What can Senator Collis do on this?"
"I checked Interpol as well, Daniel."
"And?"
"Yes, Interpol's Washington Liaison Office can instigate something. But as a private citizen I'd have to start from scratch with the local police here. If you get time, Daniel check the US Department of Justice website and you'll see what I'm talking about. Senator Collis might swing it but we then come back to the lack of evidence once more."
Sat alongside Daniel in London, Colin was listening in. He nodded. "He's right," he said. "It's the bureaucracy and it's understandable. Without it you'd get every Tom, Dick and Harry phoning in asking for help in tracking down their ex wife."
Larry clearly heard Colin.
"That's right, Colin. Senator Collis could do something but she still needs the evidence, a clear plan of action, names, lists of crimes.
"And we might even struggle with the name of the crime. What is a crime called that involves a plot to decimate a population by the deliberate spreading of an infectious virus? If it was a government doing it, it could perhaps be ethnic cleansing. But a private company? An individual? To me, this is clear-cut bioterrorism but, believe it or not Daniel, bioterrorism is a dull subject since nothing ever came of past threats to explode bombs full of anthrax and smallpox over New York and London.
"And even Senator Collis would probably find the form-filling a chore. Forms in duplicate and triplicate, case numbers, statements of the precise crime, description of the exact help needed, full background details. In urgent circumstances Interpol Washington will accept telephone requests but will do nothing internationally without paperwork
"I think she is taking me seriously but she can't do much with the information I'm able to give." Larry paused.
In London, Anna was pointing at the cup of coffee she'd made Daniel. He hadn't yet touched it. He picked it up.
"Yes, I'll come over, Daniel. I'll see if I can get a flight out tonight. But what I'll do first is speak to Senator Collis or Collette and tell them what's happening. Maybe we can even get the US Embassy in London to help but I've also probably become a persona non grata within the US diplomatic service so perhaps that's being optimistic. I understand the Embassy in Nigeria have found out I've gone AWOL. Tough shit, I say. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."
It was one thirty in the morning and Kevin Parker was the next to receive a phone call from Daniel.
"Fuck off, Tunje. I've had enough of your late night calls."
"Kevin? It's Daniel."
Kevin sat up amongst the tangle of duvet, pillows and damp towels that constituted his bed.
"Christ, sorry Daniel. I was sound. Thought it was Tunje."
"No problem," said Daniel. "I'm in London. Can you get up here tomorrow afternoon?"
"What time is it?"
"I don't know. But no need to set off right this minute. Question is, can you get to London this afternoon? Larry is flying from Washington, I've just got back from Cairo via Nairobi. My Bangkok agent is sat right next to me and Colin started off earlier today from Edgeware Road. Can you make it?"
Kevin untangled himself and put his bare feet on the floor.
"Uh, yes. But Tom is the main man at the moment. I'd need to speak to him, see if he can close the bookshop for the day."
"Tom runs a bookshop?"
"Yes, didn't Colin tell you? Second hand books."
"I hear he's well connected at Government level, though."
"Yes, he was once. He's a retired teacher."
"But he's got his head around this problem of ours, Kevin?"
"For sure, he is a biologist, founding member of the Malthus Society and has followed David Solomon's career quite closely over the years. He also knows Lord Peterson."
"Sounds like you need to bring him, then Kevin," said Daniel.
"What time is it?" Kevin asked again.
"Well, if Larry gets here from Wash
ington by early afternoon, I suggest we meet mid or late afternoon."
"No I meant what time is it now?"
Daniel looked at his watch. It was still on Nairobi time. "5.15 am he said. And another thing, Kevin? Where is your friend Tunje at the moment?"
"Tunje? Probably at a party in Watford."
"I meant has he gone to Nigeria yet? Clearly he hasn't. Any chance you could get Tunje on the phone and ask him to make himself available for a meeting with all of us before he gets on the plane to Lagos?"
"Yes," said Kevin, smiling to himself. "I'll phone him right now."
In Nairobi, Jimmy was in trouble.
He had followed Dominique Lunnea and watched him go into the Ace Logistics Africa office. He had then been on the phone to report to Daniel when Lunneau came out.
Then, with his usual brazen approach, he had waited a few minutes before marching into the freight-forwarder's reception office and saying that he worked for Shah Medicals and that Mr Lunneau had just been in but had phoned almost immediately to ask him to double-check the paperwork he had only just presented.
It had worked like clockwork. Somehow he had recognised the clerk in the reception office, had had a quick look at the paperwork that was still sat in a pile on the desk, saw there was one sea shipment for Jordan and an airfreight consignment of the aerosols for Singapore, told the clerk that it looked OK and then gone back outside to phone Daniel again. It was then that his problems started.
He was just putting the key in the lock of his car when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It felt heavy. When Jimmy looked around the first thing he saw was the long sleeve of the dark green shirt. It was exactly the same colour he had seen Dominique Lunneau wearing earlier and Jimmy was about to get his first real close-up of the man.
As he looked at the face, the North African, Algerian or Tunisian features were now obvious. There was a fine, black stubble on his Lunneau's lightly tanned face, an incongruous looking ear-ring in his left ear and his hair had a slight curl with grey streaks. He looked about forty. But it was what Jimmy felt and saw in the other hand, half covered by the long green-sleeves that bothered him. The gun that he had seen through the keyhole in Lunneau's office door was now held firmly in Lunneau's hand and was digging into Jimmy's ribs.
Jimmy had parked his car on the road outside, not in the wired off area that was Ace Logistics' car park and for a moment there was silence as Lunneau looked up and down the road as if checking if anyone was looking. It seemed not.
Jimmy was standing perfectly still as the gun was pressed further and further between his ribs and it was becoming painful. Lunneau eventually spoke.
"I don't like people following me, OK? There is no-one around and it'll only take me one second to shoot you and three more to get your dead body in my car. Move!"
Lunneau pointed to the car behind - the Toyota that Jimmy had followed earlier and the car he knew had already held three bodies the night before. But it was now parked right behind his own car and Jimmy hadn't noticed. It was a big mistake, but too late now.
"OK," said Lunneau, opening the rear door of the Toyota. "Get in."
Jimmy did as he was told. Lunneau, still pointing the gun at Jimmy through the open door then opened the driver's door. He then shut the rear door and got in the driver's seat, swivelled round and pointed the gun directly at Jimmy's head.
"Now," Lunneau said, "Who are you? And what's the name of that fucking white friend of yours?"
Jimmy said nothing but looked down the barrel of the short pistol. The gun clicked and Lunneau's finger seemed to move on the trigger. Jimmy, thinking his time was up, closed his eyes and tried thinking of the beach in Mombasa. But nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, the gun was only two inches away but Lunneau was holding a mobile phone in his free hand. He then spoke into the phone.
"Yes, got him. He's in the car. Get over here now. I'm outside Ace."
Jimmy wondered if he could make a run for it but it didn't look promising. If anything the gun was now touching his forehead. But he also felt he needed to say something. It wasn't in his nature to stay silent for too long.
"Sit," said Lunneau as if Jimmy was trying to get up. "I ask again. Who the fuck are you?"
Jimmy said nothing.
"OK, put your hand inside your shirt pocket and remove the mobile phone."
As the gun was now making a dent in his forehead, Jimmy decided to comply but knew it was going to be a giveaway. Daniel had warned him once before about mobile phones and the information lying on them. That's why Daniel constantly changed his. But it was too late now. Another mistake. He took out his phone. Lunneau grabbed it.
"OK, now take out the wallet in your back pocket."
"Oh, my aunt," thought Jimmy. "Now he'll see everything." But with the gun poking him in the right eye, he leaned forward to access the back pocket of his trousers, pulled on the wallet that contained nearly all his personal details and handed that over as well.
"OK, " said Lunneau. "Now pull on the seat belt."
Jimmy obeyed.
"Now twist it and put it around your neck. Jimmy had seen this done in a movie once and so he knew what to do, but he didn't like what had happened next in the movie."
"Give me the buckle."
Jimmy tugged on the seat belt and handed it over. With his free hand, Lunneau twisted it a few more times and pushed it into the seat belt point of the front passenger seat. Then he tugged on it, almost choking Jimmy."Now lie down facing the back of the car."
Jimmy already feeling like an oven ready chicken, pulled up his long legs, put his feet onto the seat and rolled over.
It was then that he heard and felt what seemed like the shattering of his own skull. For a second he thought he'd been shot. But then it happened again, louder this time. Jimmy lost consciousness.
When he came to, he found he was still in the back seat of the Toyota with the seat belt tightly wound and tied around his neck. He was in a sitting position but with his head drooping forward onto his chest. This time his hands and feet were also held together with a rope that threaded itself under the front seats. Jimmy could not move. If he had, he'd probably have strangled himself. But as his brain slowly began to function again he could also feel a coldness coming from a crack somewhere in his skull. He wanted to touch it but couldn't. So he just lay there wondering how deep it was. Then he slowly raised his head.
In the front driver's seat, where Lunneau had once been, sat a man he'd never seen before. He was peering around the head rest with a strange grin on his face and the same gun was again pointing at Jimmy's head. The man was not North African French Arab like Lunneau but Middle Eastern Arab. Jimmy could not have placed him on a map but he could place him as the third man who had driven the van away from the Shah Medicals site the night before.
Either way, Jimmy didn't like his sense of humour.
"So, Mr Jimmy Banda. Accountant and part-time office cleaner. You are very lucky that I am a doctor. Do you need some paracetamol?"
"No thanks," muttered Jimmy.
"That's good to hear. Doctors always overprescribe. That is because they have a duty to keep people alive, you see. Even when there is no longer any will to live left in the patient they are still required by law to do something. And because people now live so long, doctors are so overworked. Is it any wonder they prescribe without carrying out a thorough diagnosis. But they don't have time to think any longer, you see. The queues at their doors get longer and longer."
"Yes," Jimmy said, hoping that a conversation about medical ethics might yield positive results. But as he couldn't think of anything more to say, he repeated himself. "Yes," he said again.
The mysterious doctor was playing with the gun. One minute it pointed straight at Jimmy's head, the next it pointed out of the car window. And so Jimmy tried to look out of the window although his vision now seemed flawed. But he could tell they were no longer outside the Ace Logistics building. In fact Jimmy had no idea where he was.
There were short, thorn trees all around the car and the ground looked red and dusty and it had potholes. A small round hut with a corrugated roof was just visible through the trees. Unfortunately, though, there did not appear to be any other human beings close by.
"Where are we?" Jimmy asked, thinking it best to adopt a friendly tone with his doctor.
"Somewhere quiet." the man replied. "But if you want to go back to your office or go home then you'll need to tell me something very quickly as I haven't got long. I am very busy and we are expecting a flu epidemic."
There was a short pause, the man's grin disappeared and the tone of his voice suddenly changed.
"So," he said, "I understand you are not just an accountant. Mr Banda. You are also a private detective. Am I right? You have a nice office, Mr Banda. Louise was very co-operative when we spoke to her."
Jimmy's interest in the view outside the car window ceased.
"Now, before I lose my temper, Mr Banda, tell me something. Who is this man you phoned? The number is entered twice on your phone - once in the name of Franklin, the next as Daniel. But it is the same number. You phoned him just before my colleague apprehended you. He then tried to phone you several times and then sent you a text. In the text he says he's flying to London and will get Colin to phone you. He signed off as Daniel. Who is the man called Daniel?"
"I don't know," said Jimmy.
"Well I think I do," said the doctor. "Because the other man, Colin, called from a company called Asher and Asher in London and spoke to Louise in your office to ask if she knew where you were. I think we'll know sooner rather than later who he is, Mr Banda. It'll be very easy to hunt him down."
Happy go lucky Jimmy, trussed up on the back seat of a Toyota with two gashes in his sore and thumping head and a gun in front of his eyes was in no mood for any humour. But he tried it nevertheless. "So, are you on safari, Doctor?"
"No, Mr Banda. But we don't really need you do we? You are like so many millions of others - superfluous."
Jimmy stared at the grinning face of the man still peering around the side of the driver's head rest. He was still grinning as Jimmy conjured one last vision of the beach in Mombasa.
