by Ken McClure
‘The Home secretary shook his head and said, ‘Certainly complicated. Well, Chief Superintendent, put us out our misery.’
‘I can confirm, sir, that the two Englishmen had also received large sums of money over the past two years. Both had Swiss bank accounts and . . . off-shore interests. None of it was ever reported to Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, so I think we can assume that the money came from Russian ex pats using Jeremy Lang’s laundering expertise along the way.
‘Although not in acquiring London property,’ said Steven.
‘Not in property,’ agreed the chief superintendent.
‘How big were these sums of money?’
‘We think in the region of ten million US dollars . . . each.’
There were gasps in the room. ‘Not stealing sweeties, then,’ muttered Steven.
‘This tends to put everything in a new light,’ said Macmillan. ‘We are dealing with something much bigger than we imagined. Unfortunately, that is about all we know. We don’t know what these people were being paid to do: we don’t know why they were murdered and we don’t know by whom . . . or am I wrong?’
Macmillan looked at the head of MI6 directly.
‘Well, C,’ said the Home Secretary.
‘We do know a little more, sir, at least we think we do. We think that the killings were not just sadistic, they had elements of ritualised execution to them.
Steven asked, ‘What made you think that.?’
The MI6 chief exchanged a quick glance with the Home Secretary who nodded, adding, ‘We have no secrets from Sci-Med.’
Steven noted that Macmillan’s expression remained Sphynx-like.
‘The torture comprised removing small segments of flesh from each victim until access to the femoral artery was achieved. The artery was then opened and the victim allowed to bleed to death. We think this all may have been an allusion to an ancient execution method known as, death by a thousand cuts.’
‘Does that help in knowing who they are?’ Steven asked.
The head of MI6 took a deep breath and said, ‘Only in as far as saying, we believe the perpetrators of these crimes were Chinese.’
There was a long silence which made Steven remember a line from WH Auden, Stop all the clocks. It was broken by the Home Secretary asking quietly, ‘When you suggest the murderers were Chinese, are you saying that they were Chinese . . . or the Chinese?’
‘Impossible to say at this stage, Home Secretary, but we can’t rule out official involvement. As Sir John has pointed out, we seem to be dealing with something bigger than any of us imagined.’
FOUR
‘Did you see the look on the Home Secretary’s face when C couldn’t rule out the possibility that the Chinese establishment might be involved?’ Jean asked Steven when they returned to the office. John Macmillan had stayed behind to have a private conversation with the Home Secretary.
‘That’s all he needed to hear after us falling out with the Russians over the use of a nerve agent on our streets,’ said Steven. ‘We mustn’t openly accuse the Chinese of anything without having absolute proof of who did what and why or people are going to wonder what the hell’s going on in our country.’
‘How do you think the PM will play it?’
‘I just hope she keeps quiet for the time being, said Steven. ‘And, please God the Foreign Secretary follows suit. We need to know more, much more. Right now, we have more questions than answers
‘Dare I ask who you think is going to be tasked with continuing the investigation?’ Jean asked.
‘That’s the kind of question which could keep me awake all night,’ Steven confessed.
‘I take it you don’t think this is something that will be decided this afternoon?’
‘Steven shook his head. ‘The PM and cabinet will have to be informed. Special advisors will be called in.’
‘Could be self-defeating,’ said Jean. ‘The more people involved the greater chance of a leak.’
‘If that happens, the Daily Mail will decide what needs to be done.’
‘And with that happy thought . . .’
The new message indicator on Jean’s computer beeped and she brought it up on her screen. ‘Interpol,’ she said. ‘The dead investment banker was one, Marcel Giroud. He worked for one of the big French banks until a year ago when he decided to go it alone and set up as an independent financial advisor.’
‘After receiving the promise of some upcoming very large commissions . . .’ suggested Steven. ‘People like Field and Pashley would need expert financial help when it came to being paid and hiding huge sums of money.’
‘And neither would be likely to know any investment bankers let alone dodgy ones.’
‘Also true,’ said Steven. ‘A middle man would be required. Enter Jeremy Lang. the man Russian expats in London approach to move money around and the man with Field and Pashley’s names in his book.’
‘Lang does property deals,’ said Jean. ‘Maybe he sub-contracted to a pal who did under the counter investments . . .’
‘A man like Marcel Giroud . . .’
‘I think we’re beginning to see a chain,’ said Jean.
Steven’s phone rang. He listened and replied with a simple, “Understood”
He turned back to Jean, ‘It was John, discussions are ongoing. He’ll be going home straight afterwards.’
‘That sounds like Sci-Med’s involvement might be over,’ said Jean.
‘Let’s not count our chickens.’
Steven’s phone delivered a message from Tally on his way home. She’d be late home, she was going to another meeting about the situation in DRC.
The sun came out from behind the clouds it had hidden behind all morning and encouraged Steven to find a seat on the Embankment and enjoy the feeling of warmth on his face. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about the murders, or indeed how much effort he should be putting into thinking about them now that there were so many players involved. The Met would concentrate on the crime of murder, Special Branch would be interested in the huge sums of money paid to the two English victims, MI5 would focus on foreign agents operating in the UK – as would MI6, although their interests would have an international dimension, adding French, Swiss and Israeli victims to the overall scenario and trying to figure out what exactly had made the Chinese so angry. Against this backdrop, the fact that two of the victims had been senior medical scientists seemed to pale into irrelevance. Perhaps Jean had been right, Sci-Med’s involvement might be coming to an end before it had really started.
It was after 9 pm before Tally arrived home and flopped down into a chair, kicking off her shoes and sighing as she looked up at the ceiling.
‘Would a drink help?’ Steven asked, amused at her display of exhaustion.
‘A large one.’
Steven returned with a large gin and tonic for Tally and a beer for himself. He tried interpreting the range of emotions flitting across Tally’s face but failed. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.
‘I’m just so angry and frustrated,’ she replied. ‘People who should know better are really not taking the DRC outbreak seriously. Officially, less than fifty people have died, but the real figure has got to be much higher. It’s being distorted for a whole variety of reasons; they’re thinking more about trade and profits than . . . staying alive.
‘But surely the money and resources being poured in has achieved something?’
‘Yes, but that can only work if it has the support of the population and competent management.’
‘Are you saying it hasn’t?’ Steven asked.
‘It hasn’t been required before on this scale. It requires a culture shift,’ said Tally. ‘The DRC people are naturally touchy-feely – they’re used to hugging and shaking hands all the time so when they’re told to stop, they resist, particularly when this extends to comforting the bereaved and saying goodbye to the dead. Health workers know they have to get rid of dead as quickly and cleanly as possible and, to that end, the
y have trained burial squads to dispose of the dead, but this has led to families stealing bodies back for ‘proper’ respectful funerals and so spreading infection.’
‘Sounds awful,’ said Steven.
‘Happily, . . . and that’s not a word I use often these days . . . the initiative is having more success in towns than in country areas because radio and television are available to spread the word and give advice. Children attending school are taught about safe personal hygiene and how Ebola can be defeated through vaccination, but rural populations can be a real problem. Witch doctors persuade people to have nothing to do with Western medicine, assuring them that the old ways are best and Ebola is an evil invention of white people who want to steal their country’s resources. If sickness breaks out in their villages, attempts are often made to hide it so that evil white people stay away.’
Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘You know, I can understand that behaviour if this was the first outbreak of Ebola that DRC has suffered, but it isn’t, is it?’
‘It’s the ninth,’ Tally declared.
‘The ninth!’ Steven exclaimed, ‘I didn’t realise there had been that many. With all that previous experience, you’d think that they would be much better prepared to deal with things?’
‘You have a point,’ Tally agreed. ‘But you also have to remember that there was no vaccine available in the past. It wasn’t until the 2014 - 16 outbreak that a vaccine appeared.’
‘When white folks were threatened,’ Steven suggested.
‘Not so much white as rich,’ said Tally. ‘But that’s always been the way. Pharmaceutical companies have no interest in producing vaccines for countries that can’t pay for them, people shouldn’t pretend otherwise. Like any other business, profit is what they’re about.’
‘Presumably someone paid them this time if vaccination is available?’ said Steven.
‘I just hope the World Bank will have come to some agreement under the terms of the new Pandemic Emergency Financing Facility.’
‘Are the countries surrounding the DRC getting the same attention?’ Steven asked.
‘They’re hoping the virus won’t reach them.’
‘It crossed borders last time,’ said Steven. ‘I remember Simone being in the thick of it in Sierra Leone’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tally. ‘Sierra Leone was badly affected, thousands died.’
‘You’re becoming an Ebola expert,’ said Steven.
‘It’s like watching a horror movie, you want to look away, but you just can’t.’
‘Do you have any clearer view about the possibility of it coming here?’
‘That would be the scariest movie of all, if it did,’ said Tally. ‘We have to do everything we can to stop that happening. We really do.’
‘Not too well prepared after all then?’
The look on Tally’s face served as her reply. Steven was left in no doubt as to the strength of her conviction.
‘How was your day?’ she asked.
‘Our UK murder investigation developed into a multi-million-dollar international affair possibly involving world powers.’
‘Tell me you’re joking.’’
‘Nope.’
‘
Tally had developed the habit of going over to the window last thing at night to look up at the sky and give her prediction about the weather for the following day.
‘Well, what’s it going to be?’ Steven asked.
Tally paused as something else caught her attention. ‘They’ve not made you a government minister by any chance, have they?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘There’s a black ministerial Jag parked across the road.’
Steven got up to join her but had to pause when his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he said, ‘It’s John.’
Tally made a face and looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight.
‘A car has been sent for you,’ said Macmillan. ‘We need you here.’
‘Who’s “we” and where’s “here”?’ Steven asked, channelling Tally’s obvious displeasure.
‘Downing Street,’ snapped Macmillan, answering both questions and ending the conversation.
‘Wow,’ said Tally. ‘Is there something you’ve not been telling me?
‘That’s going to be my first question,’ said Steven, putting on his shoes and giving Tally a farewell peck on the cheek.
The door to number ten opened as he neared and Steven found John Macmillan waiting there.
‘Sorry about the drama,’ said Macmillan. ‘Ready?’
‘Sure,’ Steven replied – not entirely sure what he was supposed to be ready for. Macmillan led the way to where the PM was waiting.
‘We have a problem, Dr Dunbar,’ said the PM. ‘And we think it might well be a big one.’
Steven waited to be told more, but the ensuing silence compelled him to ask.
‘That is our problem, doctor,’ replied the PM, ‘we don’t know what it is, but we do know it’s there.’
‘A bit like dark matter, Prime Minister,’ said Steven, attracting a black look from Macmillan.
The PM chose to ignore the comment and continued, ‘Millions of dollars are changing hands, Russian expats here in London are most likely involved, torture and murder are being committed, not only here in the UK, but across the globe, and there’s a possibility that the Chinese are up to their necks in it.’ The PM stopped referring to her notes and looked Steven directly in the eye. ‘Any ideas?’
Steven employed a respectful pause before saying, ‘I’m afraid not, Prime minister . . . I rather thought that the presence of the police, MI5 and MI6 at our earlier meeting suggested that you and the government had it well-covered.’
‘These people all have a role to play, doctor, and they are all very good at what they do . . . in fact, they may even find out quickly what these dreadful people are up to, but I have to consider the possibility that they may not and the longer we are exposed to not knowing, the more danger we may be in.’
‘Yes, Prime Mister.’
‘I want you involved in finding out what all this is about.’
Steven suddenly felt very lonely and didn’t quite know what to say.
John Macmillan helped him out. ‘I think the Prime Minister is very aware of why Sci-Med was set up in the first place, Steven,’ he said. ‘These other bodies have great expertise, but it may be the wrong kind in this instance when considering that two of the dead people were major figures in medical science.’
‘I see,’ said Steven.
‘Sir John tells me you are the best there is when it comes to understanding what clever scientific people might get up to when they go off the rails and I know that to be a fact. We have had cause to be very grateful to you in the past. What I would like this time is for you to investigate this business independently in your own way without any reference to chain of command. The only person you will report back to, outside of Sci-Med . . . is me.’
Steven immediately saw problems, but the PM read his mind. ‘You will, of course, have access to the findings of the other bodies involved, which I will share with Sir John, but you will not be obliged to share anything with them that you don’t want to.
‘I see.’
‘Sir John has told me about the code-red status system Sci-Med uses and I personally will see to it that it be supplemented in any way you think necessary . . . provided of course, you agree to take this on.’
The Sci-Med code-red sounded more dramatic than it actually was. When a preliminary inquiry was upgraded to full investigation status, the investigator was given code-red status. This implied that he or she would receive special support – financial through being given no-limit credit cards, having the right to ask for local police support and getting it without question on showing a Sci-Med ID card, having access to a special telephone line manned 24/7 for the supply of advice, equipment and help, and, if deemed necessary, the right to bear arms.
‘Well?’ asked the PM. ‘Will yo
u help us find out what this is all about?’
‘Of course, Prime Minister.’
Steven took off his shoes and tiptoed through the flat, trying not to wake Tally whom he knew had an early start. He poured himself a whisky and sat down to ponder what he had let himself in for.
‘Well, what did they want?’ asked Tally behind him.
‘Steven started to apologise for having woken her but Tally stopped him. ‘No, I couldn’t sleep for worrying about what they were going to ask you to do.’
Steven told her.
‘A separate investigation?’ Tally exclaimed. ‘When they already have the police and both UK intelligence services lined up?’
‘That was my first thought too,’ Steven agreed, ‘but the PM reminded John why he had been given permission to set up Sci-Med in the first place – to supply the expertise the others don’t have.’
‘Clever,’ said Tally.
‘She also took pains to point out that the huge sums of money being handed out suggests that something really big is involved and it might be very much in the UK’s interest to find out what that is.’
Tally rubbed her forehead and said, ‘So, your contribution is to be . . . intellectual rather than practical? The police and the spooks will hunt down the villains and you’ll tell the PM what it’s all about?’
‘More or less.’
‘Have you actually any idea what they have been up to?’
‘No.’
‘Not exactly a flying start then.’
‘I can only do my best,’ said Steven.
‘Why am I thinking of Rodin’s, The Thinker, laughed Tally, resting her chin on her fist.
