by Ken McClure
Chloe realised that something had changed when the nurses in the treatment tent suddenly stopped being busy. A sense of calm had come over the room and she became acutely aware of the sound of fans and filters. The restive figure in the bed had stopped moving and one of the nurses turned to look at her. Chloe couldn’t see her face behind the reflections on her visor any more than the nurse could see hers, but the gesture of dropping her head slowly and making the palms of her gloved hands face outwards as she let her arms go limp said everything.
A male figure, judging by his size, in biohazard gear, came into the room and Chloe guessed rightly at it being a doctor required to confirm the death of her husband. Rules were rules, times had to be recorded, forms had to be filled in and then it would be over . . . but not for Chloe, definitely not for Chloe.
Steven and John Macmillan were struggling to come up with an explanation for Tom Harland contracting Marburg disease when news of his death came in.
‘God damn,’ said Steven.
‘Poor man,’ said Macmillan, shaking his head in exasperation. ‘They have to find the cause, it’s imperative they identify the source.’
‘No question,’ said Steven.
The two men were talking in Macmillan’s office where Macmillan had put a stop on phone calls so that they could think and talk undisturbed. They were in the middle of considering the possibility that secret establishments like Porton might be tempted to use generally accepted secrecy to cover-up events that were not necessarily connected to national security . . . like accidents . . . or mistakes . . . when Jean knocked and came in.
‘Sorry, Sir John, the Home Secretary would like to speak to you, I think it’s important.’
Steven left the room with Jean who closed the door and put the call through before saying, ‘The Home Secretary sounded like a man under some stress.’
Steven made a face and said, ‘I could say it’s shaping up to be one of these days, but for the past week or so they’ve all been that.’
Macmillan emerged looking pale. ‘Three more,’ he said, causing Steven and Jean to look at each other.
‘Three more cases of Marburg.’
‘Where?’ Steven asked, almost dreading the answer: he had been assuming that luck had been on their side when Tom Harland had shown no signs of infection before falling ill at work where he could be quickly isolated. Now, he feared he was about to be told that Chloe and the girls had fallen victim.
‘Porton,’ said Macmillan, ‘Three more people on the staff, one technician and two cleaners.’
Steven’s relief was quickly wiped out by the new worry. ‘Where are they?’
‘Royal Free Hospital.’
‘Dare I ask where they showed signs of being ill?’
Macmillan paused before saying, ‘At home, I’m afraid.’
‘Weren’t they vaccinated after Tom Harland fell ill?’
‘Apparently there aren’t any regular vaccines against Marburg, although there may be a secret one.’
‘A secret one,’ said Steven. ‘Have Porton any idea what happened?’
‘Not yet.’
Steven struggled to contain his frustration. He wanted to point out that Porton Down was full of first-rate microbiologists and ask, why in God’s name could they not find a source of infection that must be right under their noses, but he didn’t. There must be a reason and shouting the odds wasn’t going to help. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the wall behind Jean’s desk and concentrated on searching for useful facts in a messy situation.
‘There cannot be two separate sources of the virus lying around, that would be stretching coincidence too far.’
‘Agreed,’ said Macmillan.
’That means these four people got it from the same source. We know that the three latest cases had no direct contact with Tom Harland, so they didn’t get it from him; they got it from the same source as him.’
‘Agreed.’
‘The only job Tom worked on at Porton since coming back from holiday was in the lab where Petrov’s flask was opened. For whatever reason, that lab has to be the number one suspect.’
‘Porton have ruled that out,’ said Jean. ‘No one has been working with Marburg in recent months and, certainly not in that lab. Even if they had, it would have been thoroughly decontaminated afterwards.’
‘And I think we can assume that no one does that better,’ said Macmillan.
‘Stay with me, hear me out,’ said Steven. ‘The latest three all seem to have fallen ill at the same time; that tells us they all came into contact with the source at approximately the same time. What we have to ask is, did they have any reason to be in that lab together in the days after Tom Harland fixed the intercom and what were they doing there?’
‘That’s certainly worth finding out,’ said Macmillan, ‘but we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that this really ceased to be our investigation the moment they found nothing but salt water in Petrov’s flask. Before you say anything, I’m not suggesting for a moment that we should ignore something as awful as an outbreak of Marburg, but I am saying that we mustn’t lose sight of our own investigation.
‘I take your point,’ said Steven, ‘but until the source of the Marburg outbreak has been identified we won’t know for sure that it has nothing to do with our thing.’
Macmillan looked doubtful. ‘Really?’ he said.
Steven didn’t back down. ‘Yes, really, none of us think that Petrov was really sending a flask of salt water to Geneva, agreed?’
Jean and Macmillan nodded.
‘The intelligence services think the original flask was removed and substituted, which I agree seems the most likely explanation, but suppose the original flask leaked – perhaps during the theft – and contaminated the container before the flask of saline was substituted.’
‘The whole container would have been destroyed. That was the only safe thing to do.’
‘But we are talking about a thief here,’ countered Steven. ‘He or she had what they wanted: they didn’t care about contamination of the container; they would have been under a great deal of stress, doing things in a rush, or maybe even working in the dark.’
‘True,’ Macmillan conceded.
‘If that were the case, we now know the original flask contained Marburg,’ said Jean.
‘I’m sure the people at Porton would have tested the container for contamination,’ said Macmillan.
‘You’re almost certainly right,’ said Steven, ‘and I know I’m clutching at straws here, but I think I’d like to talk to the Israelis again.’
‘Intelligence?’ asked Macmillan.
‘No, the people at Beer Sheva University. They were under the impression that Petrov was working with highly dangerous viruses. That was illustrated by the precautions they took when entering Petrov’s lab after his death – done with full bio-safety ritual. They opened the container they found there – the one addressed to Lagarde in Geneva, and found the flask, but decided against opening it – again showing extreme caution. I suspect they may have shown the same caution beforehand with the container and packaging itself. They may well have examined everything for nasty surprises.’
‘That’s certainly worth checking out.’
Steven called Eli Zimmerman at Beer Sheva University and exchanged pleasantries.
‘How can I help this time,’ asked Zimmerman, ‘still worried about new drugs sweeping your streets?
‘Not this time,’ said Steven. ‘I have a question about the opening of the container found in what was Petrov’s lab. At the time, you and your people had every reason to believe that Petrov had been working with dangerous viruses and because of this, you took every precaution.’
‘Of course.’
‘I know you decided not to open the flask, but did you test the container and packaging for contamination before you made that decision?’
‘I’ll say we did,’ Zimmerman replied.
Steven was surprised at Zimmerman’s strong reaction. He waited for
him to say more.
‘One of my people noticed that the flask had a tiny chip out of the glass round the lip; there were no signs of leakage, but it was enough to ring alarm bells in a situation like that so we tested everything surrounding it: there were no viruses, no fancy drugs. I mentioned the defect to WHO when I called them to ask what they wanted us to do and they said not to worry.’
‘Good,’ said Steven, feeling as if he had just struck gold by mistake. ‘Did you mention the flaw to the Intelligence people when they took charge of the container?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Zimmerman after a moment’s thought. ‘We knew there had been no leakage and I was so fed up with the whole business I just wanted to see the back of the damned thing and put an end to the whole Petrov business.’
‘Understandable,’ said Steven, ‘thanks once again for your help.’
‘Do you know what was in the flask?’
‘Saline.’
Steven told Macmillan and Jean that the Israelis had tested the container and its packaging and found nothing, almost dismissing this information by adding what he’d been told about the slight flaw in the lip of the flask.
‘Does that help?’ asked Jean.
‘Yes, if the flask they have at Porton has the same flaw, it’s the same flask. Porton showed the contents of the flask to be harmless and the Israelis have told us the container and packaging surrounding the chipped flask was harmless. It means that there was no switch of flask, and secondly that neither the container nor the flask has anything to do with people going down with Marburg.
‘A bit of a Pyrrhic victory,’ said Macmillan, ‘but well done anyway, closing off blind alleys is always better than going down them.’
Not for the first time in his life Steven had the strange mixed feeling of triumph and disappointment. He had worked something out – which was certainly progress – but only to see that he had proved himself wrong. Macmillan had been right, he had stopped himself going up the blind alley he himself had created. He needed a break from thinking about it; he bought some flowers and went to see Jane Sherman in hospital.
‘Looks like flowers are the last thing you need,’ he said on entering what appeared to be a miniature version of the Chelsea Flower Show.
‘People are very kind,’ said Jane.
‘How are you?’ Steven asked, not smiling and looking her straight in the eye.’
‘Very tired of being brave,’ Jane replied.
‘I think it was Shakespeare who said, reality has a habit of kicking you up the arse when you least expect it.’
Jane broke into a smile and said, ‘You always did have a sense of the ridiculous.’
‘It’s what keeps me insane.’
‘Stop it. What’s been happening?’
‘I take it you know about Petrov’s flask containing nothing but salt water and about the outbreak of Marburg disease among the staff at Porton?’
Jane nodded then Steven told her what she didn’t know – that the intelligence services could be wrong about the flask having been switched. It all depended on the flask at Porton having the little flaw in its lip.
‘Would you like me to ask?’ said Jane.
‘If you feel up to it, it would save me tip-toeing around peoples’ egos and going through the Home Secretary every time I want to know something people consider to be their secret and nobody else’s.’
‘Rumour had it you had some special arrangement with the PM as her blue-eyed boy.’
‘It didn’t quite work out and in any case, it made me feel uncomfortable. I much prefer cooperation.’
‘Like we have?’
‘Like we have.’
‘Good, I’m looking forward to being useful again.’
‘I’ll keep you in the loop.’
As Steven got up to leave, he noticed Jane staring into the middle distance. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.
She snapped out of it and said, ‘If you’re right and there was no switching of flasks, why on Earth was Petrov sending saline to Geneva? And why were our rich Russian friends so keen to stop us investigating a little jug of water?
‘Very good thoughts.’
‘Just doing my job,’ said Jane with a genuine smile that made Steven feel a whole lot better.
‘We’re a team.’
SIXTEEN
‘I have a conundrum for you,’ said Tally.
‘Join the queue,’ Steven joked. ‘My world is full of questions with very few answers on the horizon.
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ said Tally, making him smile. ‘I went to see Monique and told her what we all thought about her friends and family incubating the disease when they were vaccinated and she tossed a grenade into the works. Now, I just don’t know what to think.’
‘Shoot.’
‘They developed Ebola three weeks after receiving the vaccine.’
‘Three weeks?’
‘And there’s more, they fell ill just after the WHO aid team came back to check that no one was suffering any ill effects from the vaccine they’d been given.’
‘Were they given a second dose?’
‘That’s what I asked; she’s absolutely adamant they were not.’
Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘The only logical explanation is that they were exposed to Ebola a few days before the aid people came back. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the team returned just as Monique’s people were about to fall ill.’
‘An unfortunate coincidence . . .’ Tally repeated.
‘Unless you can think of something else?’ Steven asked.
‘No, dammit.’
‘Mind you, the coincidence theory doesn’t sound all that convincing when you start to consider how ten people managed to contract the disease at exactly the same time . . . You’re sure there was no second dose given?’
‘Monique was adamant. They just asked questions about their health, saying they were keeping a close watch on those getting the experimental vaccine for any problems arising. The village people were even grateful and thanked them for their concern.’
‘In which case, coincidence must stay in the reckoning.
Steven was enjoying a beer in his seat by the window, feet up on the sill, looking up at the sky when John Macmillan called.
‘Steven, the Home Secretary has informed me that Porton have identified the Marburg strain that their people have gone down with.’
‘God, that was quick.’
‘They are good,’ Macmillan reminded him. It was something Macmillan did on a regular basis when the role of bacteria and viruses in weaponry came up in conversation. He knew that Steven had a particular loathing of it.
‘I’m told it’s the strain which caused an outbreak in Uganda in 2017. It only lasted a few months thanks to prompt action by WHO and other aid bodies
‘How in God’s name did it end up in Porton?’
‘That has not yet become apparent.’
‘It must mean that a sample of the virus must have been sent to Porton from Uganda and somehow . . . accidentally, several members of their staff were exposed to it and contaminated.’
‘Porton say definitely not. They do not have live Marburg virus anywhere on the campus.’
Steven closed his eyes and asked in carefully measured tones, ‘In which case, do they have any idea how four people got infected by Marburg in a place that doesn’t have any?’
Macmillan cleared his throat and said, The Home Secretary did tell me that Porton admitted to having freeze-dried stocks of Marburg for their research, but no live virus in use and certainly not that strain.’
‘Right.’
‘Doesn’t get any easier, does it?’
Steven thought he might bite right through his tongue before answering, ‘Quite so, sir.’ He turned off the lights and flopped down in his chair again to resume looking up at what was now the night sky.
Cold beer and an appreciation of the vastness of what was out there bestowed a sense of calmness on hi
m that allowed him to think more rationally. He had been allowing prejudice to interfere with judgement, something that Tally had warned him about many times and he had tried to take on board with limited success. The longest-held one was his loathing of politicians of all hues.
Tally’s assertion that they couldn’t all be bad had still not been accepted by him. He was convinced that any politician being asked what two plus two equalled would find a way of avoiding the word ‘four’, just in case they were in danger of giving too much away. A lesser prejudice involved establishments like Porton Down and the work they did there. It all fell under the mantle of defence, but so did teenage boys in down-at-heel council estates carrying knives. No one ever admitted to developing microbes or carrying knives to attack others.
This prejudice however, was not as cast in stone as his feelings about politicians. He had come to accept that it was necessary to be capable of doing what the enemy was capable of doing and it was well known that before the collapse of the USSR, microbes had been weaponised on a large scale. Smallpox had been genetically altered to be even more lethal than it already was. The World Health Organisation had succeeded in wiping out smallpox as a disease affecting human beings through their vaccination programmes, but in some lab somewhere . . . the virus waited.
Steven recognised that he had immediately become suspicious when he learned about Porton insisting that they did not have live stocks of the Uganda Marburg strain that had infected four of its staff members. That was unjustified. They were very secretive by nature, but they would not lie to government about something like that: he had to accept that the strain had come to a lab in Porton from an outside source. – four people had been infected from the same source in this lab and it had nothing to do with Petrov or his flask. Really?
