Bioweapon

by James Barrington

Poulson gave him a brief smile.

  ‘That’s a different matter. As I said, because of the work we do here we tend to attract the brightest and the best brains, or at least we try to, and in my experience extreme competence and ability is very often accompanied by an extreme professional ego. Egos the size of small planets, as my predecessor in this job used to say. People who would never even argue about any subject in normal conversation can virtually come to blows over a new biochemical theory or technique or even a questionable formula.’

  ‘Does that apply to Vernon?’ Richter asked.

  ‘Not as much as with certain other members of the staff here,’ Poulson said, ‘but he did have the occasional dispute with other scientists over some protocol or technique or other. You should know that I have very little to do with what goes on in the labs here, though obviously I’m aware of the programmes we’re running in broad terms. But I’m not a scientist and my function is administration. Having said that, I don’t think for a moment that his disappearance has got anything to do with his work here.’

  ‘I don’t know the man but I’m not sure I can agree with that,’ Richter said. ‘You’ve just told me that he lived for his work and had no real interests outside it. If that’s true – and I’m not disputing it for a moment – then what else could possibly have caused him to do what he did? What was the trigger?’

  ‘We still don’t actually know what he did,’ Poulson pointed out, ‘or do you know something that I don’t?’

  Richter shrugged.

  ‘I doubt it. But if he genuinely was that committed to his profession and had nothing much happening in his life outside, surely it’s at least possible that something that took place here could have made him decide to run? I mean, that could have been the trigger, even if we don’t know why he flew to France or what he hoped to achieve by doing that.’

  Poulson took a bite out of a dark chocolate digestive biscuit and dabbed his lips with a paper napkin before he replied.

  ‘What did you read at university, Mr Richter? I’m guessing it was nothing science-based.’

  ‘You’re right. It was classics,’ Richter said shortly, ‘and I can see where you’re going with that. I know that professional arguments very rarely escape outside the halls of academe, as it were, but we’re really stumbling around in the dark here. We still don’t know if Vernon left the country for some reason of his own or if he was abducted somehow – what little evidence we do have is oddly ambiguous – and I really need to find something, anything, that will point me in the right direction.’

  ‘You are quite certain he has left Britain, then? He didn’t buy a ticket but not get on the flight, I mean?’

  Richter nodded.

  ‘He bought a ticket to Toulouse and we have security camera images proving he went airside at Heathrow. If he hadn’t then got on the aircraft the airline would know about it and so would we. What we don’t know, of course, is where he might be now. If you’re right and he had some sort of brainstorm and just fancied taking a continental holiday without bothering to tell anyone, maybe he’s out there right now sunning himself on the French Riviera or somewhere and not giving a thought to what might be happening back here. But our worry is that he might not. He could be sitting in a tent in Syria with a couple of guys from ISIS or some other clump of lethal loonies and telling them how to make Sarin or VX gas or ricin or something.’

  ‘I see the dilemma,’ Poulson said, ‘but I do not believe Vernon would be prepared to disclose any information of that sort, even under duress.’

  ‘I think if the guy with the pliers in his hand is just about to pull out his second fingernail, it’s amazing what Vernon or anyone else would do or say to make him stop.’

  Poulson, to give him his due, blanched slightly at Richter’s bald description.

  ‘You don’t paint an attractive picture,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t mean to, but if Vernon has been snatched, we have to assume that it’s for what he knows, not because of who he is. So if that scenario is correct, could he provide enough information to allow a group of terrorists to build a bioweapon or a chemical WMD?’

  ‘The short answer to that is yes,’ Poulson replied. ‘Our work here today is purely defensive and research-based, but precisely because of our remit we are inevitably involved in the manufacture of lethal chemicals and the cultivation of biological agents. You need to know the chemical make-up and manufacturing process to fully understand any substance, because if you don’t you really can’t devise a cure or treatment to combat it. As a result, we both make and hold stocks – very limited stocks, obviously – of a wide variety of such substances here. So to answer your question, just like all the other senior scientists at Porton Down, Charles Vernon certainly knows how to create such agents.

  ‘But,’ Poulson raised a finger, ‘none of these chemicals are the kind of things somebody can knock up in their garage. You’d need extensive laboratory experience and facilities to do it.’

  Richter looked unconvinced.

  ‘It’s amazing what some groups can achieve if they’re sufficiently motivated,’ he said. ‘Have you ever heard of Aum Shinryko? Shoko Asahara’s glee club?’

  ‘Yes, of course. That was the doomsday cult that launched an attack in 1995 on the Tokyo subway using Sarin gas that they’d manufactured. It was far from a complete success as far as the sect was concerned.’

  ‘It still killed a dozen people and injured about another thousand,’ Richter said, ‘and the manufacturing plant that Aum Shinryko set up in Japan was assessed as being capable of producing thousands of kilograms of Sarin every year. And it wasn’t just Sarin. They also fabricated or cultivated phosgene, botulinus toxin, Anthrax and Hydrogen Cyanide. And they knocked up supplies of a substance I’m sure you’ve heard of: venomous agent X, better known as VX gas, which was developed right here at Porton Down in the 1950s.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, when the post-war world was a very different place,’ Poulson said. ‘As I said a few minutes ago, now we focus only on research programmes against natural pathogens and on defensive measures, developing counter-measures to poisonous substances. And of course we get involved in occasional odd jobs like the work we did to identify the causative agent in the recent Russian attack on the Skripals here in Salisbury.’

  ‘I do understand that, but the point I’m trying to make is that Aum Shinryko’s facilities might have been crude, but they still managed kill a lot of people using the various substances they manufactured. In fact, the biggest problem they had with all of them was the delivery mechanism. In the Tokyo subway attack they carried liquid Sarin in plastic bags onto the trains, surrounded by newspaper to conceal the contents, and the sect members who launched the attack simply used the sharpened points of umbrellas to puncture the bags to allow the Sarin to vaporise before they got off at the next station. If they’d had time-release aerosols to disperse the gas, it could have been a massacre and a catastrophe.

  ‘So despite not having the kind of facilities and experience you have here, they still managed to produce lethal chemicals and bioweapons, and that was nearly a quarter of a century ago. With modern materials and techniques, the vast information resources on the Internet and with the direction of somebody like Charles Vernon, a terrorist group could put together a bioweapon or poison gas that could wipe out half a city, maybe half a country. And that’s why Vernon’s got everybody worried.’

  Poulson nodded slowly.

  ‘I take your point, Mr Richter.’

  ‘And the other obvious worry is not just what Vernon is carrying around inside his head. If he did leave the country voluntarily – and that’s a long way from being proven, obviously – is it possible that he also took a sample or two with him, just to establish his bona fides with whatever group he planned to approach?’

  Even before Richter had finished speaking Poulson was already shaking his head.

  ‘I can absolutely set your mind at rest there,’ he said. ‘Our facilities here ar
e second to none and completely secure. The laboratories where work is done on the most lethal natural pathogens – we also work on viruses and particularly filoviruses like Marburg and Ebola, trying to develop either a vaccine or a cure – and dangerous chemical agents all conform to BSL4 standards. That’s BioSafety Level 4 and that means a negative pressure environment in the laboratory so that air can never leak out, only in, airlocks for entry and exit, self-contained suits with independent breathing systems, HEPA filters, decontamination showers, high-temperature incinerators and all the rest of it. And, of course, all specimens and samples are rigorously controlled and accounted for. Anyone who tried to get out of one of the BSL4 suites with anything would be immediately detected. It simply couldn’t happen, no matter how cunning somebody was. And it’s also worth saying that Charles Vernon’s work was more theoretical than practical. Most of the people who go inside the labs are technicians and the younger scientists, so he really wouldn’t have had an opportunity even if he had wanted to do something like that.’

  That door, at least, seemed to be firmly and securely closed. But Richter still needed to learn a lot more about Charles Vernon the man than the bland assurances Poulson had provided. He was starting to detect an undercurrent from the chief executive: the man clearly wanted the Vernon matter put to bed with the minimum amount of fuss possible. Having a man defect from Porton Down on his watch, as it were, wouldn’t do his career any good at all.

  ‘I accept that,’ Richter said, ‘but I still need to get more of a handle on Vernon. I’d like to speak with some of his colleagues, the people who spent most time working with him here.’

  ‘I expected you’d want to do that, and I’ve asked the two scientists who worked in the same section to be ready to come over here and talk to you.’

  Poulson walked over to his desk, depressed a key on his telephone console and murmured something into the microphone.

  Richter didn’t hear what he said because at that moment his mobile rang.

  ‘Richter.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Simpson asked.

  ‘Still at Porton Down. What’s happened?’

  ‘We have an ongoing NBCD incident.’

  The acronym stood for Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Defence, and whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t good news.

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Charles Vernon’s house in Warminster,’ Simpson replied. ‘The forensic search team from Five found a plastic box with bright red biohazard markings on it in his fridge.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I think that’s what the bloke who found it said as well. We have a HazMat team en route. The Five people have closed up the house again, and the fridge door, obviously, and they’re waiting in the grounds, where they’ll be decontaminated as a precaution. Then we’ll get the box taken away and have whatever’s inside it analysed. You might want to see what the idiot in charge at Porton Down has got to say about it.’

  ‘Got it. I’ll call you back.’

  Chapter 11

  Porton Down, Wiltshire

  Friday

  Before Richter could speak to Poulson, the office door opened and two men walked inside. They were both dressed in smart but casual clothes and weren’t wearing the white lab coats that Richter had more or less expected. They also didn’t look much like the popular idea of a professor. Poulson introduced them as Walter Keele and Colin McCarthy. Keele was short, maybe five-eight or nine, with neatly combed black hair, dark eyes and something of a five o’clock shadow, while McCarthy had strangely similar facial features, but was about three inches taller and maybe four or five years older.

  ‘We’re not related, Mr Richter,’ McCarthy said, correctly interpreting Richter’s glance. ‘It just looks that way.’

  The two scientists settled in the remaining couple of easy chairs and waited expectantly, looking at Richter with a kind of casual interest.

  ‘Before we start,’ Richter said to William Poulson, ‘I’ve just had an interesting conversation with my boss.’

  ‘You’ve found Vernon?’

  ‘Not yet, no. But a team from MI5 was sent to Vernon’s house to carry out a search, just to see if they could find anything that might indicate where he’s gone to or why he left.’

  ‘And did they?’ Poulson asked.

  ‘No, or not as far as I know. But they did find something interesting in Vernon’s fridge.’

  He paused for a moment and glanced at Keele and McCarthy before looking back at Poulson.

  ‘You just spent a few minutes telling me that there’s no way Vernon could have taken any samples or bugs away from here because of all your security precautions. So have you any idea why there’s a biohazard box sitting in his fridge?’

  The colour instantly drained from Poulson’s face, but Walter Keele’s reaction was entirely different. He nodded, then burst out laughing.

  Richter stared at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re an intelligent man, Mr Richter, so just think it through. Charles Vernon has apparently skipped the country, and your fear is that he’s trying to do some kind of a deal to work with a terrorist group? Or that he’s offering his services to concoct a chemical or biological weapon for the highest bidder? That’s the big worry, isn’t it? Something like that?’

  Richter nodded, but didn’t respond.

  ‘And your people are frightened that he’s stolen something from one of the laboratories here to prove the access he had in his work or as a kind of proof of his abilities? A bug or pathogen to show to potential buyers?’

  Richter nodded again.

  ‘Right,’ Keele said. ‘So if that’s the case, why is the box containing the bug still sitting in his fridge when we know he’s already left the country? Why didn’t he take it with him?’

  Richter noticed that McCarthy was also smiling. He had the feeling he was the only person in the room who wasn’t getting the joke, because even Poulson was starting to grin. And the inherent contradiction in the situation Simpson had described was now perfectly obvious to him as well, and he was amazed that it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment.

  ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I must be a bit slow today. So why is there a biohazard box sitting in Vernon’s fridge? Do you know?’

  ‘Of course we do. We work with him. Vernon always makes sandwiches for his lunch, and ever since he’s been working here he’s brought them in to the office in that box. It’s always been a bit of a joke between us. No doubt you’ve got a HazMat – Hazardous Materials – team heading for his house right now?’

  Richter nodded once more.

  ‘Well, when they pry it open under controlled conditions in a BSL4 laboratory somewhere, it’ll either be empty or what they’ll find is the remaining half of the sandwich that he didn’t eat the last Friday he was here.’

  ‘Beef and horseradish sauce, if I remember rightly,’ McCarthy suggested. ‘Charles said he thought the horseradish was a bit fierce, so he left the final half. Mind you, that was a week ago, so by now I suppose it’s quite likely that some dangerous bugs might well have taken up residence in what’s left of his sarnie, so maybe the HazMat team is a good idea.’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ Richter said. ‘I need to make a call.’

  Simpson was relieved though less than impressed when Richter told him the box that had spooked the Five team most probably held a week-old beef and horseradish sandwich, and said he’d pass the message on.

  ‘The trouble is,’ Simpson finished, ‘that this, scrambling the HazMat team, is a bit like a train. Once it’s moving it’s sodding difficult to stop. So they’ll probably go through with it all anyway. Still, the exercise will do them good.’

  With that slight embarrassment out of the way, Richter asked the handful of questions he’d mentally prepared, and received no useful information of any sort in return. There had been discussions – not arguments, both were keen to point out – over their various works in progress, just as ther
e were every day of the week.

  ‘What exactly were you discussing last week?’ Richter asked.

  ‘Mainly organophosphate acetylcholinesterase inhibitors,’ McCarthy said, with a wide smile.

  ‘If you mean variants of Novichok,’ Richter replied, ‘you could have just said so.’

  McCarthy looked slightly crestfallen.

  ‘You know about Novichok? More than what’s been published in the newspapers, I mean?’

  ‘In my job I see classified briefing sheets and files every day, so I know more than the man in street, yes, but not much more in this case. I was never a hell of a lot of good at chemistry. What I do know is that calling it Novichok is a bit of a misnomer, because it’s been around for a long time, and the Russian name translates as “newcomer” or “new boy,” something like that, but according to our sources development started as long ago as 1971. And we also know that in 1995 it was used to kill a Russian banker named Ivan Kivelidi and a woman called Zara Ismailova who was his secretary, on the orders of an unidentified senior Russian state official. But I thought you’d identified the nerve agent used on the Skripals, so why were you still working on it?’

  ‘We have, yes,’ Keele said, joining the discussion, ‘but it’s not quite as easy as analysing a sample of the agent and just saying it’s Novichok. Have you ever heard of a Russian development programme called FOLIANT?’

  ‘I know the name, that’s all.’

  ‘Right. FOLIANT was a kind of Russian umbrella project intended to develop chemical weapons in the 1970s and 1980s, and Novichok came out of that. It’s a binary agent, meaning that it’s formed by combining two fairly benign chemical compounds together before it’s used, and it was designed to penetrate standard protective clothing like NBCD suits and also be undetectable by most chemical detectors. We still don’t know exactly which flavour of Novichok the Russians used in this attack. Under FOLIANT, they reportedly developed hundreds of variants, some of which they began selling as fertilisers – the chemical elements of the nerve agent, the organophosphates, work in that field, no pun intended, as well – as a cover for their weaponisation of the substance, and five of these were selected for military use. The most versatile is Novichok-5 or A-232, and that was probably the one used in Salisbury.