The Pandemic Plot

by Scott Mariani

  ‘I want to speak to Mr Clarkson,’ Ben said, and the receptionist sounded as stunned as though he’d demanded an audience with the Queen.

  ‘Mr Clarkson?’

  ‘Gregory Clarkson, the CEO of the company you work for,’ Ben said. ‘The man who runs the Galliard Group. That’s when he isn’t having people killed and peddling shipments of biotoxins to terrorists and dictators. Put him on right now.’

  Not too subtle. Last night in London, Ben’s strategy had been to mount a surprise attack on the enemy. That tactic was now out of the window. Now he wanted, needed, Clarkson to know exactly what was coming. And he was purposely being as aggressive and confrontational as he could with this poor innocent employee at her desk, because it was the only way to prevent her from simply giving him the brush-off. Ben had just declared open war on the Galliard Group.

  After a dumbstruck silence she responded hesitantly, ‘Ah, uh, Mr Clarkson isn’t in the office today.’

  ‘Then put me through to wherever he is, or find someone else who can,’ Ben said. ‘And make it quick, because I don’t have a lot of patience. If I don’t get to speak with him very, very soon, the information I have will be delivered to the national media. I hope I’m making myself clear. This is not a prank call.’

  ‘Ah, who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘The ghost of Carter Duggan,’ Ben said. ‘Your boss will understand.’

  Flustered, she asked him to hold and disappeared off the line for a few moments while she conferred with someone higher up the ladder. When she returned, sounding extremely nervous, she said she was going to have to get someone to call him back. Ben hadn’t really expected to be put straight through to the top man, just like that. There would be several layers of hierarchy to penetrate before his message got through. The mention of the name Carter Duggan would be sure to get Clarkson’s attention, if nothing else. Ben repeated his warning to the receptionist that it had better be quick, and hung up. ‘Bombs away,’ he said with a smile.

  Jude was looking doubtful. ‘No way they’re going to call back.’

  ‘They might not,’ Ben replied. ‘But he will.’

  ‘Who the hell is this Clarkson character?’

  Before Ben could answer, McAllister fired off his own salvo of questions. ‘Terrorists? Biotoxins? The Galliard Group? What the frig have you been digging into, Hope?’

  And so Ben explained the whole thing to them. He laid out every detail of what he’d discovered. The assignment Emily Bowman had given to Carter Duggan, spelling doom for both of them. Her grandmother’s long-forgotten memoir, rediscovered in Glencora Bowman’s attic after her death. The crazy tale of the Forty Elephants, Kitty Kelly and Diamond Annie in 1920s London. The sad story of Violet and Wilfred, and the discovery that had led to the tragic deaths of their young son and of Wilfred himself. The deadly secret of Achlys-14. The conspiracy between Sir Elliot Clarkson and the British government during World War One that had brought about the worst, and most deeply covered-up, accidental genocide in history. The Galliard Group’s suspected present-day illegal activities and the silencing of any company employee who got wise or tried to blow the whistle. The murders of Suzie Morton and, more recently, of Joe Brewster.

  Jude and McAllister listened in silence, transfixed, by turns shocked, disbelieving and angry. It was a long story, but they had time – that was, as long as the cops didn’t find Black Rock Farm too soon. Ben was betting that they wouldn’t. His whole plan hinged on being left alone here in this remote spot for just a few more hours. After that, the entire British police could land on them en masse if they wanted to, and let the chips fall where they may.

  As his long account finally wound to an end, Ben said, ‘There’s only one conclusion to be drawn from all of this. I believe that as his investigation went deeper, Carter Duggan pretty much lost interest in the job he was doing for Emily Bowman. Everything changed when he talked to Joe Brewster. That’s when he realised that something much bigger, and much more lucrative, was behind all this. He didn’t have all the facts, because he never got as far as talking to Miles Redfield. He didn’t know the full truth about Achlys-14. He might not even have had the full story of what lengths the Galliard Group had gone to to suppress what Miles and Suzie had found. But that didn’t stop him, because he’d learned enough from Brewster, plus whatever he’d figured out for himself, to bluff his way and come across as a real, serious threat to them, if what he knew fell into the wrong hands.’

  ‘You’re saying that Duggan blackmailed them?’ Jude asked.

  Ben nodded. ‘Or he tried to, at any rate. It was a gamble, but he was a sharp character. Ex-cop, private eye; those guys aren’t entirely weak in the head. I’m thinking he must have done a fair job of convincing them that he really had the evidence to take them down. But by doing that, he sealed his own fate.’

  ‘How much do you suppose he asked for?’

  Ben said, ‘Your guess is as good as mine. A lot. But he should have known there was no way that Clarkson and whichever of his chief associates are in on this were going to let some upstart private dick from Ottawa bend their billion-pound corporation over a barrel and walk away with a single penny. To pay would be to admit guilt, and once they’d crossed that line there was nothing to stop him coming back and back for more handouts, because that’s what blackmailers do. And if they believed he really did have the dirty on them, they weren’t about to let him live. They’ve got so much blood on their hands already. What was one more? Duggan was either too naive or too greedy to see it. Then the rest fell like dominoes. Collateral damage.’

  ‘And the bastards thought they could get away with it,’ McAllister grumbled.

  ‘Why not? Galliard have been getting away with it for a hundred years. They always cover their tracks. Or in Jude’s case, some innocent person who just happened to blunder into the picture by chance becomes a convenient scapegoat. But this time their plans didn’t work out quite as neatly as they might have hoped.’

  ‘You can say that twice,’ McAllister chuckled. ‘Someone messed things up for them. And we won’t ask who that was.’

  ‘But is it true?’ Jude asked, dumbfounded. ‘The poison gas? All those millions of victims? It’s so big I can’t get my head around it. And then the botox thing, on top of all that. Can human beings really be this evil?’ This, from someone who’d personally witnessed enough atrocities during his time in Africa to sicken the most jaded cynic.

  ‘I can’t say how much of it is true,’ Ben said. ‘But if none of it were, then Clarkson and his thugs wouldn’t have so much of a deadly secret to protect, and people wouldn’t be getting killed. It’s not rocket science.’

  ‘It’s just unbelievable.’

  ‘We can’t change the past,’ Ben said. ‘But we can stop them from hurting anyone else.’

  ‘How do we do that?’ Jude asked.

  ‘It’s pretty simple,’ Ben told him. ‘And we couldn’t have picked a better spot for it. Far away from anyone or anything. Clarkson will think the same way. That’s what I want him to think.’

  ‘You reckon you can draw him out here, do you?’ McAllister said. ‘Is that your plan?’

  ‘I know I can draw him here,’ Ben said. ‘He won’t refuse, when he’s heard the proposition I have for him.’

  Jude asked, ‘What proposition?’

  ‘The same proposition that Duggan made him,’ Ben said. ‘Clarkson sat up and took notice that time around. He’ll do the same again.’

  McAllister said, ‘So you’re a blackmailer now, are you?’

  ‘I’m not interested in his money,’ Ben replied. ‘Just the pleasure of his company.’

  McAllister shook his head, sceptical. ‘All right, say he takes the bait. What then? Are you looking to turn this place into another frigging battlefield? I agreed to come out here and help you out. But I won’t be party to any killing.’

  ‘Who said anything about killing?’

  ‘You didn’t need to. I get the impression that’s ho
w you resolve most conflicts.’

  ‘I don’t know where you get these notions about me,’ Ben said with a smile.

  ‘So you just want to have a gentle conversation with the guy, I suppose?’

  ‘Not a single person more is going to die,’ Ben assured him. ‘Not if I can help it. Though I doubt Clarkson has the same idea. Like I said, we couldn’t have picked a better ground zero for what he’ll have in mind.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ McAllister said.

  ‘Maybe I am,’ Ben replied. ‘But whether I am or not, this ends here. Today.’

  Jude chewed his lip anxiously and glanced at the phone. ‘I still don’t think he’ll call,’ he said, as though he was hoping he was right.

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’ McAllister asked Ben. ‘What’s the plan then, Sherlock?’

  ‘He’ll call,’ Ben said.

  They waited. Ben lit another cigarette and relaxed in the armchair, breathing slowly, barely moving. Jude sat fretting and silent. McAllister paced the living room until he got bored and hungry, and went to the kitchen to see what he could rustle up to eat, complaining loudly at the lack of ingredients. Outside, the fog began to lift. Which was both a good thing, and a bad thing. Good, because it cleared the way for Clarkson to respond to Ben’s challenge and get here fast. Bad, because Clarkson wasn’t the only person out there looking to land on Black Rock Farm. The police manhunt could be hours away, or it could be minutes away, or they might never find this place at all. Ben’s plan was a house of cards that depended uncomfortably on timing and chance. But he’d bet everything on timing and chance before now, and won.

  After half an hour, Ben was wondering if Clarkson was going to ignore his call. After forty-five minutes he was beginning to worry that his underlings might not have passed the message on at all.

  And then, fifty-three minutes after Ben had made the call, the old GPO trimphone started to ring.

  Chapter 44

  Ben picked up the phone and said nothing, waiting for the caller to speak first.

  ‘I’m willing to take an educated guess that I’m speaking with Mr Hope,’ the caller said. ‘Or should I say, Major Hope.’ His voice was smooth and steady, soft and calm, but strong and full of authority. Sounding like a man in complete control of himself. Someone used to being in charge of everything and everyone around him. Accustomed to command, and to winning. Projecting an aura of utter confidence that he would inevitably come out as the victor this time too, once again.

  Or that, at least, was the impression Clarkson wanted to give. He was doing a damn good job of it, too. Except Ben understood the psychology of his enemy and was perfectly aware that Clarkson was far, far less confident than he was trying so hard to appear. The very fact that he’d committed himself to calling a potentially unsecure landline phone, risking so much in order to find out what Ben wanted, was proof enough that behind the cool exterior Clarkson was as nervous as hell. And very frightened.

  ‘You can call me Ben,’ Ben said. ‘And I’ll call you Gregory.’

  ‘Sounds as though you’re interested in building a cordial relationship.’

  ‘If it makes doing business that bit easier,’ Ben said.

  The calm, steady voice gave a chuckle. ‘I was wondering to what I owed the pleasure of this conversation. Very well. Let’s talk business. Your message, as cryptic as it was, seemed to indicate that you’re looking to sell me something?’

  ‘I am,’ Ben said. ‘Your freedom, along with the evidence I have in my possession that would deprive you of it for a very long time, if I were to pass it to certain people.’

  Clarkson sounded unruffled, outwardly. ‘I can’t say I’m entirely surprised, judging by the tone of your initial approach. As I suspected, this sounds rather less like a business proposition and rather more like a cheap and nasty attempt at extortion. You should know that I don’t truck with blackmailers.’

  ‘No, you have them rubbed out instead,’ Ben said. ‘Which is what you did to Carter Duggan.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You don’t have time for bluff and bravado, Gregory,’ Ben said. ‘Duggan thought he had enough bare facts to scare you into paying him off. It didn’t work out so well for him. But here’s your problem. You knew full well that Duggan only had half the facts. Enough to make him dangerous, but the rest was smoke and mirrors. Unluckily for you, I’m not a big bullshitter like Duggan was. I’m also not as easy to take off the table. As you might have noticed.’

  Clarkson’s voice remained perfectly calm, but he was stepping out on a limb, committing himself entirely. This was a dangerous moment for him. ‘Easy enough to say. You’re going to have to convince me that you have something more substantial to bargain with.’

  Ben replied, ‘Try this on for size, Gregory. How about the fact that the secret weapon your dear grandfather developed for British Intelligence wasn’t named after the Greek warrior Achilles, as Duggan thought? For a hotshot investigator he dropped the ball on that one. Close, but no cigar. Duggan picked his information up secondhand from Joe Brewster, another person whose name I’m sure is familiar to you. Whereas I have it from a much more knowledgeable source, one you haven’t been able to get at because he’s covered his tracks. It so happens that I have the original Achlys-14 lab reports sitting right here in front of me. It’s all here, Gregory. Dates, signatures, technical notes. Right down to the last detail as recorded by Ivor Holloway, Alf Liddell and Cecil Watson. Liddell’s account is the hardest to read, the poor guy knowing he was going to die the way both his colleagues had. Do you want me to go on?’

  Now Ben was the one going out on a limb. He anxiously half-expected Clarkson to call his bluff. But all he heard was a terse, discomfited silence on the other end of the line.

  Ben smiled and said, ‘I know what must be going through your mind right now, Gregory. Of course, you can’t say it, because you’d be incriminating yourself even worse than you have already. But you’re thinking it can’t be possible that I have those documents, since they were taken from the wreckage of Suzie Morton’s Mini Cooper after you had your thugs run her off the road. I’m sure you probably had them destroyed, too. What you’re missing is that Miss Morton and her fiancé Miles Redfield had made copies of those documents, which they hid elsewhere. Did you really think they wouldn’t have covered their backs, knowing the kind of people they were dealing with?’

  More silence on the other end of the line. Ben sensed that Clarkson was badly rattled. He pressed on, moving in for the kill now.

  ‘And that’s not all I have here,’ he said. ‘Because Miles and Suzie weren’t the only former Galliard employees to have caught the company with its pants down. Joe Brewster, the man you thought you’d zippered with your million-pound golden handshake, passed me enough documentary evidence on your illegal sales of botulinum toxin to destroy your corporation for ever. It fits nicely with the thick file of cooked accounts that Suzie Morton also had in her possession when she was murdered, the copies of which I now have. Put it all together and it really doesn’t make the Galliard Group look so great, does it? Genocide, war crimes, commerce with terrorists and warlords. I have it all, Mr Clarkson. And I strongly advise you not to encourage me to use it. Mess with me and I will sink you to the bottom of the ocean.’

  Clarkson said nothing.

  ‘Hello?’ Ben said. ‘Are you still there? Do you believe me now?’

  After a long further pause the voice at the other end of the line said, ‘All right. Enough of the threats. You want to talk business, let’s talk business. Suppose, purely for the sake of hypothesis, that the information you’re referring to actually existed, relating to events that may or may not be purely imaginary and the figment of a deranged mind, but which could nonetheless cause a great deal of inconvenience were the knowledge of them to be made public. Naturally, in such a case one would prefer such information to be kept private.’

  ‘I was sure you’d see it that way,’ Ben said.<
br />
  ‘What – again, speaking hypothetically – would be the cost of such a mutually beneficial arrangement?’

  ‘The cost would be five million pounds in cash,’ Ben said. ‘That’s pocket change, to a man like you. It’s also a sum of money you could reasonably be expected to get together quickly. Luckily for you, I’m a reasonable person. A realist, and not too greedy. Or else I’d have asked for ten.’

  ‘That would be an acceptable price, hypothetically.’

  ‘Of course it would, you dirty bastard,’ Ben said inwardly. Out loud he replied, ‘I’m so pleased to hear you say so. I have two more conditions.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘First, I’d like to get this concluded nice and quickly, so I want the money today.’ Ben looked at his watch. ‘It’s quarter to two. My location is approximately two hundred and sixty miles from London, very remote, very private. Not much over an hour’s helicopter flight. Plus, say, another hour to get the cash together. To be generous, I’ll give you until four o’clock this afternoon to deliver me the money.’

  A pause. ‘I can’t promise, but that doesn’t sound unfeasible.’

  ‘You know what happens if you fail, Gregory. I’m not in the business of offering second chances. Now, my final condition.’

  ‘There’s more? You drive a hard bargain, Major Hope.’

  ‘My final condition is that you bring the money to me personally. I want it from your own hand. In a nice leather case, which I get to keep, of course. Once I’m satisfied the cash is all there, we make the exchange, and I can guarantee that you’ll never hear from me again.’

  ‘You’ve obviously never seen five million pounds in cash before. It will take more than one case.’

  ‘You do whatever you need to do, arsehole,’ Ben said harshly, sounding exactly like the nastiest, cheapest, lowest scumbag extortionist he’d ever come across in all his years of dealing with ransom-hungry kidnappers. ‘Just make sure you get me that money. You try to double-deal me, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Understand?’