Pandemic pr-2

by James Barrington

  Inspector Lavat interrupted. ‘That means the most likely person to have taken it would be Nico, so it’s probably somewhere in his apartment.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Hardin said. ‘As soon as I’ve had a good look at Spiros we have to get over there and find it.’

  Irakleío, Crete

  Mike Murphy had achieved rather better time than Krywald’s team, principally because he had managed to make the connection at Heathrow, so he landed at Irakleío just over eight hours behind them. He was in no hurry, because he couldn’t do anything until Nicholson confirmed that Krywald and his team had completed their part of the operation – about which Murphy himself knew nothing – so he took his time.

  He collected his single bag from the carousel, queued for about fifteen minutes to collect a pre-booked Peugeot hire car and a map of Crete, then drove out of the airport. He stopped at what looked like quite a reasonable restaurant and had a meal, then drove west along the north-coast road of Crete to Réthymno and checked into his hotel. He inspected the room Nicholson had booked for him, checked the location of the lift, the main stairs and the fire escape – he had saved his own life at least twice in the past by knowing the back way out of a building – then sent Nicholson, who was still using the ‘McCready’ alias, an encrypted email announcing his arrival at Réthymno.

  And then, because he would have almost exactly nothing to do for a minimum of twelve hours, Murphy stretched out on the rather hard double bed and went to sleep.

  HMS Invincible, Sea of Crete

  The sun was sinking steadily towards the horizon as afternoon shaded into evening. The western sky was an incredible artist’s palette of pastel hues and primary colours – pinks, reds, blues, yellows and greens – splashed in slowly changing bands above the horizon. The Invincible was barely moving through the flat calm sea, easing east at less than three knots, holding position just to the north of Crete.

  The slight tang of salt in the air was overlaid by the unmistakable smell of burnt kerosene from the Merlin’s three Rolls-Royce Turbomeca gas turbines, and the noise of the aircraft – a mix of the whine of the engines and the clattering of the rotor blades as they turned above the bulky shape – drowned out all other sounds on the Flight Deck.

  The Merlin sat, turning and burning, on number three spot, its side access door open and a clutch of Flight Deck personnel clustered around it, carrying out a rotors-running refuel. Each rating wore an appropriate coloured jersey, identifying his specialization to anyone who knew the colour code. The ones that stood out most were the fire-fighters, trolley-mounted A-Triple F extinguishers to hand and clad entirely in what looked like heavy silver coats and trousers, but which were actually made of a fire-resistant asbestos fabric.

  Paul Richter watched the helicopter from where he was standing on the port side of the island superstructure, ear defenders on his head and a black leather overnight bag sitting on the deck beside him. He was now wearing civilian clothes and the bag contained enough personal stuff to last him for the couple of days he anticipated it might take to find an answer that would satisfy Simpson.

  It was the last flight from the ship that evening, a late addition to the flying programme, and its only outbound passenger was to be Richter. The helicopter was planned to fly from the Invincible direct to the main airport at Irakleío to collect the three remaining members of the CDC team, who were expected to touch down within minutes on the last leg of their long journey from Atlanta, Georgia.

  The Flight Deck Officer was standing in front, and slightly to one side, of the helicopter, watching as the refuelling hose was detached from the inlet at the side of the fuselage. He checked to ensure that the hose was pulled well clear, then waved away the attending firefighters.

  Above the deck, in his seat in Flyco – it was a comfortable black padded swivel chair adjustable in almost every direction, which was just as well bearing in mind how long Lieutenant Commander (Flying) or the Air Staff Officer spent sitting in it at a stretch – Roger Black peered downwards through the slanting windows, noted that refuelling had finished and called through to the bridge on the intercom.

  ‘Officer of the Watch, Flyco. The refuelling’s just finished, so we’ll need launch wind across the deck in a few minutes.’

  ‘Roger that. Turning starboard and increasing speed.’

  On deck, the FDO unconsciously leaned against the heeling of the ship as it began its long turn to starboard and increased its speed, watching the helicopter pilot carefully. He acknowledged a signal from the cockpit, then beckoned to Richter, who picked up his leather bag and headed across the deck to where the FDO stood, stopping in full view of the Merlin’s pilot. The two men waited for a signal, ensuring that the pilot was aware that his passenger was ready to embark, then Richter walked across to the side access door of the helicopter, ducking as he moved under the rotor disk, tossed his bag into the rear compartment of the Merlin and climbed in after it. He strapped himself in and waited for take-off.

  The ship steadied on a south-westerly heading and began to pick up speed. Seated in Flyco, Roger Black checked the anemometer readout, waiting for the wind to move within limits for the launch. Although helicopters, and even Sea Harriers, can take off vertically in still wind conditions, they almost never do, simply because the amount of power required means that the payload – what it’s carrying – is too low for the aircraft to achieve anything useful once it’s airborne. Instead, Harriers use vectored thrust and a short take-off run to get airborne, and carrier-borne helicopters rely on wind gusting down the deck to increase the lift generated by the rotor blades.

  Black nodded as the wind speed increased to the level he needed, and turned to the rating sitting beside him. ‘Rotary wing – green deck for’rard.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Rotary wing – green deck for’rard,’ the rating repeated and flicked a switch.

  On the Flight Deck, the FDO looked up towards the Bridge, saw the red light change to green and acknowledged. He gestured to the pilot and then waved four of his men in to the helicopter to remove the deck lashings. With ease born of long practice, the four ratings slackened and then removed the fabric belts – chains would be used in bad weather conditions – which secured the Merlin to the ringbolts studding the deck of the carrier. Then they trotted forward and stood in a line directly in front of the helicopter’s cockpit, each man holding up the lashing he had removed.

  The FDO ostentatiously counted each lashing, pointing at it with one of his illuminated wands as the aircrew in the cockpit watched, proving to the pilot that he was able to lift off when ready. Trying to launch an aircraft whilst any part of it is still attached to the deck of a ship is an extremely bad idea, and one that is absolutely certain to ruin everyone’s day.

  The pilot acknowledged, switched on his navigation and anti-collision strobe lights, and waited for the FDO’s signal to take-off. Normally a ground marshaller handles the landing and take-off of helicopters and Sea Harriers, but there was nothing else going on anywhere on the Flight Deck, and the FDO liked to keep his hand in.

  He raised the two illuminated wands from the ‘parked’ position – crossed in front of him below the waist – till they were outstretched fully at his sides, then raised them both slowly above his head, repeating the action as the pilot applied power and pulled up the collective lever that increased the angle of attack of the rotor blades to generate more lift. The noise of the Merlin’s three jet engines increased to a steady scream and the aircraft rose very slightly, teetering gently from side to side on its landing gear, then rose into the air immediately above the deck.

  As soon as the FDO was satisfied that the aircraft was established in the hover, he pointed his right-hand wand – the pilot’s left – steadily out to sea and moved the left-hand wand in a semi-circle from outstretched left, over his head, to outstretched right. He watched as the Merlin moved off, landing gear retracting as it headed away from the ship into the dusk.

  Kandíra, south-west Crete

  T
yler Hardin walked swiftly across the small hallway, which even with the light on was dark as the sun sank below the roof level of the neighbouring house. He climbed the stairs and stopped at the landing, then switched on the light and looked around.

  As Gravas had already told him, there were two doors leading off the tiny landing. Both stood open. Hardin looked first in the spare bedroom, checking it more in hope than expectation for some sign of the flask whose existence he had deduced. As he had feared, he found nothing there, and moved across to the other room.

  Hardin stopped at the doorway, reached around the jamb for the switch and flicked the light on. He looked into the bedroom before he stepped across the threshold, slowly taking in the scene. Belatedly, he remembered that he had a Polaroid camera somewhere in one of his cases, and should have brought it with him to record what he was now witnessing.

  Before he approached the corpse, Hardin looked all around the room, checking under the bed, inside the single wardrobe and even on the two bookshelves, but found nothing that could possibly be the missing container. Only then did he look at the mortal remains of Spiros Aristides.

  For three or four minutes, Hardin just stood and studied the shape on the bed. With the coming of dusk, most of the flies that had fed so greedily on the dead man’s blood earlier in the day had vanished, but a few still remained, moving sluggishly across his chest.

  Hardin’s first thought was that Gravas had been somewhat conservative in his reporting. There was just so much blood everywhere, so much fluid, that it looked as if the Greek’s body had been completely exsanguinated. Hardin had never seen a victim of Ebola in the flesh – few people had – but he had seen plenty of pictures, and in his opinion what he was looking at here was even worse, not least because the Greek had obviously died so quickly. From taking a drink in a bar to lying dead on his bed in less than twelve hours. Whatever this agent was, it was not only messily lethal but unbelievably rapid.

  Hardin shook his head, and walked away from the bed without even touching Aristides’s body. As he had told Gravas earlier, there was nothing he could do to isolate the causative agent without using the equipment that the rest of his team was bringing out. All he could say for sure was that Spiros Aristides was dead – self-evident to anybody who cared to look into that bedroom.

  Much more important was to find the container that had held the agent that killed these two men.

  Krywald had planned to leave the village in much the same way they had arrived, but as he and Stein made their way through the silent and darkening streets, he heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and immediately changed his mind. The two men had already discarded their gloves and masks, and now they pulled off their white coveralls and dumped them in an open trash can.

  By the sound of it, the chopper was a big one, and Krywald guessed that it was probably ferrying supplies, equipment or maybe further personnel to Kandíra. Whatever its load, the aircraft would be the focus of attention for everyone trapped in the village, including the police officers manning the cordon, which meant the pair of them could probably slip away unnoticed.

  They made their way towards the tents located near the main road – such as it was – leading into Kandíra, and stood back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching as the helicopter landed. It was a Royal Navy Merlin wearing light grey livery, and Krywald’s guess had been right. It was carrying equipment, and three passengers – and both the goods and the people had begun their journey in Atlanta, Georgia. The remaining members of the CDC team had at last arrived.

  As is usual in most of Europe, the prevailing wind came from the south-west, and the Merlin settled heavily onto the dusty ground with its nose pointing into wind and away from the cordon surrounding the village. The sliding access door to the rear compartment on a Merlin is located on the right side of the aircraft, which meant that nobody in the village or even manning the cordon could see when it was opened. Once the helicopter had landed, a few moments passed before anyone saw the newly arrived passengers approach from around the rear of the aircraft, keeping well clear of its spinning tail rotor.

  Krywald and Stein waited until the helicopter’s passengers had begun ferrying cases and equipment from the aircraft to the cordon, and a good two-way flow of people had been established. Then he and Stein stepped forward, waved their fake CDC identity cards towards one of the policemen, and walked across towards the helicopter. Stein was carrying the black case which contained the steel box. The two men slid around the rear of the aircraft, then simply continued walking away from the village and into the olive groves, where Elias was waiting in the hired Ford.

  As they approached the lines of stunted trees, Krywald looked back. As he had anticipated, their departure had caused no interest whatsoever. Everyone was still transfixed by the helicopter, which sat, turning and burning, on the dusty scrub near the tents. Krywald grinned and carried on walking.

  ‘That’s odd,’ Inspector Lavat remarked, as the three men approached the house where Nico Aristides had lived and died.

  ‘What?’ Hardin asked. He was moving very slowly in the biological space suit. The garment was undeniably cumbersome, and never intended to be worn by anyone out for a stroll. He was still wearing the Racal hood, because to have removed it would have meant going through the entire taping and checking procedure again, so he was sweating profusely.

  ‘My police officer isn’t here,’ Lavat replied. ‘I stationed a man outside each property.’

  ‘A call of nature, perhaps?’ Gravas suggested.

  ‘Maybe,’ Lavat said, ‘but he should be somewhere close by. He wouldn’t need to go far to find a convenient bush.’ He gestured at the open countryside stretching in front of them.

  ‘He’ll be back in a few minutes, no doubt,’ Gravas said. ‘He’s even left his radio on that window sill. Here, Mr Hardin, let me check you.’

  Hardin stood quite still while Gravas prowled round him, visually checking every seam of the Tyvek space suit for any tears and ensuring that the tape was still in place at the American’s ankles and wrists. Finally, Gravas examined the neck seal where the Racal hood was fitted, and then declared himself satisfied.

  Hardin nodded his thanks and turned back towards the building. Like Spiros’s house, and virtually every other property in Kandíra, it was small, white-washed and slightly scruffy. A narrow wooden door, painted in dark blue gloss, but heavily weathered and faded by the sun, gave access to the building from the street, and there was a steep flight of stone steps on the left side of the property that ascended to the first floor.

  ‘Which floor, Inspector?’ Hardin asked.

  ‘The first,’ Lavat replied. ‘It’s the only door up there. You’ll need a knife to cut the seal on the door.’

  ‘I have one here,’ Gravas said. He took a small folding penknife from his pocket and opened the main blade. He walked towards Hardin, but stopped when he was a couple of feet away, then placed it on the ground and backed off.

  Hardin stepped forward and picked up the knife. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Be careful with it,’ Gravas said. ‘It’s very sharp.’

  Hardin nodded, crossed the road and began to climb up the stone steps. At the top he paused before walking across to the door itself. Then he stopped and stared for a few seconds at the ripped fabric seal. One end had been nailed to the door and the other end to the frame, forming a symbolic rather than a literal or physical barrier, and the fabric had torn away from the nail in the door. Hardin walked back to the top of the outside stairs and called down to the street. ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Mr Hardin?’

  ‘We have a problem here. Somebody has broken the seal. Someone has clearly entered this building since you and Dr Gravas were here.’

  ‘What?’ Lavat exclaimed, and started up the steps. He stopped a couple of treads from the top and stared across at the broken seal.

  ‘This makes your missing police officer look more worrying,’ Hardin said. ‘Perhaps something has ha
ppened to him.’

  Lavat nodded, turned back and started down the steps. ‘I’ll check,’ he said.

  Hardin put Gravas’s penknife down on the low parapet, then opened the apartment door and stepped inside.

  Ten minutes later he walked back down the stone staircase, laid the penknife on the ground and looked around. Gravas and Lavat were nowhere in sight, and he assumed they were searching the immediate area. He turned back to stare up at the house again just as Lavat walked around the corner.

  ‘Any luck?’ Hardin asked.

  Lavat nodded briefly. ‘Yes, we found him.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’ Hardin asked.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Lavat’s reply was low and angry, ‘because he’s dead. He’s been tossed in a ditch like so much garbage, along with the bodies of two elderly locals. Dr Gravas is examining them all now.’ Lavat paused and shook his head. ‘This is turning into a massacre. It started out as a simple murder investigation,’ he said, ‘and we’ve now got five dead bodies, one of them a police officer. Two men killed by some germ, another two villagers and one of my officers slaughtered like animals by the same people who created that germ. I knew that young man personally. I’ve known him for three years and I’m the one who’s going to have to tell his wife that she’s a widow, and that’s not a job I’m looking forward to.’

  Lavat stared across at the space-suit-clad figure still standing in the middle of the street, his eyes moist and emotion choking his voice. ‘You didn’t find that missing container, did you?’ he asked.

  Hardin shook his head. ‘No. There’s nothing of that nature anywhere inside the apartment.’

  ‘No,’ Lavat said, ‘because the bastards who killed my officer got here before us and took it away with them. But I’ll find them. They must still be somewhere on this island, and if it’s the last thing I do I’m going to track them down. I’ve already set the wheels in motion.’ He turned as the doctor appeared behind him. ‘Well?’ he demanded angrily.