‘It was so upsetting to hear of Miriam’s abduction,’ Farmer said. ‘Such a brilliant woman.’
‘I can imagine,’ Sarah said. ‘What exactly did she do here?’
‘Miriam was the lead virologist for a project that began in the US. For security reasons, the operation moved here. Rival companies had tried unsuccessfully to get access to the research, and it was thought that moving the work here would disrupt their efforts.’
‘What was she working on?’ Duke asked as they stepped into the elevator.
Farmer pressed a button and they started to rise. ‘A virus that makes childbirth virtually pain-free.’
Duke squinted.
‘Isn’t pain relief already available?’
‘It is, but it’s not always effective,’ Sarah said. She had no children of her own, but her sister had four, and had sworn the pain didn’t get any easier with experience.
‘There’s a big difference between pain relief and pain-free,’ Farmer said jovially as the doors opened and they stepped out into a hallway.
The decor wasn’t what Sarah was expecting. Instead of plastered walls and carpet, all she saw was white; the floor, walls and ceiling all reflected the light like plastic. She touched the surface, and it confirmed her suspicion.
‘The building itself is just an outer shell,’ Farmer explained. ‘It was completely gutted fifteen years ago, and the new interior was installed. As you can imagine, we work with some pretty serious stuff here, so we have to make sure it’s contained. Think of this as one of those interconnected hamster runs. Each node in the laboratory module has a quarantine area, and it’s impossible to have both doors open at one time. Kind of like an air lock on a spaceship… if you’re into sci-fi.’
Sarah hated sci-fi, but understood the concept. ‘Why go to all that trouble when you could build a brand-new place out in the countryside where it wouldn’t affect the neighbours?’
‘Secrecy,’ Farmer said. ‘No-one suspects what goes on here, and that’s the way we want to keep it.’
‘What’s so secret about this virus?’ Duke asked. ‘Doesn’t sound very scary to me.’
‘It’s not so much what it can do, but what it’s worth,’ Farmer told him. ‘At the moment, expectant women have a few choices for labour. There’s gas—nitrous oxide, or laughing gas—which as Commander Keogh has pointed out, isn’t always effective. Or pethidine, which is injected into the buttocks. The problem with this is that it can depress the unborn baby’s breathing as it receives a dose through the umbilical cord. Finally, there’s epidural anaesthesia. It’s the most effective form of pain relief, but there can be several drawbacks, including the reduced likelihood of a normal vaginal delivery and, in rare cases, blood clots or difficulty breathing.’
‘Makes you wonder why anyone would put themselves through it,’ Duke said.
‘Spoken like a man,’ Sarah said. ‘So what would this virus be worth?’
‘Well, if you consider that over four million babies are born in the US each year, if a quarter of them used the virus at two thousand dollars a go, that’s two billion a year from just one country. The states represents about four per cent of the world’s population, and two grand per birth is a conservative estimate of the cost… so, you do the math.’
There were a hell of a lot of zeros in that estimation, and it became obvious why other pharmaceutical companies would want to steal the idea.
‘Why does it have to be a virus?’ Duke wanted to know. It was a question on Sarah’s lips, too.
‘Normal painkillers can’t be used because they would have a negative effect on the child. As I said, pethidine—which is a synthetic opioid—can harm the child’s breathing. Other drugs have been tested on animals, but the side effects make them too risky. With a virus, we can target a specific area of the body and avoid contaminating the baby.’
‘A virus can do that?’
‘Sure. Imagine you stub your toe on the bed post. This causes tissue damage, which is registered by microscopic pain receptors called nociceptors in your skin. Each of these pain receptors forms one end of a nerve cell, or neurone. This is connected to the spinal cord by a long nerve fibre, or axon. When the pain receptor is activated, it sends an electrical signal up the nerve fibre. The nerve fibre is bundled with many others to form a peripheral nerve. The electrical signal passes up the neurone within the peripheral nerve to reach the spinal cord in the neck. Within an area of the spinal cord called the dorsal horn, the electrical signals are transmitted from one neurone to another across synapses by means of neurotransmitters. Signals are then passed up the spinal cord to the brain, where the signals pass to the thalamus. This is a sorting station that relays the signals on to different parts of the brain. Signals are sent to, among other places, the somatosensory cortex, which is responsible for physical sensation. All we do is stop those messages reaching the brain.’
‘Sounds great,’ Sarah said. ‘How close is Miriam to finishing?’
‘She’s still a few months away,’ Farmer told her. ‘The project hasn’t been without its problems.’
‘Oh?’
They reached a door and Farmer pressed his hand onto a pad. The door slid open, and Sarah couldn’t help but think back to the earlier sci-fi analogy. She and Duke followed Farmer inside, and their guide pressed a button to seal them in. He placed his hand on another pad, and a door opened into an identical corridor.
‘The virus does what it was designed to do,’ Farmer continued, ‘but there have been some side effects that concern us. There’s a release of large amounts of norepinephrine, or noradrenaline as it’s called here in the UK, which increases alertness, promotes vigilance, enhances formation and retrieval of memory, as well as focuses attention.’
‘That sounds like a good thing,’ Duke said.
‘It does. In fact, there would be a huge market for that. Athletes would love it, for a start, as would students, chess masters… you name it. Just about every employer in the world would love to have access to it. There would be a huge drop in training time and output would shoot through the roof. The trouble is, it also increases the heart rate and raises blood pressure—neither of which would be good for mother nor child during birth. As yet, we don’t know the long-term implications. It could be months, even years, before we get a satisfactory understanding of the lasting effects.’
‘Considering how secret this project is, you’ve been very open to us about it.’
Farmer laughed. ‘If only it were that easy. It’s like saying ‘let’s build a rocket and go to the moon’, or ‘let’s create a cure for cancer’. It’s easy to identify an objective, another thing to achieve it.’
They reached another door. This time Farmer had to have his palm read and also enter a six-digit code into a keypad on the wall.
‘This is where Miriam works.’
The room had the same white plastic composition. Sarah was disappointed to see that there were no petri dishes or flasks bubbling over Bunsen burners, just a computer connected to two monitors. The only other items on the desk were a stack of papers, a pen holder and a phone.
‘Do you think her kidnapping could be related to her work?’ Sarah asked Farmer.
‘It’s possible, I suppose. Though why wait until she gets to Afghanistan? Why not kidnap her here if they plan to force her to hand over her research?’
It was a good question—one Sarah had no theory for. Not yet anyway. No part of this case seemed textbook in any way, but all she could do was resort to standard procedure.
‘Did you notice anything unusual about Miriam’s behaviour in the last few days?’
‘No, she was just her usual self. In fact, she was looking forward to the trip. It’s the first time she’s been back to the place where she was born.’
Sarah had noticed the place of birth in Dagher’s file and wondered whether or not it was just a coincidence that she happened to be kidnapped there.
She handed Farmer her card. ‘Thank you so much for your ti
me. If you think of anything out of the ordinary, please call me.’
‘I will. I just hope this is all resolved soon. She’s not a young woman. God knows what they’re doing to her over there.’
Sarah was having the same fears.
Once they were back on city streets, Sarah asked Duke what he thought of it all.
‘I don’t think she was kidnapped for what she knows,’ he said. ‘I can’t see the Afghans having the infrastructure to replicate her work, and even if they could, is anyone likely to buy it, given the circumstances?’
‘You think she was just wrong place, wrong time?’
‘Looks like it. Let’s check out her home, though—for the sake of thoroughness.’
Chapter 8
Sarah stopped off at her office and looked up the address they’d been given for Miriam Dagher. If she was here on secondment from the US, the likelihood was she was renting this property. Within minutes she found that her instinct had been right. She had the name of the rental estate agent and called to arrange for them to be at the house within the hour.
When Sarah and Duke arrived at the home, there was someone waiting at the front door.
‘She must have been doing well for herself,’ Duke muttered.
Sarah agreed. The house was well outside her own price range. It was a detached red brick in Twickenham, with a short driveway that led to a built-in garage; the kind of place Sarah had on her wish-list. ‘We’re definitely in the wrong business.’
Sarah opened the glove box and took out two pairs of Latex gloves, handing one pair to Duke. They got out of the car and met the estate agent—a man in his forties in a perfectly cut suit.
‘Eddie Howell, Grange and Co.’
Sarah and Duke showed him their ID and introduced themselves.
‘Mind telling me what this is about?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s part of a sensitive ongoing investigation. We shouldn’t keep you too long, though.’
Sarah just gestured towards the house and Howell took out a set of keys and opened the front door.
The interior was immaculate, like a show house.
‘Nice place,’ Duke said.
‘Yes, it’s one of our more exclusive properties.’
‘If you could wait by the door, that would be great,’ Sarah said.
Howell seemed happy enough to let them look around on their own. Sarah walked into the living room.
There was nothing out of place, except for a magazine on the coffee table. There was a two-seater sofa and an armchair which faced a giant wall-mounted television. A sideboard completed the furnishings.
Sarah moved from room to room, with Duke in close attendance. The kitchen was spotless, too. Sarah went through it, opening drawers and cupboards, not sure what she was hoping to find. The dishwasher was empty, as was the fridge. It was almost as if Miriam Dagher was planning on being away for some time. Sarah kicked herself for not asking how long the trip was meant to be, but a quick call later could rectify that if necessary.
As she strolled into the dining room, Sarah wondered whether Dagher was a clean-freak or if she actually spent any time here at all.
They ventured upstairs, where one of the three bedrooms had been used as an office. Duke began looking through the drawers, rifling through papers and flicking through notebooks.
‘This is all gibberish to me,’ he said. ‘We’re wasting our time. We’re not going to find anything that’ll explain why she was abducted.’
Frustratingly, Sarah felt the same. This had been a bust from the start.
‘Agreed. Let’s go.’
All that remained was to inform Commissioner Randall of their findings—or lack of them.
Sarah trudged down the stairs to the front door.
‘Thanks,’ she said to the estate agent. ‘We’re done here.’
‘You sure? You don’t want to see the basement?’
‘The basement?’
‘Yeah. It’s through there, the kitchen.’
Sarah had seen a door in the kitchen but had assumed it was a pantry. She looked at Duke and he shrugged before he strolled forward. Sarah let him go. There was no point both of them checking it out.
She expected him to be gone for a couple of minutes, but when he stuck his head around the door after twenty seconds, she knew he’d found something.
‘Stay there,’ she said to Howell, before she followed Duke down into the basement.
‘Close the door,’ Duke told her.
Sarah did as he asked, then walked down a wooden staircase.
The first thing that struck her was the large black cloth hanging on the wall. It was covered in white Arabic writing, and while she didn’t know what it said, she’d seen similar setups in the past.
Standing in front of it was a video camera on a tripod.
Sarah squinted behind it, peering at the buttons as she looked for the playback function.
‘What are you doing?’ Duke asked, his face full of concern.
‘I want to see what she recorded.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for the SOCO?’
‘Utmost discretion, remember?’
Duke still looked unsure, but he came to stand next to Sarah as she pressed the Play button. A woman in her fifties was standing in front of the black background, her greying hair tied back.
‘My name is Miriam Dagher. For the last forty years I have been living in the West, but that is all about to change. In the next few hours I will return to Afghanistan, the country of my birth, and do my part to help liberate it from the US and British warmongers.
‘When I was growing up I relied, like everyone else, on the news outlets to keep me informed. The reporting was non-partisan for the most part, but in recent years that has all changed. Newspapers and television networks are controlled by the two main political parties, and they tell the people only what they want them to hear. Not only that, but they are used to polarise the population. They constantly pit rich against poor, black against white, but more recently, it has been Christian against Muslim.’ She paused, took a breath, then looked back into the camera lens. ‘Why? So that the elite can add to their huge wealth, and for no other reason. The American president has said the war in Afghanistan was necessary to find those behind 9/11, but that is a lie. Osama bin Laden was in the country briefly, and the president knows this. His military and intelligence advisors have told him, but he still sends troops to my homeland on this pretence. The only reason America is taking part is regime change. They want their own puppet government in place, one that will hand over mineral, oil and gas concessions to the West. It is estimated that there are almost four billion barrels of oil in one region alone, and the country’s mineral wealth is estimated at three trillion dollars.’ She took another deep breath. ‘The US paints itself as the liberator, cleansing us of the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, but there is a pattern emerging that is plainly visible once you have all the facts. The American military-industrial complex is a multi-trillion-dollar industry, and they make no money from peace. More than half of the US government’s spending goes to defence, with tens of billions going to private companies who make the planes and bombs that kill innocent Muslims around the world. Simple men are forced to arm themselves to protect their families, but they are no match for the might of the allied armies.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, I say enough is enough. Over the last few years, I have been tasked with developing a virus to make childbirth pain free, but so far the side effects have delayed progress. What my employer doesn’t know is that these unwanted results were of my making. It was the only way I could get access to the right equipment to do my own research. Now that I have completed my work, I will be giving it to the people of Afghanistan so that we can finally rid ourselves of the Western tyrants. With my virus, we will create an invincible army and the ground will turn red with the blood of the invaders.’
‘Fuck,’ Duke whispered as the screen turned black.
Sarah couldn’t have summed it
up better. ‘We need to tell Randall, right now,’ she said.
Duke took his phone out. ‘I’ll ring her.’
‘No. If the call is intercepted, it’ll be the end of our careers. Let her know I’m on my way to see her—I’ll give her the details in person.’
Sarah trudged back upstairs, where the estate agent was scrolling through his phone. He pocketed it as Sarah approached him.
‘What did you find?’ he asked.
‘I can’t tell you. I’m going to need every set of keys you’re holding for the property, plus any the owner may have. As of now, this property is a crime scene and no-one sets foot inside.’
‘I’m not sure my boss or the landlord will be happy—’
‘Is the rent current?’
‘What? Yes, it’s paid up until the end of the month.’
‘Then they don’t need access and they won’t lose out financially. We’ll be here for a few days at the most, then you can have it back. In the meantime, get me the keys and stay out of the way.’
Sarah gestured for Howell to walk out the front door; he reluctantly obeyed. She followed him, locking the door behind her. Then she held out her hand and Howell dropped the keys into her palm.
‘You can tell your boss about this, but no-one else. If this reaches the newspapers, I’ll know who it came from, and you can’t begin to imagine how bad that will be for you.’
Sarah walked to her car before Howell could protest. She drove back to New Scotland Yard, and when she reached Commissioner Randall’s office, she was ushered straight in.
‘What did you find?’
Sarah explained the discovery in the basement.
‘This virus,’ Randall said, leaning forward in her seat. ‘How would it enhance the Taliban if they got their hands on it?’
‘According to Professor Farmer, they would be a lot more focused, and I got the impression it wouldn’t take long to train them. It would be like cramming six months of knowledge into a few days. They could probably turn a complete novice into a combat-ready soldier in just a couple of weeks. To get a complete picture of the virus’s capabilities, we’d have to bring him in and get an expert to question him.’
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