Geoff pulled a pad out of his desk drawer and plucked a lethally sharpened pencil from a Perspex pot. ‘I’m not sure why Nathalie is so interested in this case but give me the details and I’ll pass it on.’
As Styne took a sip of his coffee the aroma floated across Geoff’s desk. The doctor sat back in his chair. ‘At first, I must admit, I wasn’t sure either but when I explain the situation that’s just arisen, you may understand why she’s been so keen to follow it up.’
The overhead sun had just begun to dip as the four unmarked police cars crawled slowly down the single-track road. Nick and Tom followed them in the 4×4, trying to keep their distance. Michael, Nick’s policeman friend, had been adamant.
‘I gave you forty-eight hours, more than I should have. Any more and it will be noticed by the top brass and I could lose my job. Besides, if it’s as dangerous as we think it is we should stop it now.’
And stopping it now was what Michael was about to do. Twelve armed policemen in the lead with four guys, dressed in what looked like spacesuits, taking up the rear. The saving grace was that the unit had agreed to film the raid. Nick and Tom could come along as long as they kept out of the way. The guard at the gate looked puzzled to see the convoy.
‘Passes?’
Michael held up his badge. ‘This do?’
The guy in the beret with the gun over his shoulder glanced into the car to see the other heavily armed men. His only experience to date had been to wave his gun at kids and a few nosy passers-by. A threatening gesture to this lot wasn’t going to work. He nervously reached for his walkie-talkie.
‘Wait here, I’ll call the boss.’
‘You do that sonny, and while you’re waiting lift that barrier or I’m afraid we will have to drive through it.’
The guard was at a loss of what to do. He looked at the barrier, then at his walkie-talkie. Michael made up his mind for him. The bull bars of his jeep crashed through the red-and-white striped obstruction.
‘Tell your boss to meet us at the main entrance,’ Michael shouted back, ‘we’ve got a few questions for him.’
Nick trailed the cavalcade over the debris of the barricade and through the compound. As they pulled up at the entrance to the white painted concrete laboratory, Tom jumped out and ran towards the policeman with the camera.
‘Did you get the smashing of the barrier?’ he shouted.
The policeman looked at him sharply, ‘I thought you were told to keep out of the way.’ But it was obvious that he was enjoying this as much as Tom.
‘Yeah I know, I’ll just keep behind your shoulder. Two eyes better than one. If I see anything I’ll just point. Okay?’
The police cameraman nodded. ‘Okay, but if any shooting starts just drop on the floor and stay there. I don’t want to be responsible.’
‘Will do,’ said Tom. ‘Look over there, they’re breaking into the door.’
Two officers were shattering the glass-panelled doors, swinging a heavy metal object with handles into the locked entrance. It gave way easily. Whoever had set up this institution hadn’t really expected a brazen full frontal attack. The guys with the spacesuits poured in. Tom encouraged the cameraman to poke his lens through the open door to film what was going on. The laboratory workers froze. Tom couldn’t see their expressions through their protective goggles but no doubt they were terrified. Calmly and methodically the white-suited policeman walked down each laboratory bench and began collecting the samples, placing them into airtight containers. Tom was startled by a loud retort from the other side of the compound. He and the photographer wheeled around to see a black Mercedes veering out of control.
‘Some guy’s trying to get away,’ cried Nick from the seat of his 4×4. ‘Jump in if you want to film the action.’
This wasn’t exactly the brief that the cameraman had been given. Film the evidence, and any documents on site. Not an action-packed car chase. He hesitated, then with a glint in his eye jumped into the passenger seat next to Nick.
‘Go, go, go,’ he shouted. ‘I think they’ve shot his tyres out.’
Tom nearly missed the ride as he swung into the lurching rear door of the moving vehicle. The Mercedes was now heading towards the perimeter on bare metal wheels, the rubber having been ripped off by police gunfire. The sharp spinning steel was now digging into the earth as the car left the tarmac and headed across the grass borders straight towards the exit gate. As the car came to a stop the door swung open and a suited dark-haired man leapt out and began to run. He didn’t get very far. Michael had left two armed officers with the guard at the barricade. One put up his hand and told the man to stay where he was.
Tom could just about hear the conversation, which was cried out in English.
‘Police, you are police? Help we are under attack from terrorists.’
‘Not terrorists, this is a raid. Keep your hands where we can see them and come with us. We have some questions that need to be answered.’
Nick pulled up by the broken barricade. Tom and the cameraman jumped out to film the rest of the dialogue. The man in the suit was protesting loudly.
‘Raid? What do you mean raid ? We are a legitimate biotech laboratory. Manufacturing microbial products for antibiotic research. What you are doing is dangerous, these microbes must be kept in sterile conditions. If they get out you will be responsible, I’ll sue, tell the press, this is outrageous!’
Tom watched the cameraman film the rant. The guy sounded convincing. What if he had got it wrong? What if this laboratory really was a bona fide outfit? Not only would they have no film, he doubted that he would have a job. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that Nick’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.
‘If you’ve got all that, I think we should head for the Records office. There’s some stuff in there that should tell us whether this snake in the grass is lying or not.’
Seventeen
The London streets always appeared to resemble a toy town to Nathalie after the wide boulevards of Los Angeles. The cramped terraced Edwardian facades were like miniatures compared to the steel and glass towers of downtown LA. But they had their charm, and she was glad to be going back into her Fulham flat. And, for once, the sun was shining, filtering through the leaves of the trees lining Munster Road. She took a left turn and dragged her trolley bag across the broken pavements towards her small maisonette. She was exhausted. Geoff had called at the crack of dawn to give her the change of plan. She’d managed to get an eleven o’clock United flight from LA, but with a gruelling fifty-minute stop in Chicago. All in all, it had taken her more than thirteen hours. At least she would have time to regroup, wash and change her clothes before setting off to Zimbabwe rather than go the circuitous route via Surabaya. Geoff didn’t sound at all pleased. ‘Things are falling apart, get back here and sort it all out,’ were his actual words. How she was going to do that she didn’t know. From what he had told her the Surabaya thing was out of her control. She had less than an hour to unpack and shower before their arranged meeting. With a bit of luck he would have calmed down before then.
She was greeted in Bagatelle’s reception by Stefanie with raised eyebrows.
‘Good morning Nathalie. I expect you’re shattered but I’m afraid you’re going to have to steel yourself for one last lap. Our esteemed leader is not in the best of humour.’
Nathalie smiled. ‘Not for the first time Stefanie. Don’t worry, I’ll use the old whiteboard trick.’
Stefanie looked somewhat nonplussed.
‘When he goes into a tirade, I just use the whiteboard to map out a programme plan,’ Nathalie explained. ‘He loves it. Works every time.’
‘Rather you than me Nathalie, good luck.’
Geoff didn’t offer her a coffee. A really bad start.
‘I’ve had the commissioning editor on the phone again this morning. The channel would like an updated programme proposal and a broadcast schedule.’
‘As you know, it’s still in a state of flux. You know that, they kn
ow that. It’s the name of the game.’
Geoff’s eyes were dull and his voice flat. ‘The name of the game is that they are pulling the funds if we don’t turn up with your wild promises.’
Nathalie flinched in her chair. ‘My wild promises?’
‘You’re the one that put the proposal together.’
‘Yes, under your instructions. You’re the one who gave me the leads, said that it could be the investigative documentary of the year.’
‘I hire you because you turn these so-called leads into great programmes. Not this time apparently according to the fracas in Surabaya.’
Nathalie stood up, put both her hands on Geoff’s desk and stared him out. ‘Oh it’s a fracas is it? Me, trying to get your rookie assistant to direct a police camera shoot from the other side of the world. What else do you expect me to do?’
Geoff gestured for her to sit down. ‘Okay, okay. Let’s start again. I realise that you can’t be in two places at once. But Bagatelle’s reputation depends on high-end professional photography. Not wobbly scope and some ill-lit iPhone shots.’
Nathalie stayed standing. ‘I didn’t see any other option. Tom’s inexperienced; Nick’s great in a tight corner but no photographer. Our prime interviewee backs out and it’s all about to kick-off. Yes, if I was on the spot maybe I could have got a professional crew and followed the raid. But I wasn’t was I?’ Nathalie pointed to the project file on the desk. ‘And talking about raids, you said that you were expecting an e-mail from Tom with an update.’
Geoff flicked open the cover and handed her a long e-mail printout. ‘Some good news and some bad news.’
‘Are you going to tell me or do I have to sit and read all of this?’
‘Read it later for the detail, but in essence the good news is that the police say they have footage covering the whole raid.’
‘And the bad news?’
‘They won’t release the footage until they’ve reviewed it and see what’s required for evidence. Don’t want to compromise the legal proceedings.’
‘But they’ll let us have it when they’ve finished?’
‘Yes, Nick’s pretty sure about that, but there’s another problem.’
Nathalie waited.
‘The CEO of the lab who they’ve got in for questioning is still protesting his innocence. Says that the laboratory is synthesising microbes for selling to pharma companies who want bugs to test their new antibiotics.’
‘And do they believe him?’
‘No, but proving it is another matter. They have to get scientific experts to find out what sort of bugs they are making and see if the documents tying those bugs to any pharma companies are kosher.’
‘That would make good TV, if they can make it stick.’ Nathalie walked up to the whiteboard which made up part of Geoff’s office wall. ‘I still think we’ve got a great film here. The deadline may be a problem but you’ve sorted that before.’ Nathalie grabbed a marker pen. ‘Especially if you can persuade them that the story is worth waiting for.’
By lunchtime the board was a maze of interconnecting arrows and locations. Nathalie was right, Geoff came into his own when plotting a programme narrative. At the centre of the web was a circle around the words Zimbabwe and WEXA. On the periphery, the Javanese laboratory and its possible connection to Rob Barnes and Biomedivac. Both Zimbabwe and Java had a signpost towards Morocco. Zormax was highlighted with a question mark. The more they scribbled the more they realised that the storyline had yet to be drawn. Geoff pulled up two armchairs in front of the board. They sat back and stared at it for several minutes before he broke the silence.
‘Your hunch about Rob Barnes and Zormax. Where does that take us?’
‘A difficult one. He’s definitely doing something covert with that company, and Tom found his name in the Indonesian lab. Could be industrial espionage. Sourcing microbes to test out antibiotics or antivirals for a rival company. If that’s the angle, we could talk about the profits pharma companies make from selling drugs to countries who want a defence against bioterrorism. Or, worst case scenario, they’re laundering microbial weapons for terrorists.’
‘Sounds a bit extreme.’
‘I know, but people like WEXA would be all too pleased to get their hands on these bugs.’
‘Okay, so where does WEXA fit into our scenario?’
‘They may be an incongruous group, but I think they’re serious. They really would like to give the West a dose of African disease. Show us what it’s like for dumping second-rate drugs into their pharmacies.’
‘We have Biomedivac’s vaccine for that?’
‘Not if you read some of Rob Barnes’ papers. Not as good as it’s cracked up to be. Anyway, let’s hope it won’t need to be tested.’
‘We’ll need some footage to see how far they’ll go though.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Same old documentary dilemma. How far can we let them go before informing the authorities?’
Geoff got out of his chair and walked towards the board. He underlined the WEXA acronym. ‘This is the core of our programme, without it not much else stands up. And, as I keep saying, without any proof we are wasting the authorities’ time. We’ve got to go as far as we can. You’ve been doing this long enough to know when we’ve got to blow the whistle.’
There was a knock at the door and Stefanie walked in holding a plate of sandwiches. She looked at the whiteboard and grinned.
‘Thought you might be hungry. Especially as Mr Sykes has dragged you halfway round the world without any sleep.’
Geoff turned around in his chair. ‘I hope some of those are for me.’
Stefanie placed the plate on his desk. ‘Oh, I expect she will share them with you, if you’re nice to her of course.’ She closed the door of his office softly behind her.
Tom was lying on the bamboo bench under the veranda trying to keep in the shade. Across the vibrant green rice fields he could see the twin volcanoes in the distance topped with clouds. If he didn’t know better it would have looked like smoke coming from their cones. The aromas of sesame oil and fish sauce drifted from the door behind him. Michael had insisted that they moved closer to Surabaya. Closer meant his uncle’s house in a small village on the outskirts. Rafi from the Sun Hotel had been downcast.
‘We can make you more comfortable here Mr Tom,’ he had pleaded. ‘It’s very primitive there, only a few wooden huts and a well.’
Tom was looking at that well now. A woman in a brightly coloured sarong with a baby on her back was slowly drawing water into a bucket. A gentle breeze touching the surrounding palms accompanied the leisurely squeak squeak of the hand pump. If this was primitive, it couldn’t be more idyllic. Michael’s uncle, at least he said it was his uncle, he seemed to have thousands of them, was the ultimate host. Against many protests he had given up his bed to Tom and Nick, in place of the very bench Tom was reclining on now. Breakfast had been mango and papaya laced with lime and now he was preparing lunch. Somehow, through the grapevine, locals had heard that Tom was fond of gado gado, which was true, but not for seven days in a row. But after what he’d been through in the last few days Tom wasn’t going to mention that now.
Nick and Michael’s uncle appeared in the doorway carrying plates of colourful food.
‘Move over,’ said Nick. ‘Take one of these, you look like you need it; put some muscle on that skinny body.’
Tom took a plate from him. It looked vibrant; bright green cabbage, eggs and fried yellow tofu topped with what looked like a splash of tomato sauce.
‘Thanks Nick and thanks Mr Chandrah.’ He still couldn’t get used to calling this wizened walnut-faced man Deddy as he had been asked to.
The old man gave a slight bow and returned to the interior of the hut. Nick sat down on the bench, his large thighs pushing Tom even further into the corner.
‘I’ve been doing some phoning around. Bloody amazing isn’t it, you can’t get a good signal in Mile End, but out here in the jungle its five bars
. Anyway, after your boss gave you that earful, filming with toy cameras and all that, I’ve managed to get you a professional crew. Not quite Hollywood standards but they do the local music videos here so can’t be that bad.’
‘Professional crew? But what’s the point. All the action’s over. And who’s going to pay for it anyway?’
‘Thought you were a film-maker. Of course the action isn’t over. The police are doing a huge forensics job. Why do you think Michael invited us to be closer to Surabaya?’
‘Yeah but that’s all done at the police station. How are we ever going to get access to all of that?’
‘Funny you should say that. I’ve just had a long chat with Michael too. He’s agreed to bring out some photographs of the paperwork. And be interviewed, as long as you don’t broadcast it before he sees it first.’
Tom looked at Nick with amazement. ‘And the authorities will give us access to the police station?’
‘Not exactly, this is between Michael and myself. The shoot has to be done here, don’t think the authorities will know much about it.’ Nick looked at the massive timepiece on his wrist. ‘The crew should be here within the hour.’
Tom stared at his plate of gado gado, trying to get his head around all of this. ‘O-kaay, so Michael and the crew are coming here.’
Nick had started to dig into his food, so his next words were spoken between a mouthful of bean shoots and peanut sauce. ‘That’s about it.’
‘But Geoff will go ballistic. I’m not a film director. I was told to set it up and wait for Nathalie and, like I said, who’s going to pay for all this?’
‘Ah, Geoff will be fine. Once he’s seen some proper footage from a real camera. And how difficult can it be? Just tell the guy where to point it.’
Tom let out a loud scream.
‘Hey, it’s not that bad, prices are diddly squat out here. This crew seem so keen that they might even do it for nothing.’
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