The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger

by Crumby, Robin

  “Secretary General LaSalle,” announced the uniformed officer, saluting his United Nations counterpart.

  “Captain Armstrong.” Neither side approached the other, nor shook hands. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

  “I must admit, I was a little surprised to receive your request. I thought I’d made my position perfectly clear. Until you release my men, we have nothing to discuss.”

  Zed noticed the colonel’s micro expression, an eye roll followed by a sharp intake of breath, frustrated by this military posturing.

  “Your men are unharmed, Captain, as I’ve already explained to the minister. You left us with little choice but to detain them for attempting to break quarantine.”

  “They were en route to a sovereign British territory. You had no right...”

  “Sir, we had every right under international law. UN security council resolution 898 forbids all ships from entering the European Quarantine Zone. Your reckless actions jeopardised the lives of millions of citizens.”

  The captain’s staff officer leaned in and whispered something to Armstrong. Under the glare of the colonel and Lieutenant Peterson, Armstrong had no option but to accept. “Very well, but I hold you personally responsible for their safe return.”

  “Of course. You have my word,” confirmed LaSalle.

  “I’m afraid you’ve all had a wasted journey. Major Donnelly’s been called away.”

  “Actually, it was you we came to see,” corrected the colonel. “Is there somewhere we can talk? In private.”

  At the request of Colonel Abrahams, all the junior officers and support staff were asked to leave. They others took their places around the Board Room’s table in the Allied Command HQ as one of LaSalle’s aides handed around printed copies of a European Arrest Warrant made out in Major Donnelly’s name. LaSalle took his time to walk Armstrong through the long list of charges, explaining that the major was the subject of a United Nations-led investigation into the historical links between the Millennial Virus and classified Porton Down weapons programmes.

  “Claims and counter-claims,” dismissed Armstrong, shaking the piece of paper. He shot Zed a bilious stare. “Last I heard, Mister Samuels was the one accused of treason and espionage. Is this is some spurious attempt to undermine the case against him? The Major deserves a medal for what he’s done. He’s a national hero.”

  “The two matters are unrelated, I assure you, Captain,” confirmed the colonel. “No one denies the recent contribution Porton’s team has made to the vaccine development process. The focus of our investigation is much earlier. Questions that relate to research prohibited by international law.” The captain appeared unfazed by the accusation. “But before we get into that, there are some inconsistencies between the UN’s personnel records and ours that need clearing up,” said the colonel, running his finger down the printed sheet. “Can you confirm how long you have worked with the Major?”

  “Just over two years,” answered Armstrong suspiciously.

  “But you’ve known each other much longer? You both served in Iraq and Afghanistan?” The colonel looked up, gauging Armstrong’s reaction, before checking the notes in front of him. “You were a junior officer on a minesweeper, HMS Grimsby, during Operation Iraqi Freedom?”

  “Well, we both attended an officers’ function in Basra in December 2003,” he stumbled, correcting himself. “But we didn’t know each other. Not really. I was introduced to the Major, that’s all.”

  “Though you stayed in touch?”

  Armstrong remained guarded. “Mutual friend. We weren’t exactly pen pals, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “My point is that you followed the Major’s career. For example, you’re familiar with the nature of the roles he performed, working as an independent technical specialist, reviewing the conclusions of the UN inspection teams?” Armstrong nodded. “Has he ever talked to you about his relationship with Doctor Kelly?”

  “Only in passing.”

  “But you’re aware of their professional rivalry?”

  “Not really. Donnelly was many years Kelly’s junior. Rivalry is an exaggeration.”

  “Both became biological warfare experts. Both had PhDs in biochemistry. They were on similar career paths.”

  “I’m hardly qualified to comment. Their military service is a matter of record.”

  “That’s my point. There’s no mention of any of those missions in Donnelly’s file.”

  “You know as well as I, Colonel, the MoD routinely suppressed covert operations from individual records.”

  The colonel passed Armstrong an original MoD copy with a UN stamp in its corner. “That was our initial conclusion too, but the official versions in question are redacted. Someone has systematically edited the archive.”

  “To what end?”

  “That, Captain, is the question that brought us here. The United Nations investigators believe Major Donnelly exchanged classified research with several overseas biochemists who served with him in Iraq.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel, but this isn’t the first time our enemies have tried to ruin the reputations of our most distinguished personnel. You’re talking about a decorated officer,” asserted Armstrong, glancing suspiciously at LaSalle, scarcely hiding his derision. The captain’s aide leaned in and whispered some strongly-worded advice. “The Council questions Monsieur LaSalle’s legitimacy to speak on behalf of the United Nations.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come on, we’ve all heard the rumours. The Secretary General lost his majority some time ago. The Security Council is, at best, dysfunctional. Perhaps he can confirm whether he was, in fact, elected, or simply self-appointed?”

  “Please, gentlemen, let’s not get distracted,” appealed the colonel, volunteering as peace-maker, but LaSalle insisted on responding to the allegations.

  “Like yourself, Captain, I was assigned emergency powers to deal with the crisis. Is that such a crime? You should be aware that these are not the conclusions of UN investigators alone,” insisted LaSalle, chin held high. “The World Health Organisation and teams from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta were also involved.”

  The colonel leaned forward, eager to broker an understanding between the two groups. “In the spirit of transparency, I suggest you share with the Council the evidence you shared with me.”

  “Some further context would be useful for all of us,” agreed the minister.

  “Very well,” agreed LaSalle. “In those early days of the outbreak, as the virus spread throughout south east Asia, our experts assumed wet markets in China were responsible as in previous epidemics. In fact, the WHO team tracked an earlier case, subsequently identified as patient zero, to Singapore. Ironically, it was a British doctor, Rupert Glassman, on sabbatical undertaking research into respiratory medicine, who was the first infected.”

  Professor Nichols appeared to recognise the name.

  “The week before he died, Glassman attended an immunology conference in Hong Kong. He visited five different hospitals and clinics, meeting with local physicians. At one or more of those locations he became infected, we think in a laboratory accident. Anyway, when the WHO investigators went to the hotel where he was staying, they discovered high levels of contamination, not just in his room, but the corridor walls, elevator, restaurant, bathroom. They all showed traces of the virus. By the time he staggered home off flight CX735 in Singapore that night, he had infected dozens more, including the passengers and crew, his wife and daughters.” LaSalle sipped his water. “It was the R-number, the rate of spread, that surprised everyone. All of the epidemiological models were based on prior outbreaks, coronavirus, SARS or H1N1. Thanks to the wonders of international travel, they predicted MV-27 might appear in as many as twelve countries within two weeks, but we know now, it was actually far worse.”

  “How much worse?” asked Gill, taking notes.

  “By day seventeen of the outbreak, the WHO’s Sentinel programme tracked emer
gency admissions at over fourteen thousand hospitals worldwide. Seventy-three countries in the first month alone. Even by the standards of coronavirus, this was unprecedented.”

  “Wait, then you’re suggesting one man unleashed a global pandemic?” challenged Gill.

  “Not exclusively, there were other factors certainly. For years, epidemiologists throughout the world warned politicians about the dangers of climate change. Deforestation, urbanisation, even rising water levels all made the world more vulnerable to pandemics.”

  “Let’s not pretend that evidence was clear cut,” countered the minister. “We can’t blame industrial policy for what happened.”

  The professor took over. “The Secretary General is right. Rapid industrialisation of developing countries, like China, destroyed the natural habitats for some species of birds. Only now can we see the consequences.”

  “Which are?” prompted the minister.

  “Diverse bird populations act as a natural barrier to the spread of disease,” continued the professor. “In particular, strains of avian flu capable of jumping species to humans. Your experts were right. China’s wet markets were the perfect breeding ground.”

  “But why China?” asked the minister. “A minute ago, Monsieur LaSalle said Hong Kong was the source.”

  “Because half the pigs in the entire world live in China, over six hundred million. Nowhere else in the world do people live in closer proximity to birds and pigs. New strains of influenza emerged from that genetic soup every two to three years.”

  “I suggest we return to the original question,” prompted the colonel. “How do you explain the speed of transmission?”

  “You mean: how did MV-27 get from Hong Kong to Paris, to London, to New York in a matter of just days?” answered the professor. “You see, in pandemic terms, London is actually closer to New York than it is to, say, Birmingham, a city only a hundred miles away. When we model pandemics we see waves radiating outwards, like pebbles dropped in a pond. Once multiple cases occur simultaneously in different countries, an outbreak becomes almost impossible to stop.”

  “Perhaps we should be asking Doctor Stephens, what does Porton believe really happened?’ asked LaSalle.

  “That MV-27 is the result of concurrent infection by different strains of avian flu.”

  “But that’s got to be a million to one,” challenged the professor.

  “Concurrent infection meaning: two strains, at the same time?” confirmed Zed, taking notes.

  “Yes, I don’t know the exact odds, Professor. Certainly very unusual, but it’s happened before. It’s possible Rupert Glassman contracted two different strains at separate locations.”

  “But it still doesn’t explain the accelerated transmission worldwide.”

  “I agree. Which brings us back to the possibility that MV-27 was somehow engineered,” claimed the professor.

  “Man made as in a biological weapon?” derided Gill.

  “Not necessarily. Whether or not this novel virus occurred naturally or in a lab, it spread faster than any pandemic in human history.”

  “At least we agree on that,” said Gill.

  LaSalle sought approval from the colonel before removing a metal box from his coat pocket. He emptied its contents on the table. A dozen multi-coloured cartoon dinosaurs of all shapes and sizes. “A WHO team operating out of Brussels made the breakthrough.”

  The captain picked up one of the plastic toys and studied it closely. “I remember these. My kids collected them.”

  “Yes, in Belgium too. They appear totally harmless, don’t they? But we believe they were in part responsible for spreading disease.”

  “I assume you’re joking?”

  “Unfortunately, not. Half a dozen multi-national fast-food restaurant chains ran promotions for the movie release of Dinocrisis 2. We found tiny traces of virus in roughly one out of every hundred of these airtight plastic sacks.”

  “They must have given away millions of these things.”

  “The WHO recovered thousands more in a refrigerated storage unit just outside Brussels.”

  “An infected worker on the production line? Or are you suggesting the virus was put there on purpose?”

  “We’re not sure, but it would explain how so many became infected in different countries. There had to be a vector.”

  “There’s just one problem. Viruses can’t survive for longer than a few days outside a host. Direct sunlight or even temperature changes can kill them. The chances of the virus surviving long enough to infect someone in this way are tiny.”

  “I agree, it seems unreliable at best, but there are other suspected means of transmission. This is but one. It would only take a dozen super-spreaders like Rupert Glassman.”

  “What if these individuals deliberately infected themselves?” asked Zed. “The bioterrorist’s version of a suicide bomber.”

  LaSalle nodded quietly, but ignored the question.

  “Sorry, I want to go back to your toy theory,” asked Gill, “why wasn’t this made public when it could have made a difference?”

  “Believe me, we tried,” explained LaSalle. “Fast-food chains sought and obtained injunctions. News outlets were prevented from reporting the story. Some nations, like China and Indonesia, even imposed news blackouts. They considered the details about the outbreak too sensitive, blocking access for our investigating teams.”

  “Those delays cost millions of lives,” berated the professor.

  “The same thing happened with MERS and SARS. Governments block publication.” Gill sighed.

  “Why?” asked Zed.

  “Because pandemics breed suspicion. A breakdown of trust can be just as destructive to the bonds of human relationships as disease. You see, infection is nature’s lottery. Epidemiologists struggle to explain why some people get infected while others escape without symptoms. Those with immunity get singled out as pariahs, driven out of their communities.”

  “We’ve seen this in Folkestone only this week. Vaccination teams subjected to abuse, sometimes worse,” explained LaSalle. “There’s been rioting at several aid stations. Fourteen injured, three dead so far.”

  “We’ve been over this already. The use of flamethrowers and gunships was idiotic,” claimed the minister. “It was a gift to all those who oppose you,” he said, glancing at Captain Armstrong. “There were even calls to impose quarantine measures on those disembarking from UN-flagged ships.”

  “We made mistakes,” admitted LaSalle.

  “We cannot permit delays to the distribution of aid,” insisted the colonel. “There are those amongst us attempting to turn this situation upside down. Spreading dangerous rumours that the vaccine is the virus. Subjects refusing treatment, blaming the UN.”

  “What did you expect, Colonel?” challenged Captain Armstrong. “The United Nations has destroyed trust. Kept us all in the dark, acted with impunity, openly criticised Camp Wight and its leadership.”

  “And for that I’m truly sorry,” conceded LaSalle. “It won’t happen again. Our teams must work together if we are to beat this.”

  “We are all fighting a common enemy. The UN is on our side,” suggested the colonel. “And lives are at risk. We can’t allow politics to get in the way of public health. It’s imperative we find Major Donnelly so that he may answer these charges.”

  “Donnelly is almost certainly not acting alone,” suggested LaSalle, glancing around the table. “These attacks are widespread, elsewhere in Europe. Others are supporting him.”

  “The only way we’ll know for sure is to get inside Porton,” insisted Lieutenant Peterson.

  “I told you, Lieutenant. We’re too late,” claimed Zed. “There’s nothing left there. After the fire in the archive and the systematic destruction of historical records, we’re not going to find anything.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” countered LaSalle. “DNA sampling techniques can detect genetic material years after a piece of equipment was used. Forensic science has come a long w
ay. With any luck we can prove the link.”

  “Link with what?” challenged the captain.

  The colonel cleared his throat. “British special forces recovered samples of a prototype pathogen in Iraq in 2003. They were flown to Boscombe Down, near Porton Down.”

  There was a pregnant pause as everyone looked to Captain Armstrong, wondering how he might react. Everyone knew his support remained critical.

  “Very well, I’ll not stand in your way, but I can’t speak for the military units based at Porton. They’ll not take orders from me.”

  “Captain Armstrong is right,” agreed the colonel. “Once Major Donnelly returns to Porton, he’ll be untouchable. That place is a fortress now.”

  “Then we need to intercept him en route,” insisted Lieutenant Peterson. “Do we know his current whereabouts?”

  “An armoured convoy left St Mary’s at 0600 this morning,” said Armstrong’s senior aide. “We understand a boat took him on to Southampton.”

  “We need to get word to all Allied checkpoints immediately,” continued Peterson. “Close all roads leading north towards Salisbury.”

  “Colonel…” interrupted Riley, but everyone ignored her.

  “There could be any number of places he might go,” continued the colonel.

  “Excuse me…” Riley tried again, half-raising her hand like some shy school girl. “Colonel,” shouted Riley more forcefully this time. “I think I know where Major Donnelly might have gone.”

  “Go on.”

  “Are you familiar with Needles Battery?”

  “The old fort and rocket testing station opposite Hurst Castle? But why would he go there?”