by Robin Crumby
She swallowed hard, realising that the other person had to be Sam. Her Sam.
With some theatre, Copper removed the last person’s hood, enjoying Terra’s reaction.
“You know them, don’t you?”
Terra considered whether there was any point denying it, as she struggled to come to terms with the state of Sam’s swollen face.
“You know I know them from Hurst. They’re just kids,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, these kids just tried to kill Briggs.”
Terra clasped her hand to her mouth, not sure what to believe. Copper’s face was a mask, giving nothing away, watching her reaction.
“Is Briggs all right?” she asked, her eyes flicking between them. “Tell me, please.”
“He’s fine, but King and the professor weren’t so lucky.”
She didn’t know what to say or think. Her thoughts were a jumble. She was struggling to take it all in. “Not dead?”
“King’s in the operating theatre now. He’s still in a bad way, lost a lot of blood. The professor was hit in the leg.”
“When did this happen?”
“Last night. Victor set up a parley with a group from Southampton. He’s been trying for weeks. They said they wanted to join us, but then these two here started taking potshots.” He was enjoying her confusion as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. She didn’t for one moment believe Sam and Tommy were capable of killing anyone in cold blood, let alone with that toy rifle.
“They’ve already admitted it. Said it was revenge, for what happened to Jack. Isn’t that right?”
Tommy and Sam shook their heads, still fighting against their bonds, pleading with Terra to make this stop. She knew full well what Copper would do to them. She had seen it so many times before.
With Copper’s permission, she approached the pair to get a closer look. She lifted up Sam’s chin. There was a sad, disappointed expression in his eyes that cut her to the quick. She wasn’t about to admit it to Copper, but Sam was the closest thing she had to an adopted son.
She remembered when he first came to Hurst as a scrawny teenager. She’d taken him under her wing, nurtured him, became the mother he so dearly missed. It gave her a purpose, a distraction from the inner turmoil and self-loathing she had experienced in the beginning. The last time she had seen Sam was on the Nipper before Briggs’s attack on Osborne House. The night she was kidnapped.
She took a deep breath and knelt before him, unsettled by the darkening bruise and swelling across his forehead. His nose was bloody, possibly broken. She wondered how long they had beaten these two. Knowing Copper, he would not have stopped until they’d told him what he wanted to know.
Sam’s breaths seemed to come in short gasps as if he was finding it hard to breathe. She leant forward and ran a hand over his abdomen and chest, feeling for the source of his pain. A sharp intake of breath suggested a broken rib or a punctured lung.
“He needs a doctor.”
“Not until he answers my questions.” As if to hammer home the point, Copper kicked out hard towards Sam’s midriff, eliciting a renewed groan.
“That’s enough!” She turned on Copper with a mother’s fury. “I know these two, they wouldn’t hurt a fly. They’re just boys.”
“Then how do you explain them being here with this rifle?”
That was the thing. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew in her heart that something was wrong. Copper was on edge, and that made her suspicious.
Tommy fought against his ties, moving his head from side to side to dislodge the gag. He was trying to say something.
“Why don’t we let them speak for themselves?”
“No, they’ve as good as confessed. Said there were more of them. That South African was here too, ran away when we chased them.”
“If they’ve already confessed, then why am I here?”
“Because King reckons you were in on this too.”
“Me? He said that?” she challenged. “What about Briggs? What does he believe?”
“Like I said, he’s busy.”
“Well, let me tell you, Copper,” she said, rising up and puffing out her chest in a display of defiance. “Briggs doesn’t tolerate failure. Where were you when all this was happening? Weren’t you responsible for their protection?”
Copper laughed but seemed to bridle at the suggestion that he was somehow to blame. He stiffened, an ironic smile forming on his lips. “Victor warned me about you.”
“How did you figure I was involved? I can see why you made detective,” she sneered. “I’ve been locked up at the school. Remember, these two Neanderthals came and woke me up.”
The two armed men standing at the back of the room flinched at the slur, glancing at Copper, who nodded back as if to say “Relax, I’ve got this.”
Turning to Terra, he said, “You never did know when to put a lid on it, did you? No one’s saying you pulled the trigger, but you’ve been acting suspiciously since you got here. Creeping around, talking to the professor, then this happens. It doesn’t look good for you.”
Terra reached out and grabbed the rifle propped against the wall. The two guards reached for their weapons, but Copper motioned for them to be lowered.
“I used to have a rifle like this when I was twelve,” she said, handling the weapon with unmistakable expertise, pulling back the bolt, sniffing the chamber, checking the sights and taking aim at one of the guards who swallowed uncomfortably.
“For a start, it’s single shot. You said there were two shots.”
“Three, actually. We know this was not the only weapon, if that’s where you’re going. You really think I need a ballistic report?”
“Look, I know how it looks, but I’m telling you, these are not the guys who did this.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Copper snarled, leaning in close. “They were caught red-handed. They had a weapon, a motive. It’s about as open and shut as they come.” He turned and gestured to the men at the back. “Take these two back to their cells. We’ll see if a few more hours in solitary confinement can’t loosen their tongues a little.”
“What about the woman?” asked the guard.
“I’m not done with her yet,” smiled Copper.
Once Tommy and Sam had been hauled to their feet and dragged out, Terra softened her tone.
“Look, let me talk to them. I’m sure I can get to the bottom of what really happened.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you?”
“Then at least let me talk to Briggs?”
“Get it into that pretty little head of yours, he doesn’t want anything more to do with you.”
As Terra was led out, she wrestled her arm free and reared up in Copper’s face. “I know you’re lying. Just wait till Briggs finds out about this.”
There was a momentary flash of alarm that made her think she was on to something. “I’ve always wondered what made a decorated police officer go bad. It was King, wasn’t it? I bet he didn’t have to try very hard. Or perhaps you’ve always been on the take,” she mocked.
He stared back at her impassively.
“That’s it, isn’t it? This wasn’t your idea at all. People like you are only good at doing what they’re told, following orders. That’s what you are. You’re a follower, Copper.”
He slapped her hard across the cheek, confused by her reaction as if he had just played into her hands in resorting to violence. She smiled back at him, fighting back the stinging pain.
“You’ve wanted to do that for some time, haven’t you?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he snarled, clenching his fists. “There’s no one left to protect you.”
“You think I need protecting? I fight my own battles. Once King and the professor are out the way, who do you think Briggs is going to listen to?”
“I should have dealt with you weeks ago, you stupid cow.”
“You lay one more finger on me, and I swear it will be the end of you
.”
Copper seemed to hesitate, wrong-footed by her confidence. “Take her away,” he commanded with a knowing grin, leaving a relieved Terra to her small victory.
Chapter Thirty-three
Zed and the colonel found Major Donnelly in the Porton Down command centre, huddled around a black-and-white CCTV monitor showing a live feed from the surface.
“What’s going on?” whispered Zed to one of the orderlies, who turned to look him up and down.
“They’ve just reached the main bunker entrance.”
The orderly turned back to the monitor as a blurry shape appeared close to the camera in the semi-darkness. The soldier wore full combat gear, his face obscured by a gas mask. He looked anxiously over his shoulder as muzzle flashes lit up the covered area behind them. The figure ducked lower and was joined by two other soldiers, pointing back towards the way they had come.
“Say again, commander,” shouted the major, his voice clipped, leaning forward, gripping the microphone. The soldier on screen lifted his walkie-talkie to speak.
“The rebels are falling back. They’ve sustained heavy casualties. We’re establishing a perimeter. The engineers are starting work on repairing the blast doors.”
“What’s their initial assessment?”
“It’s a mess. Someone used shape charges to disable the release mechanism. The hydraulic pistons are damaged. It’s going to take time to replace them.”
“Can we drill through?”
“Sir, the blast door is three feet thick. Reinforced steel and concrete. They’re bringing up the welding gear. The quartermaster says there’s a diamond-tipped drill on-site we could use.”
“How long will that take?”
“We don’t know yet. Several hours, at least. In the meantime, we’ve got another team at the substation working to get the remaining systems back online.”
“Do we have surface readings on the VX?”
“Negative. We found two bodies by the ventilation stacks. Whoever did this died in the process. I don’t think they’ll try that stunt again.”
There was a loud explosion on screen that made the CCTV feed flicker and disappear. When the picture came back online, there was smoke billowing from the entrance area.
“Commander? Commander?”
“We’re okay. Close call. Looks like an RPG. The 12th Armoured units should be approaching our position any moment. I’ll report in as soon as I know more. Out.”
The major turned, drained and deflated, to face the others. “Let me know as soon as they report in, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Major, can I have a word?” asked the colonel, leading him to one side. “Mr Samuels’ investigation has reached a critical juncture. I’d like to convene a formal inquest to put Doctor Hardy on the stand. So far he’s refused all our meeting requests.”
“With all due respect, I hardly think this is the right time. Half of my team is in the infirmary, and the rest are trying to figure out a way out of here.”
“Until they can get that blast door open, no one’s going anywhere. I can’t think of a better opportunity, can you?”
“You’re wasting your time, colonel. Doctor Hardy is never going to volunteer anything useful to your investigation.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’m relying on you to make him talk.”
“I can try, but his team has always worked in the greatest secrecy. He’s under no obligation to reveal the nature of his work, even to me.”
“Either he cooperates, or I’ll have him arrested and this place shut down,” he said, inclining his head.
Major Hardy considered his options, glaring at Zed and the colonel. “Very well. I suggest we meet back here at midnight. That should give me some time to prepare the ground and explain your position to the doctor.”
****
By the time Zed led Gill back into the hearing, there were already nearly a dozen senior personnel gathered. A U-shaped table left a seat for Doctor Hardy at the front of the room. The colonel and the major took their places at the head of the table, shuffling their stack of printed documents.
The doctor was the last to arrive. He looked surprised by the number of attendees but soon regained his composure and took his seat. He glared at Gill, perhaps wondering why she was at the meeting.
“Thank you for joining us, doctor. Major Donnelly has informed me that you intend to cooperate with our investigation.”
“Absolutely. I have nothing to hide,” he replied with unconvincing sincerity.
The colonel tapped the folder on the desk in front of him. “New information has come to our attention which outlines a number of DSTL programmes active here in the lead-up to the outbreak of MV-27.”
Doctor Hardy’s face drained of all its colour. He threw a confused look towards the major, who avoided his gaze, staring blankly at the wall. The doctor sighed in frustration, realising that the trap was closing. Like a cornered animal, he looked determined to fight his way out.
“I’d like to start by asking you about so-called ‘gain of function’ research.”
“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, blinking at the innocuous opening question. “Gain of function is a fairly well-established methodology used in microbiology and genetics to investigate, for example, respiratory pathogens with pandemic potential, so SARS, MERS, or influenza.”
“And this is a field of science that’s still fiercely debated?”
“Correct. Until a few years ago there was a complete moratorium on this type of research. All projects required approval from an independent scientific panel.”
“Because of the high risk of triggering an outbreak?”
“That’s right. This was never about bioweapons. The objective was to develop an effective vaccine. It was always scoped as preventative. In the three years immediately after the moratorium was lifted, the National Institutes of Health gave the go-ahead to ten separate projects in the US, five of which concerned flu strains.”
“So, for the record, you’re saying there were other teams worldwide working on these types of projects. And to your knowledge, were these predominantly military programmes or was there oversight from civilian agencies?”
“Generally, these were run by the military. We learned the hard way that these types of projects were best kept secret. I’m sure we all remember The Guardian headlines about H5N1 research.”
“Go on.”
“The Guardian broke the story about labs in Wisconsin, and the Netherlands’ pioneering work with bird flu. Scientists there were attempting to speed up transmission between hosts. There were experiments on ferrets, but the perceived danger to humans was still very high.”
“Doctor, let me cut to the chase. Did you, or did you not, undertake similar projects here at Porton?”
“I’m unable to answer that question without the personal approval of the Minister of Defence.” He smiled.
The colonel took a deep breath, the colour rising in his cheeks. “Very well. Then speaking theoretically, when working with live pathogens like this, what sort of safeguards would this independent scientific panel insist on?”
“Typically, they would be very specific about safety protocols and security. Experiments would have to be conducted in level four containment laboratories within secure military facilities.”
“You mean like this one.”
“Yes. Porton Down is one of the only facilities in the world that qualified.”
“But accidents do happen, don’t they, doctor?” countered Zed.
“Of course, but they’re very scarce.”
“To your knowledge, did Porton ever ship samples of live viruses to other laboratories?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“So you deny that laboratories like this one regularly shipped samples through commercial carriers?” asked Zed.
“No doubt these are more urban myths peddled by the media.”
“Then let me enlighten you,” Zed shot back, reaching for his
notes. “A few years ago, the CDC in Atlanta mistakenly FedExed a sample of H5N1. They blamed an administrative error. There was a public enquiry.”
“That could never happen here.” The doctor shrugged. “We would never ship live samples to or from other laboratories using commercial carriers.”
“And yet, previously, you said that collaboration with the Americans was common. Which international body provided oversight to this combined operation?”
“Each country and region has their own system of approval. For reasons of national security, most of these programmes would be kept off the books. Precedents for this type of research were established in the Cold War during the race to develop atomic weapons. Physicists learned to distinguish between what can be made publicly available and what should be classified. We simply wouldn’t want our scientific breakthroughs made public.”
Zed leaned back in his chair, admiring the doctor’s performance.
“Why don’t we change tack,” suggested the colonel. “You’ve expressed your opinion previously that the Millennial Virus, and I quote, ‘could not have been a bioweapon’. For the record, can you remind us what those reasons were?”
“Mr Samuels has repeatedly suggested that Iraq, and by extension, I understand, Russia, were implicitly responsible for the pandemic. He maintains that Iraq was experimenting with genetically modified viruses. From my perspective, that’s simply not plausible.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, back in the late 1980s, my team flew to Iraq to inspect their facilities and assess the maturity of Iraq’s chemical and biological weapons programmes. Our view was that the technology they were using was decades behind the West.”
“To be clear, that was before Russia began outsourcing its R&D to Baghdad. From the 1990s onwards, we know that Saddam was ploughing a lot of money into germ warfare. We also know they ran a series of tests in the 1980s and 1990s, using rockets to deliver a bacterial payload.”