Wildfire: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Survival Thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 3)

by Robin Crumby

  “If that’s true, all they were really doing was copying pre-existing twentieth-century technology. Mass-producing anthrax is one thing; genetically engineering a virus is completely different. It’s so far beyond their capabilities as to be absurd. It’s only in the last ten years that breakthroughs in this area were made. Iraq’s bioweapons programme was simply not credible.”

  “Even with the help of the Russians?”

  “Not to my mind. Like I’ve said before, to bio-engineer something as exquisite as the Millennial Virus would require an unprecedented level of sophistication. Maybe in ten, twenty years, but not with current technology. The virus is simply too perfect.”

  “Is it more plausible that the outbreak could be linked to so-called paleo-viruses?”

  The doctor seemed to hesitate, reluctant at first to answer. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  “Let me refresh your memory. A few years ago, a French team from CNRF retrieved a sample of a virus frozen in the Siberian permafrost. Pithovirus sibericum, I believe it was called,” said the colonel, referring to his papers. “To everyone’s surprise, even after something like thirty thousand years in suspended animation, the virus was still viable. It was said to be totally unknown to science.”

  “Correct, but Pithovirus sibericum is harmless to humans.”

  “In its current form, yes.”

  “And its genetic structure is significantly more complex than, say, the influenza virus. Hundreds of genes. Very different.”

  The colonel glanced across at Anton Petrovich, who seemed to be enjoying their exchanges.

  “Anton, perhaps you’d like to explain why the Russians were so excited by this discovery?”

  “Of course. We hoped that Pithovirus sibericum could teach us about the evolution of viruses. The CNRF find was right on our doorstep,” admitted Anton, sitting forward in his chair. “We began scouring Siberia for other viruses that might have become trapped in the permafrost during the last Ice Age.”

  The colonel had been staring at the doctor, watching his reaction.

  “Doctor, you implied that this virus was ‘harmless to humans’,” said Zed, leaning back in his chair, “but how can you be sure? No human has come into contact with these primitive viruses for at least thirty thousand years.”

  “I suppose it’s possible that they could become harmful eventually, but only if they were released outside the laboratory and allowed to mutate and exchange genetic material with other viruses.”

  “Can you confirm whether samples of these primitive viruses were ever brought here for study?” asked Zed.

  The doctor declined to respond and simply shook his head. The colonel ran his finger down the list in front of him.

  “There’s no mention of such a programme on the official record, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

  The doctor glanced at Major Hardy. “Look, no one could afford to ignore a scientific discovery that challenged our fundamental understanding of viruses. Our job is to investigate all known biological and chemical threats.”

  “Surely there are considerable risks in resurrecting a long-dead virus?”

  “No more so than working with any other virus. Providing teams follow normal protocols, there would have been minimal risks.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because we’ve been doing this for years, colonel. Science doesn’t stand still. It was only a matter of time before that layer of permafrost melted. Global warming was accelerating that process.”

  “The doctor’s right,” admitted Anton. “The virus samples were discovered in an area rich in minerals and oil. Sooner or later drilling equipment or vehicles would have disturbed them. Finding those samples still frozen allowed the world a unique opportunity to study a still dormant virus.”

  “So it’s purely coincidence that only a few years after resurrecting these viruses, we witness a pandemic the like of which the world has never seen?”

  “Pandemics have occurred throughout history. There’s little evidence to suggest that this one was any different.”

  “In the interests of time, I’d like to move on. What can you tell me about Operation Pandora?”

  “Pandora?” he said, his eyes widening in surprise. “That’s going back a while, isn’t it? You’d have to ask Major Donnelly. Pandora was outside the remit of my department.”

  “Then major, perhaps you can explain?”

  “Certainly. Pandora was set up after the end of the Second World War to determine whether the civilian population might be vulnerable to a large-scale biological terrorist attack. It was put on ice in the 1970s and 1980s due to budget cuts, but after what happened on the Tokyo Subway with Sarin gas, they reactivated the programme.”

  “For the record, my understanding is that Operation Pandora conducted a series of live release tests on the British mainland.”

  “Back in the 1960s, scientists from Porton were involved in a number of simulated attacks on the London Underground. They set out to deliberately infect millions of civilians with what were said to be harmless bacteria. One of these tests chose Colliers Wood underground station for the release of a sample of Bacillus globigii on a packed commuter station during rush hour. The experiment exceeded all their expectations. Twelve days later, traces of Bacillus globigii were found in Camden station over ten miles away.”

  “But the proxy wasn’t harmless at all, was it? They subsequently discovered that the sample was responsible for long-term health problems.”

  “The risks were greatly exaggerated. Bacillus globigii affected a tiny minority with prior health conditions only. Pregnant women, for example, had a slightly elevated chance of miscarriage or birth defects. That sort of thing.”

  “Colliers Wood wasn’t the only public test. Porton scientists have been running similar experiments for years,” claimed Zed. “I believe your tests may have claimed the lives of hundreds of civilians through secondary complications. Heart failures, tumours and cancers.”

  “Colonel, are we really expected to endure these endless conspiracy theories?”

  The colonel rifled through his stack of papers until he found a memo relating to Zed’s claim.

  “Setting aside the public health implications, there’s no point denying it. We have evidence that suggests similar experiments were carried out in major population centres including Southampton and Bournemouth. Porton scientists also ran tests at Sandown Bay on the Isle of Wight.”

  “I’m not sure where you’re getting your facts from, but we would flatly deny such allegations.”

  “Good Lord, major. These experiments were conducted not just here but all over the world. As far back as the 1950s, the Americans staged simulated attacks on the cities of San Francisco, Minneapolis, Panama City and St Louis. On Porton’s recommendation, the Americans used the same supposedly harmless agents. The bacteria were released in clouds offshore and allowed to disperse over the city. During six or so experiments, it was said that they successfully infected every single person within one hundred and twenty square miles of the downtown San Francisco area.”

  “Every single person in one hundred and twenty square miles?” repeated the colonel.

  Anton seemed to find that amusing, rocking back in his chair with a broad smile.

  “What could possibly be funny about that, Anton?”

  “It was something of a standing joke at Biopreparat.” He shrugged. “The Americans were so paranoid that their coastal cities could fall victim to a Russian biological attack by submarine.”

  “Over the next twenty years, I understand that America staged two hundred and thirty-nine separate open-air tests.”

  “And no one made the link between those tests and spikes in cancer or birth defects in later years?” asked Zed.

  “I don’t believe so, but what scientists quickly realised was that not only was a large-scale biological attack possible, it was actually frighteningly easy.”

  “At Vector, we always had
our suspicions about Porton Down’s ambitions.” Anton smiled.

  “Concerning?”

  “Industrial accidents are surprisingly common. During the Cold War, we had a Communist sympathiser here who leaked details about Porton programmes. For example, in the 1980s, we were obsessed by the pioneering work with neurodegenerative diseases. Mad cow’s disease, I think you called it. Then soon after, you had the unfortunate accident with BSE. In my line of work, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “You’re seriously suggesting that BSE was an industrial accident?” interrupted the doctor, rising from his seat. “That’s preposterous.”

  “Sit down, doctor,” cautioned the colonel. “Let him continue.”

  “Sure, why not?” continued Anton. “Leaks are inevitable, despite all of the precautions we take. The USSR also had its problems. You’ve probably heard what happened at Sverdlovsk in 1979?”

  “Go on,” said the colonel.

  “Some mix-up with a clogged filter removed for repair. An accidental release of anthrax spores. When the shift changed over, no one remembered to tell the new guys. They switched an evaporator back on that released spores over the whole city. By the time they realised their mistake, hundreds of people downwind of the plant were already dying. Had it not been at night, when the civilian population was indoors, the accident would have been far worse.”

  “How did they manage to keep that out of the news?”

  “There was a cover-up, of course. Brezhnev was a master of deception. TASS, the Soviet news agency reported that contaminated meat killed hundreds of people. Just like your cover-up with BSE.”

  “Colonel, are you really going to allow any more of these wild conspiracies? My participation in this enquiry was on the understanding we would be discussing serious scientific questions.”

  The colonel sat back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. “Very well. I suggest we all take a half-hour break and resume at 1am.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Zed grabbed a plastic cup from the dispenser in the hall and waited impatiently for the slow trickle of drinking water. He was still replaying what he had just learned. If Anton was right, what else had Porton Down been responsible for?

  An industrial accident was one thing, but the intentional release of biological agents, not just once but dozens of times in heavily populated areas? The scale of the cover-up exceeded even his wildest imagination.

  Down the corridor he could see shapes posturing in the shadows, one figure towering over the other, a finger jabbed in someone’s face. Among the lively exchange, he thought he heard Gill’s voice. Draining the cup, he set off to investigate. The figure noticed Zed’s approach and stepped back.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Stay out of this, Samuels,” said the doctor, moving into the light. He seemed irritated by the interruption, red in the face about something.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Zed cautioned, inserting himself between them. “Gill?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, wiping spittle from her face. “The doctor was just reminding me of my obligations, that’s all. He wrongly assumed that I was the source of the leak.”

  “You still haven’t denied it,” spat the doctor.

  “Seems a bit late to be developing a conscience,” challenged Zed.

  “You people have no idea what we do here, do you?”

  “Just admit it. Your team was operating off limits, given far too much freedom. When you started playing God, you crossed the line.”

  Doctor Hardy laughed at Zed’s high-handedness. “I hadn’t figured you for a flat-earth proponent. Genetic engineering is mankind’s greatest gift. The ability to improve human health.”

  “And it’s also its greatest curse.”

  “People like you blame science for everything bad that’s ever happened. Geneticists are the custodians of our future. In a few more years, people like me will help eliminate a whole host of common diseases, maybe even find a cure for cancer. So what if we make a few mistakes along the way?”

  “That arrogance contributed to the deaths of hundreds of millions of people.”

  “You’re certifiable if you believe that.”

  “People like you sowed the seeds of our own destruction. Scientists had a moral duty to evaluate the risks, not just the opportunities.”

  “There you go again, mixing science with politics. Independence of thought is the true hallmark of a scientist. It shouldn’t be up to us to impose constraints on progress.”

  “That’s a little too convenient, don’t you think? Why did no one stop to think through the consequences, reject the areas of research likely to be hazardous to human health?”

  “Political correctness and moral flimflam have impeded progress for far too long. The potential benefits of our research are unlimited.”

  “And so were the risks.”

  “Would you say the same about nuclear research? One of the greatest energy revolutions this planet has ever seen. And you’re saying it should have been shelved because someone, somewhere, might misuse the technology at some point in the future?”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, Mr Samuels, with all due respect, you are. Science has never been morally neutral. That so-called ‘moral barrier’ was breached decades ago. Once it’s broken, it can never be remade.”

  “Scientists must draw their own lines in the sand and never allow the military to dictate terms.”

  “You and I, Samuels, we are links in the same chain.”

  “Then I blame a systemic failure to hold science to account,” snarled Zed, breathing hard, their noses almost touching.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” said Gill, pushing them apart. “This is getting us nowhere. A viable vaccine is what matters. We all want the same thing.”

  “No, Gill, you’re wrong. This was never about the vaccine, it was always about power. I want the doctor to start taking responsibility for what he’s done.”

  “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

  “Genocide.”

  “You’ve got this all backwards. My team is this country’s best chance of salvation.”

  “I think you’ve been drinking your own Kool-Aid for too long. You know what your problem is? You’re drunk on power.”

  “I couldn’t care less about power. We have a real chance of making a breakthrough here.”

  “I saw the same God-complex in Iraq. The architects of Saddam’s weapons programmes suffered from a dangerous form of narcissism, of infallibility. Don’t you realise that the technologies you’ve worked so hard on, once created, can never be unmade? They risk falling into the hands of rogue states and terrorist groups.”

  “Like Iraq, you mean?” he mocked.

  “That’s right. We gave them the skills and knowledge to exploit these technologies, helped train their scientists. Well-meaning universities and pharmaceutical manufacturers were much too naive.”

  That seemed to chime with Gill, who had remained on the fence until now.

  “Zed’s right. There should have been much tighter controls on exports. We’ve all been living in a fool’s paradise.”

  “The government thought biological war was unthinkable.” Zed shrugged, shaking his head.

  “They were wrong,” added Gill.

  “Can’t you see?” ventured the doctor. “The whole war on terror was a grand deception. We’ve all been manipulated. A sinister ploy to secure massive increases in defence funding.”

  “That benefitted scientific institutions much like this one?”

  “The threat of attack was always inflated. The government propaganda machine walked a fine line between maintaining public awareness and creating blind panic. Fake news designed to create fear. Fear that could be channelled into votes and political support. The pretence for war, the invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan, of missile strikes against Syria and Iran, it was always fabricated.”

  Zed shrugged off the deliberate attempt at provocation.<
br />
  “What’s your point, doctor?”

  “All I’m saying is, if I were you, I wouldn’t ignore the vested interests. Stop pointing the finger at people like me trying to help, and ask yourself who really stood to gain from all this.”

  “Who could possibly benefit from the death of billions worldwide?” Zed indulged the doctor, playing along, thinking out loud, keeping his guard up. He already had a working hypothesis, but he wasn’t prepared to share it publicly just yet.

  “A biological attack doesn’t fit the profile of Islamic Fundamentalists. Jihadis preferred the spectacular. Crashing planes into buildings, blowing up public transport, not some microscopic, unseen virus. An attack of this sophistication had to have been state-sponsored. North Korea would be top of my list,” stated the doctor.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because North Korea is unique. A repressive regime, fanatical support of its people, hard borders, minimal transport links with the outside world. Let’s just say Pyongyang decided to vaccinate its entire population against a virus they engineered themselves…”

  “Then their chances of survival would be considerable.” Zed nodded, trying to conceal his scepticism. “And I thought I had a monopoly on far-fetched theories.”

  “Granted, there are still a lot of ifs and buts,” admitted the doctor.

  “Could a virus be programmed to target the West?”

  “I don’t see why not. It’s been done before. Theoretically, you could target specific demographics or ethnicities with higher concentrations of certain blood types. The likelihood of it backfiring would still be considerable.”

  “You know that’s actually not as far-fetched as it sounds,” agreed Gill. “A few years ago, we recommended to the MoD that they vaccinate all our high-readiness units against a variety of biological threats, including anthrax. In the end, only 3 Commando, Air Assault Brigade and some Royal Marine units were vaccinated. Trouble was, a good number of personnel opted out. Word got around that the side effects were simply too bad. People said they’d rather get sick than go through the vaccination programme again.”

  A loud buzzing noise from further down the corridor sounded as a light above the meeting room changed to green. Several others made for the door, waiting to be allowed back into the hearing.