by Robin Crumby
“They’re calling us back in.”
“I’ll catch you up,” said Zed, hanging back.
Something about what the doctor had volunteered was troubling him. He didn’t trust him in the slightest. Was he just throwing a dog a bone, trying to keep the investigation focused anywhere but on Porton itself? His instinct was still shouting that Russia was to blame. If Russia had been offshoring research and testing to Iraq, then it might also be possible they were outsourcing weapons development to North Korea. Was it possible that Peterson had already shared the US intelligence assessment directly linking Pyongyang with research into viral weapons? Or was that just what the doctor wanted him to think?
****
Once everyone had settled back into their seats, the colonel brought the meeting to order.
“At the request of Major Donnelly, I’d like us to turn our attention to the UK’s response to the outbreak and how our vaccine resources were deployed. Miss Forrester? As our resident epidemiologist, perhaps you can explain more about the Sentinel Programme?”
“Certainly,” began Gill, almost as if she had expected the question all along. “Porton Down was a member of Sentinel, the World Health Organisation’s early warning system, linking more than one hundred research centres in over eighty countries. The WHO threw a lot of money and resource at the problem. State-of-the-art systems for tracking and analysing over five thousand different strains of influenza via antigenic maps.”
“What was the extent of Porton’s involvement?”
“My team would input our research data into the Sentinel system, and their AI would analyse all the variables and extrapolate the best response.”
“If it was that sophisticated then why did it fail?”
“Sentinel did the job it was designed to do. Their forecast models correctly predicted Singapore or Hong Kong as the epicentre of the next outbreak.”
“We didn’t need a billion-dollar computer to tell us that,” sniped the doctor. “It’s the same reason DSTL had a mobile unit permanently based in Singapore.”
“Why?” asked the colonel.
“Because villagers in rural Asian communities live in very close proximity with all manner of wildlife: chickens, ducks and geese,” added Gill. “These rural areas are so often the hosts for influenza viruses like H5N1 bird flu.”
“It was the same in the First World War,” confirmed the major. “Some of the big army training camps such as Étaples in France or Fort Riley in the USA were ideal breeding grounds for influenza outbreaks. Troops from different regions and countries thrust together, some with no previous exposure to strains of viruses.”
“The more densely people are packed together, in close contact with chickens and pigs, the harder it is to control the spread of infection.”
“So Sentinel got the location right but simply bet on the wrong virus?” asked the colonel.
“Yes and no. The Sentinel system was far from perfect. It was a huge leap forward but, in the end, surveillance was only half the battle. To be effective, Sentinel relied on a network of government agencies and civilian contractors to react in real-time to any identified threat.”
“So, if I’ve understood you correctly, you’re saying that the system collapsed because those third-party agencies were simply too slow to respond?” clarified the colonel.
“Precisely. You see, compared to other viruses, the Millennial Virus has such a short incubation period,” explained Gill. “Most of our preventative measures proved insufficient. For example, we took the precaution of administering booster shots to all health workers, but that resulted in no more than a thirty per cent improvement in their resistance. It still left critical personnel vulnerable to many strains.”
“We know now that withholding most of our stockpiles of Tamiflu and Relenza was a critical error,” admitted the major.
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I suspect they simply underestimated the scale of the outbreak until it was too late.”
“Do you believe an earlier release of those stockpiles could have made a difference?”
“Without question.”
Zed was riveted by the exchange. It was the first time he’d seen Gill go toe to toe with the doctor and openly contradict his earlier statements. He had always defended the actions taken by the MoD. With every successive answer, the scowl on the doctor’s face became more pronounced.
“Were there parts of the country which you believe would have been less affected in the outbreak?” asked the colonel.
“In our simulations, rural areas, far from major transports hubs and cities, normally fared best. We could expect some areas to avoid infection altogether. For example, the Highlands, the Dales, Lake District, parts of Wales, even the Isle of Wight.”
“It’s entirely logical. Lower population density equals lower levels of infection. And what, may I ask, were the simulations based on?”
“We use sophisticated stochastic prediction methods, analysing thousands of variables and complex probabilities to forecast the likely spread of disease. It allows us to make the best use of our limited resources. The models were built off the back of previous pandemics such as the Black Death in 1348 the Great Plague of 1665-1666 and the Spanish flu in 1918. Even though the country is a lot more connected, the spread of infection is fairly consistent.”
“Low levels of vaccination didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“He’s referring to so-called anti-vaxxers,” whispered Zed to the colonel. “Flu jabs were supposed to be mandatory for key workers, but they chose not to have them.”
“That’s right. After the whole Andrew Wakefield scandal, there was admittedly a great deal of mistrust when it came to vaccination.”
“Andrew Wakefield?”
“You remember, the British GP who claimed there was a link between MMR shots and autism. People became so sceptical. Rumours and lies magnified by the echo chamber of social media. It was all part of a wider trend towards fake news.”
“Anti-vaxxing was a global movement. In the US, France and other countries, people came to believe that immunisation was unsafe. It led to a huge rise in preventable diseases. Cases of whooping cough, mumps and measles were all on the increase.”
“I suppose we all lost faith in the big institutions to act in the collective interest,” conceded the colonel.
“People thought they knew better. They distrusted science. It was open season. Climate change, vaccination, even the moon landings. Science was seen to be no longer trustworthy.”
“That was doubly true of Big Pharma. People thought mandatory inoculations were just a money-spinner.”
“Religious leaders didn’t help, claiming only God could grant immunity, encouraging parents to opt out on behalf of their children.”
“Some even claimed that the vaccine actually caused the outbreak itself.”
“Can we please return to the facts? This is getting us nowhere,” sighed the colonel. “The whole country went to hell in a handcart when people stopped trusting media outlets, qualified scientists and health experts, and started listening instead to the rantings of noisy individuals on a soapbox.”
“I agree. Evidence and scientific fact became overrated. There’s always some group who thinks they know better than science,” sneered the doctor, staring directly at Zed. “Too many people believed that the state was trying to control their every waking thought, to manipulate them. Everyone’s suddenly an expert.”
“The truth becomes a choice, rather than a matter of opinion,” admitted the colonel.
There was a rapid knock on the door, and one of the orderlies entered the room.
“Major, sorry to interrupt, but they’ve just broken through the blast door. The base commander is looking for you.”
“Colonel, with your permission, I propose we call a halt to proceedings and resume once we know what’s happening up top.”
“Very well,” he conceded.
Chapter Thirty-fi
ve
The base commander and Lieutenant Thorogood from 12th Armoured were waiting for them in the command centre, deep within the bunker complex at Porton Down.
The two officers were taking it in turns to gulp greedily from a two-litre water bottle. With her hood and mask removed, Zed could see the base commander’s face was streaked with dirt and sweat from the fight, her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Zed imagined doing anything physical in those protective suits must be intolerable. He stood at the back with Gill, stretching on tiptoes to see above the sea of heads.
The major shook hands with the two officers, relieved to see them and eager to hear their report.
“We’ve set up a perimeter around the entrance, but we won’t have long. They’ll be regrouping and rearming.”
“How many are there?”
“Hard to say. Maybe a couple of hundred.”
“More than last time?”
“Yes, sir, and they’re well-armed. Semi-automatic weapons, tactical shotguns, mortars, RPGs. They have at least one tripod-mounted machine gun.”
“Where the hell did they get that lot?”
“Any one of the army bases near here.” She shrugged. “Most of them are abandoned. There would have been plenty of equipment left behind when our units pulled out.”
“Did you bring the items the doctor asked for?”
“Yes, sir. They were delivered to the labs a few minutes ago.”
“And the storage bunker?”
“We left a team there to secure the rest. They’ll radio in if they have any further trouble.”
“Very good, commander. Was there something else?” asked Major Donnelly, noticing her hesitation.
“While your comms have been out, we picked up a number of high-priority messages from St Mary’s.”
The commander handed the major a folded scrap of lined paper which he scanned and passed to the colonel. The expression on his face spoke volumes.
“This message is nearly seven hours old! Why are we only just getting this now?”
“By all accounts, they’ve been trying to reach us all day. The rebels must have taken out the main antenna. We only got this by chance. It was relayed by an allied unit operating north of Southampton.”
“By the sounds of things,” sighed the colonel, “St Mary’s is in just as much of a mess as we are. The sooner we get back there the better. Commander, it’s imperative we get word back to St Mary’s as soon as possible.”
“I’ll see to it right away.”
The colonel made a beeline for Zed and Gill, and took them to one side. He looked rattled for the first time Zed could remember.
“There’s been a fresh outbreak on the island.”
The pair stared back at him, lost for words.
“Has it been contained?” asked Gill.
“I believe so.”
“How?”
“They’ve all trained for this. The whole island goes into lockdown. Face masks and protective equipment are mandatory for all personnel. No one comes in, no one goes out. Reserves of vaccine stocks are released.”
“Is that going to be enough?”
“It has to be. We can’t afford to lose the island…”
The major interrupted Zed mid-sentence.
“Colonel, the helicopter is coming for your team as soon as it completes its current mission. You’ll need to be ready to leave at thirty minutes’ notice.”
As the colonel rose to speak privately with the major in the corridor, Zed reached across the table and took Gill’s hands in his. She still seemed to be weighing up her options.
“Come with us,” he implored.
“This is my home.”
“Just wait till you see what the island is like. You won’t need to live underground any more. St Mary’s has got all the same facilities now.”
“I know. I want to. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. “Let me think about it, okay? I need to talk to my team.”
“Maybe they could come with you. We could relocate the whole lot of you.”
She slid around on the bench seat until she was sitting next to him, snaking an arm behind his back, resting her head against his shoulder.
“I want to. I really do. Perhaps this is our chance at happiness.”
She nuzzled up against him, her eyes closed. He kissed the top of her head, enjoying their quiet moment of intimacy, allowing himself to forget. It had been a long time since he had felt this relaxed in someone else’s company. Even Riley. Was this what happiness felt like? It was intoxicating. Yet something didn’t feel right. He took a deep breath and pushed her upright.
“What’s the matter?” she said, looking up into his blue eyes.
“I don’t know. This is all happening too fast.” He shook his head, unsure what to say. “I can’t stop thinking about my daughter. What was I thinking coming here? What kind of father hears his daughter has survived against all the odds and can’t be bothered to go and see her?”
“You were doing your job,” she replied tersely, sitting up straighter. “You said yourself, you hadn’t seen her in years.”
“I know. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Look, if I come to the island, then I’m going there because of you. You need to be honest with me if you’re having doubts. What am I to you exactly?”
He looked away, marshalling his thoughts. It was a good question. He felt like a kid on a merry-go-round, holding tight, trying not to fall off. His head was spinning. Feelings he barely remembered came flooding back.
“If it’s Riley, just tell me.”
“No,” he replied unconvincingly.
He was beginning to doubt his instincts more and more. Perhaps Doctor Hardy was right. Who did he think he was? Out of his depth, grappling for answers. A fish out of water. His conscience was screaming at him. Surely, his place was with his family, not here on this wild goose chase.
In a moment of clarity, he remembered what was really troubling him. Everyone he truly cared about was in danger on the island, while he was stuck here. After what happened last time he promised himself he would never leave others to face their fate.
All those soldiers and quarantine procedures had not prevented this. His duty was to his family. Maybe, just maybe, it was not too late to make a difference. He needed to get back to his daughter, to Riley and the others.
He stood up, determined to get out of there, whatever the cost. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic. The hairs on the back of his neck began prickling in a cold sweat. Gill shook her head disappointedly.
“Is that really all you have to say to me?”
“I wish things were different, I’m sorry. I just need time to think. Right now all I can think about is getting back to the island.”
“Look, I get it. Carol once said you never could commit,” she said with a note of bitterness she instantly regretted. “Perhaps it’s better I do stay here.” She stroked his arm one last time, managing a weak smile. “Go on. Do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you figure out what you want.”
****
Zed found the colonel making final preparations for their extraction. He was hunched over a map of Porton Down, with the major and some of his team.
“There’s nowhere for the helicopter to land anywhere near the main building. As soon as they’re on final approach, we’ll need to relocate to this site here.”
“We’ll send an advance party to secure the landing area. Once they’ve given the all-clear, we’ll ferry you there in the APC. You’ll be flanked by three other armoured vehicles, including the Scimitar.”
“What about those RPGs and the heavy machine gun?”
“The Scimitar will deal with them and clear a path for the transport. The APC is impregnable to small arms fire.”
“So how long do we have?”
“From St Mary’s the flight time is around thirty minutes. As soon as they’re inbound, they’ll radio ahead.
“How many can
they take?”
“Depends what they send. If it’s one of the Merlins we can all fit in, but if they’re sending the Seahawk, say crew of three, four marines, plus five or six passengers.”
The colonel looked across at Zed studying the map, listening to their exchange. Zed looked up. The colonel didn’t need to say anything; the question was obvious.
“She’s staying put.” Zed shrugged.
“Then it’s the doctor’s team and the two of us. The rest will have to wait for the next trip. Gear up, gentlemen. We meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
****
Zed packed up his notebook and paperwork into the day bag he had borrowed. He couldn’t get Gill out of his head, regretting the way they had parted. He couldn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye. He owed her, after what she had done for them all.
She had already shown him her office on sub-level two, but he still had to ask a couple of times along the way, zigzagging through various subterranean spaces and passageways.
Eventually, he found the door to her department, marked anonymously as room D725. He knocked lightly, not waiting for an answer. Inside, he found six workstations, four of them occupied. From a spartan corner office, Gill looked up. Her shoulders seemed to sag on seeing him.
He closed the glass office door behind him, noticing her colleagues watching him closely.
“I couldn’t leave without saying sorry.”
“No, it’s me who should be apologising. It wasn’t fair to put you on the spot like that.
“What I said was thoughtless. I wasn’t thinking straight, okay? I know you went out on a limb for us, for me.”
“Forget about it.” She waved him away dismissively. “You would have done the same for me.” She seemed distracted, her eyes unfocused, scratching at the back of her neck.
“Are you okay? You don’t look yourself.”
“I’ve had this awful itchy skin all afternoon, makes me very irritable. I feel like the rhino in the Just So stories. Probably just need to take a shower.”