‘I’ll wait for a directive from my superiors.’ Proctor was sceptical ‘If your President wishes to phone, he has my number.’
‘You find this person and what he has taken, and I’ll make sure the President calls you personally. By the way, this is classified way above anyone in the British Police Force. Consider yourself at the highest security classification. I’ll get you to sign the papers at the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square tomorrow morning latest. Say nothing to anyone in your office and please, don’t tell your wife. You’ll understand later. I’ll set up a secure video conferencing facility at the embassy while you’re there, or maybe I’ll just grab a flight.’
Charles Proctor, distinguished police officer, put out to pasture, sat still in his chair for five minutes. The phone conversation had been surreal, the possibilities of intrigue startling. He wasn’t sure if it was genuine, although it must have been. It was on a secure line, and the CIA would not mention such matters without encryption on their side.
***
At 2 p.m. the following afternoon, Charles Proctor, who had had a restless night, and Ed Small, suffering jet lag, met at the Embassy. Proctor, upright, hair almost grey, shoes polished to a mirror finish and wearing a dark blue suit with a Metropolitan Police tie, shook hands with Ed Small. To Proctor, he was the archetypal American – brash, a pronounced paunch and a badly pressed grey suit with a florid tie. It was the American Ambassador to the Court of St. James who personally witnessed the now on active duty British policeman as he signed the security clearance documents.
‘Charles – I hope it’s alright if I call you Charles?’
‘Charles is fine.’ He would have preferred more formality, but it was not a big issue. He was just thankful to the man who had got him away from that awful desk.
‘It only took the Director of the CIA to get you back on active duty.’
‘Thank him for me.’
‘I will if I ever meet him, which is unlikely. The President was primed just in case. If your boss had been hesitant, he would have received the call.
‘He never phoned me,’ Charles replied. It was the typical banter of two people meeting before they got down to the serious business of the day.
‘He will.’ Ed Small had to be back in the USA within twelve hours. Some disturbing news was coming through. He needed to follow up.
‘There is the possibility of terrorist activity in the USA, although we’re not discounting England either,’ Ed Small continued.
‘We have departments within the police and our intelligence authorities to handle such matters. Why do you need me?’ Charles asked.
‘They’re not equipped for what I am about to tell you. We need one person who can move fast, dive into places they cannot, and above all someone we can trust.’
‘Give me the facts. What do you want me to do?’
‘We believe an American scientist is responsible for removing a biological weapon from a government research establishment in England.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Charles asked.
‘The “Why” is not the most pressing issue at the present moment. The “Where” is what we need to find out.’
‘Do you suspect that he intends to release it? I assume it is a virus of some sort.’
‘A release would appear to be the most logical conclusion. We need to find him first. Maybe then we will find answers to the other questions. Virus, yes, that is correct – or, I should be honest as you have signed all the papers, the most dangerous virus on the planet.’
‘The most dangerous, that’s a sweeping statement.’
‘It has the potential to kill millions.’ Ed gave the facts as he knew them.
‘Let me know what I need to do.’
‘The last known place of this person, Sam Haberman, was at Porton Down. I’m told it’s not far from your Stonehenge.’
‘I know where it is.’
‘Good, then you need to get down there. All authorities and permissions have been dealt with. They will be expecting you. Haberman has disappeared, apparently on a holiday in the wilds of Scotland, sailing around on a small yacht.’
‘Phone, can’t you just contact him?’
‘His phone number doesn’t operate, and we now know that it is switched off.’
‘I’ll need to hire a car. Organise credit cards, cash, and a secure phone.’
‘You will receive everything you require before you leave the embassy today. You’re booked for tonight at the Red Lion Hotel in Salisbury. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock you will meet with the head of security at the research centre. Is that okay?’
‘That’s fine.'
‘Don’t say too much at Porton and don’t be too alarmist. The director of the establishment has been given some details, but apart from him, nobody else knows of our concerns regarding the virus. Remember, we cannot control idle tongues.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Take a passport. If you need to travel, phone the embassy and they will arrange tickets and accommodation. A full portfolio outlining all details with contact numbers will be pre-loaded onto a smartphone. Is there anything else you need?’
‘No, that seems fine. It’s good to be on active duty.’
‘If the situation weren’t so serious, you’d still be pushing a pen.’
‘I realise that.’
‘Okay, let’s consider our meeting closed,’ Ed said. ‘I’ll take off to the airport. You can wait here until everything is prepared for you.’
***
Next day early, Charles Proctor, a great believer in the virtue of an early start was out on the hunt for the elusive and missing geneticist. ‘There’s not much we can tell you,’ Keith Edmondson, Chief Security Officer at the Porton Down Research Centre said. ‘Sam Haberman arrived here some weeks back. I personally vetted him before giving him full clearance to enter our facilities. Highly credentialed, highly respected, his peers embraced him immediately.’
‘What sort of person was he?’ the detective inspector asked.
‘Good-looking sort of chap. Average height, very personable. I know that some of the young ladies were taken by him. I think he was taking one of them out. He had a pleasant, cultured American accent, oozed confidence.’
‘Can I talk to those who were working with him, and the young lady that you just mentioned?’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
Ten minutes later, Fiona Gresham was ushered into the meeting room.
‘I’m trying to contact Sam Haberman,’ Proctor said. ‘I’m told that you were friends with him.’
‘I thought that as well,’ she replied, ‘but he ran out on me. I haven’t heard from him since.’
She was an attractive young woman in her mid-twenties with a distinct accent. It sounded to him as though she came from Somerset. A scientific officer at the centre, she was clearly very smart. But then, he thought, you would have to be smart to work here.
‘So, you have no idea where he went?’
‘Not a clue, I thought we were getting on just fine. He must have had another woman somewhere.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He was always excusing himself to make phone calls. He carried three mobiles. I assumed it was an easy lay somewhere, but I could never understand the language.’ She was clearly bitter.
‘What language did he use?’
‘The strange part is that I think it was Arabic. He said it was Hebrew. I knew he had been born in Israel, but I went diving off the coast of Oman some years back. Some of the words sounded familiar. It may have been Hebrew, I suppose.’
A little later, Charles took the opportunity to phone Ed Small, now back in the States. ‘Did Sam Haberman speak Arabic?’
‘I’ve no idea, he may have. He seemed to have no issues picking up languages, but Arabic for a Jewish man, that sounds unusual. I’ll check and get back to you. Why, does it matter?’
‘Not sure, he had a girlfriend, or at least a local he used
to take down the pub of a night. She heard him speaking several times in what she thought was Arabic, although she is not certain. It could have been Hebrew. Check if the languages are comparable.’
‘I’ll phone you back in thirty minutes. What about where he was staying? Have you checked it out yet?’
‘It’s on my list for tomorrow. I’ve still got some more people to interview here.’
A break of twenty minutes after Fiona Gresham had left and an excitable man dashed into the room, apologising for being late. ‘Sam Haberman, fine fellow, a brilliant virologist. You’re aware of the awards he’s won, the academic papers?’ George Hayter was glowing in his accolades.
‘I’m led to believe that you spent a lot of time with him in the last few weeks.’
‘More than he may have wanted.’ Hayter, a senior scientific officer, wore thick-rimmed glasses. He had an irritating habit of excessively articulating every word. All he needed, Charles Proctor thought, was a row of pens in his top pocket and he would have been the perfect caricature of a boffin scientist.
‘Why do you say “more than he may have wanted”?’
‘He preferred to conduct his research on his own. Very secretive as to what he was up to. A brilliant mind and, I must admit, I was a bit of a nuisance, but it is not often that such a well-respected scientist comes here. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to learn, to observe.’
‘I thought you were all brilliant here.’
‘We’re certainly smart, highly qualified, but brilliant, no. Sam definitely was. His approach to the area of genetics was innovative, almost visionary. We would attempt to emulate his ideas in the lab, but never to the success that we had hoped for. The chance to watch a master, to pick his brain, was overpowering. I know I can be irritating at times, but with Sam, I just couldn’t hold back.’
‘Remarkable as he may have been, a thoroughly good and decent human being, I still need to find him.’
‘Detective Inspector, that’s strange. He was very popular here, especially with the ladies. He always had one back at his cottage making breakfast for him. I wish I had his talent for chatting up the girls.’ George Hayter was what the detective inspector would have called a nerd. Even he, after ten minutes, wanted to end the conversation, but he still had a few more questions.
‘Are you aware as to why he was here at Porton?’
‘It was all very secretive. The only knowledge I have is that it was a genetically engineered virus and that he couldn’t test it in the USA.’
‘So, you don’t know exactly what type of virus it was?’
‘I don’t think anybody here knew the full story. He had been given a secure area in our BSL-4 isolation area, and he was the only one with access. What he did in there, I’m not sure.’
‘I thought you said you worked with him?’
‘I did. I would assist with the preparations of certain compounds. Find the equipment required. At times, I was fully occupied, but I never went into his secure room.’
Charles Proctor paused for a moment while he wrote something down in his notebook.
‘What type of equipment?’ he asked. ‘What types of compounds? What do you think they were for?’
‘They were clearly for cultivation, the growth of the virus.’
‘Did this seem unusual?’
‘Not at all. In order to conduct research, it’s imperative to have sufficient material. I saw nothing wrong with what he was doing. I just wish I could have helped him more.’
Charles Proctor realised he had not achieved a lot as to where Haberman was, other than he had probably been cultivating the virus and that he knew how to charm the ladies. There was only one more person to see before his day was over.
Bill Maudling, an eminent scientist in his own right, had been the director of the research centre for five years. According to Paul Montgomery, he was the only person with any detailed knowledge as to what Sam Haberman was doing at Porton.
‘Nobody else knows the full details as to what he brought here,’ Director Maudling said. ‘I was the only one entrusted with the full knowledge of the virus. Why is there so much concern?’
‘It’s a potential bioweapon,’ Proctor replied.
‘I realise that. It’s the most dangerous virus ever. When CDC failed to come up with a vaccine, and there was a hold on further research, I felt we had no option but to grant their request to use our facilities.’
‘Isn’t that in violation of our government’s directives?’
‘I received the necessary authority. However, now that we have a problem, they – or he, to be more precise – will deny all knowledge, especially the part about his agreeing.’
‘Did you have it in writing?’
‘It was purely a phone call. He, or should I say the Minister, will soon distance himself. He is already failing to take my calls, and when they look for a scapegoat …’
‘I know the situation,’ Proctor commented but did not elaborate.
Tomorrow, he would check out the small cottage Haberman had leased for a six-month period. Those he had met referred to him as Sam. To Charles Proctor, he was Haberman and, from what he had deduced, as dangerous an individual as he had ever encountered.
***
‘Nobody knows what Haberman was up to, only assumptions. Only the head of the establishment had any details as to the virus,’ Charles Proctor phoned in an update the following morning to Ed Small.
‘I’m not even sure his name was Haberman.’ It was an unexpected statement from Ed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s why I rushed back to the States the other day. We have a record of a Sam Haberman, an Israeli citizen, entering through New York, but not a Sam Haberman leaving Israel.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Apparently, it is. I’ve contacted Mossad. You’ve heard of them?’
‘Yes, Israeli Secret Service.’
‘They’ve confirmed there is no record. There was a Sam Haberman, lived in the north of the country, but he was a reclusive man in his seventies. The details on Haberman’s passport at entry align with his details, apart from the year of birth. We have a photocopy of the passport, but not the original. We’re conducting checks now to see if we can pick a forgery.’
‘So, who is he?’
‘I was hoping you could shed some light on that. Check his accommodation and get back to me if you find anything interesting.’
‘What about the Arabic language the girlfriend mentioned?’
‘Not conclusive. The area he supposedly came from is moderate, and there is a degree of interaction between Israeli Arabs and Jews. As far as the similarities between Hebrew and Arabic are concerned, I’m told that they are both Semitic languages. Don’t ask me what that means. She may have been listening to Hebrew.’
‘If we don’t know who he is,’ said Charles, ‘then it could be either language.’
‘It sounds possible. It’s a frightening scenario. What was he doing at this Porton Down, anyway?’
‘There is no question that he was growing the virus. It would be standard practice if he intended to find a vaccine.’
‘So nobody knows exactly what was going on?’
‘Not entirely, that seems clear.’
‘We’ve got to find him and quick,’ Ed said. ‘Work outside the law, forget the usual protocols. Break into his house, access any bank accounts, just do whatever is necessary. We’re working with the full authority of the anti-terrorist acts of both countries now. We have absolute power to do whatever we need. If there’s any interference, just let me know, and I’ll get the highest authorities in both countries to remove it.’
‘I understand,’ Charles replied.
‘You may get a call from Mossad. I’ll give you the details later.’
‘Thanks, I’m leaving for Haberman’s cottage. Call you later.’ Charles Proctor was enjoying his time out on the road, actively pursuing a villain.
***
The cottage with the
thatched roof and the privet fence was picture postcard. The next door neighbour had let him in, no questions asked, once the Detective Inspector had shown his official police identification.
‘Such a lovely man, he paid in advance. He used to pick up my groceries from the local shop for me.’ Mrs Glover, a gentle old lady, bent over with arthritis, used a walking stick to move around. ‘Tinker used to go and sit in his window at the weekend.’ She was referring to an old cat that she managed to hold while she turned the key to the front door.
The old lady owned the row of three cottages. Originally built for farm workers several hundred years previously, they were now highly desirable as weekend retreats for the wealthy from their hectic weekday lifestyles. She had kept two for rental, lived in the third.
‘He’s not been seen at work for a few weeks. We are anxious to find him,’ the Detective Inspector said.
‘Oh, I am surprised to hear that. He was here a few days ago, just passing through. He came to check his mail and to see how I was. He brought me some lovely flowers, roses – they’re still in the vase in the front room.’
‘Did he say anything as to where he had been?’
‘I didn’t think it was my business to ask. He said he’d been out of the country. He was very popular with the ladies. I can’t blame them. He was a lovely man – so well-spoken, so polite.’
‘It would help if I could find where he has gone.’
‘Why is it so important? I know he was involved with the government. He said it was secretive.’
‘Yes, it was. His research is at a critical stage. We need his advice. He’s a brilliant man. Did you realise that?’ He thought it was a reasonable explanation.
‘I’m not surprised. He used to talk to me about places and subjects that I knew nothing about.’
‘Is there anything in particular that you remember?’
‘Not really… wait a minute. He was interested in the injustices and the violence committed around the world in the name of religion. He would get quite excited when he spoke about what was happening in the Middle East, especially what was going on in Israel.’
Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set Page 4