Resurrection

by Ken McClure

‘I put them into bio-disposal. There was no point in keeping them. No one else would have been able to decipher them either, I’m sure.’

  Malloy held up his hand and reassured him. ‘No one is suggesting anything else, Pierre. You did exactly what I asked you to do. There’s no problem.’

  ‘Can I go now? I’m very busy.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Seems to work very hard,’ said Dewar as Le Grice closed the door.

  ‘He’s very ambitious,’ replied Malloy. ‘Very bright too. Well, there we have it. If Ali had illegal fragments of the virus or even if he actually managed to reconstruct live smallpox which I just can’t believe, the whole lot went straight into the steriliser and I can’t say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sounds good to me too,’ agreed Dewar.

  ‘From a purely selfish point of view I’m glad you came here,’ said Malloy.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You’ve given me a reason for Ali’s suicide. I’ve been blaming myself ever since it happened for not recognising the symptoms of clinical depression. It sounds like he wasn’t ill at all; he just got mixed up in a nightmare. The bastards who asked him to do it, I suppose they’ll get away with it?’

  ‘That’s usually a fair bet where government sponsored crime is involved. Anything goes, from genocide to blowing up an airliner.

  Dewar paused by Sandra’s bench on the way out. ‘I think I’m finished this time,’ he said.

  ‘No real problems?’ she asked, her eyes asking more questions than the words.

  ‘There might have been,’ he replied. ’

  ‘Will what you’ve been doing here help lift the ban on the movement of smallpox fragments for research?’

  ‘It may go some way but it could take time. Anything involving the agreement of many countries takes time. You’re worried about your degree?’

  ‘Not just that. I think this lab had a real chance of coming up with a vaccine against AIDS. Without access to new fragments I’m not so sure. It would have been nice to have been associated with something like that, a paper in NATURE, the whole bit.’

  ‘If you’re being slowed up, everyone else is too,’ Dewar reminded her. ‘I’m sure rival labs are feeling just as frustrated.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ agreed Sandra. ‘We’ll just have to make the best of things. Hope for a lucky break in another direction.’

  ‘Well, I wish you the best of luck,’ said Dewar.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Sandra. ‘Need a taxi?’

  ‘I’m going to walk for a bit, need the exercise.’

  Dewar started to walk towards town. The sky was clear and autumn sunshine shone down on red and gold leafed trees. There was a coolness in the air but it just made the conditions perfect for walking. He took out his mobile phone from his briefcase and switched it back on. There was one diverted call waiting for him. It was from Grant at police headquarters, asking him to call in when he had a moment Dewar called him back.

  ‘I’ve got something for you. Best if you came in,’ said Grant.

  Dewar flagged down the first taxi he saw. The journey took thirty-five minutes largely because they had to cross town to get to police headquarters on the north side of the city. Dewar’s impatience grew with every traffic light halt, and when he finally arrived he felt as if he’d been released from prison.

  ‘You’re a hard man to track down,’ said Grant.

  ‘I turned off the phone earlier. I didn’t want it ringing at awkward moments,’ explained Dewar.

  ‘I left messages at all the contact numbers you gave me,’ said Grant.

  ..’Thanks. That was the right thing to do. What have you got?’

  ‘Recognise any of these bozos?’ Grant pushed five computer generated images across the desk.

  ‘These two,’ replied Grant. ‘They’re the Iraqis I saw at the book shop, Siddiqui and Abbas. Well done. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Aren’t computers wonderful,’ replied Grant.

  ‘When they work. ‘Find out anything about them?’

  Grant leaned across the desk and tapped the end of his pen on the face of the bearded man. ‘Abbas was straightforward, officially an educational liaison officer but thought by special branch to be triple “A”.’

  Dewar raised his eyes.

  ‘Iraqi secret police.’

  ‘Fits.’

  ‘The other bozo however, was much more difficult because London didn’t seem to know anything about anyone named Siddiqui being in the country. They checked their Iraqi picture album and cross checked with intelligence and came up with three guys with that name known to them. The one you’ve picked is … ‘ Grant checked the reference number on the back of the photo and read from his notes. ‘Dr Ismail Siddiqui; he’s on the faculty at Baghdad University and is credited with being a scientific advisor to the Iraqi government. He’s also believed by the military to have been involved in Saddam’s biological weapons programme although there’s no proof. Make any sense?’

  Dewar felt his limbs become heavy. He couldn’t say this had come as a complete shock to him, or any kind of a shock at all but it was just so enervating to have his worst fears confirmed. ‘All too much,’ he replied. ‘You say Siddiqui’s presence here is a surprise to London?

  Apparently.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘That’s for them to find out when I tell them who you’ve identified.’

  ‘You know what really worries me?’

  ‘What?’ asked Grant.

  ‘The fact he’s still in Edinburgh. How long is it since Hammadi died?’

  ‘Almost six weeks,’ said Grant after checking his desk diary.’

  ‘Well, Dr Siddiqui,’ said Dewar, picking up his photograph and holding it in both hands in front of him. ‘Just what is it you’re waiting for?’

  NINE

  ‘Anything else you’d like us to do?’ asked Grant.

  ‘Lots but you’re going to say you don’t have the manpower,’ replied Dewar.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I’d like to know why Siddiqui is staying on in Edinburgh. I’d like to know what he does while he’s here, what his movements are, where he goes when he goes out — if he goes out, who he sees, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll need me or my manpower for that,’ said Grant. ‘The minute I tell London who it is you’ve identified, they’re going to come quicker than a kid on his first date. You won’t be able to move for surveillance officers on Siddiqui. That’s my bet. Somebody screwed up at immigration so the others will be out for brownie points in recovering the situation.’

  ‘He could have been smuggled in?’ suggested Dewar.

  ‘Possible but he’s not exactly been hiding himself away,’ pointed out Grant. ‘I’d say he’s a man with the right paperwork.

  ‘Who’ll be doing the job? Special Branch?’

  ‘Special Branch, MI5, you name it. They’re going to be tripping over each other. They don’t get that much to do these days.’

  ‘You’re right. I should have thought,’ said Dewar, trying to think how the involvement of other agencies might affect things and whether or not he should risk asking Grant to delay making his report. His first thought was that any obvious sign of surveillance might spook Siddiqui but he quickly changed his mind on that score. If Grant was right and Siddiqui was here legally then he must have been prepared for it from the time he entered the country. Even if he hadn’t been aware of people watching him — in reality because of some screw-up — he still would have had to assume that watching eyes were there and act accordingly.

  ‘Anything else on your mind?’

  ‘One of the Iraqi students using the centre in Forest Road, a friend of Ali Hammadi, gave me some information about Ali. Siddiqui and Abbas saw him with me; the kid seemed scared out of his wits. I couldn’t persuade him to accept protection. They escorted him away. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Tariq Saadi. He’s a postgraduate student in maths at E
dinburgh University.’

  Grant wrote down the details. ‘No promises but I’ll see what we can find out. I take it you’ll be staying on in town?’

  ‘For the moment,’ agreed Dewar although, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure why. He’d been assured that anything Ali Hammadi had been working on had either been sterilised or destroyed so the spectre of smallpox virus emanating from Edinburgh had disappeared. But he still felt uneasy and it all seemed to stem from the fact that Siddiqui was still hanging around in the city, now some six weeks after Hammadi’s death.

  As he walked down the steps outside police headquarters he thought he’d enjoy the remainder of a perfect autumn afternoon with a walk in the nearby Royal Botanical Gardens. In the late afternoon the sunlight was the same rich gold colour that you found at ten at night in northern climes in high summer. It had a pleasant, mellow feel to it. It was even warm. He took off his jacket and walked with it slung over his shoulder.

  He tried to think of reasons for Siddiqui’s continuing presence as he strolled among beautiful trees, heavy with the sadness of a dying year. Could he or more likely others, be planning some kind of operation to recover the fragments he gave to Hammadi? It seemed doubtful. Getting into the institute would be no problem — he’d already seen that for himself, but outsiders wouldn’t know where to start looking once they were in. They’d quickly arouse suspicion and possibly create a major incident. Dewar took comfort from the fact that even if they were foolish enough to risk such an operation, there was nothing left for them to recover. Le Grice had destroyed all Hammadi’s stocks. So why did he still feel so edgy?

  He didn’t find the answer growing in any of the huge Victorian hothouses or floating in the placid waters of the lily pond among reflections of weeping willows. It wasn’t to be found in the tea room where he had tea and chocolate cake to the muted sound of Scottish country dance music or in the small cottage gallery that hosted an exhibition of modern art — although it could have been in one of the pictures. He just didn’t recognise it as the answer, or art for that matter.

  He spent the evening writing up his report for Sci-Med. In it he indicated that he believed there was an Iraqi intention to resurrect live smallpox virus. Ali Hammadi had been involved but it was not clear to what extent. A friend of Hammadi’s had witnessed the hand over of what was almost certainly illegal linear fragments of the virus DNA to Hammadi but it was unknown if Hammadi had actually done anything with these fragments before committing suicide. Nothing untoward had been found among the solutions and reagents he’d left behind in the lab, suggesting that he might have refused to cooperate and had possibly taken his own life to protect his family back home. Everything belonging to Hammadi in the lab had been destroyed but the Iraqis, for some worrying reason, still showed no signs of leaving the city. It would be up to WHO and the UN to decide what steps they should take to prevent them making any more attempts to get their hands on live virus.

  Dewar acknowledged the cooperation and excellent work by Inspector Grant of the Lothians and Borders police in identifying the Iraqis, Abbas and Siddiqui.

  Dewar read his report over twice and was satisfied after a few minor changes. He pressed the SEND button on the computer then switched it off after confirmation of transmission. He picked up the phone and called Karen at her work number. She was there.

  ‘Still got a bad feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ said Dewar. ‘And it’s getting worse by the day.’

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘Maybe not over the phone. How are the good folk of Kensington?’

  ‘Getting back to normal,’ said Karen. ‘The figures are right on the graph line for a Salmonella outbreak that’s had its source removed so we got that right. I’m looking forward to having an evening off.’

  ‘I’ll probably fly back some time tomorrow. We could go out to dinner?’

  ‘I feel more like flopping out. Why don’t you come round when you get back. I’ll rustle up something simple for us and you can tell me all about your problrms before we succumb to the lure of strong drink?’

  ‘And sex?’

  ‘Your honeyed words may win me over.’

  ‘Sounds good. ’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Karen. ‘Sometimes I worry about the intellectual plane of our relationship.’

  ‘Right now, horizontal sounds good to me.’

  ‘And sometimes I wonder why I bother,’ sighed Karen.

  ‘Because I’m so loveable?’ offered Dewar.

  ‘There has to be something else,’ groaned Karen.

  Dewar had hardly put the phone down when it rang again. It was Grant at police headquarters. Dewar looked at his watch. ‘Are you still on duty?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I could say yes and make a good impression,’ replied Grant. ‘But there was a bit of a do for one of the blokes who’s leaving. I just popped into the office on the way out and there was a message for me. Your friend Saadi.’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Dewar.

  ‘He was on the 7 o’clock shuttle to Heathrow. He’s on his way home.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Dewar under his breath. ‘It was my fault. I hope to God, being sent home is the only thing that’s going to happen to him.’

  ‘They should have nuked these buggers while they had the chance in Desert Storm. Nukin’ Norman would have sounded just as good as Stormin’. It even has …. what d’you call it?’’

  ‘Alliteration,’ said Dewar. ‘It’s just a case of one lousy regime that won’t go away. The ordinary people are basically no different from any other nation.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Grant sourly.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. Hear any more on Siddiqui?’

  ‘Huge embarrassment all round. He entered the UK as a delegate to an international scientific conference in Birmingham. It was a pretty clever way to come into the country, using his academic credentials without any reference to diplomatic status. Story is he came through Cyprus, Schippol and into Birmingham as one of a large contingent of scientists bound for the meeting; they used a charter flight. I wouldn’t like to be the guy who was on passport control that day. He’s gonna finish up as a lollipop man in Caithness. Apparently Siddiqui came up to Edinburgh after the meeting ended, ostensibly to visit Iraqi science students and see how they were getting on. All quite legal and above board.’

  During the night the weather changed. The wind got up and rain came in from the north west in great heavy but intermittent downpours. It was the sound of rain being driven against the window at 3am that woke Dewar. He got up to look out at windswept, deserted streets bathed in yellow sodium light with water pouring down the gutters in fast-flowing streams. It collected in pools above storm drains that were blocked with autumn leaves, creating a series of mini lakes that the occasional car ploughed through with caution.

  For some reason he started to think of Ali Hammadi and wondered where he had been buried. He supposed there must be a Moslem cemetery in Edinburgh. He seemed to remember that Moslems were traditionally buried as quickly as possible after death but couldn’t remember anything about how the faith viewed suicide, if he’d ever known. He wondered if it had excluded Hammadi from some promise of afterlife or affected his right to the ritual and ceremony of a funeral. He felt sorry for Hammadi, as far as he could determine, the evidence pointed to his suicide having been an act of bravery rather than guilt. He had laid down his life rather than take part in something that might have caused the death of many millions. Maybe some day the full story would be told. For the moment the thought of rain water gathering in puddles on Hammadi’s grave as he lay in a strange land thousands of miles from home, it accentuated the fickleness of fate as it applied to all mortals.

  He closed the curtains again and went back to bed but sleep was elusive as the rain kept up its tattoo on the window. He lay in the darkness thinking about what Grant had said about the involvement of other agencies in the watch on S
iddiqui. He would contact Sci-Med in the morning and ask that they make these agencies aware of Sci-Med’s interest in the man and his activities. This should be allied to a request that they keep their surveillance low key. On the other hand Siddiqui and Abbas should most definitely be stopped when they left the country. The pretext didn’t matter, it was a question of making sure they weren’t carrying anything on them of a biological nature. They may not have handed over all their stocks of smallpox DNA fragments to Hammadi. If not this would be a good opportunity to get hold of them and destroy them. If by any chance — and against all the odds — Hammadi had actually done what they’d asked of him and had delivered the goods before killing himself it would also be the moment to stop either viral DNA or even live virus leaving the country. He would feel a lot happier with such a safeguard in place.

  In the event, Sci-Med asked him to report in person when he contacted them in the morning. He caught a flight at lunchtime and was at the Home Office by two thirty. He went straight there; there was no time to go to the flat so he left his travel bag and computer case in Jean Roberts’ office while he went in to see Macmillan.

  ‘So you think there was something in this smallpox scare after all?’ said MacLean.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Dewar. ‘Hammadi working with fragments of the virus and having the necessary skills, the presence of Siddiqui in the city, Hammadi’s subsequent suicide. It all adds up.’

  MacLean nodded sagely. ‘But you’re convinced nothing came of it?’

  ‘I’m as sure as I can be in the circumstances,’ replied Dewar. ‘I think if Hammadi had delivered the goods Siddiqui and his sidekick would have left immediately. As it is, they’re still there.’

  Macmillan raised his eyebrows and Dewar said, ‘I know, that raises another question but anything that Hammadi had been working with was either destroyed or re-allocated after his death.’

  ‘It’s a pity they didn’t find any incriminating evidence of what he’d been asked to do,’ said Macmillan.

  ‘The scientist who cleared out Hammadi’s reagent bottles certainly didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary,’ said Dewar. ‘But he concedes that there were unlabelled tubes and also tubes with labels that he couldn’t decipher among Hammadi’s stocks. In the circumstances I don’t suppose Hammadi would have put warning signs and a skull and crossbones on them.’