The Malthus Pandemic

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 64

  At six thirty, barely two hours after Jimmy had driven me back to his hotel, there was a knock on the door. Dripping wet from the shower and with my face covered in shaving foam, I opened it. It was Jimmy.

  "Couldn't you sleep either, Jimmy?"

  "No. You want to know what I did instead?"

  I looked at the lanky Kenyan who clearly hadn't washed or changed recently.

  "Tell me."

  "After I dropped you I went back to the Shah Medicals site. Using my keys I went inside. It's empty, Daniel. Nothing is left. Everything in the office is gone except an empty filing cabinet. The packaging equipment is gone, the boxes are gone, everything is gone. Dawn was breaking so I locked up and came here."

  Jimmy was sat on the bed. I was standing by the window still holding the razor.

  "They've decamped. Jimmy. Used the site for what they wanted, brought in a few temporary staff to do a few jobs under Lunneau's supervision, used them for a while, then sacked them and finally killed off the remaining three. Nobody can deny that GOB isn't efficient. And scattering their operations around various locations across Africa and elsewhere also looks deliberate to me. That way they become virtually untraceable. GOB is an expert in just this type of operation."

  Jimmy nodded. He then lay back with his head on the crumpled pillow. I was still talking. "Well, we know where GOB is, or was, three hours ago. The bodies will probably have been dumped somewhere outside Nairobi and the hundreds of boxes of inhalers and ampoules that you saw and photographed have been moved. But where? They can't be too far away at present but they could be flown out and sent anywhere within hours. "

  I pulled the curtains at the window and looked out. The sky was turning a mixture of grey and pink. But what Jimmy had just told me was my worst fear. By knowing where at least some of the virus, vaccine, drug treatment, or whatever it was, was being stored, it would have been easier for whatever law enforcement bodies we could involve to deal with. Now? Other than Jimmy's photographs and some other possible forensic evidence that could be gleaned, we were back to square one.

  "Let's go and see if GOB has woken up yet, Jimmy," I said and turned around. Jimmy was fast asleep.

  Leaving Jimmy to sleep on my bed, I resumed my shower and shave. Then I checked my mobile phone. There was a text message from Colin. "Please call me for an update asap. Also Virex Boston are looking for you."

  I checked my watch. It was still the middle of the night in London, late evening in Boston. I'd do my catching up later. For now, GOB was on my mind. Leaving Jimmy where he was, I left him a message, "Gone to find GOB - Dan." Then I took a taxi to the five star Sankara Hotel.

  One look inside the hotel was enough to convince me that Greg O'Brian, GOB, travelled in style. From his big, rented Mercedes to the best hotel in the heart of Nairobi's Westlands district surrounded by the best shops, restaurants, bars and big international businesses, this was the place to be for a wealthy businessman who wanted to be seen to be doing well by the rich and famous. But it was unlikely that O'Brian was there to chair a board meeting of Livingstone Pharmaceuticals at its African headquarters. No, Livingstone was deliberately kept low key - just high enough to warrant a bit of respect in the right places but low enough so that he could still use it as a screen for whatever other money making schemes he was involved in. So GOB would be enjoying the opulence but ignoring the opportunities it provided to rub shoulders and socialise.

  As far as I knew, Livingstone had no official presence in Kenya except through a very loose arrangement with Shah Medicals, and Shah Medicals had, as Jimmy had just reported, been closed down overnight. Perhaps that had been his sole reason for coming to Nairobi - to oversee the final closing ceremony complete with three murders.

  I strolled in off the street with no plan on my mind other than to have a look around and see what turned up. But it was a good time to arrive. There was the usual breakfast-time flurry of check-out activity around the reception area, breakfasts were being taken and trolleys of baggage were being wheeled around. Two mini buses were parked outside and a loud party of Chinese tourists took up a large space just inside the entrance.

  I walked in amongst them and went straight to the reception desk.

  "I understand there is a meeting booked for today - Livingstone Pharmaceuticals?"

  The smart receptionist checked his list. "No, sir, I don't see that."

  "It might be in the name Shah Medicals?"

  "No, sir."

  "Al Zafar?"

  "No sir, sorry sir."

  "I see. Is Mr Greg O'Brian a guest here at the moment?"

  "Sorry sir but I am not allowed to give out the names of guests."

  "Sorry to trouble you. Perhaps he'll arrive very soon. If I may, I'll wait here for a while."

  "Of course, sir. If you need breakfast, the restaurant is open to non residents."

  I decided to find a seat somewhere. GOB had definitely gone into the hotel four hours earlier. I'd just sat down when my phone rang. It was Jimmy. "You want me to join you, Daniel?"

  "Yes" I said, "It's lonely sat here waiting just to see what turns up. But don't ask me to buy you breakfast - it's too expensive."

  But no sooner had I pocketed the phone and picked up a newspaper to read when a tall, white man in a blue, open-necked shirt caught my attention. He had taken a seat not four yards away and was sat with a brief case on the floor by his feet. I knew I had seen him before and it soon came to me. This was the Livingstone Pharmaceuticals manager I'd seen in the Bangkok bar with Walt Daniels - the same man I'd spoken to next day on the Livingstone trade stand. His name was Sam Marshall so if Sam Marshall was here, the boss must be too. I took a chance, got up and walked over. "Sam Marshall?"

  The tall American looked up from his paper. "Uh, yeh," he said but remained seated.

  "Ian McCann. We met at the Bangkok Infectious Diseases Conference."

  "OK. Yeh, I was there," he replied, clearly non too interested and he'd probably forgotten anyway.

  "I spoke to your boss Greg O'Brian about some students looking to work in Kenya. I'd heard Livingstone were setting up here."

  Sam Marshall still didn't stand up. "Is that right?"

  "So, how's it going? Up and running?"

  "That's why I'm here. You'd need to speak to Greg." Sam Marshall then picked up his newspaper as if he had no wish to be spoken to. Hmm, I thought. Either I've touched a sensitive nerve or the man merely possesses an unfriendly streak..

  "Is Greg here?" I asked.

  "Should have been here at seven thirty," he said looking at his watch.

  "Any chance I could have a word?"

  "Unlikely," Sam Marshall eventually looked up from his paper. "You can always try."

  "My appointment hasn't turned up yet either." I said. "If Greg turns up before mine, I'll be sat right there." I tried smiling and pointed to the chair I'd been sitting in. Sam Marshall nodded.

  But it was Jimmy who turned up next and knowing Jimmy's style, I decided to intercept his chatter before he had a chance to open his mouth. We were only a few metres from Sam Marshall - easy hearing distance.

  "Morning, Jimmy. Did you get my message? The appointment with the university is at ten and I've got six students lined up for interviews. They've been told to ask for me, Ian McCann. We should be finished by midday."

  Jimmy scratched his head and looked at me. "And I've just bumped into someone I met in Bangkok at the Infectious Diseases Conference - he's sat just there waiting for his boss to arrive - guy called Greg O'Brian. Small world."

  Jimmy glanced in the direction that I had nodded. "Sorry I'm late," he said, "Late night. I overslept."

  "Shall we get a coffee?" I said and ushered Jimmy away - not far but just out of earshot.

  "OK, you're Jimmy Banda from the University, I'm Doctor Ian McCann from Malaysia. Let's just hang around, Jimmy. See what transpires. Take a seat."

  It was half an hour before the lift opened and Greg O'Brian emerged. Hardly
dressed to impress in a crumpled white shirt and dark trousers, he looked as if he had just got up. This was my first daylight close-up since Bangkok. O'Brian sauntered past, in the direction of where Sam Marshall was still sitting. Marshall stood up, they shook hands. O'Brian slumped into the chair next to him but they hardly looked at one another. O'Brian yawned. There was little in the way of obvious conversation. Marshall opened his case and came out with a writing pad. O'Brian said something and pointed with his hand. Marshall wrote something down. Then O'Brian got up, sauntered back towards the lift, pressed the button and disappeared again. Marshall stayed seated, slid the pad into his case and stood up.

  "Stay here, Jimmy," I said and went over to intercept Marshall.

  "Did I see Greg O'Brian just then?" I asked.

  Marshall, still fastening his case, looked up. "Sure. I got a glimpse of him myself."

  "Is he coming back?"

  "No idea, man. I got my instructions and that's it."

  "Will you be seeing him again?"

  "Shouldn't think so. He's heading off today."

  "I'd better be quick then," I said.

  "I wouldn't bother, my friend, he's always in a fucking hurry."

  "Ah well, if you see him tell him you met Ian McCann from the Bangkok Conference will you?"

  "Sure," Marshall said and walked away.

  I returned to Jimmy. "Follow Marshall, see where he goes. I'll wait here."

  It was another mistake. Yes, I make them. This was a bigger one than most. But that's the business I'm in.