by Wilbur Smith
‘Cyndex 25 has a unique and highly aggressive combination of properties. These are high toxicity, rapid action, percutaneous effectiveness as well as absorption through the lungs and mucous membrane of the human body. Other advantages are high cost-effective ratios. By reason of its dual chemical structure, it is safe to manufacture, store and handle. Once the two agents which make up Cyndex 25 are mixed, the gas becomes highly unstable and has an extremely short effective lifespan. Thus it is more readily controlled in the field. After the elimination of the threatened population, the treated terrain can be more swiftly taken under friendly control.’
He beamed down the table at them benignly. ‘I would like now to discuss each of these properties in greater detail. Let us take the question of toxicity. Cyndex in either vapour or aerosol form absorbed through the lungs has an LD50 dosage’ – he smiled apologetically – ‘which means that it will kill fifty per cent of the threatened population of moderately active adult men in two minutes, and a hundred per cent of the population in ten minutes. This is not significantly more rapid than Sarin, but it is in its percutaneous effect that Cyndex comes into its own. It is absorbed much more rapidly through the skin, the eyes, the nose, the throat and the digestive system than Sarin. One microlitre of Cyndex – and I remind you that is a millionth part of a litre – applied to naked skin will incapacitate a man in two minutes and kill in fifteen minutes. This is approximately four times more potent than Sarin. Although atrophine injected intravenously within thirty seconds may inhibit the process and reduce some of the symptoms, it will not arrest spontaneous collapse of the respiratory system and subsequent death by suffocation. I will come later to the specific symptoms of exposure to the agent, but let us now discuss the cost of manufacture. Please turn to page twelve of the dossier.’
They obeyed like schoolchildren, and Werner Stolz went on: ‘You will see from the bottom line of our estimate that at this point in time the plant will cost in the region of twenty million US dollars and the direct cost of manufacture will amount to twenty dollars per kilo.’
Isabella wondered, even in the stress of listening to these horrific details, why the use of newspeak clichés such as ‘bottom line’ and ‘this point in time’ annoyed her so. I wish he would speak plain English, she thought, as if that would somehow make the facts more palatable. Werner was still speaking.
‘Translated into comparative terms that means that the entire plant would cost the same as a single Harrier jet fighter from British Aerospace and the cost of manufacture of a stock of Cyndex sufficient to ensure the defence of the country for twelve months would be equivalent to the purchase of fifty Sidewinder air-to-air missiles . . .’
‘That’s an offer we just can’t refuse,’ Garry chuckled, and Isabella felt a stab of hatred for him that shocked her with its intensity.
How can he joke about something like this? She dared not look up at him. He might have read her thoughts. Werner nodded and smiled agreement with Garry.
‘Of course, Cyndex needs no special vehicle for dissemination. Ordinary crop-sprayer aircraft such as those in day-to-day use in agricultural situations can be readily adapted for the purpose. The gas may also be delivered by artillery projectile. The new G5 long-range howitzer being developed at present by Armscor would be ideal.’
At noon they broke for a swim in the pool and a buffet lunch on the terrace. The discussion dwelt largely on Elsa and Shasa’s recent visit to the Salzburg Festival where Herbert von Karajan had directed the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. They went back into the dining-room to listen to a description of the symptoms of Cyndex 25 poisoning.
‘Although it has never been tested on human subjects, we have determined that the symptoms of a moderate exposure to Cyndex aerosol will not differ greatly from other G agent nerve gases,’ Werner told them. ‘These would commence with a sensation of tightness in the chest and difficulty in breathing, followed by copious running of the nose and a burning, stinging pain in the eyes and a dimming of vision.’
Isabella felt her own eyes begin to sting in sympathy, and she dabbed at them surreptitiously.
‘As these symptoms become progressively more intense, there will be heavy salivation and frothing at the mouth, sweating and trembling, nausea and belching, sensations of heartburn and stomach cramps which will lead swiftly to projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhoea. These will be followed by involuntary urination and bleeding from the mucous membrane of the eyes, nose, mouth and genitalia. Trembling, twitching and giddiness and muscle cramps will lead to paralysis and convulsions.
‘However, the immediate cause of death will be total collapse of the respiratory system. Cyndex owes its superior toxicity to the ease with which it penetrates the blood–brain barrier in the central nervous system.’
They were silent and subdued for a full minute after Werner finished, and then Garry asked softly: ‘If Cyndex has never been used on human subjects, how do you anticipate these symptoms?’
‘Initially by extrapolation with the effects of other G agent nerve gases, Sarin in particular.’ Werner Stolz paused, for the first time showing some sign of embarrassment. ‘Thereafter the gas was tested on primate subjects.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Chimpanzees were used in laboratory tests.’
With an effort Isabella prevented herself making some gesture of disgust and outrage. However, her horror became almost uncontrollable as the director went on remorselessly: ‘We found, however, that chimpanzees are extremely expensive laboratory animals. You are fortunate in that you have access to an almost unlimited supply of cheap and entirely satisfactory laboratory animals in the shape of Papio ursinus, the chacma baboon, which is indigenous to South Africa and still occurs there in large numbers.’
‘We aren’t going to test on live animals?’ Isabella’s voice was shrill even in her own ears, and immediately she regretted the outburst and tried to recover her poise. ‘I mean, is it really necessary?’
They were all staring at her now, and she flushed with anger at her own lack of self-control. It was Garry who broke the silence.
He spoke lightly, but there was a steely glint behind the lenses of his spectacles. ‘The baboon is not my favourite animal. I have seen them kill the newborn lambs at Camdeboo to eat the milk curds in their stomachs. Nana will tell you about their depredations on her roses and vegetable garden. I am sure we all share your distaste and your reluctance to see unnecessary suffering inflicted on any living thing.’ He paused. ‘However, in this instance we are considering the defence of the country, the safety of our nation – and the expenditure of many millions of Courtney money.’
He looked across at Shasa, who nodded agreement.
‘The short answer is, I am afraid, yes. We must test. Better that some animals should die than our own people. It is not a pretty thought, but it is essential. I’m sorry, Bella. If it offends you, then you don’t have to have anything further to do with the project. You can resign your seat on the Capricorn board and we’ll say no more about it. We will all understand and respect your feelings.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I understand the necessity.
I’m sorry I raised the subject.’ She realized how close she had come to letting Nicholas and Ramón down. Their safety and freedom were worth any price she might be forced to pay. She forced herself to smile and speak lightly: ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll keep my seat, thank you very much.’
Garry studied her face for a second longer, then he nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad we have settled that.’ And he turned his full attention back to Werner Stolz.
Isabella composed her expression into one of polite attention and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘This is one project that Red Rose will have no qualms about reporting,’ she promised herself.
Isabella sent the Red Rose despatch three days after she arrived back in Cape Town. Over the years a routine had developed between her and the forces that controlled her. When she had information she sent a Red Rose telegram to the address in
London and usually within twenty-four hours she received instructions for a dead drop. These always took the same form. She was given the time and location at which to park her Porsche. The location was always a public carpark. Sometimes the Parade at the old fort, or a drive-in cinema, or one of the large supermarkets in the suburbs.
She wrote out her message on sheets of the one-time pad and left them in an envelope under the driver’s seat with the door unlocked. When she returned to the Porsche half an hour or so later the envelope was missing. When they had a message or instructions for her the same method was employed, except only that when she returned to the Porsche there was an envelope containing typed instructions under the driver’s seat.
At the end of the conference at Maison des Alizés Garry had personally collected all the leather-covered dossiers and seen to the shredding of the contents. He was very concerned that no detail of the Cyndex project fall into unauthorized hands. Isabella had made a few careful notes during the discussions, but he had relieved her of these also.
‘Don’t you trust me, Teddy Bear?’ She had made a joke of it, and though he chuckled he had been adamant.
‘I don’t even trust myself.’ And he had held out his hand for her notepad. ‘You want to remember any details, you come and ask me, Bella, but you don’t write down anything – I mean anything.’
She knew better than to make an issue of it.
Even though she had no notes to refer to, the Red Rose report that she sent was shaky only in the area of the chemical composition of Cyndex 25. She knew that it was an organophosphate of the G group of nerve gases but could not recall the exact atomic structure of the constituent parts or the sequence of manufacture. However, she gave them the proposed location of the plant and the tentative timetable for construction. The forecast was that the plant would be in production within seven months.
At this stage the only ingredient that needed to be imported was a phosphate precursor – again she was uncertain of the exact chemical structure of this agent. However, she was able to report that the reason that this catalyst could not be manufactured in South Africa – at least, for the time being – was that the correct grade of stainless steel for the redoubt in which it was mixed was not obtainable locally. However, the state-owned steel works of ISCOR would work on the production of this grade of steel and it was anticipated that they would be able to supply within eighteen months. After that time Cyndex would be a hundred per cent locally manufactured. In the meantime the precursor would be supplied through a Pignatelli front company in Taipei who were already holding stocks sufficient for the first year of operation of the Capricorn plant.
Apart from the problem with the supply of chemical-grade stainless steel, the other difficulty that the conference had foreseen was the availability of skilled technicians to operate the plant. Pignatelli Chemicals had declined to provide any personnel. It was anticipated that these would be recruited in Britain or in Israel. The conference had placed emphasis on the security clearance of any foreign technicians who were thus engaged.
The rest of Isabella’s report covered the transportation, storage and dissemination of the gas in battlefield situations. Both Puma helicopters and Impala jet fighters of the South African air force could be adapted to serve as delivery vehicles. In addition, work would begin immediately on the design and testing of a shell for the G5 howitzer which would be designated ‘155 mm CW (Chemical Warfare) ERFB Cargo’. This shell would deliver eleven kilos of Cyndex 25 to a maximum range of thirty-five kilometres. The rotation of the shell in flight would centrifugally open valves in the cargo-head and mix the two constituent ingredients of the gas prior to impact in the target area.
She was fully aware of the value of this information and so she was emboldened to add a final line to the twenty-six pages of her report.
‘Red Rose requests access as soon as possible.’
She waited anxiously for a reaction to her request after she had delivered it. There was none.
As time passed with no reply she understood that she was being punished for her impertinence, and at first she was defiant. Then as the weeks became months she started to become truly worried. At the end of the second month she sent an abject apology to the London accommodation address.
‘Red Rose regrets importunate request for access. No insubordination was contemplated. Awaiting further orders.’
It was another month before those orders came. She was instructed to use any means necessary to ensure that she was a member of the team from Capricorn Chemicals that would travel to London and Israel to interview and recruit personnel for the operation of the Cyndex plant.
Isabella had difficulty imagining how she could justify any claim to be a member of the recruiting team. What possible reason could she give Garry that would not immediately arouse his suspicions as to her motives? She agonized over this for weeks before the next board meeting of CCI, and then at the meeting itself it all fell into place with an ease that amazed her.
The subject of recruitment came up at the meeting, even though it was not on the agenda, and Isabella saw her opportunity and gave her views on the subject in an impromptu but articulate and well-reasoned address.
When she finished, she saw that she had impressed Garry, and he remarked in not entirely jocular fashion: ‘Perhaps we should send you to do the job, Dr Courtney.’
She shrugged, not to appear over-eager. ‘Why not? I could fit in a little shopping – I need a few new frocks.’
‘Typical woman,’ Garry sighed, but six weeks later she found herself back in the Cadogan Square flat. The personnel manager of CCI was ensconced in the Berkeley Hotel, only a short walk from Cadogan Square. The two of them conducted the preliminary interviews in the dining-room of the flat.
The night she arrived in London, there was an anonymous phone caller. She did not recognize the voice. The message was simple.
‘Red Rose. Tomorrow you will interview Benjamin Afrika. Make certain that he is selected.’
She couldn’t place the name, so she looked up the application in her file. To her surprise she found that Benjamin Afrika had been born in Cape Town. This, however, seemed to be his strongest claim to the job on offer. Despite the fact that his academic qualifications were good, he was really too young – only twenty-four years of age. He had four A-levels and a BSc in chemical engineering from Leeds University with two years’ experience as a scientific assistant with Imperial Chemical Industries at one of their factories near Liverpool. At the salary they were offering she could have found a hundred applicants with similar or better qualifications in South Africa.
She could not squeeze him into any of the vacant senior posts. There were, however, two more junior positions to fill.
Benjamin Afrika was the third interviewee on the morning’s list. He walked into the Cadogan Square dining-room at eleven o’clock in the morning, and Isabella felt herself go icy cold with panic.
Benjamin Afrika was a coloured man, but this was not what caused her consternation. Benjamin Afrika was her half-brother, the man whom she knew as Ben Gama, bastard son of her mother and the notorious terrorist and black revolutionary Moses Gama.
So great was the shock of seeing him that she was unable to utter a word. A host of turbulent thoughts tumbled in confusion through her mind as she stared at Benjamin. She thought how his name, and the name of Tara Courtney, their mother, was never mentioned at Weltevreden – even after all these years the scandal and tragedy surrounding them cast a dark shadow over the family. How would it be possible for her to secure employment for Benjamin in one of the Courtney companies? Nana would have a hernia, and Pater would throw a blue fit. Then there was Garry . . .
Fortunately for Isabella, the CCI personnel manager was also evincing symptoms of acute distress, but the source of his concern was much more straightforward than Isabella’s. It was merely the colour of Benjamin’s skin. In the long pregnant pause that followed Benjamin’s entry, Isabella was able to take control of herself again
and bring some order to her jumbled emotions. Benjamin had shown no sign of recognition, and she took her lead from him.
Abruptly the CCI manager leapt to his feet. To compensate for his initial reaction he now became over-effusive and ducked round the desk to seize Benjamin’s hand.
‘I’m David Meekin, head of personnel at CCI. I’m delighted to meet you, young man,’ he babbled enthusiastically, and pulled out a chair for Benjamin. ‘We have been studying your credentials and your CV. Very impressive – I mean truly impressive.’
He seated Benjamin and offered him a cigarette. ‘This is Dr Courtney who is a director of CCI,’ Meekin introduced them.
Benjamin half-rose from his seat and made a small bow. ‘How do you do, ma’am.’
Isabella did not trust herself to speak. She nodded and then gave all her attention to Benjamin’s letter of application while Meekin began the interview.
He asked the usual questions about the work that Benjamin had done at ICI, and his reasons for wanting this job, but clearly Meekin’s heart was not in the task. He wanted to get it over with. Meanwhile, Isabella was working out her own plans. If she had not recognized Ben’s name, Afrika, then it was highly unlikely that anyone else at home would do so, either. Apart from Michael, no other member of the family, as far as she knew, had ever met Ben. There was no reason why they ever should. He would be a junior employee in one of a hundred factories in a town over a thousand miles from Weltevreden. Michael, of course, could be relied on to support her and Ben completely.
David Meekin had no more questions to ask, and he glanced at Isabella enquiringly.
‘I see you were born in Cape Town, Mr Afrika,’ she spoke for the first time. ‘Do you still have South African citizenship? You haven’t taken naturalized British citizenship?’
‘No, Dr Courtney,’ Ben shook his head. ‘I am still a South African. I have a passport issued by South Africa House here in London.’
‘Good. Can you tell us something about your family? Do they still live in Cape Town?’