by Alex Caan
‘DCI Riley,’ said Dr Kapoor. Her voice was higher pitched, excited almost. ‘I think I have a name for you.’
Chapter Nine
Dr Kapoor had kept herself busy as they waited for the hazmat team to arrive.
‘I will not be letting my team anywhere near the body until I know what we are dealing with. I’ll do the autopsy and any other forensic work that needs to be done once we’re at the hospital.’
‘They will still need to process the crime scene,’ Kate had said. ‘There must be a hell of a lot of evidence that needs to be collected and sifted through.’
‘That’s fine, and they will, but only under heavy supervision from PHE and DCD. They have a response team there, they need to be alerted.’
Kate didn’t like the sound of that. Public Health England or the Department for Communicable Diseases being informed would widen the pool of people that could potentially leak information. Yet she knew it had to happen, if it hadn’t already.
‘I’ll leave it with PCC Hope to orchestrate,’ she said. Her stock answer for anything difficult she needed time to deal with. He had some uses.
Kate had joined the PCC’s Unit 3 with great ambition, taking a role she finally thought might bring her back into the guts of a capital city. She hoped for the big cases, the complicated ones that would test her, that required her. Over the months, sitting in witness protection, Kate had felt the mould start to set in. Unit 3 was meant to be her greatest achievement, a fuck you to the men that had destroyed her and her mother. The men she had in turn also helped to destroy.
Only what she found working for Justin Hope was another man who was using his position to his advantage. Helping those he felt he needed, or who would be of benefit to him, practicing law enforcement at the highest political levels, just this side of corruption. Just like her father. Only her father had well and truly crossed that line.
For now though, Kate was stuck with PCC Hope, and she was learning to live with him as her direct supervisor. Her previous manager had gone off work due to illness after clashing with PCC Hope and had never come back.
Kate wasn’t sure where her loyalty lay, but she couldn’t leave her team to PCC Hope’s political machinations. The teams under him had expanded considerably, more of the Met’s budget had been allocated to him, so he was distracted these days. It meant that she had some freedom at least. But a potential murder with a biological weapon, in his and The Queen’s backyard, would surely have him suffocating her once again.
She walked over to the pathologist, who was crouched low near the body. Kate felt as though she had given up the pretence that they would be safe. The blood spatter had caught them both, so they had been exposed to whatever it contained. Dr Kapoor had explained that it wasn’t some creature harbouring inside the victim that had caused the pustule to explode, but a build-up of gasses. It was normal during the decay process, and might explain the abnormal temperature readings. It felt like being trapped in an episode of The X-Files, too surreal. So she would do what she did best, which was cling to the logic involved in procedure.
‘What is it?’ Kate said, bracing herself. Dr Kapoor looked confused at her words. ‘You have a name?’
‘I don’t mean for the pathogen or whatever we’re dealing with. I mean for the victim.’
Kate felt excitement bristle through her, her senses alert, despite the stress of the situation.
‘How did you manage that?’
‘The good old-fashioned way. Searched his pockets.’
Dr Kapoor handed Kate a wallet. It was empty except for an ID. Issued as standard by the government to all its employees, the lion and unicorn prominent in one corner. She had read it represented England, the lion, and Scotland, the unicorn. If Scotland ever became independent what would happen to the mythical creature?
The man’s face was clear in a passport-sized photo; he had been attractive, in what was probably his late forties if the picture was recent. He had a preppy-style cut to his hair and his face was angular, his eyes brown.
Her heart skipped when she read the name, and the job title.
‘You’ve got a live one,’ said Dr Kapoor.
I’ve got an absolute nightmare, Kate was thinking. PCC Hope would definitely be all over this one, as would half of Whitehall and the secret services, given the apparent nature of the death. GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL DIES THROUGH SUSPECTED BIOLOGICAL WARFARE ATTACK. If it was him of course; the face had sunk so badly it was hard to tell. And it was odd that the wallet was empty except for the ID. As though it was there on purpose.
‘There’s no department name,’ Kate said. ‘He could work for any of the branches of the Civil Service.’
‘Yes, but whichever one it is, he’s pretty much heading it up. And I think a Google search would easily tell us.’
Kate took the hint, and searched the name on her phone, but didn’t get time to explore further as she heard the ambulances containing the hazmat teams pull up.
Chapter Ten
Kate bit back her anxiety as the ambulances emptied. She was faced with ten individuals, moving in groups, heading towards her. James Alliack swore, his breathing now laboured, as panic took hold of him completely.
A man with brown eyes and heavy brows came close to Kate. There was a team of two around him, a man and a woman, dressed in the same blue suits and clear face helmets.
‘Professor Nick Gerard,’ he told her. ‘I’m leading the MDTs, coordinating your safe passage to the Royal Free. You’re DCI Kate Riley I take it?’
Kate nodded.
‘So the procedure will be as follows. One team will contain and transport the deceased. The others will be responsible for yourself and your colleagues. We are going to decontaminate you and dress you in biohazard suits, and then place you all into the back of our ambulances. Does that make sense?’
None of this made any sense to Kate, but she nodded silently again, showing her understanding.
‘We have a containment unit ready, that will allow us to work on the body without coming into contact with it. We’ve also set up an autopsy suite in a mobile isolation unit back at the Royal Free, to minimise risk to others. We need to conduct an autopsy at speed, get the remains tested, try and identify what pathogens might have caused this. Hopefully conclude that there were none, and that the marks on the body are a result of something else entirely.’
‘I like your optimism.’
‘Essential when faced with a crisis such as this. I was responsible for treating the Ebola victims. I had to compartmentalise back then, and I will do so again now. Let’s not panic, until we have to.’
‘And will we have to? If you find that this is worth worrying about?’
His eyes grew darker, and stared intensely into her own.
‘We have procedures in place, DCI Riley. For every eventuality. Even this.’
Kate called Hope to update him. She didn’t tell him about the ID, only that Dr Kapoor suspected a Category A virus. Category A’s, she went on to drive home the point, included diseases like Ebola, plague (bubonic, septicemic, pneumonic) and smallpox. Hope had let her speak without interruption for once, actually listening to what she said.
‘I am going to be in isolation at the Royal Free. I will be asking Zain Harris to take the lead on this for now.’
‘You think your team are still best placed to carry out this investigation? I think we should hand it over to PHE or DCD. It’s beyond our remit to deal with something like this.’
‘I know, but until we’re sure, we can’t create mass hysteria. People think Cat A’s are airborne, or you can get them from close proximity.’
‘If the victim was leaking blood in the way you have suggested, anything is possible.’
‘Of course, sir. I just think if you let us carry out this initial part of the investigation, we can probably get some answers that would be delayed if too many people are involved.’
‘I hear you,’ he said. Then silence as he pondered his next move. She always imagine
d him like Cardinal Richelieu from The Three Musketeers, always plotting. ‘I am going to be speaking to my counterparts across the services later today, they will be made aware and put on high alert. I will ask them to let us lead on this, and I will ensure a media blackout. I know how they think and what they can offer us. You have four hours to carry out your investigation.’
Kate would take it. It meant four hours in which there wasn’t a mass panic and a breakdown in everything that was normal. It would have to be enough, she just hoped they could get some answers quickly.
She ended the call as the MDT began to spray her with infection control liquid. It smelt like bleach, and stung her eyes and nose.
‘I hope that’s not corrosive,’ she said.
No one spoke, as they began dressing her in a biohazard suit. It felt odd, the heavy plastic being put over her forensic coverings. She felt uncomfortable and started to sweat, despite the frozen air around her.
The last thing to go on was her helmet. It felt leaden, the breathing apparatus attached to the back causing the whole thing to feel weighed down. It was switched on, her breath now being filtered before it was released, and any air coming in also cleansed.
Dressed in the hazmat suit, breathing as though in a sci-fi movie, she was then sprayed again. This time she couldn’t smell the bleach, the suit she wore impenetrable even by molecules stuck to the air.
Professor Gerard walked close to her.
‘Follow me to the ambulance assigned to you.’
Kate did as he requested. She spotted the MDT responsible for moving the body into a plastic bag. For a moment she imagined herself in a similar position, her own lifeless body being carried by strangers to be disposed of. She shuddered, despite the clawing heat of the layers of protective clothing she wore.
The MDT walked her to a line of ambulances. What looked like a giant protective cot for premature babies was waiting by one. It was zipped open and the body was placed inside. There were plastic holes cut around it, which were plastic arm covers, with gloves attached at the ends. She remembered seeing the same when the Ebola patients were treated; they allowed doctors to touch the patients without there being any actual contact.
The body was placed inside the ambulance, and Kate saw Dr Kapoor get into another one. Again she looked quite calm. James Alliack was being carried into a third ambulance, supported on either side by members of his MDT. Kate suspected he had been given a sedative to calm him down. Satisfied that everyone was safe, Kate climbed into her ambulance.
Inside was a plastic sheet. She was asked to step behind it, before it was sealed, like a zip lock freezer bag. She was now contained in half the ambulance, as the rest of the MDT got in. The doors shut behind them, and the vehicle started to make its way to the Royal Free.
Chapter Eleven
Zain got into his Audi A6, his official assigned ride from the Commissioner. He thought he might have got an upgrade on his return, although Stevie had pointed out quite quickly that he was lucky they didn’t demote him and give him a banged-up second-hand vehicle.
DS Stevie Brennan had thawed a lot since Zain’s return. She’d hated him to begin with and tried to antagonise and block him at every opportunity. Pissed off that he got a promotion over her, to act as DCI Kate Riley’s second in command, she had made her annoyance clear. Things happen though, and people change. Stevie had been through some major shit of her own, and it had brought them closer. They weren’t exactly best mates, but there was something there.
Zain started the car up, ready to follow the ambulances. The Royal Free was the only centre in London geared up to deal with potentially lethal outbreaks. He dreaded to think what would happen if this was such an outbreak. How would they cope with the demand?
He had arranged for there to be police escorts on motorbikes with the ambulance, and also an unmarked car in case back up was needed. The PCC hadn’t started out with many staff, so previously any serious investigation always meant winding up the Met by stealing their staff and resources to help out. A new recruitment drive however had brought in a host of new officers, mainly ex-Met ironically, with money taken from the Met itself. It now meant that there were enough bodies on the ground at the PCC headquarters to allow some tasks to be done in-house.
He switched his stereo on. Sufi music his grandfather had sent him. Arabic religious chants against the duff drum, recorded in Konya where the dervishes ruled the spiritual waves. It was great music to think to. He used it to practise his Krav Maga routines sometimes. An Israeli martial art to Arabic incantations. A kind of peace in the Middle East.
Zain was all about the peace these days. He was so fucked up by the drama of his life that he needed any calm he could find. His own past, the bad choices he’d made, and the addictions he used to keep his nightmares curtailed. Every day felt like breathing in sludge, taking in a lung full, and choking. He slammed his steering wheel to the beats of the music, and pulled out into the traffic. His phone rang as he set his satnav to the hospital. He pressed inside his steering wheel; it was DCI Kate Riley.
‘How are you even calling?’ he asked, trying to quiet the voice inside him that said how great it felt to hear from her, know she sounded OK.
‘They have comms built into these suits, so I can use my phone. And yes, I’m using the secure app you and Michelle sent over,’ she explained, although sounding slightly pissed off that she had to. ‘Harris, I have a name for you. Potentially. Dr Kapoor found ID on the victim, are you OK to follow up? And you need to treat this with the utmost care. Only when you are sure we have the right person, and that this isn’t some plant, do I want you to take it to Hope.’
It was still there wasn’t it, he thought. The trust issue. He didn’t blame her, but still, it hurt. Zain had been conflicted after his initial recruitment to Unit 3. It followed on from his kidnap and torture ordeal, his medical reports declaring him unfit, but Hope ignoring them on the say of Zain’s ex-boss and mentor from SO15, DCI Raymond Cross. PCC Hope had then asked Zain to carry out surveillance on DCI Kate Riley and her team for him, something he was ashamed he had done. That was his past though, one of the many fucked-up things he had done. He just wished Kate could get beyond it. It only added to his confusion when dealing with her. If she didn’t trust him, why had she bothered to save him so many times? Why did she build that bridge, one where Zain had become dependent on her kindness. Loving and hating her at the same time.
‘Yeah sure,’ he said. Casual, cool, unaffected. He listened as she told him the name on the ID. He whistled. ‘What the actual fuck? How is that possible? That’s going to put some real crap on us, we’re going to have all sorts sniffing around. My old bosses for one.’
‘I am aware of that. At present only myself and Dr Kapoor know the details, and I would like it to stay that way.’
‘You know that just means this might be something way beyond what we thought? Government arsehole gets whacked by some weird biological shit? This is going to be nuclear when it gets out.’
‘Which it isn’t, not until we’re sure anyway.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘PCC Hope’s given us four hours to carry out our investigation. After that, we lose control of it.’
Zain changed direction and drove in silence, before parking by the PCC head office. They were now just off Whitehall, the building entered through an archway that was hidden unless you knew it was there. The outside was the brown-yellow stone familiar to all the buildings around there, stolid and historical in its look. But the inside had been revamped with the latest technology.
Zain took his laptop from under his car seat, and connected to a secure wireless network accessed via the PCC building. He checked his uniquely generated passcode, which changed every thirty minutes, on his phone. It was an app he and Michelle had developed, to stop them having to carry, and possibly lose, physical fobs. Once inside, he had access to the PCC search engines and databases. He typed in the details Kate had given him.
In less than a m
inute he had the information he needed on screen, and a home address. He set his coordinates for St George’s Wharf, opposite the MI6 building. Odd place for someone like this to live. Not just because it had a price tag that would blow most people’s minds.
‘So, Julian Leakey,’ said Zain. ‘Let’s see if this is you we’ve found. And, if so then why the hell is the Permanent Under Secretary for International Development lying dead in St James’s Park covered in plague like pustules?’
Chapter Twelve
The ambulances parked in the basement of the Royal Free. Kate could hear voices as the MDTs began to alight, and staff from inside rushed out with more equipment. She understood how containment worked, and the need to be very careful. But if this was the manpower it took to handle just four cases, she felt despair at the city having to cope with thousands and potentially hundreds of thousands if this was an attack or an outbreak.
The doors to her own ambulance opened and Professor Gerard got in, making the other occupants leave. It was just the two of them, partitioned by a plastic sheet.
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘Problem?’ she asked.
He didn’t move, or react to her words. She saw the intercom sign then. Whatever the plastic wall between them was, it was flimsy enough to appear to be a curtain, but strong enough to act as a sound barrier. She pressed the intercom, and repeated her question. Professor Gerard looked up at her.
‘Potentially. Your colleague, Dr Kapoor, is causing quite a stir. She would like to personally proceed with a physical autopsy of the deceased.’
Dr Kapoor was rising in her estimation. It was the sensible thing to do. She and Kate had potentially been exposed to whatever it was the victim had died from; keeping others away from the sort of contact a post-mortem would involve seemed like a rational choice.
‘I would rather treat you both in an isolation unit, run some tests, see what we might be dealing with. Before anything else.’