Ken McClure - The Gulf Conspiracy

Steven nodded and said, ‘As I said, I don’t think any of these people will have any direct involvement in any attack. That makes it doubly difficult.’

‘Eureka!’ exclaimed Hamilton from his seat at the computer. The others went over to join him.

‘Dorothy was right. Wallenberg are a biotech company. They’re big and have close US government links. Rumours of involvement in US biological weapons programmes abound and best of all, listen to this. Back in 1997 the corporation was fined heavily for carrying out an experiment on the streets of Chicago. Apparently they wanted to assess the potential spread of an agent in a big city. They used a harmless bug but the authorities took a dim view of things and warned of serious repercussions should they ever try anything like that again.’

‘Bingo,’ said Steven.

‘So it’s the Americans who want this agent,’ said Macmillan. ‘Makes sense; the agent would be much more useful to an invading army than a small terrorist group.’

‘Have our closest allies any plans to invade anywhere?’ asked Hamilton.

‘It would have been useful in Afghanistan,’ said Steven. ‘And Iraq could well be next by all accounts.’

‘Well done people,’ said Macmillan. ‘I think we’ve found our customer.’

‘And why they can’t carry out their own field trials,’ added Hamilton.

‘Good point,’ said Steven. ‘All we need now is to find out when and where.’

It had been getting light outside for some time. Steven saw that it was nearly seven thirty. All of them had had a go at trying to extract useful information from Gardiner’s database but without any real success and it was beginning to look as if they’d hit the wall. He got up from his chair to stretch his legs and walked over to the window to look out at a grey drizzle that was falling gently through early morning mist. A bus passed with an advert for internet access on its side. It gave him an idea.

‘There is something we could do,’ he said.

All eyes were on him as he turned round.

‘If Crowe and Mowbray did use any of these people in the database,’ he said. ‘They must have been contacted recently — they probably used the group’s e-mail server to make it appear official.’

‘Seems reasonable,’ agreed Dorothy Jordan.

‘So?’ said Hamilton.

‘If Gardiner has been considering disbanding the organisation, it’s probably been a while since he had any reason to contact anyone on the list officially. If I could persuade him to send out a message today, asking anyone who has been approached in the last month or so to get in touch with him personally... He could say there’s been some kind e-mail delivery problem.’

‘Worth a try,’ said Macmillan.

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Dorothy.

‘Anything that narrows it down,’ said Hamilton.

Macmillan checked his watch and said, ‘No one is going to be up and about for another hour or so. I suggest we take a break, have a shower, get some breakfast, whatever, and meet back here at nine?’

Steven stayed behind to speak with Macmillan. ‘I only hope Gardiner is in town,’ he said. ‘He’s in the process of retiring to the Highlands of Scotland with his wife.’

‘It would be ironic if he happened to end up in the middle of the target area,’ said Macmillan. ‘Maybe you should try him right now if there’s any question he might not be in London?’

Steven used his mobile to call the number of Gardiner’s flat in town. He smiled in relief and nodded to Macmillan when he heard Gardiner demanding to know just who the hell was calling him at this time in the morning.’

‘It’s Steven Dunbar, Sir James,’ said Steven respectfully. ‘I need your help. The country needs your help.’

Macmillan gave an approving nod at Steven’s approach.

‘I can’t talk about it over the phone. Could I possibly come over there and speak to you as soon as possible?’

‘You’ll have to give me time to get my bloody clothes on, man,’ growled Gardiner.

‘Would half an hour be all right, sir?’

‘Make it forty minutes. This had better be important.’

When Steven arrived at the flats he saw an elegant, well dressed young black woman, carrying an overnight bag, leave the building and get into a taxi. She seemed harassed and appeared to be leaving in a hurry. Surely not, thought Steven, but when Gardiner let him in he couldn’t resist being on the look-out for any sign of her origins.

Gardiner was alone in the flat. ‘Has Lady Gardiner gone up to Scotland already, Sir James?’ Steven asked pleasantly.

‘She has,’ replied Gardiner, who was wearing a plaid dressing gown and sheepskin slippers. ‘Left me to fend for myself for a few days while she sorts out carpets and curtains. ‘Coffee?’

Steven accepted and ran his eyes round the room as Gardiner filled two cups, which he placed on the low table by the doors leading to the south terrace. He walked over to pick up his and noticed a lipstick lying on the carpet at the side of the table. He picked it up and said, ‘Hope she’ll not be missing this.’ He placed it slowly down on the table.

‘Good Lord, she was looking everywhere for that,’ said Gardiner, snatching it up as if it were a long lost friend and slipping it into his pocket of his dressing gown.

‘Nice colour,’ said Steven. It was purple.

‘What is it you want from me?’

Steven explained, now feeling more confident than he had been that Gardiner was going to be helpful.

‘What exactly do you want me to say in this message?’ asked Gardiner when Steven had finished.

Steven told him and added, ‘We’ll have to change the group’s mailing list to exclude Crowe and Mowbray so that they don’t receive it and cotton on to what’s happening, and I’d also like to put a divert on for the replies so that they will be automatically forwarded to me at the Home Office.’

Gardiner waved his hands vaguely in the air and said, ‘I hope you know how to do all this. Takes me all my time to switch the damn machine on.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Steven.

The message went out to the people on the database at 8.45 a.m. and Steven returned to the Home Office after thanking Gardiner for his cooperation, adding, ‘I hope I won’t have to bother you again, Sir James.’

‘Always glad to help my country,’ said Gardiner with an uneasy smile.

Nerves were beginning to fray when it got to ten o’clock without any sign of a reply but then Steven’s computer bleeped to herald an incoming message and he clicked it open. The sender was a man named Eric Pope, which Steven read out aloud so that the others could start checking the name against the database. The message read, ‘Worried about having missed mail. Last communication received 2 ndSeptember confirming date of exercise. Is there a problem?’

‘He works for Scottish Water,’ announced Dorothy Jordan, who was first to come up with the man’s details.

For a moment they all looked at each other in silence then Hamilton murmured, ‘Bloody hell.’

‘I’ll have the troops see what they can come up with on Pope,’ said Macmillan. He left the room to brief the regular Sci-Med support staff.

It was twenty minutes before the next message came in. ‘From a David Innes,’ Steven said, reading out the sender’s name. The message read, ‘Understand exercise going ahead as confirmed on September 2 nd. Please advise of any change or update.’

‘What exercise?’ muttered Steven.

‘If we ask, they may get suspicious,’ said Alan Deans.

‘Innes works for the Nationwide Building Society,’ said Charles Bristow.

‘A building society?’ exclaimed Dorothy Jordan and Alan Deans, almost in unison.