Ken McClure - The Gulf Conspiracy

‘For Christ’s sake man!’ said Steven. ‘Have you any idea what you’re about to do?’

The man shook his head. ‘None at all,’ he replied. ‘That’s the way I like it. I’m a soldier. I get my orders. I carry them out. They pay me. That’s all I need to know.’

‘Don’t you care about...?’

‘Don’t waste your breath,’ interrupted the man. ‘I’ve soldiered all over the world. I’ve seen everything one human being can do to another human being. I stopped being interested a long time ago.’

Steven knew he had to stall the man as long as possible so that the commandos would have time to put the divert back on the water supply again but it wasn’t looking hopeful. ‘Even if money is the only thing you’re interested in, surely you’ve already been paid?’ he said.

‘In part. The rest goes into my account for Miriam and the kid when the job gets done.’

‘Look, if it’s a matter of money...’ began Steven.

‘And professional pride,’ said the man, smiling for the first time as he started to get to his feet. ‘You didn’t know mercenaries had pride, did you? Well, we do. To be one in the first place you have to be good and British mercenaries are the best; that’s why we get paid the best. Nice and simple. Nice and honest. No bullshit, no flag-waving, no pretence.’

‘Even if that’s true-’ said Steven. He was interrupted by a shot shattering the silence as the man stood up and became visible over the parapet. A puzzled look appeared briefly on his face before he pitched forward to fall face down into the water. Steven climbed into the aqueduct channel and waded as fast as he could towards the figure before it floated away, his one thought the safe retrieval of the flask. He reached the body and straddled his legs across it while he reached down into the water to feel if the man was still holding the flask. He was but, as Steven suddenly realised in a surge of panic, he was holding it in both hands! He wasn’t completely dead. He was trying to undo the top!

Steven wrenched it from his grasp and brought it to the surface as Mick and two of the others appeared on the gantry and came to help. They pulled the man — who now seemed to be dead out of the water and tipped his body over the edge of the aqueduct to fall to the ground below with a thud.

‘Okay?’ asked Mick as Steven tried to ascertain whether there had been any leakage from the flask. There was no doubt the seal was broken. It was just a question of how far the top could be turned before the sealing gasket ceased to have any effect. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Did the commandos get the divert on in time?’

‘Mick made a gesture with his right hand that indicated it might have been touch and go.

‘Then it’s wait and see time,’ said Steven.

They left the gantry and came slowly back down the grassy slope to the ground.

‘Christ, I could do with a drink,’ said Steven as he felt himself go weak at the knees as the adrenalin left his bloodstream.

‘Looks like we’re done here,’ said Mick. ‘I’ll call in the chopper.’

Steven, dressed in a smart suit and dark tie, stood at the window in his flat, watching the sunlight sparkle on the Thames. It was a sight that usually gladdened his heart but not this morning. He was due at the Home Office in forty-five minutes and he was not looking forward to it. He thought he could see what was coming and he was going to need all the self control he could muster. There was no way that that the establishment could let the whole truth come out so he was reconciled to a cover-up. It was just a question of degree and how much he could stomach before anger got the better of him. A slight smile played on his lips when he remembered what Lisa used to say when she sensed temper getting the better of him. Deep breaths, Dunbar, deep breaths...

Steven found the Home Secretary with Macmillan when he entered Macmillan’s office. Both men seemed relaxed and smiled as he came in.

‘Welcome back,’ said Macmillan.

‘Good to be back,’ replied Steven automatically.

‘I felt I had to come along and congratulate you personally on a job well done,’ said the Home Secretary.

‘Thank you, sir, but we’re not out of the woods just yet,’ replied Steven. ‘There’s still a chance that Glasgow’s water may have been contaminated.’

‘And that’s something we’ve been taking very seriously,’ replied the Home Secretary.

Steven thought how much like a politician he sounded.

‘We’ve been in touch with the Scottish Executive, Glasgow City Council and Scottish Water. They’re putting out a general warning that water taken from Loch Katrine may have been contaminated with faeces from grazing sheep. Steps are being taken to issue bottled water until we’re sure the danger’s past.’

Steven nodded.

‘I take it, you’ll be looking forward to some leave now?’ said Macmillan. ‘God knows, you deserve it.’

‘I was rather hoping you were going to brief me on what’s been happening down here,’ said Steven. He noticed the uneasy glance that passed between Macmillan and the Home Secretary.

‘About Crowe and Mowbray, I mean,’ said Steven, in case there was any doubt.

‘It’s... difficult,’ began Macmillan.

Oh, God, here it comes, thought Steven. He felt his cheek muscles tighten and his fingers start to clench.

‘They know, of course, that the trial of their biological agent has been a complete failure and that they won’t be getting any money from abroad...’

‘But?’

The Home Secretary cleared his throat. Steven thought it a nervous gesture. Macmillan diverted his gaze.

‘Well, to cut a long story short, they’ve offered us a deal,’ said the Home Secretary. ‘They will hand over the antibiotic that can cure their damned agent and also provide technical details of its design and manufacture.’

‘In exchange for getting off scot-free?’ said Steven.

Macmillan said, ‘It is a very difficult situation, Steven.’

‘Professor Rees believes he could come up with an effective antibiotic on his own,’ said Steven.

‘There’s no guarantee, and it could take time,’ said Macmillan.

‘I’m sure we don’t have to point out to you the enormous benefits of being able to treat Gulf War Syndrome after all this time,’ said the Home Secretary.

‘So it does exist then?’ said Steven. He noticed a flash of anger in the Home Secretary’s eyes but there was no follow up. Macmillan, sensing the danger, intervened. ‘We know how you feel, Dunbar: believe me, we do. In many ways we share your frustration.’

‘It’s just that some of us have to look at the bigger picture... for the common good,’ said the Home Secretary. ‘We can’t afford the luxury of—’

Truth, honesty and decency, thought Steven, but he bit his tongue.

‘seeing each individual case in isolation,’ completed the Home Secretary.

‘So they are going to get away with it?’

‘I don’t think their lives are going to be that comfortable,’ said Macmillan. ‘They may escape legal proceedings but neither will ever work again professionally and they are going to find themselves—’

The phrase excluded from polite society sprang to Steven’s lips but, again, he remained silent.

‘generally unwelcome wherever they go,’ said Macmillan.

Steven heard Lisa’s voice say inside his head, ‘Deep breaths, Dunbar, deep breaths...’

Both Macmillan and the Home Secretary read the slight softening of his features as acquiescence. ‘Good man,’ said the Home Secretary. ‘I’m sure, when you think about it, you’ll come to see that this is the only reasonable course open to HMG in the circumstances.’

‘O course, sir... the big picture,’ said Steven. It drew a questioning look from the Home Secretary but once more, Macmillan stepped in. ‘Now, about that leave?’