Ken McClure - The Gulf Conspiracy

Channing House

Kent

November 1990

The moon emerged from behind the clouds to light up the drive of Channing House as a dark Rover saloon swung in through the gates to crunch up the drive and come to a halt. The driver got out and hurried round to open the back door, adopting a concerned expression as the man in the back made an ungainly exit due to the bulk of his overcoat and the fact he was holding a heavy briefcase. He straightened up and told the driver to wait before making his way to the steps leading up to the front door, his gait a little unsteady after the forty-mile drive down from London.

The door was answered by a man-servant who apologised and requested proof of identity despite seemingly recognising the visitor and addressing him as, Sir James.

‘Yes, yes,’ mumbled the man, feeling in his inside pocket for some ID. ‘Let’s not carry this nonsense too far, shall we?’

‘Colonel Warner’s orders, sir,’ said the servant, closing the door and taking the man’s coat before leading the way upstairs where he opened a set of double doors and announced, ‘Sir James Gardiner.’

‘Come in, James,’ said a man, whose clipped moustache and erect bearing would have marked him out as a military man in any company. ‘Good of you to come at such short notice.’

‘The tone of your message didn’t leave me much choice, Warner,’ said Gardiner.

There were three other men in the room. Gardiner nodded to them and took his place at the table.

‘I’m afraid I had no alternative,’ said Warner.

‘Your note said it was serious. Bloody well better be. I was due to dine with HRH and the defence minister this evening.’

‘I’m afraid Crowe has some bad news for us,’ said Warner. He had lowered his voice and spoke softly like an undertaker dealing with the recently bereaved. ‘There’s been a bit of an accident, a serious one. It could have potentially disastrous consequences.’

Gardiner looked at Crowe and said, ‘If it involves Crowe it must involve Porton Down? We’re not all going to get plague or smallpox are we?’

‘Nothing like that,’ said Crowe. ‘It concerns the vaccine being given to our troops before being deployed in the Gulf.’

‘What on earth has that got to do with us?’

Crowe, a painfully thin man in his forties with craggy features and a yellowish complexion that suggested old parchment, looked down at the table through tinted spectacles as if gathering his thoughts. He looked up. ‘The vaccination schedule is a composite one, comprising a number of component parts — six in all — designed to give protection against a range of diseases — those endemic in the region and those likely to be used as biological weapons.’

‘I still don’t see what this has to do with us?’

‘It’s been contaminated,’ said Crowe.

‘Contaminated,’ repeated Gardiner, then when he saw that no more was forthcoming, ‘With what?’

Crowe told Gardiner and the others what had happened.

Gardiner’s jaw dropped. For a full thirty seconds he did a passable impression of a dead fish. ‘You cannot be serious,’ he said.

‘I wish I wasn’t.’

‘But how in God’s name?’

‘One of my team, Dr George Sebring, made a simple mistake. It led to an unfortunate chain of events. As you well know, the nature of our work has required that the Beta Team remain a secret within a secret at Porton. Our real project is known only to a handful of people but we have a cover story inside the establishment itself to satisfy the questions of colleagues. Officially, we have been working on the design of a new vaccine. Ironically, and because of this, a request was made to us for a supply of gene envelopes to assist in the production of the military vaccine. Apparently the manufacturers were running low on a component called cytokines — which boost immune response and make vaccines more effective. They approached us for an alternative. Unfortunately and for whatever reason, Sebring handed over the wrong thing.’

‘Not live virus?’

‘No, Sir James, not that simple.’

‘Bloody hell,’ murmured Gardiner, shaking his head as he looked directly at Crowe. ‘This beggars belief.’

‘It’s something we all deeply regret,’ said Crowe.

‘Surely to God someone on the vaccine production team must have checked out what they were given?’

‘I’m afraid the establishment’s own security worked against us,’ said Crowe. ‘Four elements of the vaccine programme have been classified under the Official Secrets Act. The manufacturers were not at liberty to question anything to do with these components or indeed to analyse them in any way.’

‘Can’t we recall the damned stuff?’

‘Too late I’m afraid; it’s already been used.’

‘Ye gods,’ sighed Gardiner. ‘What numbers are we talking about here?’ he asked, looking as if he feared the reply.

Crowe looked down at his notes before replying. ‘We estimate about fifteen percent of allied forces will have been given the rogue vaccine: this excludes the French who decided against vaccinating their forces.’

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Gardiner. ‘We are talking about thousands of people.’

Crowe’s silence confirmed Gardiner’s estimate.

A film of sweat had broken out on Gardiner’s forehead. He brought out a large white handkerchief and dabbed it away as he asked, ‘So what do you damned scientists propose we do about this?’

There was no response.

Gardiner asked, ‘What will happen to people who’ve been given it?’

All eyes turned to Crowe whose stony expression had not varied throughout. ‘First of all let me say how sorry I and the team are that this has happened,’ he said. ‘It’s something that Dr Sebring is having particular difficulty in coming to terms with.’

‘Please just answer the question,’ said Gardiner coldly. He felt irked at Crowe’s second attempt at diverting blame from himself. Crowe was the team leader: he should carry the can.

‘The nature of our work is such that any reference to precedent is out of the question,’ said Crowe.

Gardiner frowned and said, ‘Does that mean that you don’t actually know what this thing will do to our troops?’ he asked.

‘Not in so many words, although we can...’

‘Guess?’ said Gardiner, filling in the blank and making it sound like a dirty word.

‘Well... informed guess I think it would be fair to say,’ said Crowe with an attempt at a smile that just made his face seem more cadaverous than ever.

Gardiner looked at Crowe with a blank expression that might have been concealing contempt. ‘Let’s just take this one step at a time,’ he said quietly. ‘Will it kill them?’

‘We are pretty sure it won’t do that,’ said Crowe.

‘Incapacitate them?’

‘Probably not, although it’s very difficult to say in the light of our not having evaluated it to any great degree...’ Crowe’s voice trailed off into embarrassed silence.

Gardiner gave him the same blank look then diverted his gaze while he appeared to think for a few moments. He finally looked at everyone around the table before saying, ‘So if they are not going to drop down dead and they are not all going to collapse to the floor coughing and vomiting, what’s left?’

Crowe shrugged and said, ‘Again, it’s really difficult to say. There may well be a range of symptoms occurring over a prolonged period of time...’

‘But there’s no one symptom that would suggest a common agent as being the cause?’

‘I don’t think so. The nature of the team’s brief was to...’