The Secret

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Steven interrupted. ‘Okay, cards on the table, we’ve been thinking along the lines of Porton and the Americans developing a new bio-weapon and testing it illegally in the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. The Americans have already been caught out putting fake aid teams into the region to help in their hunt for Bin Laden but there’s definitely more to it than that.’

Ricksen seemed taken aback and Steven thought it seemed genuine. ‘We knew about the fake team that got DNA evidence proving Bin Laden was in the compound at Abbottabad, but the rest is news to me.’

‘There has to be a link between a new bio-weapon and the government stopping research on ME,’ said Jamieson.

‘If HMG want to stop research on ME, it suggests they already know what causes it,’ suggested Steven.

‘And they’re developing it as a new weapon,’ said Ricksen.

All three thought about this for a few moments.

Steven shook his head. ‘Sounds all wrong,’ he murmured.

‘I agree,’ said Jamieson. ‘If scientists had discovered the cause of ME they wouldn’t have kept it secret — even if it was a government lab that made the breakthrough. They would have taken the enormous credit on offer and set about finding a cure. None of that would have prevented them from developing their discovery as a weapon in the usual way in the usual places if they’d wanted to. There would have been no need for a huge cloak of secrecy. Steven’s right; it sounds all wrong.’

‘Doesn’t sound like much of a weapon either,’ said Ricksen. ‘Oh, I can’t fight today ‘cause I’m just too tired...’

Steven ignored the yuppie ‘flu sneer and asked, ‘So where does that leave us, gentlemen?

‘We still don’t know the secret,’ said Jamieson.

No one disagreed.

‘There is one more thing you should know,’ said Ricksen, looking at Steven. ‘Two days ago, someone put in a request to see your file.’

‘What file?’ asked Steven.

‘Ours... on you.’

Steven took a few moments to digest this before murmuring, ‘Just one big happy family, aren’t we. Who wanted it?’

‘A CIA guy, Bill Andrews.’

‘And you just gave him it?’

‘Personally, I didn’t give him anything,’ said Ricksen defensively. ‘I just pricked up my ears when I heard your name come up although it has to be said, you’re not exactly in the running for employee of the month right now in the corridors of power. You’re being seen as a bit of a thorn in the side if not a complete pain in another part of the anatomy...’

‘It was ever thus...’ joked Jamieson. ‘He’s mad, bad and dangerous to know.’

Steven was in no mood for humour. The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach at hearing of his file being given to Andrews was not going to go away.

‘What are we going to do about him?’ Jamieson asked with a nod in Ricksen’s direction.

‘Did you get photographic evidence of him vandalising the car?’ asked Steven.

‘Certainly did.’

Ricksen looked anxious. ‘Oh, come on, guys. You’re not going to hang me out to dry...’

‘Maybe another couple of him standing in the doorway of an MI5 safe house?’ suggested Steven. ‘And your investigation will have reached a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Jamieson.

‘You can’t be serious about giving this to the papers?’ said Ricksen, coming close to pleading.

Steven decided the man had had enough. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘But you make sure to tell your boss that Sci-Med knows who’s been behind the ME attacks and has proof should they need to use it.’

‘Understood,’ said Ricksen, relieved that the prospect of him becoming national news had receded but not looking forward to explaining his capture to his superiors.

‘And open season should be declared on Ranjit Khan forthwith. He’s not a colleague; he’s a dangerous psycho.’

‘How about Andrews, the guy who pulled your file?’

‘For the moment, the jury’s out.’

‘Thanks, Steven.’

‘Don’t mention it. After all... we’re all on the same side,’ said Steven, looking towards Jamieson to share a grin. ‘Time to go home, chaps.’

Steven ran towards the helicopter, making circular motions with a raised finger. The engines started as he climbed on board. ‘City Airport, James, and don’t spare the rotors.’

Twenty seven

It was six-thirty p.m. when Steven got back to the Home Office, the last twenty minutes having been spent in London’s evening rush-hour traffic. He was pleased to find John Macmillan still there where he was deep in conversation with the two computer experts. ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Macmillan when Steven knocked and entered. ‘Productive day?’

The expression on Macmillan’s face suggested he knew about the helicopter requisition. ‘Very,’ Steven replied confidently. ‘How about you folk?’

Macmillan now adopted an expression that suggested his ace had just been trumped by a partner in a card game. ‘We’re not quite there yet but we’ve been making good progress. Louis and Elspeth have identified correspondence between Dr Hausman and Fort Detrick and between Dr North and... the Prime Minister, no less.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Steven. ‘Well done.’