Over two hours had passed since he sunk into the sumptuous luxury of the dark limousine. It was eerily quiet inside. On a plane you could hear the humming of the engines, whilst a train had a particular rhythmic pattern to its travel noise. Even in a normal car it was possible to at least catch the sound of air gushing over the cabin like a strong wind. But, sat within the confines of this magnificent beast, not a sound could be heard. Judging by the two second gap between the enormous electricity pylons set back in the fields they were travelling at considerable speed. The chauffeur had said nothing during the journey to provide any clues as to their ultimate destination, though the motorway signs indicated they were heading in a south westerly direction.
Boredom started to rear its ugly head. He’d given up trying to interpret Grace’s out-of-character behaviour. All he knew was that it felt right for him to be here, as though he were being called by an unseen spirit. He rummaged through the material parked in the side pocket of the door, in the hope of finding something remotely close to being mildly interesting. There was a magazine about life in the French countryside, in French, but nothing else.
Back to Grace, he sighed. Maybe there was some truth in her observation. Perhaps his keenness to attend the meeting did in truth betray an unconscious motive. His deliberations were broken by the car veering onto a slip-road to take them off the main highway. Shortly after turning to the right, they came to a rest in a nearby lay-by. The driver exited his seat and opened the door for Matt to emerge into the sunshine, his luggage promptly deposited by his feet.
“You wait,” said the driver.
“Where are we?”
“Wait,” the driver repeated.
And then he was gone. Matt looked around to try and get his bearings. There were no signposts in view and all he could see was acres of flat fields, in all directions. The nearest thing to civilisation was a small cottage, virtually obscured from open view by surrounding trees, some way in the distance from where he stood. Matt wished he’d taken notice of the route signs along the way. Other than the fact he knew he was in Northern Europe, this place could be almost anywhere on the planet. He wondered if he should pick up his things and start walking towards the house in the distance when a mid-sized white van pulled up alongside and a small, weathered head appeared through the open window.
“Arriere,” the bald man said.
“What?”
“Arriere,” repeated the man irritably, motioning with his dark eyes towards the rear of the van.
Matt clambered inside the windowless space and sat on the upturned crate. The vehicle burst ahead with such a surge he tumbled to the floor in an untidy heap. Muttering obscenities, he recovered his unsteady position and dusted the dirt from his trousers. Bereft of anything with which to occupy his mind he decided to pass the time of this next leg of the journey, in between frequently falling off the crate, by attempting to work out their route. He estimated speed and counted the number and sequence of left and right turns along the way. As soon as the van came to a halt the doors swung open and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the burst of sunlight.
“Welcome to France. You are the first to arrive.”
All he saw was a tall shape silhouetted by the burning, angry sun. He recognised the woman’s voice instantly.
“Have you spent your full allocation of public funding for the financial year or something, Catherine?”
She found the quip amusing though Matt wasn’t sure he could see the funny side of it.
“We are being a little cautious,” she said.
He leapt out and found himself swamped in an affectionate embrace. Compared to the cold, dispassionate atmosphere he’d left behind this welcome felt like he had been thrown into a sauna. After a few moments tight embrace she released her hold.
“It is good to have you here,” she said.
He couldn’t say he was unhappy either. Though he felt sure Grace would come out of her dark mood eventually, he’d left the relationship feeling more than a little claustrophobic.
“Likewise,” he replied, and she smiled brightly.
They entered the wooden door of the single storey cottage and she led him into a comfortable looking snug area where freshly ground coffee awaited. He made for the deep leather chair by the window only to be directed to the one by the unused hearth.
“It is the more comfortable chair,” she said.
Whilst it was indeed comfortable, he regretted not being able to get a good view of the outside space. He sank back into the red leather and took the cup from her hand.
“The others will soon arrive. You should make use of the free time to prepare your mind.”
“Who’s coming?”
“They are the people I spoke of, over the link. We can leave introductions until they arrive. For now, take the time to relax and settle.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
They sat quietly and he made himself comfortable. He could sense her scrutinising him as his gaze drifted around the room. The long bookshelf dominated the cramped space, crammed with differently sized books on a sizeable range of subjects. Most common were the geographic and scientific volumes. Whoever lived here had to be very learned.
“How was your journey?”
“Long,” he said.
She smiled without passing further comment.
“Where are we?”
“A cottage in the French countryside,” she said. “I use it as a retreat from time to time.”
“This is yours?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re a property developer to boot? Something of a business mogul on top of everything else,” he said.
“No, not quite in that league,” she laughed. “It is a place I use to escape and unwind. I will give you a full tour later on, though it would not take too long to complete.”
He smiled softly in return.
“How is Grat … sorry, Grace?”
“I know,” he said, with a gentle laugh. “I keep forgetting and call her by her real name from time to time.”
“And yet you had no difficulty with your own change of name to Matt Durham.”
“No. But I like the name Gratia. It suits her better too.”
“She is well?”
“Good,” he said. “Canadian life seems to agree with her.”
She held her gaze, and he had to wonder what was going through her mind.
“No family on the horizon?”
“God forbid,” he said.
“You have no desire for children?”
“The world is not a place to bring up children. Besides, the bloody things are voracious and consume everything in sight; money, food, time. They bleed you dry.”
Catherine appeared to find his insight amusing.
“Being a parent is not all bad news.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned.”
“And Grace shares this vision?”
He looked across, out of the window.
“We’ve never felt the need to discuss it.”
He noticed the sides of her mouth edge into a slight grin.
“But does she wish to have children?”
His silence told her he had no idea.
“Much of what you say about parenthood is true, but there are compensations too.”
“Such as constantly having to clean up after them and forever wipe their snotty noses. I don’t think so.”
“Children are as messy or tidy as you teach them to be. As excuses go, it is a poor example you provide.”
He cast an uncomfortable glance at her studious face.
“We both know what’s going to happen, if not in our generation then certainly the next.”
“There are no plans to rid the planet of its entire population only manage its growth,” she said with an amused smile. “The species must continue to reproduce to survive. Your argument hides a deeper objection I believe.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But as far as I know I could be firing blank
s anyway.”
She laughed out aloud.
“Firing blanks? What is this phrase?”
“You know, being blessed with weak swimmers unable to do the fertilisation job.”
He looked away, feeling boyishly foolish. She always had this effect on him, as if he were somehow in the presence of a superior being. Catherine held her steady gaze.
“I doubt that, somehow,” she replied with a warm smile.
The certainty in her eyes unsettled him.
“Been checking up on my DNA sample have you?”
“It is on file, along with that of Grace and many thousands of others.”
Her smile widened.
“So what is your real objection?” she asked.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Kids are for life. It’s not like you can put them back into the bottle once they’ve arrived. And as soon as they do arrive the whole balance of normal everyday life is disturbed forever, creating friction out of harmony. People are never the same after they’ve had kids.”
“You have experience of such an impact?”
His fingers lightly tapped against the leather upholstery of the armrest, gradually increasing in pace.
“I remember my parents arguing constantly. Sometimes it was money, mostly about their lives together. An aunt once told me they were happy when first wed. So I guess …”
“You believe the change in their relationship was down to your arrival?”
“I have no burning desire to procreate.”
He exhaled deeply for being unnecessarily open. As a rule he didn’t like to talk about himself. For some reason, he felt the need to get it off his chest. What he couldn’t understand was her ongoing interest.
“Will told you, didn’t he? I knew I shouldn’t let him draw me on the subject during the airport run.”
She laughed aloud again.
“He was appointed as your minder.”
“The guy would be almost likeable if it wasn’t for that.”
“I understood you both got on well together.”
Matt half sighed.
“Yeah, we do actually. He’s a good man. Come to think of it, why haven’t you called him here as well?”
“It is you we wished to speak with. The purpose of today is to bring you up to speed.”
“You make it sound as though I’m signed up. Don’t forget, Catherine, I only came for a meeting and to listen to what you have to say?”
“Of course,” she said after a brief pause.
The door opened to reveal a strikingly tall woman armed with two plates of sandwiches.
“Thank you, Francine,” said Catherine.
He watched the long fingers of her big hands gently rest each plate on the small, circular table in front of him and then leave as quickly as she had appeared.
“Who is she?” asked Matt.
“Francine watches the place for me when I am not here.”
“And when you are here?”
“She performs a variety of tasks; maid, cleaner and so on.”
Instinctively he reached for one of the rectangular shaped morsels and plunged it into his mouth. Though he had no idea of the substance between the slices the fare was surprisingly tasty.
“What is this?”
“Food, and much needed it appears.”
Her comment brought his assault on the second sandwich to an abrupt halt, feeling embarrassed by the obvious need to feed his hunger.
“You do not have to stop,” she smiled.
“I do,” he replied in sudden realisation. “These weren’t just for me were they?”
“Francine can always make more.”
He demolished the remainder and sank back in the chair to sip at the coffee as the sound of a vehicle pulled up outside. She leaned to peer out of the window and then smiled.
“Good,” she said. “We are shortly to begin.”
The knock at the door preceded the reappearance of Francine, closely followed by two others. A heavy set man drew his attention, the thick grey beard complementing the similarly coloured full bodied thatch on his head while the big and round grey tinted spectacles almost camouflaged his face. Perhaps the guy had bought the glasses to try and draw the focus away from his puffy oval-shaped face. If he had, the ruse hadn’t worked. The woman looked a good deal younger, around Catherine’s age he surmised. Middle Eastern origin, by the tone of her skin colouring she looked sharp and alert despite the untidy ensemble of rich material masquerading as clothes. She was an interesting mix.
“Matt,” said Catherine, “Say hello to Marius Kronk, Head of Microbiology Research, and Ameera Khan from electronic security.”
The man’s handshake, firm and business like, contrasted with the indifferent touch of the woman. Matt offered up his armchair to her.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Please, I insist.”
She shook her head without speaking and Matt viewed her refusal as an inauspicious start to proceedings. Unperturbed, he elected to retain his welcoming smile.
“Ameera, doesn’t that mean princess in Muslim?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The new arrivals located themselves on to two hard backed wooden chairs, brought into the room by Francine. For the first time he noticed the discreet weapon bulge in the small of her back, underneath the knitted top. Francine was clearly more than a maid to the host.
“I must apologise for the uncomfortable surrounds,” said Catherine. “I had not planned to use the cottage.”
Insincere smiles accompanied the attempt to relieve the uncertain beginning. Matt tried to break the ice.
“At least we won’t have to shout to hear each other.”
The man called Marius appeared to warm to Matt’s quip while the woman’s lips barely moved.
“The merest whisper is not beyond detection these days,” she said.
He glanced awkwardly at Catherine.
“Perhaps we should communicate by hand signal alone then,” he said with a smile.
The muscles in the woman’s face tensed and the glare in her eyes hardened with contempt. He thought about leaving there and then.
“There is a situation, one which you are uniquely placed to help, if you are willing to become involved,” said Catherine quickly.
“I thought you just wanted me to listen.”
“Of course,” she said. “However it is possible, once you have heard the detail of this particular circumstance, you may wish to become more deeply involved.”
Already he didn’t like the sound of this and Grace’s words of caution sprang to mind. Nevertheless, he was here whether he liked it or not.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Marius took up the story.
“You are aware of the Milieu virus?”
“Yes. It’s the artificially manufactured weapon you’ve developed to murder half the world population.”
He noticed Ameera roll her eyes around in their sockets, a sign of open disgust.
“I told you this was not going to work,” she said.
“Patience, Ameera,” said Catherine.
She nodded towards the man for him to continue.
“To give the virus its full scientific ….”
Matt held up his hand to stop Marius in his tracks.
“No science,” he said. “Stick to Neanderthal English, I can understand that better.”
The man returned a forced, patient smile, the one which all academics seemed to reserve for the proletariat.
“This virus begins its lethal assault on humans by attaching itself to the pulmonary system and from there invades the rest of the body at frightening speed. It is a remarkable piece of genetic engineering we have managed to construct in both its simplicity and …”
Matt quickly raised his hand again in an effort to halt the triumphant flow.
“Please,” he said. “I’m a commoner.”
The bespectacled man nodded, less than enamoured with the inte
rruption. He studiously held Matt’s steady gaze for several moments.
“Death is within less than thirty six hours of infection,” said Marius. “While heavy concentrations of alcohol have been shown to slow its advance through the system it provides no more than a temporary delay.”
“That’s about as much as I need to know about it for now,” replied Matt.
“He’s not going to take this seriously,” said the aggressive woman called Ameera.
Matt looked across and caught her eye. The interesting person he thought he had met was fast becoming an irritant. He chose his response carefully.
“I’m only here to listen,” he said.
“Then listen,” she snapped back.
The fierce stare confirmed her hostility and he paused to think what he could have done to offend her.
“I don’t suppose you have a long distance cousin by the name of Marcia do you.”
Catherine slapped her hands together before the expected acid riposte could be delivered.
“Please continue,” she said to Marius.
“The genesis of the Milieu virus meant there was a need to develop a successful counter measure,” he said. “Usual protocol dictates this is achieved by further adaptation of the original strain. This offshoot, adaptation, has been given the codename The Milieu Derivative.”
“Innovation, don’t you love how the scientific community comes up with these new names.”
The patient smile returned.
“The revision does indeed effectively combat the Milieu virus. However tests have revealed side effects. In women the revised serum mutates to replicate a condition similar to what is known as Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.”
“I thought we’d agreed to leave the science out.”
“Infertility,” replied Marius, with mounting impatience.
“You’ve lost me completely.”
“Women are unable to produce ova, men develop zero sperm motility.”
“What’s that, motility?” he asked.
“Weak swimmers,” said Catherine with a wry smile. “I have sometimes heard it described as firing blanks.”
Thinking back to her earlier questioning had him growing increasingly suspicious. Perhaps Grace was right. Catherine did have something far more sinister in mind.
“Sounds to me like you’ve developed the perfect weapon to do your bidding,” he said. “Instead of murdering people you can control population numbers by restricting growth for a few years just by using the antidote.”
“The matter is not as straightforward as it may sound,” said Catherine.
“Not more bloody science.”
“The infertility is permanent,” said Marius.
“Even better,” he said. “With that virus you can wipe out the criminal classes once and for all. I don’t have any issues with that part of your grotesque plan. And it’s certainly more humane than your original intention.”
Worryingly, Catherine’s eyes narrowed.
“There is a minor complication,” she said. “We may have to inoculate the entire planet.”
“What the hell for?”
“The man is a fool,” said Ameera. “Why have you brought him into this, Catherine?”
The awful truth dawned. One by one he glanced at each of the faces in turn, all wearing the cold expression of a judge about to pass sentence.
“Jesus Christ! Please tell me you’re not going to say what I think you’re going to say.”
“At last,” said Ameera. “Some semblance of intelligence has finally appeared.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the idiot who lost the most dangerous virus known to mankind. So what does that make you?”
“Not precisely lost,” replied Catherine quickly. “Quantities of the virus are missing.”
His eyes widened with incredulity.
“How much?” he asked.
“We are unsure.”
He jumped up from the chair and headed straight towards the window, his mind swirling with numbing shock at the potential deadly consequences. The fingers of both hands ran through his head of fine light hair in a forlorn attempt to purge the overwhelming feeling of disbelief from his mind.
“You can see how important it is to quickly locate and recover the missing inventory,” said Catherine.
“Now it’s an inventory,” he said, shaking his head. “Why you people haven’t got it in you to speak plain English I’ll never understand.”
He stood in deep and quiet contemplation, attention drawn to the innumerable fruit trees dotted throughout the long rear garden. One in particular stood out, leaning heavily as it was towards the side, as though trying to escape the tight confines of the fenced area. How could they have possibly allowed this to happen? And why bring him into their confidence?
“The missing inventory appears to have found its way into the hands of others,” said Ameera.
“I don’t even want to ask.”
“A group of activists,” she said.
“You mean terrorists. How the hell did they get their hands on the stuff?”
“We are investigating.”
“You don’t know in other words,” he said.
Gloriously unchecked adrenalin surged through his body like a stampede of wild horses as incredulity sank in. This was the worst of all scenarios placing humanity on the edge, at the very brink, of Armageddon. The word incompetent sprang to mind.
“Is there a ransom?” he asked.
“The demand is for one hundred billion, pounds sterling. Clearly, this is not possible,” said Catherine.
“Then negotiate them down to what you can afford.”
“We had thought the same idea, though this approach is not without difficulty,” said Catherine.
“Another minor complication?” he said.
“It requires bringing someone new into our confidence.”
“You must have thousands of people to choose from.”
“Those in possession are insiders, operatives employed and trained by our own intelligence communities,” said Ameera. “Normal protocols do not apply as all our agents are known to this group and would be regarded as hostile. Better, therefore, to approach someone who is unconnected to the intelligence world yet familiar with our project; someone who has a grasp on the circumstances and can hit the ground running.”
“Oh no,” he said immediately.
“You are uniquely placed,” said Catherine.
“No, no and no,” he said to the static faces.
“We’re running out of options,” said Catherine. “And you must realise what is at stake.”
“This is what happens when people try to play at being God. I mean what is it with people that they just can’t leave things alone?”
“Without proper management civilisation would implode,” said Ameera. “The pace of scientific development is unable to match the speed with which the planet’s natural resources are being consumed. Population control has to be implemented to balance the equation.”
“And this is proper management, misplacing unknown quantities of the deadliest virus known to man?”
“What is done is done,” said Catherine. “The issue now is to initiate a dialogue to recover the missing inventory.”
Grace had been right from the off. Catherine had this in mind all the time, and was several steps ahead of him.
“You can’t believe for one minute I would help you. Not only am I against what you’re planning to do, two years ago you were hunting me down like an animal.”
Catherine glanced at her female colleague and nodded.
“There is an added factor,” said Ameera.
“Added factor or not there’s absolutely nothing you could say which could make me change my mind. It’s your mess, you can sort it. There are worse things in life than permanent infertility.”
A moment’s pause and he moved towards the door, firmly gripping the handle.
“Rosa Cain is part of the group,” said Ameera.
Cha
pter Six
Dilemma