A Choice of Evils (14 page)

The traffic had built up, but forty five minutes later we got there. The cabbie being conscious of my mild anxiety made an effort to exhibit his best navigation skills. All the street lights were on when we reached Lyndon Gardens. Again I had the driver wait at Notting Hill tube station entrance a short walk away for me. Another tenner assured his waiting time.

I had a good view of Dreyfus house where allegedly Ahmed lived and walked towards it. No lights were on so I performed my enquiry ritual straight away. Though I had no clear idea what I would say if he had opened the door even though I was quick with excuses. Thus far, luck was on my side. The house was empty.

As before, I pulled the socks over my hands and delicately eased up the sash window to enter and land my feet onto the plush carpet. With my torch on, I leapt up the stairs to pull down the attic ladder. In a short five minutes, I retrieved the recorder from beneath the water tank and into my pocket. Back downstairs, I was about to leave when the old thief’s compulsion hit me. If curiosity killed the cat, then it was easy to understand why? Something akin to that expression made me pause for a quick look around. It was not to steal, but look, and so I did. With torch in hand, I ventured around noting that nothing had changed. The absence of that lived in feeling was only too obvious.

As I moved into Ahmed’s office room, again it seemed almost a preserve rather than a working office. But then I noticed some screwed up paper in a waste bin. Curiosity got the better of me.

It seemed someone had recently used the place, as I recalled last time I was here, the waste bin was empty. I unwrinkled the papers. It first seemed the scribbles were a detailed drawing of a water system. It was a fairly elaborate drawing on a piece of A4 size paper. I noted that it was headed LONDON WESTMINSTER WATER SUPPLY SYSTEM. There was a sketch of a main pumping plant built into the drawing with underlined words of ‘Input’ and ‘Filters’ written into it. Other odd notes referred to gallons per regions and population ratios. Some mathematical calculations of pumping water cycles and cubic pressures were also underlined. In the lower left hand corner of the sheet were other calculations and equations. Then my eyes popped! For in tiny letters at the side of these equations was XP42 per litre = gallons per region =population mass.

Alarm bells rang in my head as I read even more details. There was a list of all the British water supply systems in the country. Similar calculations were made by the side of each one. I didn’t want to believe what my mind was thinking. Could this all mean that the formula was intended to be used in the British water supply system? I recalled some conversation on one of the Ahmed’s tapes. ‘All our people are in place,’ the voice had said. Christ! I needed to think out exactly what the implications of all this was, especially if my suspicion was right. I needed to get the hell out of this house.

In a mounting surge of panic, I replaced the other bits of paper, having decided to take my finding with me back home. In short time I was out with window secured and making haste to the cab. I was nearing 7 o’clock. The cabbie was not pleased with my long delay, but I made the point he had been paid to wait. I wasn’t in the mood for arbitration and promised him a bonus on arrival home. I intended to leave my car at Surrey Quays car park where it was, and enter my house via my back garden. An hour later I arrived there.

In the mode of an intruder, I crept under cover of darkness up to my kitchen window and burgled my own house to get in. The operation of my light time switches would have given anyone with a telephoto lens a good snapshot of me, as I climbed in through the window. I sniffed the air remembering the perfume smells, but failed to detect any. There appeared to be nothing amiss as I entered the sitting room. And as I was conscious of the bugs, I decided to fit an ear piece to the recorders as I listened to the tapes. I soon had that sorted. A quick listen and then I would have to get ready to make an evening with Susan as promised.

In the evening silence I listened to Dr Bruce’s tape first. Once again I got a peep into his private life. A young lady spoke of a delightful evening at the theatre with him, while a colleague discussed the coming weekend meeting at Porton Down. There was nothing that added to my advantage of what I already knew about the objectives of the formula. However, he appeared to be expecting an accolade for some achievement he told his colleagues he didn’t deserve. But perhaps modesty is the nature of scientists, I thought.

On listening to Ahmed’s tape, the conversations were couched in ambiguous remarks. I heard him speak with some anxiety about other interest parties, but not by specific name. It was inevitable that my mind would attach anything ambiguous into the formula saga and the British Intelligence services. However, it sunk in that I had become the catalyst between the two sides. The Iranian plan to poison the British water system was a horrific thought. But what could I do about it without getting myself arrested? On the other hand, if I didn’t get the formula, then I had Ahmed and others to contend with. I just knew my life would not be worth living. My mind flashed back to Tesco’s and the haddock on the fish counter. Lying on a slab in a mortuary was definitely Ahmed’s intended message. Christ! I was getting paranoid again. Goose pimples tingled at the back of my neck.

I was beginning to feel scared. What a prat I was for accepting Ahmed’s offer in the first place. But the bastard had a good story about it being a gene cloning formula. It sounded all so innocent, even respectable at the time. It was fair game. Of course I wanted the money. Greed had got the better of me. I should have stayed in retirement.

I sat there thinking how I could thwart the Iranians diabolical plan. My thoughts flashed back to Dr Bruce’s lab. Those animals in the back room and the XP42 phial I had seen with my own eyes. How ordinary it looked being so clear and transparent like water. But now I knew how lethal it was. Obviously, the animals were used as experiments to see how much it would take to kill them. In a concentrated form, and at its most potent, it could wipe out millions of people through our water systems. I visualised the many ways in which a mass poisoning could occur. Just simple ways like drinking tea, having a bath, boiling food in water, washing clothes, cleaning your teeth. There was a hundred ways that the human body could absorb it. Now it made sense why all the equations on the discarded paper were calculated in that way. Did the Iranians have agents at all our water pumping stations? Christ!! This was becoming a nightmare scenario for me.

I needed someone to hit me and to bring me out of this dream. There was I, an old thief, in his own sitting room knowing all this and knowing that someone somewhere was watching me too. What the hell were the Intelligence Services expecting me to do? Surely they knew what this formula was all about? Why haven’t they come out in the open? This was all too much to live with by myself. But who could I tell? The Police? Don’t be a fool. Did I want to get arrested? The pressure was building in my head. It was going to explode. If I gave Ahmed the formula, then they could manufacture thousands of gallons of the stuff. Christ, I wanted to shout out. But I was conscious of the bugs. Now I was feeling restless, agitated and very aware that tomorrow was Friday. I had to put myself together. A clear head was essential for the task ahead. The drinks bar caught my eye. It was a large scotch that helped quieten me down.

I used my mobile to call a cab and meet me outside Surrey Quays Station. The carriage clock was chiming the half hour for 8.30. I knew I was late for my date with Susan. Huh! And I was the one that hated people being late for meetings! Just how I was going to get through the evening with her, was going to require a great effort. I would have a job raising a smile, let alone anything else.

In case I was being watched, I left all the lights on in the house and put the bolt on the inside front door before leaving via the back door. Once again, I hid the recorders and tapes down the side of the settee. It was bizarre that I had to behave like this. I could not help but wonder why MI5/6 had not arrested me already. Surely they had been tracking me for some time and had been in my house. Maybe they thought I didn’t suspect anything. They must have seen me burgle the Tropical Research Lab. They had to have a motive that was not clear to me. Could it be to catch me red handed with the formula from the bank?

I was freaking out as I climbed out the kitchen window and made my way down the garden to the Quays Station. My head was in a mess, so much so that I opened the door of a private car waiting for someone else, assuming it was my cab. That caused the driver to freak too. But after a jumbled apology, it concentrated my mind on looking for the real cab. I soon spotted the driver looking anxiously at passengers coming out of the station. ‘Colliers Wood?’ He enquired. ‘Yes, please.’ I answered with relief.

On the way I phoned Susan and cobbled out a reason for my delay. She told me I had missed her flat mate Charmaine who had gone out on a date. She was on her own. After soothing her anxiety, we agreed to have a meal and spend the evening at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in the West End of London.

In under an hour the cab got me to Susan’s flat, then the driver agreed to take us on from there. She looked a picture as she came out to join me in the cab. Life was all one big great ball for Susan. This evening, she looked like she was ready to enjoy it even more. Somehow, I needed to keep myself together and not disappoint her hopes.

In the back of the cab, I gave her a big hug cuddle, an assurance that all was right with my world too. But at the back of my mind was lurking the knowledge that I had to keep hidden. I wondered if her intuition would pick up the fact that all was not as it seemed. Perhaps a few drinks and the evening show would help to distract me from the problems I faced, I thought.

Like a typical woman, she pointed out the shops displaying the new designer outfits as the cab sped along. I did my best to follow her excited reactions. She asked my opinions as to how she thought this or that outfit would suit her. Did I like the colour of lipstick she was wearing? What did I think of the dress she wore? Why wasn’t I wearing the latest Giorgio Armani trousers? What aftershave was I wearing, etc.? She was a typical fashion conscious woman who likes to look and give her best. I felt good being next to Susan with her special smell of freshness, the hint of perfume, and her wide alive eyes. The low cut top of her dress was showing enough, but not too much of a proud pair of breasts. She looked very seductive.

The traffic in the West End was the usual stop and start experience as the cab finally made its way to Gerard Street and Ronnie Scott’s. Tourists ambled along with the latest guide maps, their faces curious with expectations. Clubs and pubs thronged with customers bursting at the bars and spilling out onto the streets. Some pimps and prostitutes gave the tourists a come on wink, hoping to fleece the unsuspecting visitors. Some pondered to think about the propositions on offer.

Already we could hear the rhythm of Ronnie Scott’s as I paid off the driver and made our way downstairs to the club. It had a nice bohemian atmosphere and always promised a good evening of jazz. We were shown to our table and soon got into some nice foot tapping sounds as we ordered a meal and drinks. For a couple of hours we melted into the atmosphere of an enjoyable evening. Towards midnight, the drinks and music had washed well into our heads.

We left the jazz club and walked slowly around the streets alive with people of all descriptions. The west end night life had an atmosphere of all its own. Street corners were peopled by a variety of different characters. Sleek limousines with blacked out windows crawled slowly past as hopeful ladies of the night arranged themselves accordingly. A tramp or two begged for a cup of tea while buskers sang and danced the night away for spare change.

Susan held my hand as we continued to walk around the world of night life clubs and cafes. It could all be seen here where life began and ended for those who depended on others to make their living.

After a few minutes, my thoughts began to drift into my own problems. I became aware to a questioning look in Susan’s eyes. Were my eyes betraying my thoughts? Did her intuition sense something was not quite right with me? She asked me the last question I wanted to hear.

‘Is there something wrong Jack?’

I looked at her for a brief moment. Could I tell her? Don’t be a fool. Yet she expected me to say something. I felt a tension etching on my face as her eyes focussed on mine. The cat was out the bag! I could not empty my head. Ahmed was around every corner and the shadowy figures of British intelligence were only footsteps away. It was no good. Tomorrow was on my mind as Friday was only hours away. I could not shake it off. I searched for a lie to divert myself. It came.

‘It’s my ulcer. It must be the spicy food I had with the meal’ I answered. ‘Trust it to happen when the evening had been so nice for us.’

She looked at me with concern. My ulcer had come as a surprise to her, as it did to Dave the weasel, not to mention myself.

‘Maybe a cold drink will settle it down huh?’ she suggested. I nodded trying to appease her concern. But I knew the evening was ruined as I made excuse for the toilets nearby as Susan went to buy a cold drink for me.

Inside the gents I looked into a mirror. What was happening to me? Where were the pupils in my eyes? They were like pin holes. Had I betrayed myself to Susan? My eyes seemed vacant somewhat dull without humour. My anxieties came to confront me again. ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I told myself. ‘After you have got the formula you will feel better. Pull yourself together man! You can do better than this.’

Again I looked in the mirror only this time to see a face behind me giving me a curious look. Then I realised I had been talking to myself watched by a manwashing his hands. I hadn’t seen him enter the washroom. He smiled weakly as I splashed some cold water onto my face. A knowing look creased his face probably assuming I had drunk too much. Even so, the gremlins in my head would not go away.