Pandemic (28 page)

Tyler Hardin opened the street door of Spiros Aristides’s house and stepped outside. Lavat and Gravas headed over towards him, but kept some four feet away from the
American to avoid any possibility of physical contact with him or his space suit.

‘That was quick,’ Gravas said.

Hardin shook his head. ‘I haven’t examined the body yet, but I think I know the source of the infection.’

‘What was it?’

‘I don’t know exactly what the agent itself was, but I believe I know what it was inside. I think the two men found a small bottle or flask, which they opened inside there,’
Hardin gestured back towards the small, shabby white house, ‘and whatever was in that container killed them.’

There was silence for a few moments as the two Greeks digested this, then Gravas spoke. ‘So this can’t be Ebola or anything natural like that,’ he said. ‘You’re
suggesting we’re dealing with some kind of
manufactured
agent – a biological weapon?’

Hardin nodded. ‘It could be,’ he replied. ‘Or, possibly, it’s some kind of unknown natural virus that had been collected and stored inside the flask for research
purposes. Thousands of laboratories store viruses that way, and some of them are lethal, like smallpox, anthrax and so on. You can even buy them on the Internet, if you know where to look.

‘What worries me is that I still have no idea what could have killed those two men so quickly. Viruses,’ he added, ‘are my business, but even I don’t know of any virus
that can kill as quickly and efficiently as this sucker has. It’s more like some sort of chemical agent, but again I don’t know of any capable of producing this kind of result within
this short a timescale. Whatever this thing is,’ he concluded, ‘I think it’s entirely new, something that’s never been seen before, and that really worries me.’

‘What about the flask you found?’ Lavat asked. ‘Can’t you identify the agent from the residue left inside it?’

Hardin shook his head. ‘I didn’t say I’d found the flask. I said I’d found the wax and wire that had clearly been used to seal it, but there’s no sign of the
container itself. That’s what I came out to tell you. I’ve looked all around the ground floor and if it’s there I haven’t spotted it. Obviously I’ll check upstairs as
well, but there’s no particular reason why Spiros would hide the flask, so I’m assuming that it isn’t here. And that means—’

Inspector Lavat interrupted. ‘That means the most likely person to have taken it would be Nico, so it’s probably somewhere in his apartment.’

‘Exactly,’ Hardin said. ‘As soon as I’ve had a good look at Spiros we have to get over there and find it.’

Irakleío, Crete

Mike Murphy had achieved rather better time than Krywald’s team, principally because he had managed to make the connection at Heathrow, so he landed at
Irakleío just over eight hours behind them. He was in no hurry, because he couldn’t do anything until Nicholson confirmed that Krywald and his team had completed their part of the
operation – about which Murphy himself knew nothing – so he took his time.

He collected his single bag from the carousel, queued for about fifteen minutes to collect a pre-booked Peugeot hire car and a map of Crete, then drove out of the airport. He stopped at what
looked like quite a reasonable restaurant and had a meal, then drove west along the north-coast road of Crete to Réthymno and checked into his hotel. He inspected the room Nicholson had
booked for him, checked the location of the lift, the main stairs and the fire escape – he had saved his own life at least twice in the past by knowing the back way out of a building –
then sent Nicholson, who was still using the ‘McCready’ alias, an encrypted email announcing his arrival at Réthymno.

And then, because he would have almost exactly nothing to do for a minimum of twelve hours, Murphy stretched out on the rather hard double bed and went to sleep.

HMS
Invincible
, Sea of Crete

The sun was sinking steadily towards the horizon as afternoon shaded into evening. The western sky was an incredible artist’s palette of pastel hues and primary
colours – pinks, reds, blues, yellows and greens – splashed in slowly changing bands above the horizon. The
Invincible
was barely moving through the flat calm sea, easing east at
less than three knots, holding position just to the north of Crete.

The slight tang of salt in the air was overlaid by the unmistakable smell of burnt kerosene from the Merlin’s three Rolls-Royce Turbomeca gas turbines, and the noise of the aircraft
– a mix of the whine of the engines and the clattering of the rotor blades as they turned above the bulky shape – drowned out all other sounds on the Flight Deck.

The Merlin sat, turning and burning, on number three spot, its side access door open and a clutch of Flight Deck personnel clustered around it, carrying out a rotors-running refuel. Each rating
wore an appropriate coloured jersey, identifying his specialization to anyone who knew the colour code. The ones that stood out most were the fire-fighters, trolley-mounted A-Triple F extinguishers
to hand and clad entirely in what looked like heavy silver coats and trousers, but which were actually made of a fire-resistant asbestos fabric.

Paul Richter watched the helicopter from where he was standing on the port side of the island superstructure, ear defenders on his head and a black leather overnight bag sitting on the deck
beside him. He was now wearing civilian clothes and the bag contained enough personal stuff to last him for the couple of days he anticipated it might take to find an answer that would satisfy
Simpson.

It was the last flight from the ship that evening, a late addition to the flying programme, and its only outbound passenger was to be Richter. The helicopter was planned to fly from the
Invincible
direct to the main airport at Irakleío to collect the three remaining members of the CDC team, who were expected to touch down within minutes on the last leg of their long
journey from Atlanta, Georgia.

The Flight Deck Officer was standing in front, and slightly to one side, of the helicopter, watching as the refuelling hose was detached from the inlet at the side of the fuselage. He checked to
ensure that the hose was pulled well clear, then waved away the attending firefighters.

Above the deck, in his seat in Flyco – it was a comfortable black padded swivel chair adjustable in almost every direction, which was just as well bearing in mind how long Lieutenant
Commander (Flying) or the Air Staff Officer spent sitting in it at a stretch – Roger Black peered downwards through the slanting windows, noted that refuelling had finished and called through
to the bridge on the intercom.

‘Officer of the Watch, Flyco. The refuelling’s just finished, so we’ll need launch wind across the deck in a few minutes.’

‘Roger that. Turning starboard and increasing speed.’

On deck, the FDO unconsciously leaned against the heeling of the ship as it began its long turn to starboard and increased its speed, watching the helicopter pilot carefully. He acknowledged a
signal from the cockpit, then beckoned to Richter, who picked up his leather bag and headed across the deck to where the FDO stood, stopping in full view of the Merlin’s pilot. The two men
waited for a signal, ensuring that the pilot was aware that his passenger was ready to embark, then Richter walked across to the side access door of the helicopter, ducking as he moved under the
rotor disk, tossed his bag into the rear compartment of the Merlin and climbed in after it. He strapped himself in and waited for take-off.

The ship steadied on a south-westerly heading and began to pick up speed. Seated in Flyco, Roger Black checked the anemometer readout, waiting for the wind to move within limits for the launch.
Although helicopters, and even Sea Harriers, can take off vertically in still wind conditions, they almost never do, simply because the amount of power required means that the payload – what
it’s carrying – is too low for the aircraft to achieve anything useful once it’s airborne. Instead, Harriers use vectored thrust and a short take-off run to get airborne, and
carrier-borne helicopters rely on wind gusting down the deck to increase the lift generated by the rotor blades.

Black nodded as the wind speed increased to the level he needed, and turned to the rating sitting beside him. ‘Rotary wing – green deck for’rard.’

‘Yes, sir. Rotary wing – green deck for’rard,’ the rating repeated and flicked a switch.

On the Flight Deck, the FDO looked up towards the Bridge, saw the red light change to green and acknowledged. He gestured to the pilot and then waved four of his men in to the helicopter to
remove the deck lashings. With ease born of long practice, the four ratings slackened and then removed the fabric belts – chains would be used in bad weather conditions – which secured
the Merlin to the ringbolts studding the deck of the carrier. Then they trotted forward and stood in a line directly in front of the helicopter’s cockpit, each man holding up the lashing he
had removed.

The FDO ostentatiously counted each lashing, pointing at it with one of his illuminated wands as the aircrew in the cockpit watched, proving to the pilot that he was able to lift off when ready.
Trying to launch an aircraft whilst any part of it is still attached to the deck of a ship is an extremely bad idea, and one that is absolutely certain to ruin everyone’s day.

The pilot acknowledged, switched on his navigation and anti-collision strobe lights, and waited for the FDO’s signal to take-off. Normally a ground marshaller handles the landing and
take-off of helicopters and Sea Harriers, but there was nothing else going on anywhere on the Flight Deck, and the FDO liked to keep his hand in.

He raised the two illuminated wands from the ‘parked’ position – crossed in front of him below the waist – till they were outstretched fully at his sides, then raised
them both slowly above his head, repeating the action as the pilot applied power and pulled up the collective lever that increased the angle of attack of the rotor blades to generate more lift. The
noise of the Merlin’s three jet engines increased to a steady scream and the aircraft rose very slightly, teetering gently from side to side on its landing gear, then rose into the air
immediately above the deck.

As soon as the FDO was satisfied that the aircraft was established in the hover, he pointed his right-hand wand – the pilot’s left – steadily out to sea and moved the left-hand
wand in a semi-circle from outstretched left, over his head, to outstretched right. He watched as the Merlin moved off, landing gear retracting as it headed away from the ship into the dusk.

Kandíra, south-west Crete

Tyler Hardin walked swiftly across the small hallway, which even with the light on was dark as the sun sank below the roof level of the neighbouring house. He climbed the
stairs and stopped at the landing, then switched on the light and looked around.

As Gravas had already told him, there were two doors leading off the tiny landing. Both stood open. Hardin looked first in the spare bedroom, checking it more in hope than expectation for some
sign of the flask whose existence he had deduced. As he had feared, he found nothing there, and moved across to the other room.

Hardin stopped at the doorway, reached around the jamb for the switch and flicked the light on. He looked into the bedroom before he stepped across the threshold, slowly taking in the scene.
Belatedly, he remembered that he had a Polaroid camera somewhere in one of his cases, and should have brought it with him to record what he was now witnessing.

Before he approached the corpse, Hardin looked all around the room, checking under the bed, inside the single wardrobe and even on the two bookshelves, but found nothing that could possibly be
the missing container. Only then did he look at the mortal remains of Spiros Aristides.

For three or four minutes, Hardin just stood and studied the shape on the bed. With the coming of dusk, most of the flies that had fed so greedily on the dead man’s blood earlier in the
day had vanished, but a few still remained, moving sluggishly across his chest.

Hardin’s first thought was that Gravas had been somewhat conservative in his reporting. There was just so much blood everywhere, so much fluid, that it looked as if the Greek’s body
had been completely exsanguinated. Hardin had never seen a victim of Ebola in the flesh – few people had – but he had seen plenty of pictures, and in his opinion what he was looking at
here was even worse, not least because the Greek had obviously died so quickly. From taking a drink in a bar to lying dead on his bed in less than twelve hours. Whatever this agent was, it was not
only messily lethal but unbelievably rapid.

Hardin shook his head, and walked away from the bed without even touching Aristides’s body. As he had told Gravas earlier, there was nothing he could do to isolate the causative agent
without using the equipment that the rest of his team was bringing out. All he could say for sure was that Spiros Aristides was dead – self-evident to anybody who cared to look into that
bedroom.

Much more important was to find the container that had held the agent that killed these two men.

Krywald had planned to leave the village in much the same way they had arrived, but as he and Stein made their way through the silent and darkening streets, he heard the sound
of a helicopter approaching and immediately changed his mind. The two men had already discarded their gloves and masks, and now they pulled off their white coveralls and dumped them in an open
trash can.

By the sound of it, the chopper was a big one, and Krywald guessed that it was probably ferrying supplies, equipment or maybe further personnel to Kandíra. Whatever its load, the aircraft
would be the focus of attention for everyone trapped in the village, including the police officers manning the cordon, which meant the pair of them could probably slip away unnoticed.

They made their way towards the tents located near the main road – such as it was – leading into Kandíra, and stood back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching as the
helicopter landed. It was a Royal Navy Merlin wearing light grey livery, and Krywald’s guess had been right. It was carrying equipment, and three passengers – and both the goods and the
people had begun their journey in Atlanta, Georgia. The remaining members of the CDC team had at last arrived.