Pandemic (37 page)

Evans watched as Hardin took a fresh scalpel and expertly slit open the organ. He looked closely into each chamber of the heart, then turned his attention to the coronary arteries, cutting them
open so that he could examine their inner surfaces.

‘The interior appears normal. There’s some furring of the coronary arteries, but on the whole the heart looks healthy, particularly for a man of this age. For each organ we’ll
be carrying out histological and toxicological examinations, so I’ll take samples now.’ Hardin leant forward and cut four roughly one-inch squares from the heart muscle.

Evans passed over two stock jars – small specimen containers pre-filled with formalin, a clear liquid that’s a highly poisonous preservative – and dropped one segment into
each. He labelled both with the name of the deceased, the date and the source of the tissue, then added a red stick-on note reading simply ‘HISTOLOGY’. These samples would be examined
under a microscope to try to detect any changes to the individual cells that might have been caused by a fatal disease. Privately, Hardin thought histology would reveal nothing of significance, but
it was normal procedure.

The other two segments he put into what are known as ‘tox jars’ – plastic containers that don’t contain any preservative because that would destroy any toxins present in
the specimen. On each of these he affixed a label bearing the word ‘TOXICOLOGY’. He would repeat this entire process as each separate organ was dissected.

‘Right,’ Hardin said, ‘I don’t think there’s anything else we can learn from studying the heart, so we’ll move on to the liver.’

Evans removed the dissected heart from the wooden board and replaced it in its steel bowl. After they’d finished the autopsy, all the organs would be sealed into plastic bags and placed in
one of the two chest freezers provided for them by the Cretan Ministry of Health. Final disposal would almost certainly be by burning, probably in a sealed incinerator at a local hospital.

The two men had already established a working routine – first weigh; then external examination; dissection; internal examination; take samples for specialist histological and toxicological
examination – followed by discussion, conclusion and verbal notes spoken into the tape recorder.

‘The liver shows some signs of cirrhosis, but at a comparatively early stage, and certainly not life-threatening,’ Hardin said as Evans removed the organ in question from the cutting
board in front of him. ‘Probably cheap Cretan wine. Normally the liver appears bright and shiny, but in this case it’s dull and a fairly dark red. The organ contains rather more blood
than would be normal, and there are some signs of blood weeping from the minor vessels of the liver, which is most unusual and could be indicative of haemorrhagic fever.’

The spleen is one of the likeliest places in the body to find the infectious particles characteristic of victims of this type of virus, so Hardin examined that organ with particular care, and
again cut out several pieces for further examination. He checked the stomach, small intestine and large bowel, then took samples of both the contents and the structure of each section of the
digestive tract. As Evans had spotted during the autopsy, the contents of each were noticeably darker than usual.

Aristides’s bladder and rectum were next sectioned and examined; both showed clear evidence of blood inside them, which served to confirm what the external examination of the body had
indicated – the Greek had bled from every orifice. The kidneys, like the liver, appeared basically normal, but again showed signs of weeping blood vessels.

Hardin then turned his attention to the brain. There were no obvious external signs of anything abnormal there, but when Hardin bisected it laterally the two men spotted the same indications of
weeping capillaries and veins. ‘It’s the same thing, Mark,’ Hardin said. ‘The minor blood vessels in particular show signs of seepage through the walls. That’s a
classic sign of Ebola or some other viral haemorrhagic fever, caused by the damage done to the endothelial cells that line the blood vessels.’

‘But you still don’t think it’s actually Ebola?’ Evans asked.

‘It’s definitely not Zaïre or Sudan, which means that if it is Ebola it’s a new and unknown strain,’ Hardin replied. ‘The effects on the body itself, and on
the organs we’ve examined so far, are certainly consistent with the early to middle stages of an Ebola infection, or the terminal phases of an attack by Lassa Fever. That’s an
arenavirus not a filovirus, of course, though the whole family – apart from the commonest form, lymphocytic choriomeningitis, which is a Level Three Agent – are still classed as Level
Four Hot Agents. But nothing we’ve seen up to now could actually have caused death. Discomfort and pain, yes, but not death itself. Something else must have killed this man.’

Hardin took samples from six areas of the brain for further investigation, then wiped down the cutting board while Evans replaced the brain in the steel dish. ‘The brain appears generally
normal, apart from the same sort of capillary bleeding that we’ve noted in the other internal organs.’ Hardin watched as Evans lifted the large steel dish containing Aristides’s
lungs, placed it on the scales to be weighed and wrote down the result.

Hardin positioned the lungs on the board and for a few moments just looked down at the specimen while Evans weighed the steel dish and calculated the actual weight of the organs.

‘They’re
heavy
,’ Evans said, showing Hardin the sheet of paper on which he’d written down the two figures. ‘Well outside the normal range.’

Hardin nodded. ‘Full of blood, I suspect. OK, external examination first.’ He studied the lungs for some minutes, noting carefully their colour and feeling their texture as well as
he could through the multiple layers of gloves he was wearing. ‘The lungs appear larger than normal for a man of this age, but that is probably a function of his lifestyle. Divers, like
athletes, tend to develop larger lungs than most people. Their colour is darker than normal, and there is evidence of external bleeding from both major and minor vessels on the outer surface. This
is a subjective observation, especially through these damn gloves, but his lungs feel very pulpy, as if the alveoli are full of fluid.’

He took a fresh scalpel, positioned the tip of the blade carefully at the top of the left lung, and slid it down smoothly. The two halves of the lung separated and almost fell apart and, with a
rush, about half a pint of blood slopped over the board and onto the rubber sheets that covered the floor.

‘OK,’ Hardin said, ‘now we know what killed him.’

Réthymno, Crete

Murphy waited until dusk had fallen before carrying the Dragunov down the hotel’s back stairs and stowing it in the boot of his hire car. As a precaution, he’d
removed the loaded magazine, but would keep that with him at all times. With the weapon stored out of sight, and with the Daewoo still tucked into the rear waistband of his trousers under his light
summer jacket, Murphy left the hotel car park and moved away down the street.

To a casual observer, he would have looked like any other aimless tourist out for his pre-dinner stroll, but Murphy actually had a specific destination in mind. He’d already picked up a
hotel map of Réthymno and, despite not yet having Nicholson’s go-ahead, had decided to reconnoitre the area where he was likely to find his targets.

When Murphy reached the hotel where Krywald, Stein and Elias were staying, he glanced up and down the pavement and then selected a café on the opposite side of the street. At a table
offering a clear view of the hotel, he ordered a beer, then opened his copy of an American car magazine.

He didn’t anticipate actually spotting any of his three targets – he knew they were somewhere else on the island completing the second phase of their tasking – but Murphy had
always found, in his grisly trade, that time spent checking out his area of operations was never wasted. There was no such thing as too much preparation.

Despite his apparent absorption in his motoring magazine, Murphy was actually figuring the angles. His major problem was to be facing three CIA agents. The fact that they were fellow Americans
and CIA employees didn’t bother him in the slightest: what concerned him was the reaction of the remaining two once he’d eliminated the first one.

They were going to be operational agents, probably armed and certainly experienced. If he were to simply set up his sniper rifle and shoot the first target as he walked out of the hotel, Murphy
knew the other two would then do their best to hunt him down. He’d be lucky to escape with his life if he didn’t account for all three. No, what he needed here was cunning and a couple
of
accidents
.

HMS
Invincible
, Sea of Crete

There were no private cubicles or anything like that in the Communications Centre on Five Deck, next to the Operations Room, and Richter was particularly keen that
anything he said on the telephone to Simpson should be heard by Simpson and by no one else. After discussion with the Communications Officer, Richter retreated to his cabin on Two Deck and waited
for the crucial call to be patched through to him there.

Once the telephone rang, Richter picked up the receiver. Behind the crackles he heard a voice. ‘Commander Richter? This is the CommCen – we’re connecting you now. Go ahead,
sir.’

There was a loud click, followed by a moment of echoing silence, then a distant voice spoke. ‘Richter? Richter? Can you hear me?’ Simpson’s voice was faint, but perfectly
clear.

‘Yes.’ Richter sat down on his day bed. He’d made some notes while he was waiting for this call to be connected, and he scanned them quickly.

‘Where are you?’ Simpson asked.

‘Right now,’ Richter said, ‘I’m in my cabin on board the
Invincible
, and the ship’s still holding position a few miles off the north coast of
Crete.’

‘And what have you found out?’ Simpson demanded. ‘It had better be good to justify all this buggering about with secure lines.’

‘It’s not good,’ Richter said. ‘In fact, it’s bad. What caused the deaths of the two victims here on Crete is, in the opinion of the CDC specialist, either an
unknown but naturally occurring virus, or a manufactured bioweapon. Whatever it is, it kills its victims within about twelve hours of infection, and so far it’s proving one hundred per cent
lethal.’

‘How does he know?’

‘He doesn’t. He’s just making assumptions based on the evidence that’s available to him.’

Richter explained concisely what Hardin had found in Kandíra, the American’s deduction about the sealed container, and finally the suggestion that Spiros Aristides might have found
the virus in the remains of a sunken aircraft.

‘That’s all a bit circumstantial,’ Simpson said. ‘There could be other explanations.’

‘Like what?’ Richter demanded. ‘The corpses are real enough, and they certainly didn’t die from old age or heart attacks. Something got inside them that left them spewing
blood like a lawn sprinkler. And there’s something else.’

‘What?’

‘Two men entered both properties in the village and almost certainly took away the container that held the virus, and they killed a policeman and two villagers to do it. They’re
probably working for the people who created whatever was in that container, and came to Crete to retrieve their property. What worries me is what they’re going to do now they’ve got the
stuff back.’

‘Did anybody get a description?’

‘Yes,’ Richter replied, ‘but it won’t help much. Caucasian, average height, average build. You won’t get much of a photofit from that.’

‘So what leads have you got?’

‘Right now,’ Richter said, ‘only one. Most of the water round here is too deep for free diving, which limits the number of places where the Greek could have discovered the
aircraft. I’m plotting possible locations on a navigation chart and I’ve requested a Merlin to get airborne first thing tomorrow morning to try to locate the wreck using its dunking
sonar. Once we’ve found it, I’m going down to take a look.’

Friday
Chóra Sfakia, Crete

Monedes still wasn’t completely sober when Stein and Elias pushed open the door of his shop just after nine that morning, but at least he was upright. Stein guessed
that the previous night he’d probably slept right where he’d fallen over, behind the counter. That was fortunate because it meant that he hadn’t locked the door and, according to
a hand-written notice taped to the shop window, it wasn’t supposed to open until ten.

Monedes regarded the two men through red-rimmed and bleary eyes that held no sign of recognition whatsoever. Stein handled the negotiations with a certain inevitable feeling of
déjà vu.

‘You have a booking in the name of Wilson, for a day boat and some diving equipment? It was made from America this week?’

Monedes nodded and swallowed, his face grey, then reached under the counter. For a second Stein wondered if he was reaching for the bottle of
tsikoudia
and a ‘hair of the
dog’, but instead he pulled out a red loose-leaf binder, placed it carefully on the counter, and began flicking through it.

‘Wilson?’ he muttered, as he searched the pages. ‘Yes, here it is,’ he said at last. ‘A day boat, one aqualung set with four spare bottles. Plus a wetsuit, mask,
fins, weight belt and everything else. The suit is for you yourself?’ he asked, looking at Stein.

‘No, for my friend.’ Stein gestured towards Elias.

Monedes looked Elias up and down. ‘No problem,’ he said, and led the way towards a door at the rear. The two Americans followed and found themselves entering a room lined with
shelves groaning under the weight of various pieces of diving equipment.

Monedes said something to Stein, who turned to his colleague and pointed at the shelves. ‘He says you can help yourself,’ Stein explained, guessing that either bending down or
reaching up might be beyond Monedes’s capabilities in his present fragile state.

Elias was in his element here. He selected a black neoprene two-piece wetsuit complete with hood, and added separate bootees and gloves. The aqualungs were stored in racks at the back of the
room, and Elias checked the demand valves on three sets before he declared himself satisfied with one of them. He picked out four full compressed air cylinders as spares, weighing them by hand,
then added demand valves, air hoses and mouthpieces to them. He chose a weight belt and a couple of dozen weights, a stainless-steel diving knife and calf sheath, a depth gauge, a compass, a
one-hundred-metre coil of thin cord and another one-hundred-metre coil of orange polypropylene rope and a lead weight to anchor it. Then he selected fins, a mask, snorkel, a life-saving inflatable
jacket, two powerful underwater torches, and a large string bag – as was used for collecting specimens – to complete the outfit.