The Gulf Conspiracy (14 page)

Steven said, ‘Crowe turned up at Sebring’s funeral. Sebring’s wife told me he was there to make sure that Sebring hadn’t left anything about his work at Porton lying around.’ He added, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t want any information about a vaccine left lying around . . .’

‘
I think you’ve made your point,’ said Macmillan.

Steven took a sip of his coffee before asking, ‘Did you ask the minister about the 1
^st
Field Laboratory Unit?’

‘
It doesn’t exist,’ said Macmillan.

Steven replaced his cup in the saucer. ‘Really?’ he said.

‘
But he concedes that it did,’ continued Macmillan. ‘Apparently it was conceived as long ago as the First World War but was then disbanded until the time of the Gulf War when they re-commissioned it. It comprised a team of forty men who were used in teams of five to monitor the potential use of chemical and biological weapons. They were known officially as “The Secret Team”. Each member was sworn to secrecy under the terms of the Official Secrets Act and it wasn’t and isn’t government policy to acknowledge their existence.’

‘
I don’t suppose the minister explained why the government of the day ignored every report the unit ever made?’ asked Steven.

‘
Indirectly, I think he did,’ said Macmillan. ‘A great deal of pressure was forthcoming from our American allies at the time. Because of that it was decided that Saddam’s use of CB weapons should be . . . underplayed, I think was the minister’s word.’

‘
Because the Americans had supplied them to him?’

‘
Regrettably and embarrassingly, yes.’

‘
That fits with what I’ve heard,’ said Steven. ‘Angus Maclean, the Scotsman who called on Sebring before his death, maintains he was a member of the unit although, of course, the MOD denies it.’

‘
Well, it was a secret organisation,’ said Macmillan. ‘By rights he could be prosecuted under the act for even revealing that fact.’

‘
I think that’s why he keeps telling people,’ said Steven. ‘He wants to be prosecuted so he could say what he has to say in open court. He’s convinced that his wife and daughter are dead because of something that Porton did, something that Sebring was involved in, something that Sebring may even have confessed to Martin Hendry.’

‘
I see you’re determined to get your teeth into this,’ said Macmillan.

‘
Code red?’ asked Steven.

‘
Code green,’ replied Macmillan, giving his assent. ‘Be careful and keep me informed.’

Steven left the Home Office and walked down to the river to enjoy what remained of the afternoon sunshine. He was pleased that he had been given the go-ahead but with Sebring and Hendry both dead it was difficult to see how he should proceed. The only other name he had was that of Donald Crowe, who had been head of Sebring’s group at Porton and who still worked there. It didn’t seem at all likely that Crowe was going to admit to anything illegal, immoral or embarrassing when his sole purpose in attending Sebring’s funeral had been to make sure that nothing had been left lying around.

He supposed it was still possible that Jane Sebring might know more than she’d told him or that Martin Hendry had left a copy of his story or maybe some notes at another location – his home in Manchester, for instance. As for the other members of the group, they might be a better bet than Crowe but they would still be subject to the Official Secrets Act. Apart from that he didn’t know their names and suspected that Crowe might be less than helpful should he request them. Doing that would also alert the establishment to what he was up to and that might be a bad idea in the present circumstances. It occurred to him that Gus Maclean might know who the other group members were. He might even have spoken to them in his personal quest to discover the truth. Maclean would be an unofficial source and he was certainly no friend of the establishment. He settled on the idea of asking Maclean.

Steven decided that he would travel north in stages. First he would pay another call on Jane Sebring: she had already been helpful in putting him on to Martin Hendry. He also had an excuse for doing so because he had promised to keep her informed about how he was getting on. If he didn’t learn any more from her he would go to Manchester to investigate Martin Hendry’s home circumstances. He would ask Sci-Med to find out his address, marital status and so on and get them to arrange with the Manchester police for a search warrant. If he still hadn’t come up with anything after that, he would go back to Glasgow to speak to Gus Maclean again.

A Thames river launch, water creaming from its bow and crowded with laughing tourists, passed by as he paused for a moment to look at the river. Three girls standing near the stern, dressed in summer frocks and straw hats, waved to him and he waved back. It made them giggle and made him think how happy and carefree they looked. He felt envious.

Contentment was a state of mind that had moved beyond his grasp since Lisa’s death and reminders of this had a habit of popping up at odd moments, whether in observing the lives of others or seeing the girls on the boat.

But was it really because of Lisa’s death that he felt this way he wondered as he looked down at the muddy water. If he were being honest he would have to admit to being the type of person who, when he was here, wanted to be there, and when he was there, wanted to be here. His time with Lisa may have provided a respite from this because he had had been truly happy with her, but his restless side had always been present. It had just resurfaced after her death. There was no real fundamental reason for it; it was just the way he was.

Coming close to death on a number of occasions had encouraged him to adopt a live-for-today policy rather than one based on any long-term plans but he’d come to recognise that this had more merit as an excuse than a philosophy. Tomorrow wouldn’t always take care of itself and he had a daughter to consider. He’d done his best to take this responsibility seriously in recent times: he would now think twice before putting himself in dangerous situations, reminding himself that Jenny would benefit more from having a living father than a dead hero to remember.

He phoned his daughter twice a week to be updated with what she was doing and tried to get up to Scotland as often as he could to take her out and about. But despite this, he knew in his heart that she had come to regard his sister-in-law, Sue, and her husband, Richard, as her real parents. This was no bad thing for Jenny because she was obviously a perfectly happy little girl but it had left him with feelings of regret over what might have been.

Steven had had enough of self-analysis. What he wanted right now was a beer. He would have a pint of Guinness at a riverside pub and start thinking about more practical matters.

Redford Mansions

South Kensington

London

‘
I thought you weren’t coming,’ said Donald Crowe. ‘It’s almost midnight.’

‘
Just taking precautions,’ replied Cecil Mowbray. ‘It’s probably just professional paranoia but I thought I was being followed when I left the flat.’

Crowe looked alarmed but Mowbray waved away his concern. ‘I’ve been in the business too long,’ he said. ‘I like to err on the side of caution. I moved back and forth across the city changing taxis until I was quite sure there wasn’t a problem.’

‘
Why should anyone want to follow you?’ asked Crowe.

‘
No reason at all,’ replied Mowbray, looking Crowe in the eye. ‘Unless of course, you know different?’

‘
I haven’t said anything to anyone,’ said Crowe, hearing accusation in what Mowbray had said.

‘
But?’ asked Mowbray, thinking he detected a slight hesitation in Crowe’s voice.

‘
A man named Steven Dunbar turned up at George Sebring’s funeral,’ said Crowe. ‘He steered clear of me but I knew him. He’s an investigator with the Sci-Med Inspectorate. He’s sent stuff to Porton for analysis in the past and even asked for advice on occasion although not from me personally.’

‘
I don’t think we should read too much into it,’ said Mowbray. ‘Sci-Med’s computer would have picked up on the fact that Sebring had been murdered and that he’d worked at Porton Down at one time in his career. Actually, that murder verdict was down to a bit of bad luck: any other pathologist would have been happy to put it down as suicide.’

‘
What about Sebring talking to that journalist?’ said Crowe.

‘
I don’t think Sci-Med know anything about that,’ said Mowbray.

‘
How did
you
find out about it?’ said Crowe.

‘
His phone,’ said Mowbray. ‘We’ve been keeping tabs on all the Beta team since the papers broke the story about government plans to use up the old vaccine.’

‘
Sci-Med asked the MOD about Sebring’s work at Porton,’ said Crowe. ‘The MOD got on to our director and he asked me to respond.’

‘
As it should be,’ smiled Mowbray. ‘I take it you told him he was working on a vaccine against AIDS?’

Crowe nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘
No need to worry then,’ said Mowbray. ‘I had lunch with Everley yesterday. He’s getting restless: thinks we’re not keeping him in the picture.’

‘
He makes me nervous,’ said Crowe. ‘I’m still not sure asking him was a good idea.’

‘
We needed his money,’ said Mowbray. ‘But I know what you mean. I don’t see him as a problem. He’s a type. He’s made a mint in business and then discovered money wasn’t enough; he wants power; he wants public recognition. He’s deeply in love with himself and wants others to share his fascination. He’d give his eye teeth to become an MP and probably his balls to become a minister. He sees us as his best chance.’

‘
Why do you think he failed before? A three time loser isn’t he?’

‘
The party kept putting him up for seats he couldn’t possibly win,’ said Mowbray. ‘I think they had reservations about him too but like us, they saw the attraction of his cash.’

‘
He’s going to expect a return on his investment this time,’ said Crowe.

‘
True,’ agreed Mowbray. ‘I’ve done my best to convince him that he’s going to finish up as the honourable member for somewhere or other but if he starts being a problem he has more skeletons in the cupboard than a medical school - and I’ve got the negatives.’

‘
You have a file on him?’

‘
Are you serious?’ said Mowbray. ‘A multi-millionaire businessman with political ambitions? We’ve got a small novel.’

‘
Well, you seem to have thought of everything,’ said Crowe.

‘
How are things with you?’

‘
I’ve been in touch with a few names on the group database and they’ve given me the information I need to make final plans. It’s looking good.’

‘
Excellent.’

‘
I don’t suppose you caught
Newsnight
?’ asked Crowe.

‘
I was in a taxi,’ Mowbray reminded him. ‘Why?’

‘
The government have given in to demands that old military vaccine stocks should be destroyed. The troops will be given all new stuff.’

‘
Only right,’ smiled Mowbray.

Steven called Jane Sebring from home and asked if he could come and see her on the following day.

‘
You’ve seen Martin Hendry?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Did he tell you anything?’

‘
He couldn’t; he was dead.’

‘
Oh my God. How? What happened?’

‘
It looked like suicide,’ said Steven, thinking that this really wasn’t a lie. It did. The Scottish police, as far as he knew, had not yet stated that they were treating Hendry’s death as murder so he couldn’t openly suggest otherwise. He had an ulterior motive in that he had no wish to scare Jane Sebring into silence by telling her that another person had been murdered over something her husband had been involved in.’

‘
So you are no further forward in finding out who killed George or why?’ said Jane.

‘
I’m afraid not.’

‘
Then I don’t understand why you want to see me again,’ said Jane.

‘
I just thought if we talked for a while you might remember something that you hadn’t thought of as being important before,’ said Steven.

‘
You’re driving up from London?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Come for lunch.’

Steven thanked her and agreed to be there by one o’clock. As he put down the phone, he found that he was very much looking forward to seeing Jane Sebring again.

The woman whom Steven remembered dressed in black and behaving with such poise and dignity at her husband’s funeral opened the door wearing jeans, sandals and a halter neck blouse. Her long fair hair was hanging loose and she pushed it away from her face as she said, ‘The bloody cat’s just been sick on the floor. Come on in; I’ll be with you in a moment. Help yourself to a drink.’

Steven was left alone in the room they had all been in after Sebring’s funeral. It seemed much bigger now that it was empty of mourners and smelt of leather and furniture polish rather than the heady mix of perfume and flowers. There was a tray sitting on a walnut dresser with a number of drinks bottles on it so he poured himself a gin and tonic. He considered shouting through to ask if his hostess would like something but, as he couldn’t hear any nearby sounds, he decided that she was probably out of earshot. He sipped his drink and looked out at the garden where he had walked and talked with Sebring’s mother.