The vials of prototype were sealed inside polystyrene canisters, which were in turn secured within the five stainless steel capsules that resembled a construction worker’s thermos, with a small combination lock on the screw lid.
‘Are we in agreement?’ the Doctor asked the man who sat on the other side of his desk. ‘Small rural settlements, with an observable population?’
‘I have the sites,’ replied the man, nodding to the piece of paper he’d supplied to the Doctor. ‘Operation Scimitar will be conducted as agreed and you’ll get photographic evidence.’
‘And stool samples and swabs,’ said the Doctor, too quickly.
The Doctor didn’t like this man who lounged before him. He was tall, well dressed and altogether too smooth, like a movie star or a salesman. He was Pakistani, which was in his favour, but he was a contractor with the ISI, foisted on him by the Colonel. As such he had a codename—Murad—and the Doctor knew nothing else about him, except that he had security clearance to be here, in the basement levels of the facility, which implied a certain seniority. He’d heard gossip that Murad managed an al-Qaeda cell on behalf of the ISI, giving the intelligence agency influence and control in North Africa. It wouldn’t have surprised the Doctor—the ISI also operated the Taliban in Afghanistan and Northern Pakistan, using it as a tool for control over an area much larger than the Pakistani government’s official reach.
It was one of the irritations of the Doctor’s undeclared scientific work that all his connections to the outside world had to be managed through a secret office of the ISI, controlled by the ghost-like Colonel. Three years ago, the Colonel had directly taken over research projects at the MERC after his predecessor was found to be selling secrets to North Korea. The Colonel now had managerial control over both the MERC and the missile development programs at Noor Khan Air Base in Rawalpindi, whereas he had previously had oversight of the clandestine programs. The Colonel, for all his ignorance of science, was at a least a good manager. But living in secret meant having to rely on a person like Murad, who might be competent but was clearly mercenary in his motivations.
‘If this works,’ said the Doctor, ‘as I know it will, we’ll be ready for the final stage of Scimitar as per the agreed timetable. Is that a problem?’
‘Not at all,’ said Murad.
‘What about that business in Sicily I read about?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Anything to do with us?’
‘It’s under control.’
‘Control?’ echoed the Doctor, annoyed at the arrogance. ‘What does that mean?’
‘The French secret services were in Palermo,’ said Murad, showing his gleaming teeth. ‘But they were looking into a passport racket, nothing else. We’re clean.’
The Doctor breathed deeply. There had been one hiccup, almost two years ago. A scientist of his with a traitorous husband. But she had been dealt with. Now he had no choice but to trust this man, Murad … for the moment. His sponsor was the notoriously capricious Colonel, and who knew what would happen to Murad once he had served his purpose?
‘We’ve discussed these vials and their safe use,’ said the Doctor, pointing to the canisters. ‘Your team has been shown the safety video I sent? They’ll need to use full protective measures when handling them. No exceptions.’
In fact, the Doctor’s project team had engineered paper caps on the vials which lasted around thirty-five minutes, when submerged in water, before eroding. This meant there was little risk of spillage, but he didn’t want a clumsy soldier making a mistake and infecting himself, complicating the operation.
When Murad had left with the canisters, the Doctor walked into the security airlock that separated his administrative offices from the laboratory. He input a security code and offered his hand to a palm-reader, which allowed him into the most covert facility in Pakistan.
The smell hit him immediately. Although this place had its own ventilation system, the smell of sickness and ordure was strong. The room was in darkness, sub-lit by dim red bulbs which gave a faint outline of the internal structures. It was quiet, thanks to the timers which shut down the main lights at 9 p.m., and the Doctor sat on the top step of the entry stairs, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his cardigan. He lit up, knowing that while smoking was not permitted on the campus of the Pakistan Agricultural Chemical Company, the discrete ventilation system in this area meant there’d be no smoke alarms going off in the security offices.
He was feeling nervous but excited about his work being allowed into the field, even if the Colonel and ISI had determined that he couldn’t be present at the tests. It had been a long journey from childhood to scientific pre-eminence. His discoveries were as great as those of Isaac Newton or Robert Oppenheimer, but he would never be lauded by other scientists or feted at the United Nations. However, once unleashed, his discovery would not only right a historic wrong done against his family—it would bring to its knees one of the world’s great nations and the very foundation of Western culture.