It had been nearly a week since Tom Finch had visited the School of Tropical Medicine. He was feeling rather satisfied with himself. Geoff had been pleased with the information he had obtained and had encouraged him to follow through with the investigation. Several days on the internet and, with a few visits to some pharmacology departments, he had come up with a very plausible story. Someone in Indonesia was researching and producing drug resistant bacteria that could replicate at speed in almost any condition. In the wrong hands this bacteria would cause havoc. A perfect weapon for a bioterrorist. On the other hand of course, it could be pure research to produce experimental bacteria for new drugs. There was only one way to find out: visit the laboratory. He had been weighing up the ways he could ask to do this when Geoff had suggested that he learn a little bit more about the industry, a trip to see some editing perhaps. Tom would have preferred to be on a plane to East Java but he could be patient and, after all, a month ago he would have given his eye teeth for such a visit. Stefanie met him at the top of Wardour Street.
‘Great, you’re on time. I’ve been asked to show you around a typical edit suite and a graphics studio.’
He followed her brisk walk down the street as she continued. ‘We used to hire cutting rooms; you know, places where they physically cut film to make programmes. Now it’s all digital. Geoff hates it but I think you’ll find it interesting.’
It was another warm day and the streets were teeming with people in shirtsleeves and flimsy frocks. Stefanie marched him past numerous eateries and windows displaying sex toys and lurid underwear. There was a buzz about the place. Casually dressed media types appeared to be talking into the air until one spotted the small smartphone wire hanging around their necks. Surabaya could wait, today Tom would enjoy the Soho life.
The square mile around Soho in London, sometimes called the Golden Square Mile, is the home of the British film industry. Hundreds of media production offices, sound studios and editing facilities line its streets. Some in glamorous three-storey buildings, others in small cramped basements. Behind their walls lie miles of cables and thousands of screens. The productions here vary from corporate videos to stunning animated advertising and broadcast television programmes. Tom had some inkling of the technology but this was the first time he would be introduced to professionals in action.
Stefanie stepped into a side street and pressed one of the bells alongside an unpretentious looking door. ‘Here we are, Reels; it’s just one of the suites that Bagatelle is hiring at the moment.’
Tom looked up at the rather unimposing brick facade of the building. ‘Hiring?’
‘Yes, Geoff doesn’t own any editing equipment, says that technology moves too quickly. Also some weeks we are editing five films at once, and others none at all, so it’s impossible to know in advance what equipment…’ She was interrupted by a distorted voice coming from a small grilled speaker. Neither of them could make it out but a loud buzz indicated that someone had remotely unlocked the door. Stefanie pushed it open and they walked inside. A narrow stone staircase faced them.
‘Not very salubrious I know but Geoff hates spending money on flash reception rooms and cocktail cabinets.’ Stefanie threw up her eyes. ‘As long as the equipment is up to date and the editor knows what he’s doing.’
Tom followed Stefanie up the stairs and into a corridor that led off the first mezzanine. She knocked on a rather grubby white painted door.
‘Come in.’
Stefanie opened the door to reveal a small room crammed with technology. A mini NASA, as Tom would later describe it. A man with his back to them was staring at three television screens. Two contained moving pictures and the other a series of numbers and icons.
‘Take a seat, won’t be a moment, just want to render this bit.’
Tom looked around the room, which didn’t take long. Behind the edit desk and to one side of the door was a small worn two-seater sofa and a cluttered side table. Tom and Stefanie perched on the sofa and waited. The editor was typing something at speed on a strange looking keyboard. It was like the one that Tom used with his PC but it had multi-coloured keys. As the editor typed, the images on the screens changed. On one appeared a sheet of flame, on the other a close-up of a fire hose. The images then froze and the man in the chair swivelled to face them.
‘Sorry about that. Done. Just got to wait for the machine to catch up now. Doesn’t matter what software you put into these things, still have to sit watching this annoying bar crawl across the screen.’
‘Bob, this is Tom. Tom this is Bob, one of our regular and most skilful editors.’
‘Tell that to Geoff next time he gets my invoice will you?’
Stefanie ignored this remark and asked Bob if he would give Tom an overview.
‘Geoff says that if you’re learning to make films it’s best to start at the end,’ she concluded.
Bob gestured for Tom to sit in the swivel chair alongside of him.
‘There won’t be an end if I spend too much time teaching all his new recruits.’ He turned back to face the screens. ‘But I’ll quickly talk you through it. Here we’re making a documentary film on arson for Channel 5. A week ago the director gave me the rushes and I loaded them into bins.’
Tom peered at the row of numbers. ‘Bins?’
‘Yeah, a hangover from celluloid days. We used to have a big canvas bin to hang all the strips of film in. Now I load different categories of film into different digital bins. For instance, here I’ve put all the fire shots, here all the interviews, and here the scenes at the fire station.’
‘So you can find them quickly?’
‘Exactly, then I take the director’s storyline and try to make sense of it. Sometimes we have a voice-over first and sometimes it’s written afterwards, to fit the pictures.’
‘Doesn’t the director tell you what order to put the pictures in?’
‘Occasionally, but mostly it’s a team effort. One day you should come in with your director and watch us in action. Who are you working with?’
‘Someone called Nathalie. I’ve not met her yet, she’s meant to be flying back from Zimbabwe this morning.’
‘Well you’re in good hands there. Send her my regards.’
‘Will do. We are meant to be meeting this afternoon but she’s not contacted the office recently; busy or poor communications from Africa I suppose.’
There was a cough behind them and Tom turned round to see Stefanie tapping the watch on her wrist. ‘Sorry to interrupt you two boys but if we don’t get a move on we won’t get to that meeting. I still have to show Tom an animation studio.’
The studio was in the Haymarket so they made their way back towards Wardour Street to hail a black cab. Stefanie filled in the background.
‘Magic Touch is owned by Oskar, a guy Geoff used to use as a freelancer in the days he directed films.’ Tom gave her a glance. ‘Yes I know, hard to believe but he hasn’t always been sitting behind a desk grunting out orders. Anyway, Oskar has made it really big in the CGI business. You’ll see a big difference to the edit suite we’ve just visited. He has at least twenty of the world’s top animators working for him. You’ve probably seen their work on major feature films. Oskar does documentary work for Geoff for old times’ sake.’
The cab pulled up outside an imposing architectural facade. Stefanie paid the cab driver and they walked into the glass-fronted lobby.
‘All our opening credits and anything that needs 3-D graphics are done here,’ explained Stefanie pushing the elevator call button. ‘I hear that you might need animation to explain how viruses and bacteria work, is that right?’
If he was honest, Tom hadn’t really thought about that. Sounded like a dream come true. The ability to describe all the things he normally did as rough sketches on paper by spectacular 3-D animation. He tried to hide his excitement from Stefanie and just nodded nonchalantly.
The lift doors opened and they made their way into the glass-surrounded reception area. A huge screen in one corner was showing a loop of the studio’s show reel and scattered around on shelves were dozens of small statues which Tom assumed to be film awards. A girl with pink hair bounced up to Stefanie.
‘Amazing to see you, it’s been ages.’
They kissed on both cheeks. Stefanie gestured to Tom. ‘This is Tom. I’ve been let out to show him some of the facilities we use. He might be helping Nathalie with the animation for the bioterrorism doc we’re doing. Is Oskar around?’
‘Yes he’s about to go out for lunch but I’m sure he’ll give you a few minutes.’
Oskar was all that Tom expected from an art director. Tall, blonde ponytail and a logo-plastered T-shirt. He spoke with a soft, slightly Polish accent.
‘Hi, let me show you around. Medical stuff eh? We used to do quite a lot of that. May have some basic models stored to keep your costs down.’
Tom thought that this was slightly jumping the gun; he didn’t have an idea of what was needed yet, but he didn’t say anything. The studio was as amazing as the show reel. Rows of computers and screens attended by young hipster artists, most of whom were around Tom’s age. The room was surrounded by vast posters containing colourful images. In one corner a man was sitting surrounded by the scattered innards of a computer. In another, two young women were bouncing a coloured ball on to a mat of artificial grass.
Oskar saw Tom staring at them. ‘Don’t ask. Working out some sort of advertising storyboard probably.’
Tom was shown various projects on the screens but they didn’t make much sense to him. Artists were plotting a series of mathematical algorithms, others constructing wire-framed objects.
‘You don’t have to understand how they do it, just give them a really good brief on what you want,’ said Oskar. ‘Too many of our clients think they’re bloody artists. What we need is what they want the audience to feel, think, or understand, and we’ll do the rest.’
‘That’s telling you,’ interjected Stefanie. ‘He’s just letting off steam, wouldn’t dare say that to his big advertising clients.’
‘You’ve known me too long Stefanie,’ said Oskar with a grin. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after your new prodigy. Just let me have your budget and schedule when you get one. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a lunch date to catch up with.’
The production meeting had been set for two-thirty. Stefanie and Tom had grabbed sandwiches on the way back to the office and were now eating them in the boardroom. Between mouthfuls Tom kept nervously flicking through his notes.
Stefanie tapped him on the arm. ‘He won’t bite you know. He may not show it but I gather he thinks you’re rather good.’
‘Who’s rather good?’ asked Geoff bursting into the room.
‘None of your business,’ replied Stefanie. ‘I thought you said two-thirty prompt. Tom and I have been waiting here for at least a quarter of an hour.’
‘See Tom, what I have to put up with, insubordination and mutiny. As it happens Miss Moneypenny, I’ve been waiting for Nathalie; not like her to be late. I suppose we’ll just have to start without her.
Stefanie was used to Geoff Sykes’ faux misogyny and played along with the game. ‘Well Mr Bond, we’ve had another letter from Arts and Entertainment – in the States,’ she added for Tom’s benefit. ‘They are happy to join in with co-funding but want to have a bit more flesh around the proposal. You must admit it’s a bit sketchy at the moment. Locations in Indonesia, Zimbabwe and Afghanistan with evidence of bioterrorism. All we have at the moment is Tom’s report on a possible laboratory in Surabaya and whatever Nathalie has come up with on her Harare trip. Nothing at all on Afghanistan. Only some vague report from Reuters quoted by that guy you hired to do the first proposal.’
Geoff sat on the edge of the table and flipped open his file. After a few moments studying the papers he came to a decision.
‘To be honest, I never really expected us to film in Afghanistan, too bloody dangerous. We left it in because it sounded topical at the time. It’s only a forty-five minute programme. I’m sure we can fill it with Indonesia and Zimbabwe, after all they are two huge countries. Even the Americans know that much geography.’
Stefanie slowly shook her head. ‘I must apologise for the lack of political correctness from my employer Tom. He likes to exaggerate from time to time.’
Geoff repositioned himself into a chair and leaned back. ‘Okay, fair enough, but I’m sure we can satisfy our benefactors with a bit of creative writing. Tom, you sound like you’re on to a good story. Where have we got with that?’
Tom noticed that the notes in his hands were shaking so he put them down. ‘As I mentioned in my report…’
‘Yes yes, I’ve read it, move on.’
‘I think the professor’s hunch is right. I’ve gone through their results with other labs, they all think the bacteria has been synthetically manufactured. In the wrong hands it could be a lethal weapon. What I can’t prove at the moment is if the bacteria was manufactured for selling to terrorists or for testing out new drugs.’
‘So how do we prove which it is?’
‘I’ve checked the address of the laboratory in Indonesia where the infected guy came from. On Google Earth it looks like a warehouse in a small village just outside Surabaya. Doesn’t look like a top state-of-the-art research lab that a pharma company would use.’
‘And?’
‘I suggest we go out there and take a look.’
‘Could be an expensive trip if you’re wrong.’
‘Yeah, but if it’s legit, we could still tell the story of how dangerous making artificial bacteria is.’
Geoff looked at Stefanie. ‘The boy learns fast. Can you check out hotels, flights and costs et cetera. We can give it to Nathalie when she arrives, see if she wants to go.’
Tom disguised his disappointment by changing the subject. ‘I hope you don’t mind but there’s been something that’s worrying me.’
Geoff opened his hand, ‘Go ahead.’
‘If we find that this laboratory is really making biological weapons for terrorists shouldn’t we tell the police rather than just film them?’
‘Good point young man. It’s a dilemma that many an investigative documentary maker has. But to appease your conscience, I’ll tell you the answer. We film them first and then we tell the police.’
‘But…’
Geoff held up his hand and closed it into a fist. ‘Think about it. Tell the police first.’ He uncoiled his thumb. ‘First of all, which police? The ones in the UK, the ones in Indonesia?’ He opened up his index finger. ‘Second, what evidence do we have? Film them, put them on TV – guilty as hell.’ He waved his third finger in the air triumphantly. ‘Finally, if nobody appears to be doing anything about it, we can show it to the world.’
Tom sat there, a little bemused. ‘I suppose if you put it like that.’
‘I do. Now the Ebola thing. Last thing we heard from Nathalie is that she was going on an immunisation recce. Sounded like she could get a film crew into the country. Good news, always difficult doing concealed camera stuff. Crap quality and you don’t always get what you want.’
Stefanie rose from her chair. ‘She’s over an hour late, her flight was meant to come in early this morning. If you don’t mind I’ll check with the airline, see if there’s been a delay.’
She was saved the trouble by Nathalie appearing at the door. ‘Delay I should say so, two hours trying to clear customs.’
‘Ah, the prodigal returns,’ said Geoff. ‘Here take a seat, coffee?’
Nathalie pushed her trolley bag into one corner and took the chair next to Geoff’s. ‘No thanks, people keep telling me I drink too much coffee. Sorry I’m late, where are we up to?’
‘No problem, you’re just on cue. Ebola. Any progress?’
Nathalie reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a bunch of papers and her mobile phone. The phone looked like it had been hit with a sledgehammer.
‘Oh that,’ said Nathalie seeing the expression on their faces. ‘Dropped it from the hotel balcony. That’s why I haven’t been in touch. Didn’t think Zimbabwe landlines would be very secure and it seemed a bit crazy to waste time looking for the Gatwick payphone when I was due here. Anyway, I made these notes on the plane.’ She passed them to Stefanie. ‘Excuse the handwriting.’
Stefanie took them resignedly. ‘I’ll tidy them up and let you see them before we send them in to the commissioners. They want an interim report,’ she added.
‘Bugger the report,’ exclaimed Geoff. ‘Have we got a film or haven’t we?’
‘Good chance,’ said Nathalie. ‘Visited the hospital in Harare, a definite Ebola case. Met with a so-called terrorist group. They’re definitely up to something. I’m pretty sure that there’s a connection there.’
‘Such as?’
‘They’re keen to have a sympathiser in the West who can cross borders without being noticed. Putting two and two together I think they’d like to plant some sort of biological weapon to scare people. I don’t think it’s big scale, just enough to draw attention to their cause.’
‘And Lloyd, is he still on board?’
‘Ah Lloyd,’ said Nathalie. ‘That’s another story.’