The ghosts unscrewed the lid.
‘We know the Israelis opened the container,’ said the guide, and we know they didn’t open the flask, but we don’t know if they removed it from the container. The guys will check first to see if the flask is attached to anything inside.
‘You mean like a booby trap?’ asked Scott.
The guide shrugged.
One of the ghosts reached his gloved hands into the plastic packing material surrounding the flask and cautiously felt around it.
‘Plenty packaging,’ said Scott.
‘A bit like Amazon,’ said the guide causing smiles.
Satisfied that the flask was not secured in any way, the ghost removed a handful of the packing material and lifted it out to place it on the bench; he wiped away odd bits of packing clinging to it. One of his colleagues took over and held it steady while the third ran a scalpel blade around the seal holding the cap on and removed it.
‘They’ll do a few preliminary tests to see if the fluid contains nucleic acids or any other biological material,’ said the guide, ‘if not they’ll run a couple of spectrometer tests to see if they can identify any chemical substances present.’
Steven noticed the ghosts looking at each other as if acknowledging a problem, but the safety gear they were wearing made it difficult to discern what it might be. They seemed to repeat the first test before taking a sample from the flask to charge one of the spectrometers and set it running.
Steven leaned to the side to see if he could catch a glimpse of the screen on the instrument, hoping to see the spikes rise from the graph’s base line, but he couldn’t quite manage.
‘Anything?’ asked Scott.
‘Can’t see.’
More looks were exchanged between the ghosts before another sample was taken from the flask with a Gilson pipette and used to charge a second machine, which did its thing until the end of its cycle was signalled by the attached printer spewing out a short tongue of paper. The three ghosts gathered round the flask to read the data like witches discussing a new batch of toads. Eventually one of the ghosts raised his hand and made a cutting gesture across his throat to indicate they were finished.
The cap was replaced on the flask and it was left beside the container it came in. The cuvettes used to hold samples for the spectrometers were dropped from forceps into a beaker of what Steven assumed would be powerful disinfectant.
Their guide apologised for the failure in the communication equipment, but suggested that this would at least enable them to have coffee while they waited to be told what progress had been made. Steven and Scott were led from the gallery to a pleasant staff room where they were given coffee and engaged in small talk while waiting for the ghosts to appear in human form, something they did some ten minutes later, their hair giving away recent shower activity — two men and a woman smiled and shook hands with them, each giving their first name.
‘How did it go?’ asked the guide.
‘Well, we know exactly what it is,’ answered one of the men.
‘Wow,’ said Steven, ‘you folk have some fancy machines.’
‘We drew lots for who should have the honour of telling you and Jenny here won.’
Jenny, the female ghost, smiled and said after a small dramatic pause, ‘The fluid contains sodium chloride at a concentration of 0.85 %. It is physiological saline... it’s salt water, nothing else.’
Steven felt a mixture of bemusement and embarrassment. All this hassle for a small jug of salt water? It was beyond belief. People avoided looking at each other. Scott looked down at the floor; the ghosts seemed mildly amused, exchanging the briefest of eye contact with each other, and their guide was wearing a neutral, nothing-to-do-with-me expression. A joke? Could it be some awful joke, but who would have thought it funny? Petrov? Had he died laughing at the thought of the intelligence services of three countries transporting salt water across the globe? No, no, no, it made no sense. If the opposition felt so threatened, why had they tried to kill him and an MI6 officer yesterday? Why ruin their own joke?
After an agonising silence, Steven said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.’
Fourteen
Flying back to London by helicopter only served to exacerbate the feelings of embarrassment Steven felt. What a waste of everything.
Scott sensed his mood and said, ‘There’s a reason for what happened, mate, you can’t see it right now, but you will, sometimes you just have to come at things from a different direction.’
‘Right,’ said Steven sounding less than convinced.
‘You know the wheelbarrow joke, right?’
‘Hit me.’
‘This docker leaves work pushing a wheelbarrow with a tarpaulin over it and security stops him. Open it up!’ The guy removes the tarpaulin and the barrow is empty. This goes on three or four times a week for a month and always with the same result until finally the security guy gives up. ‘Okay, I’m not going to charge you with anything, you’re driving me mad, just tell me what you’re thieving.’
‘Wheelbarrows,’ says the guy.
Steven managed a shake of the head and a small smile. ‘Thanks, Scott,’ he murmured.
‘Maybe you’re looking at the tarpaulin, mate.’
John Macmillan took the news without a change of expression save for a slight raise of the eyebrows. Jean was more vocal. ‘Someone must have switched the flasks,’ she said.
‘And we are spoiled for choice,’ Steven sighed. ‘The chain is pretty long. It could have been someone in the Israeli lab or the Israeli intelligence services when they were called in, or the CIA when they became involved or Interpol or even MI6 when it was decided to bring the container to Porton although, frankly, I’m struggling to believe any of these.’
‘That’s not your only problem,’ said Jean. ‘Someone told the Russians where you and Jane Sherman would be yesterday and around what time.’
‘What Jean says is true,’ said Macmillan. ‘It’s clear that the Russian oligarchs and their hired lackeys are determined to protect their interests by killing people if necessary and yesterday it became clear that someone on the inside is helping them. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the assassin was driving on Westminster Bridge at the same time Steven and Jane were walking over it. It’s not someone inside Sci-Med so it’s someone inside MI6... and finding that person will not be as daunting as it sounds.’
Jean and Steven exchanged glances.
‘We know that Jane Sherman was at a meeting in Westminster yesterday morning as was Steven, albeit a different one,’ Macmillan continued. ‘I think she told someone at her meeting that she was having lunch with Steven afterwards and that someone betrayed her schedule to the Russians who saw the chance to take out both Jane and Steven at the same time. That someone gave the Russians an update on the exact time the pair of you were leaving Westminster and that’s how they knew where you would be and when. MI6 don’t have to search through their ranks for the mole, the mole was one of the people at her Westminster meeting.’
‘I’m glad you are on our side, John,’ said Steven.
Steven left the Home Office; it had been a long day. There was no question of Sci-Med even considering investigating how Petrov’s flask had come to be changed or who had done it — it would be way out of their remit and far too big a task for them to even consider attempting. What was even more depressing was that it was doubtful that the intelligence services would pursue it too vigorously either as it wasn’t essential to their main investigation, which was concerned with corruption in world aid agencies and how widespread it was. Knowing what the original contents of the flask comprised was of course, important for his investigation, not knowing that or even seeing a new way of finding out was going to bring it to a complete halt.