Kevin and Tunji Fayinka were lunching at a McDonalds in North London. It had been raining for almost two days and was doing nothing to improve Kevin’s mood.
For one thing, he’d got nowhere with the tasks set by Colin yet he knew Larry was in Washington meeting senators.
“Is it my fault my local member of Parliament seems to think that claiming unemployment benefit warrants more attention than discussing genetic engineering and biological warfare?” he asked Tunji.
Tunji, munching on a bun that contained something brown, something yellow and something green, tried cheering him up. “Tell her we know a way to get jobless numbers down everywhere, Kev. One quick spray of El Badry’s virus and no one will ever need a job again.”
The only positive news for Kevin was that Tom Weston had spoken to Lord Peterson, the chair of the House of Lords Science and Technology Committee, and fixed a meeting, so Kevin had postponed the lecture on Thomas Telford he’d prepared and taken the train to London. What he needed was a bed for the night. Tunji could solve that, and they needed to meet anyway to discuss what to do about Tunji’s meeting with Doctor Ramses.
“Guess where I met him, Kev?”
To Kevin, the venue wasn’t important. “Was it somewhere nice, Tunji? The zoo? Madame Tussauds? The Tower of London?”
“InterContinental Hotel, Park Lane, Kev. I met him in the lobby. It was definitely not El Badry. This was a big guy, six feet, with all the genuine Arab gear: red-and-white spotted hanky, brown beads, gold
rings, and shiny shoes underneath. He said that it was private and if I would mind a discussion in his room. I didn’t see a twinkle in his eye, so I accepted. I followed him up - fifth floor, big double bed, and I thought, ‘Aye aye, here we go. A new experience beckons.’ But no, it was orange juice from the minibar. I sat on a sofa so big and soft. I thought I’d suffocate. Then he got something out of a briefcase and flipped a bundle at me. It looked like a few thousand, but I didn’t like to count it. I thought, ‘Aye aye, here we go again.’ But no, it was down to business. Want the gist, Kev?”
“Please,” said Kevin.
“He’d heard good reports about me from El Badry. Was I still an active member of the Malthus Club? Sure. Did I want to do something that would make a difference? You bet, but what do I have to do? Oh, nothing much. I fly to Lagos, then Abuja, Kano, Maiduguri, Port Harcourt, etcetera. Then I meet up with some people and hand over some sealed boxes and fly back to UK. Job done.”
Kevin stared. “Is that it?”
“Simple. I was there twenty minutes and didn’t even have time to finish my orange juice. He got up, I got up, he saw me to the lift, and I was back out on Park Lane, thinking how easy it was to make money.”
“What was in the boxes?”
“He said it was medicine and I thought, ‘Aye aye, here we go again -
big-time drug-dealing venture.”
“So did you agree to do it, Tunji?”
“Sure. Easy money. I’m expecting another phone call with further instructions. I’ll keep you posted.”
“As Malthus Society founder, why didn’t I get an invite, Tunji?”
“You got no style, man. And you aren’t Nigerian. Maybe when they’re ready to hand out boxes in Bristol, they’ll call you.”
“You think other Nigerians would do it for money?”
“Too right they would. And the chances of them understanding exactly what they’re doing is limited. These clowns are relying on desperate people to sell something that’s really a dose of deadly virus.
Then they’ll get them to sell doses of a medicine they say will cure it.
At five dollars a dose, that’s big profit. It could be sugar and water, but if it looks like medicine, then it must be medicine. People are stupid, Kev. It’s fraud on a massive scale.”
“So will you go to Nigeria?”
“Only if you and your mates think it’ll help to catch these bastards.”
For the first time ever, Kevin saw a sense of serious concern in Tunji’s tone. What he said next proved it.
“We all know the world’s a fucking mess and totally overcrowded, Kev, but this isn’t the way, is it? They want me to go to Port Harcourt, but my mother lives in Ibadan.”
***
Larry finally tracked down New York senator Mary Collis to a meeting in the Federal Mediation and Conciliation Service (FMCS) in Washington, DC. He was told she might be free to talk after four in the afternoon, but he needed to be there waiting or she’d be gone again.Larry, having barely slept or washed since leaving Lagos, checked in at the Quincy Hotel, showered, changed out of his jeans, tee shirt, and sweater, put on a crumpled suit and shirt, fastened a tie around his neck and went straight to the FMCS office block.
At four fifteen, his name was called, and he was escorted by a young woman to an office on the sixth floor. Larry, although a New Yorker, had never met Senator Mary Collis in person. He’d seen her on TV
though and liked what he’d heard. She was black, a lawyer, and with
similar roots to Larry’s. Smartly dressed in a light grey suit and white blouse, she was sitting at a coffee table with two other men in dark suits when Larry was ushered in. She rose. The two men did the same.
“OK, gentlemen, let’s take it from there,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m back in New York tonight, so just keep me in the loop. I’ll do what I can, OK?”
Larry stood for a moment as the two men departed. The young woman who had brought him there opened and closed the door behind them but then stayed in the room and smiled up at him. “Hi, I’m Colette.”
Mary Collis walked towards him, glancing at something on her iPhone. Larry knew he’d need to grab her attention right from the start or he’d lose it.
“Dr Brown?” Mary Collis asked.
“Thank you for seeing me, Senator.”
“Take a seat. Colette here will listen in and take any notes. OK?”
Larry had been practicing his opening sentences for hours.
“I’ve just flown from Lagos, Nigeria, Senator,” he began. “I believe that tests on a biological weapon have been carried out on a community of Muslims in the north of Nigeria. The tests were successful that over one hundred people died. The agent used was a coronavirus similar to MERS, SARS but was genetically modified in a laboratory. It is lethal. There is no vaccine or drug available to deal with it.”
Larry stopped, and Senator Collis raised an eyebrow. “You’re surely not suggesting the USA is responsible, are you?”
It was a question that Larry had anticipated. Where ultimate responsibility lay was another matter and he certainly didn’t want to mention two US companies, Virex or Biox, at this stage.
“Not directly,” he said. “A similar test was carried out in Thailand using the same virus. Whoever it was used asthma-type inhalers as the delivery mechanism.”
Mary Collis paused, thinking. “So, are you suggesting that Thailand, of all places, is developing biological weapons?”
“No, Senator. My belief, and I am not alone in this now, is that a group of privately owned companies, one of them owned by a man already known to the FBI, is behind a plot to deliberately spread the virus because they also claim to have a treatment.”
She sat back in her chair and looked first at Collette and then at Larry.
“You’re a medical doctor working at the US Embassy, right?” she said. Larry nodded. “Is this possible?”
“Too right it’s possible, Senator. There are not enough controls on research involving genetic engineering, especially of bacteria and viruses. Some scientists have been saying it for years but some scientists will follow the money not their conscience. It’s called gain-of-function research - GOF for short - and it’s perfectly legal. The technology is highly advanced and not widely understood, especially by politicians. Some say GOF research is out of control. In the wrong hands encouraged by small, rogue states or major powers like China or Russia for political or military reasons then…”
Larry stopped, allowing the senator’s imagination to run. Rumours of such things had been around a long time and it had suited politics to blame animal origins or Chinese wet markets and Asian tastes for dog meat.
“Mmm,” she said after a pause. “So, who runs checks on these companies?”
“As far as checking on what they are actually doing, no one. And, before you ask, Senator, I’m not talking about big companies. In this case, it looks like a motley group of small Middle Eastern, African, and Asian businesses operating below the radar. That being said, the one guy I mentioned is American.”
“And this virus could be released in the USA or spread to the USA?”
“Of course, and it seems they’re ready to move.” Larry thought this might be a slight exaggeration, but if there was one sure way to get a politician to jump, it was to suggest a need for self-protection.
“And no genuine treatment or vaccine?”
“Correct, and you can probably add in a high cross-infection rate and high mortality.”
“So where has this motley group of companies, as you call them, suddenly acquired such technology?”
“Easy, Senator. Just tempt a few good scientists with money, give them a nice, well-equipped lab to work in and keep them in the dark about the real motives of the company employing them. If everything looks good, they’re unlikely to ask too many questions.”
“These sorts of guys exist out there?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
Larry wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Things were moving fast, and he wanted another catch up with me, but I was in Nairobi and about to go on one of Jimmy’s so-called night-safaris. So, he ignored the question for now and went in a different direction.
“Ask the World Health Organisation if they have procedures in place to monitor this sort of thing, Senator. They don’t. Ask yourself what international checks are placed on this sort of research. There aren’t any.
“But then try adding in subversive politics, idealism and views on the need for governments to stop talking about the risks of war or the economy and talk about the risks of unchecked human population growth and overpopulation. Do that and you’ll find you’re into a whole new ball game with a completely different agenda that isn’t driven by money.”
“Overpopulation? Are you saying this virus is linked to a plan to kill millions just to reduce populations?”
“Yes, I am,” said Larry. “Ask yourself. Other than two world wars, what has been the most reliable way of reducing population? Answer?
Disease in the form of bubonic plague, smallpox, cholera, Spanish flu, malaria, HIV, and tuberculosis. They’ve all done their bit. They’ve wiped out more than wars and twentieth-century terrorism added together.”
Larry knew he’d now got her attention.
“Now add in a commercial organisation financed by a few rich guys with no ethics and out to make a fortune by first spreading a disease and then selling a vaccine or a treatment, which may or may not work.
Then add in one or two scientists who are world leaders in research on infectious diseases and viruses and who’ve also got a bee in their bonnets about the world being totally overpopulated and no longer sustainable. Not only will these guys quote statistics about destruction of the environment and lack of resources but figures on economic migration, illegal immigration, and mass unemployment to back it up.
Their case is a good one, and it may surprise politicians to know that their views are surprisingly popular. And you know what one of them is on record as saying, Senator? We’ve waited too damn long for politicians to face up to unsustainable population growth and provide a solution. We can’t wait any longer, so we’ll deal with it ourselves.
“And, Senator, they’ve already named their virus. It’s called Malthus A after Thomas Malthus, an English proponent of action to control population growth two hundred and fifty years ago. To them, that’s two hundred and fifty years too long to wait.”
Larry knew Senator Collis had been listening, but was he getting a message across or had she already concluded he was an idiot? He watched her get up from her chair and wander to the window. Collette had been listening throughout, but no notes had been taken as far as Larry knew.
“What actual evidence have you got for all this, Dr Brown?”
“I’ve been working with a London-based private investigator specialising in corporate fraud, Senator. He was originally engaged by an American biotechnology company to look into the disappearance of some research material. The company has since lost a scientist.
He’s disappeared, vanished. Evidence suggests he’s linked up with two other scientists who disappeared from a separate American company a year or so ago. All of them are virologists. At least one of them has extreme views on the need for population control. So, is America implicated, Senator? Yes. And where is my English colleague at present? Kenya. Where was he before that? Egypt.
Where did he start off? Thailand. And why Thailand? Because that’s where his US client suggested he start.”
Larry sensed he was, at last, getting somewhere.
“Have I researched my facts? Yes. Have I spoken to WHO Geneva?
Yes. Were they able to clarify procedures for controls on gain-of-function research to safeguard against dangerous viruses escaping into the community? No. Have I visited the place in Northern Nigeria, where the virus was tested causing a hundred deaths? Yes. Who conducted those tests? No one knows, Senator, because he disappeared. And have I been able to find someone who would be in a position to do anything? No.
“I’ve drawn a blank, Senator, because I can’t get past the first person who picks up the phone, whether it’s in Homeland Security or the US
Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases, the Federal Drug Administration or the Environmental Protection Agency, who, by the way, wanted to know if I was talking about a virus that kills tomatoes.
“And have you looked at the Biological and Toxic Weapons Convention website recently? It’s years out of date. There are no contact details for anyone, and the last time I looked, it was run from an office in the Department of Peace Studies and International Development at Bradford University in England. Do you know where Bradford is?
“But that’s why I’m here, Senator, and I’m hoping that you will listen to what I’m saying, believe what I’m telling you, and then either do something yourself or point me in a direction you think I should go.”
Mary Collis walked back to her chair and sat down. Then she turned to Colette. “Colette, please cancel the next appointment.”