The Conspiracy II Page 3

  “I want to see Gong Dao,” shouted Rob as the door slammed.

  He looked around the room. There were two steel chairs on either side of a bare steel table. Everything was screwed in tight to the floor. A metal box high up in the corner of the room had dark glass sides. The walls were bare and white. He presumed he was being watched. He started pacing around the room. He didn’t care what happened to him.

  The reality of losing Jackie had been nagging at him more and more with each passing day, undermining him, like woodworm eating into his soul. Until now, he could do nothing about it. Even waking up was getting worse, like waking into a nightmare. No, nightmares were better. They ended.

  He had to find out why Jackie had died.

  Was it his fault?

  He kicked at the table leg as he circled, then kicked again at it every time he went around. They’d taken his phone and his thin leather wallet out of his pocket and presumably were breaking into it right now. He didn’t care.

  He counted the times he kicked at the table leg. When it passed a hundred, his kicks grew stronger. He noticed that it had started vibrating each time he kicked.

  At two hundred he could definitely feel the table shifting a little when he kicked it. The side of his foot was hurting now, but he didn’t care.

  The door to the room burst open. Standing in the doorway was Wang, the Chinese official who’d arrested him in Wuhan.

  “What are you doing here?” said Rob.

  “I will ask you the same,” said Wang. “Please sit now, Dr. McNeil. And stop trying to damage the furniture.” He came into the room, closed the door behind him. His mask was red and covered half his face. Rob didn’t put his on.

  He took a hold of the back of a chair, shook it. “You might have told me why you killed my wife,” he said. “Is the concept of truth beyond you?”

  Wang sat opposite Rob.

  “We didn’t kill your wife. Where did you get that crazy idea?”

  Rob grunted. “Never mind where I got the idea. It’s true. Someone from the Chinese Embassy in London went to my house when I was in Paris, a few days before my wife died, and after that, she came down with a severe strain of Coronavirus and was dead within forty-eight hours.”

  “First, Dr. McNeil, please put on your mask or I cannot discuss anything with you.”

  Rob let out an angry groan, but put the mask on the table in front of him on.

  Wang continued. “We don’t deliberately infect people, Dr. McNeil. I personally reviewed all contacts with you when we met in Beijing. There is no record of anyone from our side going to visit you in London.”

  “You should look again. The person’s name is Gong Dao. She was stationed at your London Embassy last month. My wife told me someone from the embassy came to visit her. You can’t deny it.” Rob’s voice became louder with each word.

  Wang made a humming noise. “Wait, I will come back. I will look at the records for our embassy in London.” He stood, went for the door.

  “You didn’t say what you are doing in Washington,” said Rob.

  Wang turned as his hand gripped the door handle. “I am the liaison officer for our vaccine development program. We have to work together for the future of mankind.”

  “Nice words,” said Rob. “But killing people with impunity is not helping the future of mankind.”

  The door closed with a bang. It was another one hundred and twenty kicks at the table and circulations around the room before Wang came back.

  He didn’t sit. “We have no one by the name of Gong Dao working in our embassy in London or working there in any capacity this year. Someone is feeding you a lot of garbage. Was it that Russian troublemaker you were with, or perhaps one of your American friends?”

  Rob shook his head. “You’re lying. I can see it in your face,” he said.

  “Dr. McNeil, you are welcome to ask the British authorities to match this person’s name with the names of all accredited diplomatic staff in our London Embassy around the time of your wife’s death.” Wang’s tone had hardened. “I understand you are under a lot of stress and suffering from grief at your wife’s untimely death. She was very young when she died, but this course of action, trying to make us into a scapegoat, is not a good idea.”

  Rob looked down at the bare steel table. Wang was reflected on the surface.

  Who should he believe—the Russians or the Chinese? Who was lying? His mother had always gone on about telling the truth. His father had too; much good it had done him.

  “Well, someone is lying.”

  “I can prove that your American friends lie,” said Wang.

  “Go ahead.”

  Wang smiled. “We know what the Americans want from you,” he said.

  Rob didn’t reply.

  “They want access to your vaccine. They probably offered to fund you. But there will be a catch. Yes?” He stopped, examined Rob’s face.

  Rob’s cheek twitched.

  “We know what they’ve been offering other small vaccine developers, Rob. It’s always the same thing. They will run the bigger trials. They will use their own phase management teams and you won’t even know if the results are accurate or manipulated.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They will ask for 50% of the rights to commercialize your vaccine. And there is more they will ask for too.” He breathed in deep. Silence descended.

  Rob could hear a low humming from somewhere in the bowels of the building. “What more?” he asked.

  “They will want the right to insert GMOs in your vaccine.”

  Rob shook his head. “We don’t allow genetically modified organisms in our vaccines.”

  “You will if you accept funding from TOTALVACS. I made you an offer in Beijing to work with us. That offer still stands.” He spoke slower now. “And we will not ask for 50%, and we will not insert anything in your vaccine, and you will help supervise the trials. How does that sound?”

  Rob put his head to one side. “Will you find out who visited my wife in London?”

  “I know that already,” said Wang.

  “Then tell me,” shouted Rob in a burst of frustration.

  “When you agree to work with us,” said Wang.

  Rob stood. “Can I go now?”

  “Yes, but don’t come back unless you’re willing to work with us. No more free help from China for you. We have done more than enough for you already.”

  He pulled Rob’s phone and wallet out of his pocket and placed them on the table.

  Rob went to the door, tried the handle. It opened. He walked down the corridor to the security building. He could sense Wang’s eyes on him. The guard in the security building opened the glass door as he approached and grimaced as if Rob was some dirt he’d picked up on his shoe.

  “Thanks for letting me in, asshole,” said Rob, as he passed.

  He walked toward the street, pulled off his mask. He looked at his phone. It looked like it hadn’t even been broken into.

  He could hail a taxi at the next junction or call one.

  A squeal of tires echoed as a black Chevy pulled up with blackened windows. A side door opened and a pale, chubby-cheeked face looked out at him. Another man jumped out in front and stood still as if waiting for him to run.

  “Please get inside, McNeil. We need to talk to you.”

  He looked around. “Who are you?” he said.

  “Your friend, Jim Stein, asked us to pick you up.”

  Rob got inside. An agent sat on either side of him as if they were afraid he might try to get out and make a break for it.

  “Am I being detained?” he asked.

  Neither of the men responded.

  “What the hell is this about?” Rob pushed his elbow into one of the men.

  “We’re taking you to Jim,” said the agent he’d pushed.

  Ten minutes later they drove into the underground car park of the building on K Street. This time they parked at a deeper level. He was escorted along a corridor that was
more like a prison and ordered into a room with no windows and screwed down metal chairs and black camera pods in two corners of the ceiling.

  They left him there after giving him a small bottle of water.

  He sat on one of the chairs.

  His anger was all gone now. He felt drained. He could see what was happening. The reason he came to Washington, to find Gong Dao, was being used to manipulate him. He leaned back. He would see what Jim had got to say and then work out what to do next.

  He closed his eyes, tried to meditate. But all that kept coming to his mind were memories of Jackie. He stopped trying. A few minutes later Jim opened the door and came into the room.

  “You had us worried,” he said. “Are you totally crazy pushing your way into their embassy?”

  “If you know so much,” said Rob. “You must know the answer to that.”

  “Look, I get it,” said Jim, settling himself into the seat opposite Rob. “You’re still deep in grief for your wife. But you’re going to be working with us, Rob. You can’t be going to the Chinese Embassy. To any embassy. It looked like you were meeting a handler.” He leaned forward. “You weren’t, were you? Did you meet someone you know inside their embassy?”

  “I did. I met Wang, the Ministry of State Security officer who was with us in Beijing.”

  “Aaaah,” Jim groaned. “That’s not good. What the hell did you talk about?”

  “I asked him about Gong Dao, the woman who infected my wife in London. That’s why I went there. He said they had no one on their London Embassy staff by that name. And he said they don’t deliberately infect people.”

  Jim whistled, shook his head. “And you reckon he told you the truth, right? I must tell you, it’s standard practice that Chinese Ministry of State Security staff are not employed directly at the embassy they visit. They come and go at the order of Beijing, and are not listed with the host country.” Jim leaned forward. “Your friend Wang knows this. He’s blowing smoke, Rob. What did he offer you?” His eyes narrowed.

  “The name of the person who did visit my wife in exchange for me helping with their vaccine research.”

  Jim laughed. “I have to report all this, Rob. It definitely complicates things. Did you agree to anything?”

  Rob rapped the table with his knuckles. “No, I did not, but I have to find out who infected my wife. Why don’t you tell me what you know?” He came forward in his chair.

  “We don’t know who infected Jackie for sure. That’s the truth, Rob. We believe a woman, her name was possibly Gong Dao, called to visit your wife soon after you left for Paris. This is the difficult bit.” He put his hands on the table as if making a cage with his fingers. “There are a number of factions inside the Chinese Communist Party. This Gong Dao could have been acting for one of those factions.”

  “I just want to find out who infected her, and why,” said Rob. He leaned over the table. “But one thing Wang said got to me, which I’d like an answer to. He said if I work with TOTALVACS, that they’ll insist on the right to add genetically modified organisms to any vaccine we create together.”

  Jim smiled a little. “This stuff is in the contract, Rob.” He shook his head. “Don’t go and get paranoid on me. So what if they do insert some GMOs? They use a unique GMO biological tracking marker to indicate if anyone who ends up in hospital has been vaccinated with this vaccine or with something else they made. I don’t see the problem. It’s a good thing. It’ll help prove how successful your vaccine is. And they can read the tracking code outside the body, without taking a blood sample. That’s progress, isn’t it? This is the best deal you’re gonna get, Rob. You should sign it.”

  Rob breathed in, looked at the table. He needed to think. “I should consult my partners. Can I go now? Or am I under arrest?”

  “Will you swear you didn’t agree to do any work for the Chinese state?”

  Rob put his hand up, faced one of the roof cameras. “I swear I didn’t agree to do any work for the Chinese state.”

  “OK, you can go,” said Jim. “But no going out tonight. Anyhow, Faith can’t make it. I checked. And you have to order by midday to collect dinner from that Chinese restaurant you mentioned. The Eye of the Ocean, right?”

  “OK, I’ll get a taxi back to my hotel.”

  “We’ll drive you. And I’ll be at your hotel for breakfast at eight in the morning. And,” he made that cage on the table again with his fingers, “I’ll have the papers for you to sign with me and with a bit of luck Faith will be with me too.”

  Rob stood. “I need to go,” he said.

  Jim escorted him to the underground car park where a black Chevy was waiting with a driver.

  Fifteen minutes later Rob was being dropped at his hotel. He had a shower and lay on his bed watching a local news channel. A giant Black Lives Matter demonstration was planned for the next day in Washington DC. Videos showed people who’d already arrived in the city and a small demonstration, going on in front of the White House.

  He turned the news off and slipped between the sheets. He needed to sleep. He had plans for the morning.

  9

  Paveletsky Station, SW Moscow, May 30th, 2020

  Vladimir saluted the two train guards as he exited his compartment. They’d released the Rostov on Don inspectors as they were only doing their duty, on condition that they got off the train at the next station, which they did, and that they asked no more questions of Vladimir. Vladimir had taken the train guards’ names and promised they would be commended for supporting the FSB. He’d also found out the names of the inspectors from Rostov on Don.

  It was past midday and warm as he walked through the station. The early Moscow summer had started with long sunny days and people smiling in the streets because of the winter ending. This was the best time to be in Moscow. The promise of summer just ahead, light rains, and a cool refreshing breeze from the river rustling through the linden trees and lilacs that lined the streets.

  He would have little time to enjoy the beauty of the city. He had a box of samples to deliver, and then there would be something else. The train station was unusually empty. He knew why. The virus was making people stay home. He had to be part of the solution for this. He had to help things get back to normal.

  If word got out that a more virulent strain had infected a chicken farm, there would be even greater fear on the streets. People would not eat chicken and those that did might find they were getting more than they’d bargained for.

  It was common practice for inspectors and other visitors, buyers, and feed saleswomen, to go from one chicken factory to the next. For all he knew, all the chicken farms all over the country were infected.

  He carried the sample box with two hands and headed to the taxi rank. He gave the address of the virus testing lab which worked with the FSB and arrived there twenty minutes later.

  The lab technician who greeted him was in a full hazmat suit. He said little, just took a photo on his phone of Vladimir and the box before getting Vladimir to drop the box into a larger steel container on wheels.

  “Call us for the results,” said the technician. “Your sample number is 45679.”

  Vladimir put the number into his phone and asked the waiting taxi driver to take him to FSB headquarters at Lubyanka Square. Hopefully, they would still have some of the Borscht soup that he liked.

  On entering the building, however, he was asked to head straight for a meeting room on the sixth floor. He rarely visited the sixth floor. Its corridors were wider, with marble effect floors and the pictures on the walls here were gilded portraits of the previous heads of the various divisions of the FSB and previously the KGB. You only got a picture here if you were dead or had been awarded the Order of Lenin for your services to the state. Most of the people in the pictures were long dead.

  One man wasn’t, however.

  That was Anatoly Chukov, the aging head of the biological and chemical warfare unit of the FSB, and the holder of many state secrets.

  Anatoly Chu
kov was waiting for him in the meeting room. Vladimir had never been in his presence before, but he knew his face from pictures of the podium at the annual ceremonies commemorating the great victory over the Nazi’s in the great patriotic war.

  “Sit, comrade Vladimir,” said Chukov. “I have heard good things about you.”

  Vladimir nodded. It wasn’t exactly a bow, but it was a recognition of the older man’s venerable position in the Russian hierarchy. How Chukov had survived Putin’s purges was the question he wanted to ask, but he knew he’d be unlikely to get a straight answer.

  “You have been having some difficulties recently?” said Chukov.

  “Nothing I can’t deal with,” said Vladimir. Was he aware of what had happened on the train?

  “It is imperative.” Chukov’s voice rose. His jowly cheeks shook as he spoke, as if he had some strange affliction. “That all Mother Russia’s children are protected from this evil virus.” He pointed at Vladimir. “Thanks to you, we have samples of the new variant, and will be able to send out test kits all over the country in the next few weeks and then burn down any chicken farm this new variant has reached. The men who tried to take the samples from you will be punished and whoever sent them as well. They will wish they’d never been born.” His eyes bulged as if they might pop.

  “I am pledged to serve my country,” said Vladimir with a sniff. “My life belongs to the mother country.”

  “Excellent,” said Chukov. “Because I have another task for you. A task that no one else can do. A task you are most suited for.” He leaned toward Vladimir. “But first you will join me in a toast, yes.” He reached down beside him and pulled up a brown paper bag. He lifted out a small old-style half bottle of Red Star vodka and two tumblers and, with a flourish of his hand sweeping through the air, he poured vodka into each of the glasses and pushed one across the table to Vladimir.

  10