David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (16 page)

       
“David,” she said. “Wake
up. Quickly. Get your clothes. Something’s happened.”

       
“What is it?” I said,
sitting up and instinctively smelling the air. “What’s the problem?”

       
“There’s been an
explosion.”

       
“Where? In the
hospital?”

       
“Yes. In the basement.”

       
“The room with the
caesium
?”

       
“We’re not sure.
That corridor, definitely.
But there’s a lot of smoke, so no
one can see anything.”

       
I slid out of bed and
crossed to the window, then drew back the heavy curtains.

       
“Is the fire brigade on
its way?” I said.

       
“They’re already here.
The fire engines are round the other side. They aren’t visible from here. But
there’s not much they can do, anyway.
Because there’s another
problem.
The radiation alarms have gone off.”

       
“Meaning what? That the
caesium
vault has been breached?”

       
“It looks that way.
We’ll know for sure in an hour or so.”

       
“What about the hazmat
team? Can you bring them forward?”

       
“No. They wouldn’t be
any use. They do inventory control. Too
specialised
.
But another team is on its way, in their place. An emergency response crew.”

       
“Is the hospital being
evacuated?”

       
“Not yet. That’s a last
resort. They avoid it at all costs. Unless the fire spreads, the patients are
safer on the wards than out on the street.”

       
“What about the
radiation?”

       
“It’s seems to be a
small leak. Very
localised
. Any further action
depends on what the emergency team finds.”

       
“Is there anything we
can do in the meantime?”

       
“Yes. Two things. Check
the CCTV to see if it caught anyone suspicious coming in. And fetch some tea.
My mouth is as dry as a bone.”

We agreed on a division of
labour
. Melissa
and the people back at her office would chase up the surveillance tapes, and I
would head to the canteen - which was supposed to be open twenty four hours a
day - in search of the tea. It was a reasonable plan, on the face of it. I had
further to walk, and I wasted a little time watching the emergency crew Melissa
had mentioned crossing the garden with their equipment, but it seemed like I
had the easier job. And this impression was made stronger when I pushed open
the door to her room and caught sight of the expression on her face.

       
“More
bad news?” I said.

       
“I just got off the
phone,” she said. “Not bad news, exactly. Not good news, either. The
hazmat
guys are here. They were out of the traps pretty
fast. I spoke to the team leader just before you got back. He says their
operation’s already underway.”

       
“They aren’t hanging
around. I saw them, on my way back. And they looked like they knew what they
were doing.
But what about the CCTV?
Is anything doing
there?”

       
“No.
A
big fat zero.
It’s the same story. None of the cameras that are working
picked up anything. The ones in places that would have helped us aren’t back in
service yet, despite Stan
Leckie
and his ‘best in the
country’ contractors. He probably meant ‘cheapest in the country.’ We’re going
to have a serious conversation when this is over, he and I.”

We sipped our tea. Melissa put her cup on the table and wheeled
restlessly backwards and forwards, her gaze flicking from a window to the door
to her phone and back again. I sat on her bed, and waited.

       
“No sign of a new chair,
then,” I said.

       
“What?” she said.

       
“They didn’t give you a
new chair.
For the desk.
To replace the one that got
broken. You told me you’d spoken to Jackson about it.”

       
“Oh. No. I guess they
didn’t think they could trust me with one.”

       
Melissa stopped moving
and looked at me.

       
“I’m surprised you’re
still here,” she said.

       
“I haven’t finished my
tea,” I said.

       
“I mean, because of that
girl. The one in the Frog and Turtle.”

       
“Which girl?”

       
“Oh come on. You know
which girl. The tall brunette at the far end of the bar.”

       
“The one with the
interesting blouse?”

       
“Yes.”

       
“What’s she got to do
with anything?”

       
“She liked you.”

       
“She didn’t like me.
You’re making that up.”

       
“Did you at least get
her phone number?” she said.

       
“Why would I want her
phone number?” I said.

       
“I saw how you were
looking at her. Don’t try to deny it. At one point I thought I was going to
have to reach across and wipe the drool off your…”

       
Melissa’s phone interrupted
her so she grabbed it from her lap, talked for three minutes, then got to her
feet.

       
“That was the hazmat
team leader again,” she said. “Come on. We have to go.”

       
“What’s happening?” I
said. “Was it a deliberate attack?”

       
“They can’t be sure. They’re
looking at some worn out insulation they think came from the old generator
equipment. It’s soaked in oil residue, and they say a spark from some kind of
electrical short circuit might have been at the root of it.”

       
“Is the fire out?”

       
“Not yet. But here’s the
thing. They had to move the
caesium
out of the way
before the fire crew could get to work. They’ve no way of telling how long
it’ll be before it can go back in the vault. And they can’t tell why the
radiation alarm sounded, because none of the canisters appear to be damaged. So
guess what they’re doing with it?”

       
“Moving it.”

       
“Correct. They’re doing
exactly what you said would make the stuff most vulnerable.”

The
hazmat
truck was sandwiched between four
police cars when it pulled out of the service entrance at the side of St
Joseph’s, ninety minutes later. You could hear its engine rumbling from a
hundred yards away. Its six spherical wheels could have been taken from a moon
buggy, and its high, rugged bodywork looked like a Hollywood version of an
armoured
personnel carrier.

       
“If this pays off, I’ve
got to warn you, I’m taking the credit,” Melissa said, easing the black Ford
Mondeo
away from the
kerb
. “It
was hell, putting all this together with ten seconds notice. But if nothing
happens, and anyone starts asking where all the money went, you’re taking the
blame.”

       
“Wait,” I said, as she
shifted into second gear. “Stop the car.”

       
“Come on, I was only
joking. It’s not like the government can’t afford it. Austerity hasn’t gone
that far. Not yet, anyway.”

       
“What have you got
covering that thing, aside from the police?”

       
“Four unmarked cars,
with two agents in each of them, and a helicopter.”

       
“And the real truck?”

       
“It has one car, which
is standard.”

       
“OK. I think we should change
our plan. We should follow the real one instead.”

       
“Why?”

       
“The decoy sounds like
it’s
well taken care of. If anyone hits it, having us there
won’t make any difference. But the
caesium
is
vulnerable, just like someone wants it. That’s where we should be.”

       
Melissa was silent for a
moment,
then
swung the car back to the side of the
road.

       
“This is insane,” she
said, coming to rest again. “And all the more reason to blame you. I hope you
realise
that.”

For fifteen minutes we sat and listened as the agents tailing the
decoy van called in their movements. Street after street, turn after turn, as
central London began to give way to the outlying districts, they had nothing
untoward to report. Then the hospital gate opened again and a plain white, long
wheel-base
Mercedes Sprinter emerged, closely followed
by a silver Vauxhall Insignia. Melissa let the pair of vehicles pass us and
make their way around the next corner before pulling away herself, guided by a
new voice on the radio.

       
The agent in the chase
car spoke calmly and clearly, giving precise details after each junction, and
Melissa’s driving reflected his tone. She drove slowly and smoothly, making
sure we were always at least two moves behind, worrying more about being
spotted by anyone watching the truck than getting held up by the sparse traffic
that was left on the road at that time of night.

       
The decoy convoy was
making better time than us, and after another twelve minutes we heard them
report their arrival at the Queen Elizabeth II Hospital in Croydon. The threat
wouldn’t be over till the real truck caught up and the
caesium
was locked in the back-up vault, but a disappointed expression started to
spread across Melissa’s face anyway. She glanced at me, and I thought she was
about to say something when her phone began to ring.

       
“OK,” she said, ending
the call after two minutes. She was breathing hard now. “Let me think for a
minute. David, can you look at the map? We need a place to stop the van. As
close to here as possible, but where the other units can quickly get back to,
and nothing too near any housing. And we need it quickly.”

       
“Stop the van?” I said.
“Why?”

       
“That was Jones on the
phone. He’s back at St Joseph’s. All hell’s broken loose over there. A fire
crew’s just discovered the
hazmat
team.
The whole of it.
In the basement.
Knocked out. Tied up. And stripped of all their kit.”

       
“So who are we
following?”

       
“That’s a very good
question. Someone with the savvy to trick us into giving them a
ready made
caesium
removal
machine, I guess. Oh my God, David – you know what this means? This is
it. The nightmare’s begun. The
caesium’s
gone. We
don’t know who’s got it. Or what they’re going to do with it. Or when. All we
know is how they got it.”

       
Melissa’s words raised
the hairs on the back of my neck. Someone had seen the logistical problems of
removing
caesium
from the hospital, just like I had.
And they’d
realised
it would be easier to take the
stuff if it was already outside the vault. But when they’d joined the pieces of
the puzzle, they’d come up with a subtly different solution. One that could be
even more effective. And in a case like this, effective equates to lethal.

       
“Where’s the helicopter
got to?” I said.

       
“Half way back to base
by now, I should think,” Melissa said. “Why?”

       
“Well, I know you’re
desperate to get your hands back on the
caesium
as
quickly as possible. But here’s a thought. Are you sure you want to stop the
van right away? Why not follow it? See where they’re taking the stuff. That
way, maybe we could scoop up whoever they’re planning to hand it off to, as
well.”

       
“That’s risky,” she
said, after a moment. “I don’t like the idea of that stuff on the loose for any
longer than it needs to be. But I guess you’re right. Jones is already
whistling up another
hazmat
crew. I’ll have him get
the chopper back, and see if he can get hold of any more of our people,
pronto.”