Lethal Profit (22 page)

‘Mr Porter I must speak with you straight away.'

Don stood, half-tempted to take the opportunity to get out of the meeting early. ‘Fred, I really don't think this is the time… '

‘Mr Porter, I can assure you that it is. Please, I have to speak to you right away.'

Something about Humphries' manner set Porter on edge. He stood and apologised to the four other men in the room, each of whom looked on jealously as he escaped the rest of the agenda. As soon as they were outside he turned to Humphries.

‘Fred, this is really not the way to do things, that was a very important meeting.'

Fred was flushed and feverish, his straw blond hair pushed over to one side of his head in an unruly mess. Don began to wonder whether there was something rather unstable about him. Perhaps he should have given the job to someone more experienced after all.

‘Mr Porter this is urgent. It's that algae, the black algae.'

‘Oh Fred, really… '

‘I'm serious, we've been inundated with calls, it's not just the chat rooms.' Don stared at him doubtfully, running the various disciplinary options available to him through his head.

Fred exhaled with exasperation. ‘Come with me.' He led the way back into the main open plan room where normally Don would occupy the corner office, looking out over the twenty-four desks that housed his team. Don stared. The place was in uproar. Every single person was on the phone making notes, each one of them red-faced and looking as if they had consumed far too much of the cheap vending machine coffee. As he walked in, his second-in-command, a plump, normally jovial, man named Geoff signalled him over to his station. He asked the caller he had been talking with to hold and pushed the pad he was writing on over to Don so he could see. ‘Look at this.' The pad was covered with scrawls, each one a concern or complaint about black algae.

He put his hand over the receiver and spoke to Don. ‘I've had twenty-seven calls in the past forty minutes concerning black algae that seems to have appeared in every stretch of open water within our jurisdiction. Our phone lines are backed up. This stuff has just appeared overnight. It's
everywhere
.'

‘Is it dangerous?'

‘As far as we can tell it has killed or contaminated everything it has come into contact with – fish, other fresh water plants, the lot.'

Don felt a jolt of energy surge through him. ‘It's a red tide.' He glanced an apology at Fred.

‘What's the geographical spread of the algae?'

‘It seems to be worse around Hampton and Sunbury, just west of London.'

A
N
HOUR
LATER,
E
VA
AND
L
EON
WERE
sitting in a small corner café close to the Gare du Nord. They had concealed Leon's Citroen behind the considerable bulk of a 4 x 4 and sought refuge in the tiny establishment. Both were exhausted, hunched over a tiny metal table, unspeaking. Eva had found Leon in Valerie's living room, dazed and cut but not seriously hurt. She had helped him dress his wounds and then they had tried to remove as much trace as possible of their presence from Valerie's flat before climbing out onto the fire escape. After the exertion of the fight with Valerie, Eva had descended into a trance-like state. She could still see the expression on Valerie's face when she had instinctively fired the gun and the bullet had torn straight through the other woman's heart. The guilt burned through her insides like acid. She had taken a life – did that ever go unpunished? Eva was not religious but in her shocked state she felt an impending sense of retribution. She was sitting, staring morosely at the small TV in the corner of the bar, her expression unreadable. She saw Leon look nervously at his watch. She knew they couldn't stay here long. They couldn't stay anywhere very long.

‘My God.'

Leon felt for the gun in his waistband as Eva spoke.

‘Look.' She pointed up at the TV and Leon turned. The news item playing out in French was backed by pictures of a red tide, similar to the one he had shown her on Valerie's computer.

‘What is it saying?' she asked him, suddenly alert. Leon called over to the barman and asked him to turn up the volume.

‘It concerns the UK,' he said, translating out loud as the reporter spoke in French, ‘overnight a spread of algae, not unlike the red tide shown in this picture, has appeared around an area just west of London and in fifty-six other locations around the country. The algae in this case is black and appears highly toxic to plants and fish.'

The screen was suddenly filled with pictures of fish floating belly up on water that was so full of algae it had turned an inky, shiny black.

The news anchor crossed over to an on-the-ground reporter interviewing someone called Don Porter, director of the Environment Agency for the affected area.

‘We have never seen anything like this,' he was saying, ‘it seems to have appeared overnight. We are distributing algaecides to all local residents and farmers. Water companies have been put on alert and asked to instigate their own algal defence systems.'

‘Is the algae dangerous to humans?' asked the reporter, shoving a microphone into Mr Porter's face.

‘We don't think so but we have never come across this strain before. From the analysis we have done so far – which has been very basic as we have not yet had time to react properly – it is like nothing we have seen before, so we can't predict how it will behave.'

‘There are rumours that it is a genetically modified strain.'

‘It could be.'

‘Who genetically modified it?'

‘At the moment we're not sure.'

‘But is it dangerous?'

‘I think not. It's certainly the fastest growing algae we've ever seen but at the moment I don't think there's any need to panic.'

‘But if you don't know its genetic properties how do you know whether an algaecide will work? What happens if it doesn't? Is there a serious threat to the UK's water resources?'

‘We're working on that. Thank you for your questions.' Don Porter ended the interview.

Eva locked eyes with Leon.

‘We have to warn them. We have the genetic information in here,' she said, indicating the memory stick in her pocket.

‘Keep your voice down,' Leon growled. ‘We must not draw attention to ourselves,'

But Eva was burning for action. ‘We need to
do
something Leon. We have to stop this.' It was the only way. Otherwise she would see the look in Valerie's eyes every time she closed her own for the rest of her life. Suddenly she understood why all his life Jackson had tried to be a hero; that's what this kind of guilt could do.

‘I know. But it's not that simple.'

‘But… '

‘Eva, calm down.'

Eva's fire began to wane and her composure returned. He was right. She took a large gulp of coffee. What was done was done. There was just no time for lengthy sessions of self-hatred.

‘How do we do this?'

‘I don't know.'

A taut silence stretched between them. The familiar feeling of distrust returned to Eva as she looked at Leon, remembering the conversation she had overhead in Valerie's flat. Leon and Valerie clearly knew each other, had existed as part of some kind of team. And yet it appeared to be the case that today she had tried to kill him. Eva decided not to ask him about that – yet. She took a different tack.

‘Who is Joseph Smith, Leon?' Surprise showed on Leon's face as if he couldn't keep up with her cantering train of thought.

‘He's someone I have heard of, read about in the news.'

Instinctively she knew he was lying.

‘I don't believe you. You know more than that.'

‘That's all I know.'

‘Why is it you seem to have such a problem telling me the truth?'

‘I am trying to protect you.' His response was trigger-fast.

‘Don't be such a fool.'

‘You don't understand.'

‘Try me.'

Leon paused. ‘Jackson told me about him.'

The calls and texts Eva had been receiving from Jackson's phone flew into her mind. He was dead. Wasn't he? She looked at Leon and despite everything she felt a flicker of something like hope.

He gave a small shake of his head.

‘Not recently – it was before he died, there were things that he said to me… although at the time I had no idea that he was telling the truth.'

‘Like what?'

‘He spoke about someone called Joseph Smith.'

‘What did he say?'

Leon didn't answer her but leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘He must be the link, Eva.'

‘But who is he linked to? He was obviously working with the other Sudanese men but they were not working with Valerie. What's the connection – is there more than one?'

They looked at each other. That gap in their knowledge was dangerous. It opened up variables and there were too many of those already.

‘The connection to the Sudan is just coincidence, that much is clear,' said Eva. ‘The men who kidnapped me had no idea who Jackson actually was, or that his work was focused on the Sudan – that at least we do know.'

Leon nodded.

Eva downed her brandy. She was beginning to feel very tired. ‘I wasn't even sure that they had met Jackson.'

‘So do you think they killed him or not?'

‘I just don't know.'

‘Did you learn anything from their conversation? Why did they take your phone?'

‘No, it seemed calculated to confuse. I know that they were under orders from Joseph Smith and I know that they were not personally involved. But as to why they were doing what they were doing – or why they wanted my phone – I have no clue.'

He nodded silently.

‘I have no idea what to do, Leon. Do we try to find these people?'

Leon sighed heavily. ‘I have a feeling they will find us.'

He was right; they were being hunted.

They both sat in silence in the cold, damp bar and Eva finished her coffee. ‘We have to go to England,' she said suddenly.

Don Porter didn't know whether to be excited by the amount of sudden interest in his regional branch of the Environment Agency, or absolutely terrified. In the space of four hours a giant spotlight had suddenly been turned on their offices, which were now crawling with people he didn't recognise, some drafted in as temps to help deal with the deluge of panicked phone calls, some who were people in suits he had only ever seen named on briefing sheets or being interviewed on the TV news. Don had the distinct impression that despite being Director of the regional office, he was no longer in control. He had been summoned to another meeting in one of his boardrooms, but this time there would be no opportunity for clockwatching and thinking about lunch.

‘Please provide us with a briefing on the situation, Mr Porter,' one of the suits said as soon as he had shut the door. From the authoritative tone in his voice and a picture Don had seen in the newspapers on the man's appointment, he deduced that this was the minister in charge of the government-funded Environment Agency.

Don nodded and took up a position at the table, arranged his papers, removed his jacket and then leaned in and began to talk.

‘Minister, the algae has spread at a faster rate than we have ever seen before. We currently have at least fifty-six very large and rapidly expanding affected areas threatening to join together and cover the whole country. It's spreading like wildfire.'

‘Can we stop it?'

‘No.'

The minister looked up, shocked. ‘What do you mean, no?'

‘We can't stop it. It's not an existing species of algae. We don't have information on its genetic profile and it seems to be resistant to every algaecide we have, even the strongest.'

‘Surely you can just take a sample of it to determine its genetic make-up?'

‘For some reason that isn't possible. Each time we get a different result.'

‘Can't we just throw some kind of chemical at it?'

‘The problem with that, minister, is that it has taken root in waterworks, streams, rivers, reservoirs around London – and the entire country – in any area of open water. The only chemicals we haven't tried on it are the kinds of chemicals that might kill the algae but would also poison or contaminate everything around it.'

‘Hasn't the algae already done that?'

‘As yet not to humans, no. These industrial chemicals come under the remit of severe water pollution, the kind we would normally reward with a hefty fine or prosecution if they appeared in any water we tested. We can't dump them in the river ourselves.'

The minster frowned and glanced at his two advisers who looked away and quickly began to scribble on their notepads. He turned back to Porter.

‘Could we set fire to it?'

‘If we do that over such a wide area it would be difficult to control, which could be a disaster, even in this cold weather, particularly as we don't know how – or even if – it would burn. Plus there are issues with the pollution from the smoke.'

‘Well what can we do then?'

‘At the moment, nothing. We need to be able to identify this species of algae before we attempt to destroy it.'

‘How long will it take to identify it?'

‘It normally takes around a week. But as I said, at the moment it is proving difficult to even start this process.'

‘Oh, for heavens sake,' the minister brought his fist slamming down onto the table in front of him. ‘Well, if it takes a week, where will we be then?'

‘At the rate it's going, the algae will have a critical hold over all the major waterworks and reservoirs within forty-eight hours and every single open waterway in the entire country within four days.'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘At that point the country's infrastructure will likely start to struggle with the lack of clean water for drinking. This will also affect hospitals and industry such as agriculture. We have stores of bottled water enough for drinking for five days but importing these from non-affected countries would be prohibitively expensive in the long term – even over a period of several weeks – and there just won't be enough to go around to cover everything else we use water for in this country.'