The Martyr's Curse (36 page)

Oppenheim spread his hands, as if to say
good question
. ‘Studies have been done that suggest some Europeans have a genetic immunity to plague bacteria, going back to medieval times. That’s one possible explanation. Another is the medication you were taking.’

Ben frowned. ‘What medication?’

‘Whatever the substance is inside the small brown glass dropper bottle that the arresting officers found on you at the safe house,’ Luc Simon said.

‘What, that? It’s just some kind of traditional tonic that Père Antoine gave me,’ Ben said. ‘I never really thought of it as medication.’

‘How much of it were you taking?’

‘Just a few drops every day,’ Ben said. ‘I gave some to Silvie Valois, too.’

‘Why?’

‘I like to keep my hostages in tip-top condition.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘I never asked.’

‘We’re having it analysed anyway,’ Luc Simon said. ‘I’m expecting a full chemical breakdown in the next few hours. It could be critical data for us.’

Ben was baffled by their interest in it. ‘Wait a minute. Are you trying to say there’s no modern drug treatment lined up to fight this disease?’

Oppenheim said nothing.

‘It
is
treatable?’ Ben repeated.

Oppenheim was quiet for a moment longer. ‘We’ve got a long history of combating plague, sure enough,’ he said. ‘And in recent times we learned to become more relaxed about what had long been a dreaded disease. As long as it was caught early, it was readily treatable with antibiotics. You’ll note my use of the past tense.
Was
. Because things are changing. In fact, they’ve already changed. We have a major problem. One that we were warned about, way back at the turn of the twentieth century, and happily ignored, when many doctors predicted that the antibiotic panacea wouldn’t last. In fact they warned that these sensational new wonder drugs could even do harm in the long run. Firstly, by causing people to become dependent on them for even the most minor infection, potentially compromising their natural immunity. The natural law of use it or lose it. Secondly, even back then they knew how fast microbes could mutate, adapt and evolve. The fear was that they could develop ways of resisting the drugs. But they were laughed at, and we went on to spend the entire twentieth century and the first decade of this century abusing the drugs wholesale. Now we know the doomsayers were absolutely right.’

Ben said nothing.

‘It’s happening right before our eyes,’ Oppenheim went on. ‘In the last fifteen years, we’ve seen a seventy per cent increase in deaths from antibiotic-resistant infection, and that figure is set to get much worse. Hospitals will soon become no-go areas due to the hazard of MRSA and other powerfully evolved micro-organisms. It’s a two-pronged problem. One, we’ve become weaker. Two, the enemy has become stronger. We underestimated the bugs, far more than we could have even imagined.’

‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ Luc Simon said. ‘I’ve read the reports myself.’

‘Microbes are incredibly adaptable things,’ Oppenheim said, almost glowing with admiration for the critters. ‘They’re smarter than us in a lot of ways. Some can even repair their own DNA, an incredible feat of bioengineering. Ultimately, they will be the downfall of humanity. In the short term, things aren’t looking so great either. The medical profession doesn’t want to admit it, but right now, we’re like deer in the headlights. In fact, there’s never been a worse time for a bacterial pandemic to happen. Our populations are at an all-time high, with unprecedented concentrations of people between whom disease can spread more efficiently than ever before. International travel makes our efforts to contain an outbreak practically impossible. Combine that with our lack of viable treatments and the majority of the population’s lowered immunity to infection …’ Oppenheim cracked a grim smile. ‘In short, we’re one small step away from being comprehensively screwed. My job is to stop us from taking that one small step.’

‘You said Streicher could be preparing a vaccine or a serum to protect himself and his own people,’ Ben said. ‘Couldn’t we do the same from this end?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Oppenheim said. ‘But not a promising one. As unbelievable as it may sound, plague vaccines are still in their infancy. Drugs prepared from attenuated live
Y pestis
samples have only ever been tested on mice, and even then with limited efficacy. There are no guarantees of their success on humans, which goes for Streicher and his gang too. They could very well be dead already. Which would account for their disappearance, wouldn’t it? As for us, even if we were able to develop a workable antiserum to protect the public, what are the chances we could produce enough, and fast enough, to control a major outbreak?’

‘There has to be something that works,’ Ben said. ‘Did Torben Roth receive treatment before he died?’

Oppenheim nodded gravely. ‘Every antibiotic drug that’s ever been used to combat plague. Gentamicin, Streptomycin, Chloromycetin, Doxycycline, Ciprofloxacin, Tetracycline, you name it. Zero effect. The bacteria just marched on through. Like trying to hold off a tank division with a child’s popgun.’

‘It could be that he was too far gone already,’ Luc Simon said. ‘Perhaps if we’d been able to intervene sooner, he’d have survived.’

‘Or perhaps not,’ Oppenheim said. ‘It could simply be that our last line of defence has failed before the war has even begun.’ It was the first sign of friction Ben had seen between the two.

‘We can contain it,’ Luc Simon said firmly.

‘I’d love to say I could believe that,’ Oppenheim sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bony bridge of his nose.

‘Plus, there are all kinds of other possibilities,’ Luc Simon said. ‘Consider the fact that Roth and Grubitz managed to contract the infection in the first place. How did that happen? Was their protective clothing compromised in some way? Grubitz was the first to catch it, so maybe his hazmat suit was faulty or got damaged during the raid, exposing him, and then Roth caught it from him afterwards.’

‘Anything’s possible,’ Oppenheim said.

‘Alternatively, it could have been one of the others,’ Luc Simon continued, leaning forward animatedly in his chair. ‘Roth or Grubitz could have caught it from any of them. Which could mean they’re all infected, one way or another. You said yourself, Streicher and his entire team could be dead already, precluding any attack from taking place.’

‘But what if they’re not?’ Oppenheim countered. ‘How much are we prepared to risk on wishful thinking? And then, what if they are dead? The bodies could be anywhere, leaking infection to any living thing that comes into contact with them.’

Luc Simon shrugged. ‘We need to hope for the best, that’s all.’

‘And plan for the worst,’ Ben said. He turned to Oppenheim. ‘What’s our darkest possible scenario here?’

Oppenheim shook his head. ‘Don’t even ask. You don’t want to know.’

‘I can take it,’ Ben said.

‘All right, then. Let’s say this lunatic is indeed still alive out there somewhere, and that he goes ahead with his plans, by whatever means, such as poisoning the water supplies or exploding a dirty bomb or spraying the stuff out of a helicopter. Let’s say he successfully kicks off the beginnings of an epidemic, and that it takes a hold and spreads rapidly, displaying the same extremely aggressive traits we’ve already seen in the two confirmed victims to date. Moreover, let’s say that our worst fears are confirmed, and the disease is resistant to even our most powerful antibiotics. And that we’re unable to produce effective substitute treatments such as vaccinations in time …’

‘Then?’

‘Then Europe might be about to see something it hasn’t seen for six centuries,’ Oppenheim said. ‘The outcome would be nightmarishly predictable. Widespread panic. Desperate crowds swarming the hospitals while others fled the cities altogether in the hope of avoiding the infection, jamming the roads and the transport systems solid. The emergency services strained far beyond capacity. The death toll rising faster than we can count it as the infection spreads exponentially. Thousands dead, virtually overnight. Then tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands. People collapsing and dying even as they queue for useless treatments. Within months, or possibly just weeks, the number of dead rising into seven figures and still climbing. Meanwhile, a total breakdown of law and order. Riots and looting breaking out in every major city. Ultimately, police and medical services deserting their posts en masse to look out for themselves and their families. Or sick. Or dead already.’

Oppenheim paused and breathed out heavily. His face took on a pinched look that made it appear even more gaunt. ‘Then, suddenly, silence. No more sirens, no more helicopters in the air. Airports and railway stations, cities and motorways, all deserted. The streets empty, apart from the bodies strewn in the road and the vermin and scavengers come to feast on their rotting flesh.

‘Apocalypse.’

Chapter Fifty-Two

Oppenheim’s words hung in the air like a knell of doom. Ben was the one who broke the silence. ‘And then, out of the darkness come Streicher and his followers, ready to gather together the survivors and form a new world with him as its leader.’

‘So his fantasy goes,’ Oppenheim said. ‘If he gets that far. Either way, the damage will have been done. He’ll have won.’

The three men fell back into their separate reflections for a long minute. Finally Ben said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘To carry on as before,’ Luc Simon said. ‘To locate Udo Streicher’s hideout and take him down before the worst happens. And this time, it’ll be with our full co-operation. Your way. No interference, no comebacks.’

‘Whatever it takes?’ Ben said.

‘Whatever it takes. Just one condition.’

Ben looked at him suspiciously. ‘Which is what?’

‘I’d like to assign you a partner. One of our top anti-terrorist agents, recently promoted in rank. Someone who already knows the score, who knows Streicher and can identify him on sight. Which is an essential advantage for the success of this mission, I hope you’ll agree.’

‘I need to move fast,’ Ben said. ‘I can’t be lumbered with some by-the-book government type weighing me down every step of the way.’

Luc Simon smiled. ‘I think you’ll find this particular agent is anything but “by the book”. They’ve shown ample evidence of that already. As well as the highest level of skill you could wish for in a partner. Expert in fieldcraft. Top of their class in armed and unarmed combat, if it comes to that. As well as being the only government agent who’s personally known Udo Streicher and survived to tell the tale.’ He turned towards the door and called out, ‘You can come in, Special Agent Valois.’

The door opened.

Silvie looked as Ben had never seen her before. The battered biker jacket and faded jeans were gone, replaced by a smart dark grey trouser suit. Designer, for all Ben knew. It wasn’t his particular area of knowledge, but whatever it was, she looked good in it. Capable, professional and more attractive than he’d realised when they’d been on the run together. Maybe he just hadn’t had time to notice before. Her hair was loosely tied back and she was wearing just enough make-up to be discernible.

Neither of them quite managed to keep the smile off their face as she stepped into the room.

‘Congratulations on your promotion, Special Agent,’ Ben said. ‘You must have hooked a pretty big fish.’

‘Huge,’ she said.

‘It seems we’ll be working together on an equal footing from now on.’

‘As opposed to kidnapper and hostage?’

‘My apologies for the harsh treatment.’

‘No harm, no foul,’ she said. ‘I can take the knocks.’

If Luc Simon was wise to the play-acting between them, nothing showed on his face. Nothing except the pallor and sunken eyes of a man under a great deal of stress. He yawned and said, ‘It’s nearly three a.m. Dr Oppenheim and I have to leave shortly. A car has been arranged to collect the two of you.’

‘Where are we going?’ Ben asked.

‘To the Crowne Plaza hotel in Lyon. Your new temporary base. It’s an Interpol perk. I trust you’ll be comfortable there.’

‘Very temporary,’ Ben said.

‘Whatever your requirements,’ Luc Simon said, ‘I can have everything ready by morning.’

‘It won’t be a long list,’ Ben said. ‘A new watch, to start with. Omega Seamaster automatic, steel, with the blue dial, like the one your medicos put in the trash.’

‘Why not trade up to a Rolex Submariner?’ Luc Simon said without skipping a beat. French tax euros at work.

‘The Omega’s always done a good job for me,’ Ben said. ‘And I’ll need a car. Something rugged, up to a bit of punishment. Big enough to kip in, too, if it comes to it. That’s if Special Agent Valois doesn’t object to roughing it a little.’

Silvie said, ‘I’m a big girl.’

‘I was thinking,’ Luc Simon said. ‘There’s a fellow in Briançon who seems to have mislaid a H1 Hummer, except he seems rather vague about the details. Name’s Omar Adeyemi. A friend of yours, by any chance?’

Ben said nothing.

‘The Hummer is in the police pound. I get the impression Monsieur Adeyemi isn’t in a desperate hurry for it back. I can have it released to you with one call.’

‘Then do it,’ Ben said. ‘And lastly, I wouldn’t mind that FAMAS back. And the Browning, minus the GPS tracking gizmo inside.’

‘Consider it done,’ Luc Simon said. ‘On the understanding that you won’t go shooting the place up.’

Ben looked at him. ‘I thought we agreed. My way.’

It took the Frenchman a moment to get the humour. He smiled. ‘It’s good to be working with you, Ben. We can stop this bastard.’

‘Let’s not get too excited about our chances,’ Ben said. ‘The trail’s cold. We’re out of leads. All we have left is an empty safe house that’s now part of a biohazard evac zone, and a couple of dead men. I’m good at what I do, but I can’t work miracles. We’re going to have to do this the hard way. Go back to the drawing board and start again, looking for any little thread that can lead us to where Streicher’s hiding out.’

‘It’s your call.’

‘Has he got any surviving family?’