Burning Angels

‘Until two decades or so, Little Mafia was uninhabited. The only visitors were the local fishermen, who stopped there to repair their wooden boats. It is heavily forested — jungle, obviously — but it has no natural water source, so no one could afford to stay for long.

‘Twenty years ago, it was purchased by a private foreign buyer. Pretty shortly, even the fishermen stopped visiting. Those who had occupied the island weren’t exactly friendly. More to the point, a population of monkeys moved in alongside the humans, and they proved less than welcoming. Many were horribly, terribly diseased. Glazed eyes. Walking-dead killer zombie look. Plus lots and lots of bleeding.’

Holland eyed his audience darkly. ‘The locals coined a new name for the place, one that I fear is aptly suited. They call it Plague Island.’

71

‘Little Mafia — Plague Island — is Kammler’s primate export facility,’ Holland explained. ‘The air traffic control records alone prove that. What else it may be, and what we do about it… well, I guess that’s up to you, the action men — and women — in the room, to decide.’

His eyes sought out Jaeger. ‘And before you ask, my friend: yes I did leave my usual signature: “Hacked by the Rat”. No matter how much more mature one is supposed to get with the passing years, I just can’t seem to resist.’

Jaeger smiled. The same old Ratcatcher. A maverick genius whose life had been defined by anarchic rule-breaking.

Holland made his way back to his seat, Peter Miles taking his place. ‘Jules makes it sound easy. It was far from that. Thanks to you, we have a fix on the location. Now, consider the nightmare scenario. Somehow Kammler ships his virus off this island and releases it worldwide. He and his cronies are inoculated. They sit out the coming global meltdown somewhere safe. Somewhere underground, no doubt: in fact, probably in a facility similar to this one.

‘Meanwhile, the Gottvirus gets to work. The nearest equivalent pathogen that we know of is Ebola. The lethal dose of Ebola Zaire is five hundred infectious virus particles. That number could hatch out of one single human cell. In other words, one infected person whose blood has been transformed into a viral soup can infect billions of fellow humans.

‘A tiny amount of Ebola, if airborne, could nuke an entire place. Airborne Ebola would be like plutonium. In fact, it would be far more dangerous, because unlike plutonium, it is alive. It replicates. It breeds, multiplying exponentially.

‘That’s the nightmare scenario with Ebola, a virus that we have been able to study for close on three decades. This — it’s a total unknown. A hot-zone killer of unimaginable ferocity. It has a total fatality rate. Human beings have zero immunity.’

Miles paused. He could no longer keep the worry from his eyes. ‘If the Gottvirus gets into the human population, it will wreak utter devastation. The world as we know it will cease to exist. If Kammler manages to unleash it, he can sit it out as the virus works its dark evil, and then emerge — inoculated — to a brave new world. So please forgive the melodrama, ladies and gents, but for the sake of humankind, Kammler and his virus have to be stopped.’

He gestured toward a grey-haired, grizzled-looking man seated amongst his listeners. ‘Right — I’m going to hand over now to Daniel Brooks, the director of the CIA. And by way of introduction, I’d just like to mention that our top cover has just got a whole lot more serious.’

‘Gentlemen. Ladies,’ Brooks began gruffly. ‘I’ll keep this short. You’ve done great work. Amazing work. But it still isn’t enough to nail Hank Kammler, the deputy director of my agency. For that we need absolute proof, and at the moment that island facility could just conceivably be a bona fide disease control centre for a monkey export business.

Brooks glowered. ‘Much as I hate it, I have to tread carefully. Kammler has powerful friends, right up to the level of the American President. I cannot go after him without absolute proof. Get me that proof and you will have every support — every goddam asset — the US military and intelligence community can bring to bear. And in the meantime, there are a few dark assets we can push your way, unofficially I might add.’

Brooks took his seat, and Miles thanked him. ‘One final thing. When Jaeger and Narov left the Katavi Reserve, they did so in a Katavi Lodge Toyota 4x4. Their Land Rover was driven out at the same time by two of the lodge staff. Several hours after its departure, it was taken out by a Reaper drone. Hank Kammler ordered the kill mission, no doubt believing Jaeger and Narov were at the wheel. In short, he knows we’re after him. The hunt is on — you for him, and him for us.