acknowledged. He gestured to the pilot and then waved four of his men in to the helicopter to remove the deck lashings. With ease born of long practice, the four ratings slackened and then removed the fabric belts – chains would be used in bad weather conditions – which secured the Merlin to the ringbolts studding the deck of the carrier. Then they trotted forward and stood in a line directly in front of the helicopter’s cockpit, each man holding up the lashing he had removed.
The FDO ostentatiously counted each lashing, pointing at it with one of his illuminated wands as the aircrew in the cockpit watched, proving to the pilot that he was able to lift off when ready. Trying to launch an aircraft whilst any part of it is still attached to the deck of a ship is an extremely bad idea, and one that is absolutely certain to ruin everyone’s day.
The pilot acknowledged, switched on his navigation and anti-collision strobe lights, and waited for the FDO’s signal to take-off. Normally a ground marshaller handles the landing and take-off of helicopters and Sea Harriers, but there was nothing else going on anywhere on the Flight Deck, and the FDO liked to keep his hand in.
He raised the two illuminated wands from the ‘parked’ position – crossed in front of him below the waist – till they were outstretched fully at his sides, then raised them both slowly above his head, repeating the action as the pilot applied power and pulled up the collective lever that increased the angle of attack of the rotor blades to generate more lift. The noise of the Merlin’s three jet engines increased to a steady scream and the aircraft rose very slightly, teetering gently from side to side on its landing gear, then rose into the air immediately above the deck.
As soon as the FDO was satisfied that the aircraft was established in the hover, he pointed his right-hand wand – the pilot’s left – steadily out to sea and moved the left-hand wand in a semi-circle from outstretched left, over his head, to outstretched right. He watched as the Merlin moved off, landing gear retracting as it headed away from the ship into the dusk.
Tyler Hardin walked swiftly across the small hallway, which even with the light on was dark as the sun sank below the roof level of the neighbouring house. He climbed the stairs and stopped at the landing, then switched on the light and looked around.
As Gravas had already told him, there were two doors leading off the tiny landing. Both stood open. Hardin looked first in the spare bedroom, checking it more in hope than expectation for some sign of the flask whose existence he had deduced. As he had feared, he found nothing there, and moved across to the other room.
Hardin stopped at the doorway, reached around the jamb for the switch and flicked the light on. He looked into the bedroom before he stepped across the threshold, slowly taking in the scene. Belatedly, he remembered that he had a Polaroid camera somewhere in one of his cases, and should have brought it with him to record what he was now witnessing.
Before he approached the corpse, Hardin looked all around the room, checking under the bed, inside the single wardrobe and even on the two bookshelves, but found nothing that could possibly be the missing container. Only then did he look at the mortal remains of Spiros Aristides.
For three or four minutes, Hardin just stood and studied the shape on the bed. With the coming of dusk, most of the flies that had fed so greedily on the dead man’s blood earlier in the day had vanished, but a few still remained, moving sluggishly across his chest.
Hardin’s first thought was that Gravas had been somewhat conservative in his reporting. There was just so much blood everywhere, so much fluid, that it looked as if the Greek’s body had been completely exsanguinated. Hardin had never seen a victim of Ebola in the flesh – few people had – but he had seen plenty of pictures, and in his opinion what he was looking at here was even worse, not least because the Greek had obviously died so quickly. From taking a drink in a bar to lying dead on his bed in less than twelve hours. Whatever this agent was, it was not only messily lethal but unbelievably rapid.
Hardin shook his head, and walked away from the bed without even touching Aristides’s body. As he had told Gravas earlier, there was nothing he could do to isolate the causative agent without using the equipment that the rest of his team was bringing out. All he could say for sure was that Spiros Aristides was dead – self-evident to anybody who cared to look into that bedroom.
Much more important was to find the container that had held the agent that killed these two men.
Krywald had planned to leave the village in much the same way they had arrived, but as he and Stein made their way through the silent and darkening streets, he heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and immediately changed his mind. The two men had already discarded their gloves and masks, and now they pulled off their white coveralls and dumped them in an open trash can.
By the sound of it, the chopper was a big one, and Krywald guessed that it was probably ferrying supplies, equipment or maybe further personnel to Kandira. Whatever its load, the aircraft would be the focus of attention for everyone trapped in the village, including the police officers manning the cordon, which meant the pair of them could probably slip away unnoticed.
They made their way towards the tents located near the main road – such as it was – leading into Kandira, and stood back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching as the helicopter landed. It was a Royal Navy Merlin wearing light grey livery, and Krywald’s guess had been right. It was carrying equipment, and three passengers – and both the goods and the people had begun their journey in Atlanta, Georgia. The remaining members of the CDC team had at last arrived.
As is usual in most of Europe, the prevailing wind came from the south-west, and the Merlin settled heavily onto the dusty ground with its nose pointing into wind and away from the cordon surrounding the village. The sliding access door to the rear compartment on a Merlin is located on the right side of the aircraft, which meant that nobody in the village or even manning the cordon could see when it was opened. Once the helicopter had landed, a few moments passed before anyone saw the newly arrived passengers approach from around the rear of the aircraft, keeping well clear of its spinning tail rotor.
Krywald and Stein waited until the helicopter’s passengers had begun ferrying cases and equipment from the aircraft to the cordon, and a good two-way flow of people had been established. Then he and Stein stepped forward, waved their fake CDC identity cards towards one of the policemen, and walked across towards the helicopter. Stein was carrying the black case which contained the steel box. The two men slid around the rear of the aircraft, then simply continued walking away from the village and into the olive groves, where Elias was waiting in the hired Ford.
As they approached the lines of stunted trees, Krywald looked back. As he had anticipated, their departure had caused no interest whatsoever. Everyone was still transfixed by the helicopter, which sat, turning and burning, on the dusty scrub near the tents. Krywald grinned and carried on walking.
‘That’s odd,’ Inspector Lavat remarked, as the three men approached the house where Nico Aristides had lived and died.
‘What?’ Hardin asked. He was moving very slowly in the biological space suit. The garment was undeniably cumbersome, and never intended to be worn by anyone out for a stroll. He was still wearing the Racal hood, because to have removed it would have meant going through the entire taping and checking procedure again, so he was sweating profusely.
‘My police officer isn’t here,’ Lavat replied. ‘I stationed a man outside each property.’
‘A call of nature, perhaps?’ Gravas suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Lavat said, ‘but he should be somewhere close by. He wouldn’t need to go far to find a convenient bush.’ He gestured at the open countryside stretching in front of them.
‘He’ll be back in a few minutes, no doubt,’ Gravas said. ‘He’s even left his radio on that window sill. Here, Mr Hardin, let me check you.’
Hardin stood quite still while Gravas prowled round him, visually checking every seam of the Tyvek space suit for any tears and ensuring that the tape was still in place at the American’s ankles and wrists. Finally, Gravas examined the neck seal where the Racal hood was fitted, and then declared himself satisfied.
Hardin nodded his thanks and turned back towards the building. Like Spiros’s house, and virtually every other property in Kandira, it was small, white-washed and slightly scruffy. A narrow wooden door, painted in dark blue gloss, but heavily weathered and faded by the sun, gave access to the building from the street, and there was
