Ultimate Weapon Read Free Page A

put this psycho in charge of the country?
    ‘What did the building look like?’ pressed Wragg.
    ‘Nothing special,’ answered Jed. ‘A carpet factory. Could be making rugs from the looks of the place.’
    ‘And special defences?’
    ‘Just a high perimeter fence, and thick steel gates.’
    ‘No guards?’
    Jed shook his head. ‘Only on the inside.’
    ‘Searchlights?’ asked Laura.
    ‘Two on either side of the compound,’ said Jed. ‘But fixed. They weren’t scanning the area. They might have been built to, but they weren’t that night.’
    ‘Electronic surveillance?’
    ‘Not that I could see.’
    ‘What did it smell like?’ said Weston.
    Jed paused. That was a good question. It smelt like fear, if he was being honest. His own terror sweatingoff him as he stood next to the plant, wondering if he was about to spend the next few months being tortured to death by the Iraqis. ‘Just dust, really,’ he replied. ‘Concrete, tarmac. Tossed-out rubbish and dog piss. The same sort of smell you might get on any industrial estate in this country on a hot day.’
    ‘No fruity smells?’ said Weston.
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Burnt almonds, dried oranges, anything like that,’ said Weston. ‘Just any kind of memorable smell.’
    Jed shook his head. Weston was a short, plump man, with a greying beard that looked like it could use a trim. He’d be more at home at a real-ale convention than the offices of the Firm. Still, he knew more about chemical and biological weapons than any man in the country. If it could come out of a test tube and kill you, then Weston was the man to spot it.
    ‘Nothing like that.’
    ‘How about lights?’ said Miles Frith. ‘What kind of light was it giving off ?’
    ‘It was dark.’
    ‘I know,’ said Frith. ‘But any kind of glow.’
    Jed shook his head.
    ‘Pipes?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Any kind of thick pipe running into the place?’ Frith was younger than the other men, no more than thirty, Jed thought. He wore half-moon glasses that made him look older, and a short-sleeved blue shirt. His voice was thin and whiny, like a cat being prodded with a hotstick, but his manner was firm and decisive. Weston took him along to every meeting he attended, but no one else could understand why he was there.
    Jed closed his eyes. In his mind, he recalled images of the pictures he’d taken. He’d looked at the building for hours, committing it to his memory, the way a photograph is committed to a roll of film. He could see the drab concrete wall that surrounded the place, and the cylinders poking above them. And then to the right he could see a pipe.
    ‘On the right of the plant,’ he replied.
    ‘How thick?’
    ‘Maybe a foot in diameter.’
    ‘Oil?’
    Jed shook his head. Oil pipes usually came in a standard size, and they were smaller than that. And industrial plants didn’t need raw crude. ‘Water,’ he said. ‘I think it was a water pipe.’
    ‘Just into the plant.’
    Jed nodded. ‘There were no pipes running off it, so yes. The plant must have had its own water supply.’
    Weston looked suddenly interested. ‘What about the road leading into the place? Was it reinforced in any way?’
    Jed nodded again. ‘There was thick tarmac on the road leading up into it. A lot thicker than any of the surrounding roads.’
    Weston looked up at the picture Jed had taken of the building. He was scrutinising it, the way an angler would scrutinise the fish on the end of his rod, looking at itfrom every angle to judge whether he’d landed a prize catch. From the look on his face, Jed judged this one wasn’t about to be tossed back into the water.
    ‘So what have we got here, ladies?’ snapped Muir. ‘I can’t piss around all day talking to you fucking pansy boys. Is it WMD or not? Have we got the evidence?’
    Weston stood up. After a brief moment of hesitation, Frith stood up as well. ‘What we are looking at here, I believe, is not WMD. At least not in the conventional