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“Same car but different registration,” added Reilly.
“And he’s been really busy for the past two weeks moving his sister into a care home,” said Gardener. “She has advanced dementia.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Briggs. “Anyway, given what I’ve just heard, I know it’s not Alan Braithwaite, either.”
“What have you heard?” asked Gardener, glancing at the document Briggs had in front of him, which must have been a hundred pages long.
“My friend from Porton Down finally called me back,” said Briggs. “I explained what our problem was and he went off to check the stocks of this HN-3 stuff.”
“And?” asked Gardener.
“He was pretty bloody cagey when he called back. He wouldn’t exactly admit that anything was missing.”
“What did I tell you?” said Gardener.
“What did he say?” asked Reilly.
“Just that there was a discrepancy and they needed to check it out further.”
“And then arrange their own investigation and that’s the last we’ll hear of it,” added Gardener.
“Not quite,” replied Briggs. “He said he didn’t know too much about the stuff. He knows how dangerous it is, and what it can do to you.”
“So do we,” said Reilly.
Briggs continued, “I asked him if I could talk to someone who did know more about it. After all, if it’s been used once it might be used again and we need to know what to expect and how to deal with it. He said there was only one man we could speak to, who knew the stuff inside and out, because he had a hand in developing it. But apparently he’s been on compassionate leave for three months, since the death of his brother.”
“Pardon?” said Gardener, his skin prickling.
“I think you know where I’m going,” said Briggs. “It’s David Hunter’s brother, Roger.”
Gardener rolled his eyes. “That figures. He told us he had a position within government,” said Gardener.
“Wasn’t joking, was he?” added Reilly.
“So where do they think Roger Hunter is now?” asked Gardener.
“They don’t know,” said Briggs, “because they haven’t heard anything from him. Every time they call him the phone goes to voicemail.”
“It’s all falling into place,” said Gardener. “David’s brother. Given the type of man he is, he’s obviously going to want some kind of revenge and he’s not prepared to leave it to us.”
“So what type of an animal are we dealing with here?” asked Reilly.
“One who likes to mess around with chemical warfare, and shouldn’t be crossed by the sound of it,” said Briggs, holding up the thick file. “And that’s only the start of it, I have his records here.”
“Those are his records?” asked Gardener. “What the hell is he?”
“Pretty bloody dangerous,” replied Briggs. He opened the file. “He doesn’t take prisoners. What we’re dealing with here is Robocop on steroids. Started out as a Marine Commando, 45 CDO RM at Lympstone. He underwent six months Commando training, completing the All Arms Commando Course. When he had passed his fitness and CDO tests he was only awarded the infamous Green Beret.
“He was then posted to the Falklands where he picked up a Distinguished Service Order, and a George Cross, the first British medal to be created for bravery, equal to the Victoria Cross as the nation’s highest award for gallantry, for the night attack on Two Sisters.”
Gardener shook his head and ran his hands down his face. “Looks like they’ve picked the wrong man to mess with here.”
“So have we,” added Reilly.
Briggs rattled more paper around.
“During 1985 he was stationed to keep the peace in Killean, County Down.”
