open, as, indeed, have our American counterparts.’
Davies broke off briefly to cast a questioning glance towards Grieves, the officer from the green slime. The man nodded his head wordlessly, confirming Piggy’s suspicions.
‘We know that the original project was code-named Phoenix by the Russians,’ Piggy went on. ‘Everything suggests that it was never officially embraced by the Soviet government, but placed largely under the control of the KGB, and kept under tight security wraps. For that reason, our intelligence is patchy, to say the least, and we have had to surmise quite a lot of what we were unable to know for fact. What we do know, however, is that in 1947 a secret research facility was set up in a fairly remote and mountainous region of Kazakhstan, fairly close to the Mongolian border. While we still do not know the exact purpose of this original facility, we have always assumed it to be a biological research project of some kind. It is also logical to assume that the underlying concept of this research facility was in military application, although there may have been some spin-offs into mainstream science. It is more than possible, for instance, that the dominance of Soviet and Eastern Bloc athletes during the fifties and sixties was directly due to steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs which were developed in the Kazakhstan facility.’
The Foreign Secretary had been busy making notes. He looked up now, tapping his pen on the table to draw Piggy’s attention.
‘So what you are saying, in effect, is that this project has never actually offered any direct, or perceived, threat to the Western powers, or us in particular? At worst, in fact, it might have cost us a few gold medals in the Olympics?’
Piggy nodded, conceding the point. ‘Up to now, yes. But recent developments have given us cause to think again.’
The Foreign Secretary chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘And what are these new developments?’
‘With respect, sir, I believe I can best answer that,’ Grieves said, rising to his feet and waving a buff-coloured dossier in one hand. Satisfied that he had the floor, he cleared his throat with a slight cough and carried on. ‘About three months ago, GCHQ monitored what appeared to be some kind of distress signal sent out from the Kazakhstan facility to the old KGB HQ in Moscow. From this, we must deduce two things – A, that some sort of accident or emergency situation had occurred within the complex, and B, the personnel inside are seemingly unaware that the KGB has been virtually broken up and disbanded over the past year or so. This further suggests that they might be completely out of touch with what has been going on inside the Soviet Union and the world at large.’
‘But how can that be?’ the Foreign Secretary wanted to know. ‘Surely they must have regular contact with the outside world – supplies, that sort of thing.’
Grieves shook his head. ‘Not necessarily, sir. Our intelligence has always suggested that the facility was designed to be virtually self-sustaining. As long ago as 1969 an American spy satellite carrying out routine surveillance of the Soviet nuclear weapons testing facility at Semipalatinsk happened to overfly the base and monitor an internal nuclear power source. This suggests that it has its own closed power source, and it is probable that they also have their own hydroponic food-production facility along with a pretty sophisticated recycling system. The very nature of the complex has always been secretive, even autonomous. It is more than likely that it even has its own security system – a private army, in effect.’
‘Just what are we actually talking about here?’ Lieutenant-Colonel Davies interrupted. ‘A scientific research facility or a bloody garrison? Just how big is this damned place, anyway?’
If the Foreign Secretary found Davies’s language at all offensive, he gave no sign. ‘A good question,’ he muttered, glancing questioningly at Grieves.
The Intelligence officer shrugged faintly. ‘Again, inconclusive evidence,’ he said. ‘Satellite observation suggests that much of the complex is built underground, but we don’t know how many subterranean levels there might be. Basically, we have no way of knowing the actual size and personnel strength of the establishment. It might house a few dozen scientists and support staff. Or it could be an autonomous, full-scale community, of several hundred people living in a miniature city. Don’t forget that this place has been established for nearly fifty years now. There’s no guessing how it has developed.’
Grieves fell silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, his face was grim and his tone sombre. ‘Of course, personnel numbers could well be a purely academic point. They may, in fact, all be dead anyway. Which, incidentally, is where the Chinese come in. They’re afraid that some sort of chemical or biological contamination may have escaped from within the complex, and may already have crossed the Mongolian border.’ He paused again, longer this time, to allow the full significance of his words to register.
Finally, Davies attempted a brief recap. ‘So what you’re suggesting is that this place may have been engaged in chemical or bacteriological warfare research, and something nasty might have got loose?’
Grieves nodded. ‘In essence, yes.’
‘Have the Chinese any direct evidence for this?’ Davies asked. ‘Have there been any actual deaths?’
Grieves consulted his notes briefly. ‘It’s difficult to be absolutely sure,’ he replied. ‘You have to understand the unique background and make-up of Kazakhstan itself. It’s vast – almost unbelievably so. You could fit Britain, France, Germany, Spain, Finland and Sweden into it quite comfortably. Yet it only has a total population of some seventeen million – an improbable mix of races and cultures including native Kazakhs, Tartars, Uzbeks and Uigurs along with emigrant Russians, Germans and others. In Stalin’s heyday, Kazakhstan was Gulag territory. When the concentration camps were disbanded, many of the inmates settled in the area. Stalin also used the region as a dumping ground for vast numbers of people he considered “political undesirables” – Volga Germans, Meskhetian Turks, Crimean Tartars and Karachais to name but a few. So we’re talking about millions of square miles still sparsely populated by people of widely differing religions, cultures and languages. And we are also dealing with a particularly remote region, in mountainous terrain not far from Mount Belushka. Because of the nature of this terrain, and the scattered, semi-nomadic distribution of the peasant population, there is no direct communications network. Any information which comes out of the area is essentially rumour, or word-of-mouth reports which might have been passed through several dozen very simple people before reaching the ears of the authorities. However, there are enough reports of dead and missing goatherds, peasant farmers and the like filtering through to give these Chinese fears some credibility.’
‘So why can’t they go in and sort it out for themselves?’ Davies asked. ‘After all, they’re right there on the spot.’
Grieves did not attempt to answer. Instead, he glanced towards the Foreign Secretary.
‘With respect, Lieutenant-Colonel,’ said the latter, addressing Davies directly, ‘you’re looking at this through the eyes of a military man, without taking into account the highly complex and sensitive political issues involved here. This whole region is a territorial minefield. There have been border clashes between the Chinese and Russians for the last three decades, and stability balances on a knife-edge. The Chinese don’t dare to make a serious incursion into Russian territory for fear of sparking off a major incident.’
‘Then it’s up to the Russians to sort it out for themselves, surely?’ Davies suggested.
The Foreign Secretary smiled thinly. ‘Perhaps you’re forgetting that there is virtually no longer any centralized decision-making inside former Soviet territory,’ he pointed out. ‘Every region, every state is in turmoil – fragmented and politically
