Zero Point

26

The forensic laboratories were bustling. Through one window, Fenton saw scientists stooped over different worktops, studying samples of metal and debris from the scene of Carson's assassination. Through another, he saw them carving through charred remains of corpses.

"Look. I just want to say thank you for seeing me," said Fenton. "The MI6 head office have been giving me the run around, saying everything's classified, and it did my head in."

"Well as you can see, we're very, very busy," said Dr. Victoria Green, the new acting head of the forensic inquiry into Carson's assassination. She was a petite but quite stunning blonde with sharp green eyes. "Don't worry about head office. It's just bureaucracy. I don't see a problem with keeping you in the loop. Obviously things have just been a bit strained since the terrible news. We all miss Meria immensely... but the show goes on, doesn't it?"

"It does, indeed," replied Fenton.

MI6 had taken over the forensic inquiry―but a selected number of SO15 forensic investigators, including Dr. Green, had been brought in. He'd managed to confirm the fact by just walking into SO15's forensic unit. Luckily, though the investigation was now under MI6's jurisdiction―due to "classified" security concerns linked to Stafford's murder―in all the chaos, they hadn't been able to move the evidence under analysis to another secure location. And Fenton seemingly had pretty much open access to SO15.

"Well if you don't mind, I'd really like to have an update on the investigation into the explosives."

"We're still running tests. At the moment, we're not one hundred percent sure, but so far it does look like some kind of homemade chemical explosive. My hunch is TATP."

"Hmm."

Fenton surveyed the scene around him. They were perched on two stools at the centre of a network of forensic rooms connected by bright white corridors. Activity in most of the rooms could be easily seen through large clear windows that filled the top half of the walls. His eyes fell on the Fire & Explosives Analysis room.

"Any chance I could take a look?"

"Oh no, not at this stage, Mr. Callum. I do apologise. We really can't afford the samples to be disturbed. But I can promise to keep you updated on our findings. Is that okay?"

"Sure, of course. I'm just keen to really nail this. You know how it is."

"Absolutely. I feel exactly the same."

"I have a small question though, before I go."

"Yes, please fire away."

"I got a call from Dr. Stafford yesterday―obviously before we found her murdered today. She, er, said that she felt the explosives were a lot more sophisticated than that. I believe was the word she used was 'experimental.' She said that she didn't think Al-Qaeda could've pulled off the attack. What do you make of that?"

"Well, that's not implausible. We can always speculate about whether the people Al-Qaeda are recruiting have the expertise to create chemical explosives of this quantity, with the capability to create this much damage. It's definitely a sophisticated concoction, whatever it is."

"Right."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that's fine. If you could just keep me informed. I'd like to see a report of your findings as soon it's ready."

"Of course, consider it done."

"Um, one more thing."

Dr. Green graced him with another winning smile.

"I understand there are difficulties here in what you're able to tell me. I just need some sort of clarity on why MI6 decided to take over this investigation? It's certainly not normal protocol."

Her smiled dropped.

"I appreciate your concern. There are elements of Dr. Stafford's investigation which are indeed classified. I can't talk about those things, but that is why MI6 needed to take over this case. We couldn't risk the possibility of any of this information leaking―it would cause a grave risk to national security. And I'm sure you understand that normal protocol requires protecting national security at all costs."

"Of course, of course."

Fenton nodded vigorously as he shook hands with the suddenly stern-―looking scientist, before turning and heading back to the main office. He wasn't sure what to think. Was this a cover up? Or was he going mad? Perhaps Dr. Stafford had been under a lot of strain. Perhaps Helen Golding was, indeed, psychotic. Perhaps they were both psychotic, and he was spending too much time thinking about them―and now he was becoming psychotic.

On the way out, he texted as much to Heather, wishing that he could have a holiday.