Doctor Gavrilov
Authors: Maggie Hamand
Also by Maggie Hamand
The Resurrection of the Body
The Rocket Man
First eBook edition
published in 2014 by
The CCWC
82 Forest Road
London E8 3BH
© Maggie Hamand 2014
All rights reserved, Maggie Hamand 2014
The right of Maggie Hamand to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Cover images © Lio2012 © Grungemaster
Cover design by Jane Havell
eBook edition ISBN 978-0-957694-46-0
Acknowledgements
With many thanks to all those people who helped me in my researches, and special thanks to David Kay, former Secretary general of the Uranium Institue and UN Chief Weapons Inspector in Iraq, Seva Novgorodsev of the BBC Russian Service, Zhores Medvedev, author of
The Legacy of Chernobyl
, Olga Fedina, Sveta Yavorsky, Christopher Long, and others who wish to remain anonymous, all of whom gave generously of their time to help me make the book as accurate as possible. I would also like to thank the late Julian Rathbone for his encouragement and belief in this book. Much gratitude is also due to my eagle-eyed readers/editors, Gillian Paschkes-Bell, Andrew Rivett, and Mary Flanagan.
âWhy this is hell, nor am I out of it'
Christopher Marlowe,
Doctor Faustus
Prologue
Vienna, 1992
I
N THE LIGHT of the police spotlights Tim Finucan could see them dragging the corpse out of the Danube. Heavy with water and shrouded in a dark sack, it slipped from among the icy patches on the river and lay on the bank gleaming like a landed seal. An ambulance stood to one side, the blue lights flashing, creating a halo in the rainy air and shimmering on the wet ground. The paramedics stood ready with their equipment, but it must have been clear to them at a glance that this was a body that stood no chance of resuscitation.
Across the canalised river, half obscured by the rain, stood the tall, curved towers of the UN buildings; lights still gleamed in the upper stories. The rain turned to a fine, icy sleet, and Tim ran along the bridge to stand beside the cameraman. He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. âThis is great, terrific. We got the exact moment. How close in can you get?' Police cordons had prevented them from getting any nearer than the bridge, but the view was good enough from here. In the distance, alarm lights from a police car flashed in the darkness and they heard the whoop of the siren. Tim was anxious, impatient to be finished; they might be told they couldn't film and be cleared off the bridge at any moment.
âCan you just pan up to the UN buildings? It would be great to get them in the same shot â'
The cameraman had been at this job far longer than Tim and didn't try to hide his irritation. âShut up and pass me that next tape will you â it's about to run out.'
Each videotape lasted 30 minutes; in Tim's experience, they always ran out at the critical moment, either that or the battery pack needed replacing. He handed over the tape and the cameraman changed it over in a series of skilled, quick movements. On the concrete bank below them two men crouched over the body, passing a monitor backwards and forwards over it. The men wore protective suits and moved slowly, like spacemen, gleaming white against the darkness.
Tim felt a sudden chill. âShit,' he said. âDo they think it's radioactive?'
Beside him his other companion, the American reporter Erwin Stone, inhaled deeply on the last of his cigarette and tossed the stub over the parapet. He hunched his shoulders and stamped his feet to get warm. âHaven't you heard? The two men arrested yesterday were admitted to hospital this morning showing signs of radiation poisoning.'
Tim watched as they loaded the body into an unmarked vehicle which was standing by. The searchlights abruptly went off; the sleet stung his face like needles. âWhere's the hospital?'
âThe Lorenz Böhler. It's not far from here. I'll direct you.'
They drove to the hospital but the staff were not giving out any information; a police guard in the entrance told them to leave. They set up the lights outside the main casualty entrance and Tim spoke his piece, putting his all into it while striving for an impression of seasoned casualness. Despite the icy rain, he made the cameraman shoot it twice; this was the first time Tim himself would appear on screen and he was anxious to get it right.
They packed up quickly and loaded the van with numb, slippery fingers. The American suggested a drink at the bar on the corner. It was dingy and empty except for a young couple lingering over their drink; in the background some Austrian folk music played quietly. The main thing was that it was warm.
Erwin went to the bar and ordered coffee and slivovitz; the cameraman slouched in the corner and looked meaningfully at the clock. Tim, however, wanted to thank Erwin for tipping him off about the body and pump him for any more information. Erwin had freelanced in Vienna for years; he'd told Tim that he knew better than to try to sell the story here and the paper he was a stringer for in the States had wanted only a couple of paragraphs, so he'd passed it on to Tim who could make more use of it.
Erwin took out his packet of cigarettes and laid them on the table while he searched in his pockets for his lighter. âThis is the third incident of nuclear smuggling we've had here this month⦠the first was just a few fuel pellets from an old Soviet-built reactor. The second was a laboratory sample, just a tiny quantity⦠this time it looks more serious.'
âBut why all the protective clothing? Surely pure uranium isn't that radioactive? Even if it's bomb gradeâ¦'
âWell, there is no safe dose of radiation. And they might have got hold of some irradiated fuel rods⦠that could be highly radioactive. Or it could be plutonium this time.'
âWhy should these guys take the risk?'
âMaybe they don't even know what it is they're handling.' Erwin lit up, tilted back his head and blew two thick columns of smoke from his nostrils. âIn any case, we're not likely to find out any more from the police. The Austrian authorities keep a pretty tight grasp over their media⦠It'll be hushed up.' He paused and added cynically, âIf we're lucky we might find out the nationality of the corpse.'
Tim looked around; the cameraman had nodded off in the corner. Erwin turned to him. âYou know, if you're doing a detailed report on this, the smuggling of nuclear materials is only the tip of the iceberg. Even more dangerous is the fact that there are plenty of nuclear scientists, out of a job, selling their know-how to anyone who will pay for it.' He glanced at Tim. âYou should follow this up.'
âI will.'
âGive me your address and phone number⦠I can send stuff on to you.'
Tim took out his card. âI'll give you my home number but it's only temporary⦠I've got nowhere to live at the moment. I sold my flat first and then the place I was buying fell through⦠But you can always reach me at the office.'
Erwin drained his glass and slipped the card into his wallet. âI might be able to help,' he said, unexpectedly. âI ran into Michael Barratt yesterday, do you know him? He's moving to Delhi, he told me he was trying to find someone to take on his London flat. It's in Kilburn, not far from the subway. The house belongs to an old friend of mine who moved from Vienna last year⦠in fact you might even know her, she worked for the BBC in Bush House, Katie MacAllister, she was thenâ¦'
Though this kind of thing happened to him all the time, Tim was still astonished at this coincidence. âKatie MacAllister? God, I used to know her quite well. She was in the German service, rather a stunning girl⦠I haven't seen her for years. Now I remember, she took a job here, Radio Blue Danube or something⦠didn't she get married?'
âYes. Actually, twice.' He paused and looked Tim in the eye. âLook, I'll give you her number. Give her a call. I'll ring her and let her know you'll be in touch.''
Erwin wrote a number on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table to him. Tim folded it in half and clipped it safely into his pocket-file. He looked at his watch; it was nearly midnight. âLook, it's been good to see you, you've been a great help⦠but I've got to get this edited and fed over to Londonâ¦'
âAt ORF?' Erwin was referring to Austrian state television.
âNo, we usually use them but since this is such a sensitive story we've booked a studio at an independent facilities house⦠in fact, this is such hot stuff I'm not sure whether I shouldn't get straight back to London and edit it there⦠what do you think, Rupert?'
The cameraman opened one eye; Tim thought perhaps he hadn't been asleep after all. âSuits me fine.'
Erwin went to use the phone and came back a few minutes later. He leaned forward over the table and spoke in a quiet, almost conspiratorial voice. âI think your plan would be very wise. The authorities here have imposed a news blackout⦠in fact you'd better make sure your film doesn't get confiscated on the way out.'
Chapter One
