It was one of the irritations of the Doctor’s undeclared scientific work that all his connections to the outside world had to be managed through a secret office of the ISI, controlled by the ghost-like Colonel. Three years ago, the Colonel had directly taken over research projects at the MERC after his predecessor was found to be selling secrets to North Korea. The Colonel now had managerial control over both the MERC and the missile development programs at Noor Khan Air Base in Rawalpindi, whereas he had previously had oversight of the clandestine programs. The Colonel, for all his ignorance of science, was at a least a good manager. But living in secret meant having to rely on a person like Murad, who might be competent but was clearly mercenary in his motivations.

‘If this works,’ said the Doctor, ‘as I know it will, we’ll be ready for the final stage of Scimitar as per the agreed timetable. Is that a problem?’

‘Not at all,’ said Murad.

‘What about that business in Sicily I read about?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Anything to do with us?’

‘It’s under control.’

‘Control?’ echoed the Doctor, annoyed at the arrogance. ‘What does that mean?’

‘The French secret services were in Palermo,’ said Murad, showing his gleaming teeth. ‘But they were looking into a passport racket, nothing else. We’re clean.’

The Doctor breathed deeply. There had been one hiccup, almost two years ago. A scientist of his with a traitorous husband. But she had been dealt with. Now he had no choice but to trust this man, Murad … for the moment. His sponsor was the notoriously capricious Colonel, and who knew what would happen to Murad once he had served his purpose?

‘We’ve discussed these vials and their safe use,’ said the Doctor, pointing to the canisters. ‘Your team has been shown the safety video I sent? They’ll need to use full protective measures when handling them. No exceptions.’

In fact, the Doctor’s project team had engineered paper caps on the vials which lasted around thirty-five minutes, when submerged in water, before eroding. This meant there was little risk of spillage, but he didn’t want a clumsy soldier making a mistake and infecting himself, complicating the operation.

When Murad had left with the canisters, the Doctor walked into the security airlock that separated his administrative offices from the laboratory. He input a security code and offered his hand to a palm-reader, which allowed him into the most covert facility in Pakistan.