Chapter 1: It all began quietly

The outside of the building gave no clues as to the high tech facility that was housed within it. The walls looked like any other ramshackle Arabic affair, sun bleached, cracking, dusty and likely to collapse under a strong wind. As the sun began to pull itself above the sand filled horizon, the man climbed from behind the wheel of the modern four-wheel drive jeep and made his way to the door of the single storey structure.

As he approached, two men materialised as if from nowhere, their robes purposely chosen to help them blend effortlessly with the landscape. Each of the men held a genuine AK47; the weapons' characteristic 'banana' shaped magazines and clunky appearance belying their deadly efficiency. The guards nodded wordlessly at the man and allowed him to pass through the door of the house.

Once inside, the man made his way to a room in the exact middle of the house. In the centre of the room there was a square shaft, obviously housing an elevator. The man used a key to call the lift and pressed the button inside to descend. Fifty feet below the desert's surface, the door of the lift opened and the man stepped out into a brilliantly lit room of all white, so white it glared even more than the desert sun the man thought.

He walked over to a bench and began to remove his clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a locker. He made his way through another door into a shower area and proceeded to thoroughly scrub himself all over in the powerful jets of hot water, using the special soap from a dispenser mounted on the wall.

When the man had finished showering he left the shower on the opposite side to that which he had entered. He found himself in a cramped compartment and he struggled slightly to pull on the sterile all-in-one suit that hung there. The suit was also white, probably that colour so any contamination showed up easily. The man knew the possible contaminants he was working with would not show up against any background. No, these contaminants were beyond the scope of the human eye to pick up.

A face mask finished off his work outfit and the man left the cubicle and entered a series of further compartments, each one designed to filter and remove any remaining trace of the outside world and atmosphere.

Finally he entered his workroom. The room was cool; pleasant enough to allow him to remain there for the twelve-hour shift he would put in. There was a continuous hum coming from the units that kept the environment sterile and a desk carried a range of computer equipment. He made his way over to the precision manufactured work station - a glass bubble that had sleeves built into it to allow safe handling of the range of glass culture dishes contained within. The glass also had powerful microscopes built in so that the samples held in the dishes could be examined.

The man inserted his arms into the sleeves and immediately fell into the rhythm of concentration necessary for this work, his head lowering until his eyes were looking through the lenses of the microscope. His long years of experience allowed him to move the glass dishes with the bacteria easily enough despite the gloves that his hands were now in.

He felt he was close to a major breakthrough, had felt that for weeks now. He examined the virus under the microscope and smiled grimly at the amount of growth in the culture dish since the previous day. He believed this was the one, this was the strain that would satisfy his masters and achieve what they wanted. Now all he had to do was grow enough of it to begin the live tests.

The souq was extremely busy. It sprawled along one side of the narrow street, the side that offered most protection from the intense heat of the sun. The stalls carried all manner of goods - from fresh fruit, figs, vegetables and eastern spices to rugs and intricately carved wooden sculptures. A vendor was doing a brisk trade doling out thick, steaming black coffee in small cups and older men in flowing white robes stood around drinking, smoking and sharing their gossip. Further along, the squawking of chickens could be heard coming from a number of cages behind another hooked nose, olive skinned Arab. He was calling out what a great bargain his fowl were and how Allah himself had blessed them so they tasted better than any chicken that had gone before.

A beggar was tugging at the sleeves of passers by, imploring them to be merciful before god and to spare him some money. A policeman approached from behind and swung the long, polished stick he held, striking the beggar two heavy blows across his shoulders.

"Get up, you miserable excuse for a man!" the policeman screamed, his face showing his anger.

He hustled the beggar down the street, pushing him roughly through the crowds until they were past the edges of the market. A police van was parked here and the beggar was thrown unceremoniously into the back and the door locked behind him.

The policeman climbed into the van and started the engine, turning the air conditioning in the cab up to full. He pulled into traffic, but instead of heading for the local police station or the municipal gaol, he headed in the opposite direction and out of town.

After twenty minutes of driving on the poorly maintained road, the police van pulled off onto a track that wound its way into the wilderness. The going was much slower now, as the driver had to pick his way carefully or risk damage to the vehicle. It was only fifteen minutes later however, that a cluster of tents appeared and the van drew up beside a pair of modern jeeps.

"Salam aleykum," the policeman said as he climbed down from the van's seat.

"Waleykum salam," replied three men dressed in traditional Arab robes, AK47's slung loosely over their shoulders.

"I have another for you," the policeman informed them, as he walked to the rear of the van and unlocked the doors.

The beggar was groaning, the intense heat in the non air-conditioned rear of the van having added to the pain of the beating he had received from the policeman's stick. He was dragged from the bed of the van and across the ground towards one of the large tents and his hands were tied tightly behind him before he was flung inside.

"We have enough now Salim, your job is over and you shall receive Allah's blessings. Al Qaeda will not forget your service my friend. Now, we need to transport all of them before anyone begins to ask questions," said the tallest of the men.

The policeman nodded his understanding and returned to his van, swinging it round and driving back the way he had come. Meanwhile the three 'tribesmen' opened the rear doors on both of the jeeps and began to drag the occupants of the tents out, packing them tightly together into the vehicles. There were fourteen men in all, a mixture of beggars and petty thieves that the policeman had picked up over the past week.

"We will return in two days," said the tall man.

"I will be at my brothers, he is coming to help me take the tents away," the other replied.

He watched as his two companions opened the doors in the front of the jeeps, laying their rifles on the seat before climbing in and starting the engines. With a final wave they left the tents behind and headed out even further into the wilderness.

The drivers made two stops to let the men have a minimum amount of water, but other than that it was eight straight hours of driving through alternatively rocky and sandy desert. At last the little cluster of houses came into view, built around an ancient well that still carried sweet, cool water.

As before, when the man had approached the house, armed guards materialised and they moved forward to help usher the captives towards the doorway and then hustled them into the lift. The beggars and thieves were forced through the shower room at the foot of the lift shaft and finally into the first of the air locks that led to the sterile workroom. The door was locked behind them, ominously with the guards all on the other side of the door.

As the guards quickly used the lift to return to the surface, the flotsam and jetsam from the marketplace saw nothing else to do but continue on through the various air locks until they emerged into the workroom. The workstation and all of the computer equipment had been removed from the room and all that was left in their place was a pile of blankets, some canisters of water and two live chickens. A CCTV camera had also been installed and the blinking red light announced to the men that they were being watched.

On the surface, inside another of the buildings, the man watched the screen in front of him as the ragged and unkempt beggars and thieves entered his former workroom. He wondered how long it would be before hunger overtook the men and forced them to catch and eat the chickens. He didn't think it would matter as the virus that the birds carried would hopefully infect them whether they ate the chickens or not. That was what this live test was all about after all.

The man was a virologist and he had been recruited and funded by Al Qaeda to work on creating a biological weapon to use against the great Satan and their lap dogs. The man hated the Americans with a vengeance and considered it an honour to have been chosen for this important work.

He had examined a number of different possible options for the weapon including Ebola and Anthrax, but had ruled out both of these. Ebola offered the prospect of a high percentage of fatalities for those who were infected but it degenerated too quickly when it ran out of new hosts. There were also difficulties in truly establishing a way of making the virus airborne; the most effective way of ensuring it passed quickly from one person to another. He had discounted Anthrax quickly because he didn't think the mortality rate was high enough.