The Lubyanka, Moscow, RF – March 22nd 2012

“So this guy, Maalouf, what exactly is he trying to sell?” Major-General Alexandr Cherlin was getting irritated, he hated dealing with field agents. At the other end of a very poor line to their Luanda office someone spoke. “Worse than Ebola? I find this hard to believe Captain Gavrikov.  Do you trust this guy?” 

“I don’t care how long he’s been buying arms from you. I want to see this proof, then we can discuss the matter further” Cherlin wrote down an FTP address and read it back down the phone.  Once he was satisfied that he had noted the details correctly, he hung up and walked across to the second PC terminal.  This PC wasn’t connected to the FSB’s network so he always used it access external sites.  Cherlin typed in the address.

A simple, unformatted FTP portal opened containing only two files, labelled 1819032012.mp4 and a much smaller file size: 1819032012(timeloop).mp4.  Cherlin clicked on the ‘timeloop’ version and downloaded it.

When he opened the file he saw an unhealthy looking black man in shabby clothes tied to a metal chair with what looked like electrical cable, he was wired up to an old ECG, its display clearly visible on screen. The man was looking from the camera to someone standing behind it and then back to the camera, he was extremely agitated and appeared to be pleading with his captors in a language Cherlin assumed to be Portuguese.

What little he could see of the room indicated he was in a basement, there was no natural light and the walls were peppered with a black mould, indicating it was damp too.  Cherlin saw that the file name had been the time stamp on the tape, four days ago: the 18th of the 3rd 2012, the stamp said 11:17AM

Then a figure in a grubby white coat moved in front of the camera, Cherlin couldn’t see the man’s face, but the white coated figure showed his hand to the camera, unfolding his gloved fist to reveal a small syringe no more than 5ml containing a rusty looking fluid.  He then turned and moved towards the figure in the chair who recoiled away from him, begging more frantically for, Cherlin assumed, his life.  The man in the white coat stood to the side of his victim so the camera could see the man in the white coat swab the area with alcohol, then the needle slid into the man’s arm and emptied its contents.

The man in the white coat withdrew, leaving Cherlin looking only at the figure in the chair, who sagged with despair, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the injection. After lingering on that image for two minutes, the tape sped up showing that the patient remained in place throughout the process.  The tape slowed down again at 17:07, the white coated figure entered the frame and Cherlin could see sweat was flowing from the injected man in rivers and his head was lolling to the left and right as if delirious.  The camera zoomed in on the ECG, the patient’s readings were now erratic, his heartbeat rapid, very rapid.

The white coated figure moved over to the patient and raised the angle of the patient’s arm, the one that hadn’t been injected, so the camera could zoom in on the patient’s skin.  His veins stood out and Cherlin could see that they were unusually dark, even against the darkly pigmented skin of the victim.  The figure then held the patients head and moved back his eyelids, the eyes were momentarily white, as if they had rolled back in the patient’s head, the irises snapped forward and the patient focused on the camera again.  The patient started to plead again in Portuguese.

When the camera zoomed in, the Russian could see that the capillaries in the whites of his eyes were also discoloured, his eyeballs resembling expensive marble with fine dark threads covering the surface. White coat then left the frame again and the tape sped up again, the next time the tape slowed down the timestamp read 03:15 AM.

The patient was now slumped immobile in his restraints, the ECG readout showing a rhythm that roughly resembled a normal readout, but the spikes were much weaker.  Cherlin looked at the top of the man’s bowed head for a few minutes wondering why they had slowed this portion, when the readout on the ECG changed.  The rate of beats slowed down dramatically, the patient had lapsed into a coma.  The white coated figure re-entered and held a small hand mirror in front of the patient’s mouth, the camera revealed that the patient was breathing, but very slowly, next the doctor slid a needle under one of the patient’s fingernails – eliciting no pain response from the unconscious man.

The next time the footage slowed down it was 1230 on the 19th, again the shot included the slumped figure but focussed on the ECG monitor.  The monitor was still registering a very slow heartbeat, but then ninety seconds later even that flicker of life stopped and the monitor flat lined.  The man in the white coat held the mirror under the patient’s nose, no misting, the doctor withdrew.

Very interesting, thought Cherlin sipping on his coffee, this thing is virulent, death in about 24 hours, even Marburg takes at least 48.  I’m sure that VECTOR will be most interested in this.  Just as Cherlin was considering how much to offer for the package his reverie was broken when he caught movement on the screen.  ‘Impossible, this must be a fake’ thought the General, the figure on screen was stirring, the read out on the ECG was still flat, ‘Who would be stupid enough to try and hoax the FSB?’ thought the Cherlin, considering what he was going to do to that inept bureau commander who had allowed himself to be duped.

By now the figure in the chair was sitting upright again, gazing blankly around the room without really looking at anything.  The discoloration of the vascular system was visible even without the zoom.  But the camera none the less zoomed in on the patient’s face.  The eyes were glazed, unfocussed, but that all changed when he heard the door behind the camera open. The patient snapped his attention onto the figure entering the room and strained his entire body against the restraints.

The white coated man moved towards the writhing figure, once again holding up the mirror, it was harder to see this time as the figure had to keep moving the mirror to avoid the patients snapping jaws, but when the figure showed the surface of the mirror to the camera, no misting.  “Cheap parlour tricks” thought the Russian, but with less conviction now.  A third figure entering the room now drew his attention, again the camera was angled too low to see the figure’s face, but he was carrying a gun, a shotgun.  The doctor stepped away from the restrained patient, who was now shifting his attentions to whoever was nearer of the rooms two other occupants.

Then the General saw the armed figure aim the shotgun at the patient’s stomach from about two feet away and pull the trigger.  He saw the patient’s lower torso blown away leaving a gaping hole at the bottom of his ribcage where his intestines should be.  The patient’s upper body dropped to fill the empty space, his legs flopped lifelessly to the floor, but the man’s face registered no pain.  No sooner had the patient slumped into the chair than he started straining at his restraints again towards the figure behind the camera trying to stretch what remained of his body free.  But his gaolers had done their job well and he could still only writhe in vain.

Whoever was directing this snuff movie allowed the camera to remain in place on the figure for a further seven minutes, far longer than a human being could survive with those injuries, let alone still move.  Then the figure that had carried the shotgun earlier returned into the room, this time armed with a handgun, which he raised directly at the patients forehead as he strained towards him.  One shot to the forehead and Cherlin saw the patient’s brains splatter the grimy wall behind him.  What remained of him slumped motionless in his seat, after less than a minute the screen went black.

The general picked up the phone and dialled Angola.

“How much does he want?”