Chapter 7 Fly In The Ointment

As the unit watched the grainy footage from Dr. Walsh's lab on the giant screen, Inspector Grey entered the bustling command center, abruptly drawing everyone's attention away from the disturbing display.

One rat slaughtered the others in a grisly massacre, mauling in a flurry of blood and fur, providing a shocking reminder of Chief Inspector Sanderson's recent death.

Grey walked directly to Detective Turner's workstation. Turner's furrowed brow hinted at the troubles weighing on his mind.

"Did the street urchin provide any useful information?" Grey inquired.

"The stable boy did confirm one notable detail guv. According to his description, the man who handed him the supplement spoke with a distinctly Russian accent."

Grey lit a cigarette as Detective Jamison shuffled over, paperwork in hand. Dark shadows hung from under his eyes.

"You look like death warmed over," Grey remarked.

Jamison ran a hand over his scruffy jaw.

"I've been chasing that damn serial number all night, boss. It feels like my eyes are about to pop out of my head."

He handed Grey a piece of paper with a weary sigh.

"It was quite the rabbit hole!"

Grey took a long drag from his cigarette, briefly reviewing Jamison's report.

"Summarize the details for me, Detective Jamison."

"That particular serial number traces back to a Russian pharmaceutical company called VitaVyx," Jamison reported.

"VitaVyx shut down over a decade ago for numerous health code violations. The numbers on the confiscated supplement were likely obtained by an underground operation after the company closed."

"Underground operation, eh?" Grey mused.

"Legitimate companies retire codes, they don't hold onto them for ten years. More likely these serial numbers were purchased by some illegal venture."

"Do you have anything else to report?" Grey asked.

"That is all I have for now. But I'll continue digging."

"Thank you, Detective, this information is quite beneficial. Now go get some rest, you look dead on your feet."

"Thanks..." Jamison mumbled.

He dragged his feet heading for the door, almost tripping over a computer cord on the way out. Once Jamison had left, Grey studied the report, reading the finer details. He tossed the report onto Turner's desk.

"Have we had any luck identifying the suspect from the royal box through facial recognition yet?"

"You need to take a look at this, guv!"

Turner wheeled his ergonomic office chair up to a high-end workstation, with twin 4K monitors and a Nvidia Quadro graphics card. He put on his glasses and tapped the keyboard booting up the data-intensive software. After a few more keyboard strokes, the results appeared on the large monitors.

The screens lit up projecting thousands of data points onto the man's facial contours.

"Guv, get this. The infrared technology has revealed that he seems to be wearing a prosthetic mask."

Grey looked on, taken aback. "A realistic prosthetic mask?"

Turner tapped the touch screen, to highlight specific parts of the mask.

"The software projects an infrared grid. It captures how the light reflects off real human features to create a unique map for identification," Turner explained.

He zoomed in even further. "Even the cheekbones and brow ridge don't align properly with the prosthetic."

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The glare from the screen illuminated Grey's face.

"A very sophisticated approach. The infrared light acts as a kind of x-ray, detecting what the naked eye cannot see."

"It's incredibly precise. Even the tiniest abnormalities in how the light interacts with the mask versus real flesh can give away an otherwise perfect disguise."

Grey lit another cigarette and took sips of black coffee.

"It seems this masked man has badly underestimated the power of modern technology," Turner said.

"Based on these evasive maneuvers, Turner, I find it hard to believe that His Royal Highness wasn't unaware of the masked nature of this man."

A thought suddenly came to Grey, stroking the white stubble of his chin.

"If I may speak frankly, Detective, the Russian connection seems almost too obvious."

Turner looked up inquisitively "What do you mean guv?"

"Tell me, Turner. Why would someone go to such lengths with a realistic prosthetic mask, only to carelessly hand a supplement directly to a stable hand, leaving behind a clear trail to Russia? It doesn't make sense."

Grey's eyes became riveted to the screen, where the recognition software cast a grid of red dots converging to the suspect's face. As the software sequenced, two dark openings that seemed like eyes stared back at him.

The cigarette hung from Grey's lips like a wilting leaf while mulled over the implications of the Russian serial number.

"This raises the possibility that the pharmaceutical company was intentionally misleading, meant to obscure the identity of the true suspects within the royal circles."

Turner leaned forward, softly lifting his reading glasses, closing tired eyes for a moment.

"But who would have reason to divert suspicion away from themselves in such an elaborate manner?"

"This goes far deeper than I had thought, Turner," Grey said, with a sad note in his voice.

"What if the motive reaches the highest levels?" I hope the Royal family is not somehow involved in all of this. And Russia, for Christ's sake!"

The enormity of the situation crashed over Turner like a sonic wave. He looked at Grey, stunned like he had suddenly awoken from a bad dream.

"Suspecting the Royal family of complicity—you'd think it was unthinkable," Turner said flatly.

"But the evidence is certainly pointing in that direction!"

Turner's eyes circled around the command center, paranoid, thinking there was a snake in the grass somewhere listening to him.

"Guv, with Chief Inspector Sanderson gone, it may be unwise for us to directly question the Royal household. You saw firsthand what happened to him!"

Grey scoffed and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, grinding it into ashes.

"It sounds like you've been reading too much David Icke. What next, you'll be telling me that the Royal family are a bunch of lizard people"

Turner stared at Grey, taken aback by his abrupt reaction.

"Guv, I'm simply pointing out that we must consider all possibilities, given the severity of the situation. You know I don't believe Princess Diana's death was merely an accident."

"Are you insinuating the Royal family had the head of Scotland Yard killed in such a public way to derail this investigation, Detective Turner?"

Turner spoke in a hushed tone. "Sir, history has shown that governments and powerful institutions will go to extreme lengths to hide secrets and cover-up conspiracies."

"We don't have time for such conspiracy theories, Turner. What we need right now is hard evidence before making such bold accusations."

Grey heard the sound of bones snapping on the giant screen from Dr. Walshe's lab footage. He turned to see an alpha male rat dominating the screen, ruthlessly killing off the rest in a bloody frenzy, biting into another rat's cranium.

An unsettling image came to his mind: the political system destroying anyone who threatened to expose its secrets like a giant lab rat, killing off whistleblowers to maintain control. Turner's previous statements had unnerved him, raising the possibility that the Royal family sought to cover up their involvement through Sanderson's mysterious death.

If true, their investigation threatened to expose something dangerous. Far more dangerous than he could handle.

Grey slammed his empty coffee cup onto Turner's desk.

"This has become far above our station," he said gruffly.

"We cannot investigate this matter any further alone."

Turner looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean Guv?"

Grey buttoned up his long flappy coat.

"Call British Intelligence immediately, Turner, and tell them I am on my way."

Turner's voice took on a pressing tone. "Where are you going, guv?"

"I'm going straight to London," Grey stated.

"This case has implications that go right to the top of the government. I must report this directly to British Intelligence in person."

Turner nodded slowly, grasping the gravity of the situation. "Right away, guv. I'll make the call."

Grey left the command center, his coat billowing behind him. The potential involvement of the Royal family and Russia endangered national security. He needed to report his suspicions to Intelligence without delay.

One thing Grey did know for sure. He was getting tired of all this horse shit.