by Leslie Wolfe
Alex burst into laughter.
“Are you serious?”
“Better safe than sorry. Not all restrooms have it, and you might want to be prepared.”
“Soon I’ll need a dolly to carry what I’m supposed to have with me everywhere I go. All right, got it, I’ll make sure I have plenty of TP.”
“Remember the Taiwanese are very superstitious. Any mention of death or anything negative is bad luck. For any special situations where you don’t know how to behave or what to do, email me or search the Internet. Oh, and if someone laughs nervously, that’s because they’re uncomfortable with something and not necessarily amused. Think about that when responding.”
“Got it,” Alex said, taking notes. “What else?”
“I think this is it for Taiwan, for now,” Steve said. “Let’s move on to India. We’re used to the Indian culture because we have a strong Indian presence here in the States. We have colleagues and friends who are from India, and we are quite familiar with their culture, up to a certain point. I’m not worried about that at all. I’m more worried with some other aspects of your travel. Water, for example. You cannot drink any tap water when you get there, or let it get into your nose and eyes. You’ll get what’s called ‘Delhi Belly,’ and it’s not fun. Of course, there are other deadly pathogens in the Delhi water that can give you cholera, pneumonia, or dysentery.”
“Oh, how lovely.” Alex scoffed. “Travel all around the world to die on some god-forsaken toilet. Not what I had in plan for this stage of my career.”
“Be careful and you won’t die.” Steve smiled encouragingly. “Just don’t touch the water.”
“Seriously? How the hell am I gonna brush my teeth, wash my face, and take a shower if it can’t get in my eyes, nose, or mouth?”
“Bottled water. Brush your teeth and wash your face with bottled water. I heard that brushing with beer sucks, especially if you use Sensodyne toothpaste,” Steve said with a very serious face.
They all burst into laughter. Alex mimicked brushing her teeth and spitting out copious amounts of foam.
“All right, I get it; how about my hair? Washing my hair with bottled water will probably take two hours.” She continued her protests.
“It’s either that or death on the toilet. Eat well-cooked foods, nothing raw or underdone, and do not eat any vegetables or fruits.”
“Seriously? Why?”
“’Cause they’re rinsed in the same water. Remember, nothing, nothing at all. No lettuce leaf on your burger. No tomatoes or raw onion next to your steak. No uncooked vegetables, under any circumstance.”
“Good thing I like meat, then. I’ll just eat steaks.”
Brian stifled a laugh. Alex gave him a homicidal gaze.
“Do you think that’s funny? Really?”
“Actually, yes,” Brian answered. “You aren’t focusing much today, or else you might have remembered cows are sacred in India.”
“Oh,” she said. Brian’s laughter was contagious. She snickered. “Then what the hell am I gonna eat?”
“First of all, they prepare chicken and mutton really well; you’ll love those.” Steve smacked his lips. “Really yummy. The slaughter of cattle is highly restricted, but some restaurants might still put a steak on their menus, especially those with high Westerner traffic. I do recommend you think twice before ordering beef, because you don’t know what that meat really is, considering how restricted cattle slaughtering is, and because even if it is beef, it might be processed by people whose deep beliefs are insulted by the idea of having to kill cattle to serve you and people like you.”
“What are you saying?” Alex asked. “Will there be something wrong with it?”
“No, not necessarily. Just bad karma, if you’d like to think that way. I, for one, wouldn’t like to offend anyone’s beliefs with the food I’m ordering if I can avoid it. Stick to chicken and mutton, try some of the vegetarian dishes and see if you like them. There’s also McDonalds in Delhi and Domino’s Pizza and other alternatives, only don’t expect them to taste like they do here. They are heavily spiced to add the local flavor. Just save your steak cravings for when you come home. Tom will grill you a monster one, I promise.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just a lot to remember and a lot of risk of getting sick.” She frowned.
“Let’s talk immunizations now,” Steve continued, pushing a list in front of her. “You’ll need shots for Hepatitis A and B, Japanese encephalitis, polio—but I guess you have that done already. Rabies, typhoid, and yellow fever.”
“Huh? All these?”
“Yep, and you need to get started. I’m not sure if your doctor will want all of them done at the same time or staggered to make it easier on your body. Get your appointment set up with him, and make sure you’re immunized before leaving. He’ll also recommend a malaria prevention therapy, an oral drug like Mefloquine or Cloroquine, that you have to start taking a few weeks before leaving.”
“Whoa, hold it just a second,” she stopped him. “Isn’t this drug responsible for psychotic rages in some veterans or active-duty soldiers? Not sure, but I remember seeing it on TV. There was something wrong with their malaria drugs. Are these the same drugs we’re talking about?”
“Largely, yes. Antimalaria drugs have significant side effects, some of which can be neuropsychiatric.”
“Can you be more specific, please?” Alex asked in her low, calm-before-the-storm tone of voice.
“Anxiety, paranoia, hallucinations, depression. But not all patients experience these side effects. “
“Just what I need on a covert, high-risk investigation in a foreign, dangerous country. To become paranoid, see things that aren’t there, and be more anxious than I already am.” She stood abruptly and started pacing the floor. “Let me make it clear for you, Steve. Hell, no! Not taking them, and the hell with it.”
“This is not negotiable, Alex. If you get sick with malaria, what will happen then? If you don’t get proper treatment you could die,” Steve said. “I cannot accept this risk.”
“This risk is not yours to accept, Steve,” she snapped at him, instantly regretting it. “Look, I’ll wear a ton of mosquito spray, and I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“Let’s be practical here.” Brian intervened. “Alex’s concern with maintaining the integrity of her cognitive processes is a legitimate one.”
“Thank you,” Alex said, nodding in his direction.
“Let’s explore options,” Brian continued. “If she gets malaria, what’s the treatment?”
“The same drugs, or doxycycline,” Steve said.
“I’ll take doxy anytime,” Alex said.
“You can’t take doxy for weeks in a row to prevent it,” Steve said.
“Yeah, but I can take it if I get sick. Case closed,” she said, not willing to discuss it any further.
Great meeting, she thought bitterly, just uncovered fifteen million more ways to die.
...39
...Monday, February 1, 1:32PM Local Time (UTC+1:00 hours)
...Overnight Delight Headquarters—Brandýs nad Labem-Stará Boleslav
...Prague, The Czech Republic
Cameras were clicking constantly, targeting the precise moment when the mayor of Prague cut the red ribbon in front of the warehouse doors. It was an honor to have the mayor himself inaugurate a business; Karmal Shah knew that very well. He also knew that not every day a city like Prague gets such a large investment in one of its suburbs.
The mayor cut the ribbon with scissors offered on a silver tray by Shah’s new executive assistant, Hana, a slender girl with flowing blonde hair and unforgettable cleavage. By the looks of it, the mayor wouldn’t be forgetting her cleavage any time soon. Perfect.
A surge of applause marked the moment the ribbon was cut. The mayor then turned to Shah and shook his hand. They both smiled, posing for the media.
“We are both grateful and excited,” the mayor said, “to welcome ‘Overnight Delight’ and Mr. Karmal Shah to Pr
ague and to our community. Mr. Shah is a successful entrepreneur who has a lot to teach us about building a business in the modern, borderless world. Please join me in wishing Mr. Shah and ‘Overnight Delight’ the best of luck!”
Another wave of applause. It was his turn now. He stepped in front of the microphones after shaking the mayor’s hand again.
“Thank you all for your warm welcome and your incredible hospitality. It was the world-famous Czech hospitality that prompted me to relocate my business interests from France to the Czech Republic. It is friendship I am looking for and a sense of community in a place I can start calling home. Personally, I am looking to put down roots in a welcoming community such as yours. My business, which already employs twenty-two people here, has unlimited growth potential. I am investing millions of dollars to promote our products on Google and other online venues, and I am planning to open a business-to-business catering service. Our website and online marketplace are state of the art, and our customers are exigent connoisseurs with a high degree of loyalty once they find a good product and excellent service. The sky is the limit, and we can reach it together.”
He put his hand up to silence the applause that was igniting. “How better to celebrate,” he asked, “than by sampling my product while visiting the facility? Please, help yourselves, and don’t forget the open bar!”
Now they were free to applaud, and they did, for a long time. The Czech people were impressionable and easy-going. Perfect.
Shah led the way into his building. He stepped into the front office, showing them around.
“This is our office. We have accounting there and order management here. Through that door is my own office. I will be spending a lot of my time here, making sure we get everything organized to service our growing customer base. Online advertising is over there,” he said and pointed toward a couple of desks in the back corner. “We’ll need to add more space and more resources to this area. Can we do more with online advertising?” Shah asked, then answered the question himself with a lot of poignancy. “Yes, we can. We just need the right resources to get things done. Through here,” he said, opening two large doors, “we are entering the main warehouse. The left side of the warehouse is entirely refrigerated, dedicated to perishables. We keep caviar in there: oysters, foie gras, truffles, fine cheeses, smoked salmon, and sturgeon. The rest of the warehouse, as you can see, is climate-controlled, yet not fully refrigerated. In here we maintain a temperature of fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, or fourteen degrees Celsius, and less than 50 percent humidity. It’s the equivalent of the dark, cold basements from old times. Ideal to store chocolates, fine liquors, olives, and gourmet oils.”
He showed the crowd a couple of large tables to the side, covered in fine linens, displaying a generous variety of mouth-watering delicacies. “Please sample to your heart’s desire; there’s a lot more in the warehouse if we run out.”
His guests scattered immediately, scouting the goodies on the tables and getting wine glasses from the improvised bar. It was hard to say who was there for anything other than the rare opportunity to sample all these exotic foods. They were expensive, and the average person rarely, if ever, indulged in real Beluga caviar priced at $115 per ounce, served on the finest crackers, or tasted pâté de foie gras, freshly imported from France and going for $295 a can. They will remember this day for a while. No one would ever suspect Overnight Delight was in anything else but gourmet foods. Perfect.
He was ready for the next phase.
...40
...Tuesday, February 9, 10:47AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...New Horizons Cardiology & Transplant Center
...Burlington, Vermont
Alex drove slowly, heading north on Shelburne Road and looking for her turn. Every other minute she checked her rearview mirror, trying to remember all the makes and models of the cars to figure out if anyone was trailing her.
The Agency team members had been more than careful since they’d started working this case. Burn phones with encryption software, regular bug-screenings in their homes, offices, and cars, but so far nothing was found. Yet. Regardless, working the case gave her an uneasy feeling in her gut, and she hated that. She liked being in control as much as possible, and she hated her own fears more than anything. No one can be in any control if they can’t control their fears. Get it together, girl; there’s no one there, she encouraged herself after checking the mirror for the fifteenth time since she had left her hotel. She was expecting them, the UNSUB, to be watching the clinic closely, looking for people who came snooping around. If she were the UNSUB, that’s what she’d do. Carefully put surveillance at the clinic, the only location that correlated Robert Wilton with the UNSUB. The starting point of any investigation into this case. Her starting point. Therefore, she’d have to be very creative. That, fortunately, was one of her top strengths.
Alex allowed herself to breathe, while turning onto the street of her destination. There it was, on her right, a three-story, red-brick building with a modern, almost luxurious look. It sat proudly on landscaped acreage covered in the famous Vermont greenery, now winter clad, overlooking Burlington Bay. She circled the massive building, driving slowly and keeping one eye on the rearview mirror until she reached the front entrance again. She took the driveway marked “Patient Parking” and found a spot not very close to the main entrance.
After cutting the engine off, she deliberated a few moments about the best approach to take. Deciding, she dialed a number on her cell, retrieving it with a quick Internet search. A voice picked up the call promptly.
“New Horizons, how may I direct your call?”
“Yeah, hi, I need your help, please,” Alex started to say, “I need to make an appointment with a doctor.”
“Can I have your name, please?”
“Yes, sure, it’s Parker, Jessica Parker,” Alex responded, thinking of one of her favorite movie stars.
“Who would you like to see?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I was hoping you could tell me. You see, I’m here for my mom. She needs a heart transplant, and I need to understand what’s at stake and how to proceed, how to deal with this. Can you help me?”
“Absolutely, Miss Parker. We can have you come in for a consultation with Dr. Kanellis; he’s the director of our Transplant Center. He can answer all your questions. When are you looking to come in?”
“As soon as possible, of course. This is urgent; my mother is very sick.”
“I understand. How’s tomorrow morning at nine-thirty? Will that work?”
“Absolutely, many thanks!”
Alex hung up with a bitter chuckle, her ruse taking her back to the last day she had seen her mother, when she had told Alex she could never come back home again. Her mother’s heart had definitely not been working properly back then. With an effort, she pulled herself back into the present reality. The opening move was executed; the game was on.
...41
...Tuesday, February 9, 3:49PM CST (UTC-6:00 hours)
...Johnson Campaign Headquarters
...Chicago, Illinois
“Focus, for Chrissake, just focus, will ya?” Anthony Fischer, campaign manager to potentially the future democratic holder of the highest office in the United States, was losing it again. I’m too old for this shit, he thought, rubbing his forehead in search of some hard-to-find patience. Fuck...this man is ignorant beyond belief! But if he gets to the Oval Office, what a masterpiece! What a retirement gift!
“All right, all right, I will,” Bobby Johnson said, pouring himself another stiff one. “Want another shot?”
“No, and you should take it easy, otherwise you won’t remember anything by tomorrow. Let’s start over.” He passed his fingers through his hair, pulling it hard toward the back of his head. The consistent abuse of his signature gesture of exasperation had probably contributed to his receding hairline. His hair was simply giving up on him, just like he felt he should do with this candidate. The man was mostly
a m
oron, at least half the time, yet Fischer never could say no to such a challenge. He took a deep breath and started all over again.
“So, tomorrow you’re going on prime time television to answer questions about what?”
“Umm...my platform, views on economy, healthcare reform, war on terror, and immigration.”
“OK, great! What’s the oneliner for your platform?”
“Umm...America needs peace, stability, and time to heal and grow back into greatness.”
“Drop the umms,” Fischer said. “They make you look indecisive and unprepared. You cannot ask people to follow you, if you aren’t even sure where you’re leading them. Got it?”
Senator Bobby Johnson let out a long sigh. “All right, I got it.”
“OK. Your views on the economy?”
“Yes. We need to strengthen the working class and stabilize the job market, ensuring that our children have gainful employment opportunities available for them after graduation. We need to provide viable alternatives for unemployed skilled workers to reintegrate them into the productive labor force. We will focus on strengthening the middle class, currently under pressures brought by recession, unemployment, and an increasing debt balance.”
For a few seconds, Fischer felt his confidence rise. When Johnson focused and was still sober, he was articulate and had solid principles. Well, for the most part.
“Your views on healthcare reform?”
“That’s a tricky one,” Senator Johnson responded hesitantly.
Nope, still a moron, Fischer thought.
“Keep it simple and general; stick to core principles, such as universal access to healthcare, affordability, and simplification. You’re a Democrat, for Chrissake. Just think what the people would like to have, what you would like to have for yourself and your family when it comes to healthcare. Got it?”