He didn’t have a private office but the small enclosure he had erected around his desk kept prying eyes away from his computer screen. This was the computer that had established his superiority in the office. Now, under his direction, and, indeed, often with his active participation, teams of data gatherers accompanied the medical treatment teams that went into areas where sudden outbreaks of diseases such as malaria, dengue, or typhoid would occur. He and his team collected as much data as possible about every aspect of the diseases and their spread and then, upon returning to Bangkok, they input the information into the analysis programs – the analysis programs that he alone had created.
The results had been astonishingly successful in many ways. Tommy’s programs pinpointed hitherto unknown locations where malarial mosquitoes were breeding. They had tracked down the source of tainted bootleg alcohol that killed over twenty people two months ago, and only last week his software had helped to locate the farmer whose chickens were the source of a bird flu outbreak near Chiang Mai.
Tommy looked at the three-dimensional, color-coded plots on the screen and frowned. The results were obvious but also perplexing. Most of the victims lived in areas that didn’t historically have much of a mosquito problem. Even more puzzling was that the victims didn’t all come from a single area, as he had assumed. In fact the first known victim of this new outbreak wasn’t even from Thailand; he had been a young man visiting from Japan. The Disease Source Location program, a program he had written and which had never failed, was not converging to a solution. What will I tell them? he thought. How are we supposed to eradicate the mosquitoes if we don’t know where they are?
He turned away from the computer screen and gazed out the window. It was, as usual, partially covered with condensation due to the air-conditioning. It was already hot outside, perhaps ninety-three degrees or more, but inside he felt comfortable in the slightly clammy, eighty-degree air. An occasional drop of water dripped from the air-conditioning vent and fell noiselessly to the carpet. He glanced up toward the vent and saw the black traces of mildew around the edges. He knew that spores were being blown from the vent into the room. It was part of life, that’s all. It was how this particular life form propagated.
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration illuminated his mind, and he sat up straight in his chair. It’s not mosquitoes, he thought, it can’t be. He began to quickly type commands into his computer. We were using the wrong program! This thing doesn’t have a single source vector location. That’s not how it propagates.
He called up a more recent, experimental program he had written and began to access the database of information that had been gleaned by interviewing the families and friends of the victims of the current outbreak. Within fifteen minutes he had his answer.
I knew it! he said to himself, of course it’s not mosquitoes! It’s spreading by human-to-human contact. We were all wrong, this isn’t dengue at all - this is something new, different. This is something horrible!
He pushed himself back from his desk and recalled the interviews he had personally conducted when he went out with his team of investigators. He had spent most of the past month interviewing their families and friends, co-workers, pimps, anyone who might have known where the victims may have gone to encounter mosquitoes. No one who had contracted the disease had survived.
Suddenly he thought, I wonder how many of the people we interviewed have contracted the disease? He typed a few commands into the computer and held his breath. A few seconds later the computer displayed the result and he felt his pulse quicken. More than half of those interviewed had already died from the disease.
“Half of them already dead?” he said aloud. “Half?” The blood began to drain from his already pale face.
He sat and stared at the screen, unmoving, thinking, but he only had one thought, I might have it too!
His mind raced as panic began to set in. Then, No – wait. Half are still alive, right? Maybe I’m still OK. Tommy took a deep breath and calmed slightly. He thought about the situation for a few minutes. This was a serious situation he was in, no doubt about it, but there might be hope. Yes, there’s maybe some hope, he thought, but not if I stay here, he looked around the empty room, not if I stay here…
Within half an hour he had typed up a report to the head of the Department of Disease Control. He also made copies for the director of the CDC International Emerging Infections Program office and the UNAPS liaison office that were located nearby on the other side of Thevaves Road. He addressed the envelopes and marked each of them “SENSITIVE –TO BE OPENED BY ADDRESSEE ONLY”.
It was almost exactly noon. He thought a moment about what he should do now. Then he knew. They’ll all be at the bird flu conference all day, and they probably won’t be back in their offices until five or even six – if they even come back. I’ll be OK. That’s plenty of time. He walked quickly over to the offices and left the reports in the in-boxes. Then he ran to his car.
As he drove south on the highway Tommy kept going over the computer results in his mind. The more he thought about it the more frightened he became. I’ll just have to wait and see if any symptoms develop, he told himself. There’s nothing I can do anyway; no point being afraid. It didn’t matter what he told himself, he knew he was scared, very scared. He had seen the photos of the victims.
Nearly six hours later he saw the Bukit Kayu Hitam checkpoint between Thailand and Malaysia a mile ahead. Calm down, he scolded himself, calm down. You can’t show fear – not now. It’ll only be another fifteen minutes, then on through to safety in Malaysia… No, wait… That won’t be enough. I’ll keep going, and, in another day or two, I’ll be in Singapore. Yes, that should help… The more separation, the better now. There’s nothing else that can be done…
He stopped at the guard booth and rolled down his window. The fresh air felt wonderful. He reached for his passport, gave it to the Thai border inspector and waited, trying to look unconcerned, while the guard checked his passport. Although he had worked in Thailand for ten years now, he was still a Malaysian citizen. He felt better about that. There shouldn’t be too much trouble crossing the border with a Malaysian passport.
If they only knew, he said to himself. They were all connected, all of them! he thought again while he waited for the truck in front of him to move. The Thai border guard gave him back his passport and waved him on. He slowly accelerated while he recalled the computer display yet again. It had been unequivocal; all of the cases he had input had been linked in some way. Every single one, he thought. Almost two hundred dead last week alone, and all of them connected – and I’m the only one who knows…for now.
He looked at his watch again. At least one of them will probably read the report soon, he thought a little nervously. The drive from Bangkok had taken longer than he thought it would. Relax, we’ll be in Malaysia in a few minutes, he told himself as he approached the next checkpoint at the Malaysian side of the border.
A produce delivery truck from Bangkok was ahead of him. It was piled high with wooden crates and covered with a large green tarpaulin. The Malaysian border guard stepped out of his booth and began a slow walk around the vehicle, looking under the frame as he went. He stopped at the rear of the truck and checked the registration plate against the number printed on the registration certificate; then he went back and spoke to the driver. Tommy waited for him to signal the driver to go ahead, but he didn’t. Instead he slowly walked back to his booth and picked up the phone.
Tommy checked his watch again. Almost six o’clock. He waited and watched. The Malaysian border guard didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Five minutes went by, then ten. He looked in his rear view mirror. Traffic had backed up far beyond the Thai checkpoint. They must be reading it now. They’re probably trying to contact me. He looked at his mobile phone and resisted the urge to turn it on. How long before they close the border? he wondered.
The guard in the Malaysian booth was now talking with another Malaysian border guard. Tommy watched him as he
talked behind the glass pane. He couldn’t hear him so he tried to read the expression on his face. Nothing. After another minute the guard opened the booth door and came out. He handed the truck driver his passport and waved him through; then he turned toward Tommy and waved him forward.
He handed his Malaysian passport to the guard and said, “Selamat petang.” He was trying very hard not to appear nervous, but he felt a small trickle of sweat run down his cheek. He quickly brushed it aside. “Hot, isn’t it?” he said.
The guard didn’t reply as he studied the passport. “Registration?” he asked holding out his hand. It seemed to Tommy that the guard was looking at him a little too carefully. He reached over and retrieved the document and handed it to the inspector. He hoped the inspector hadn’t noticed the slight tremor in his hand. Tommy looked in his rearview mirror to take his mind off the guard. The gates at the Thai side of the border were closing. He could see the Thai border guards telling people to turn around.
Damn! he thought.
The Malaysian guard looked at Tommy then again at his passport. “Lim Pai Seng?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s me,” he said putting his hand up to his forehead. This is it. It’s over. He knows.
The Malaysian guard nodded and studied his face again closely. “You don’t remember me do you?”
Tommy looked nervously at the man. He was Malay, about his age he guessed, perhaps thirty pounds overweight. He looked vaguely familiar. Who is he? he wondered.
“No, sir. Sorry.”
“Samsuddin bin Abdul Bakar, you don’t remember? We went to secondary school together in Johor Bahru.” Samsuddin smiled at him, “You live in Thailand now, I see. Well…welcome home!”
Tommy could feel himself relax. This was going to be OK. Then the phone rang inside the guard booth.
“Hold on,” Samsuddin said as he turned and started walking to get the phone. Tommy’s eyes widened. He looked again in the rearview mirror. The Thai side of the border was now completely closed.
Suddenly Samsuddin stopped and turned around. “Oh, never mind,” he said coming back to the car. “I’ll bet there’s another drill going on. Here’s your passport. Go ahead. Hurry up!”
Tommy thanked him and put the car in gear. He drove forward, but not too quickly, and then a minute later he looked again in the rearview mirror. He could see in the distance that all of the steel gates at the Malaysian guard booths were now closing simultaneously. The Malaysia - Thailand border was closed.
Twelve
It was only two weeks after Sam had died in Bangkok when Jim Burton hurriedly walked into the twelfth floor conference room at the New York City headquarters of the United Nations. The head of the Agency for Population Safety, Dr. Charles Goodfellow, had issued a call for an urgent meeting only two hours ago and Jim, like almost everyone else at the meeting, had made last minute changes to his own schedule in order to attend.
Typical Goodfellow management stunt, he thought as he took his seat at the conference table, he always has to make things seem more important than they are. What the hell is it going to be this time?
Charles Goodfellow stood at the head of the table waiting for everyone to take their seats. As usual he wore a dark pin-stripe suit with a vest, looking as if he were still the U.S. ambassador to Russia, a position he had held fifteen years ago. Now nearly sixty-five years old, he was a close friend of President Cranston. Not only had they gone to Harvard together as undergraduates, but their two families had long been the major stockholders, and the guiding force, of the Victoria Mining and Logging Company located in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He had scraped through Harvard with a bachelor’s degree in business, and it had served him well enough at times. It was his personal connections, however, the ones he had made at the college, that had really paid off throughout his life. His title of “Doctor” was an honorary one.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he looked around the table, “thank you for coming on such short notice. I have some very, very serious news to share with you.”
The ten men sitting at the table, each a section head of a UNAPS department, sat up a little straighter. Dr. Goodfellow pushed a button on the table and a large projection screen lowered behind him. A projector in the rear projection room came on and the UNAPS logo filled the screen. A few of the other men glanced at each other but said nothing. Charles was known for his lengthy Power Point presentations that inevitably accomplished nothing, except to conclude that there was a need for yet another study.
The logo faded out and a map of Southeastern Asia filled the screen with the countries of Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Viet Nam and China shaded in bright red.
“Gentlemen, we have a very serious problem developing in the area you see before you. You recall from our UN charter that the goal of UNAPS is to ensure safety of the world’s population.” He looked at the audience and received a couple nods of assent to his obvious assertion.
“Over the past ten years our organization has dealt with major disease outbreaks such as Ebola, and Malaria in Africa and most recently,” he looked at Jim, “an outbreak of Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever in Malaysia. Jim, you’ll soon be receiving an award for your heroic work in the jungles, and Chuck will be receiving a posthumous award.”
Dr. Goodfellow bowed his head a moment as if in contemplation, then he looked up again at the faces around the table. We have now received evidence of something extraordinarily serious and threatening that needs our urgent attention.” He took a green laser pointer and pointed it at China.
“Current estimates are that China’s rapidly growing population is approaching two billion people. Although not shown on this map, India is almost the same. This area here,” he said pointing to the smaller Southeast Asian countries, “make up a very large population center as well, perhaps three quarters of a billion people in total, and it too is growing extremely rapidly. Along with India, this part of the world is experiencing truly explosive growth. It currently has three quarters of the world’s population.” He turned and looked directly at the audience but saw only blank faces. This was not exactly new information for most of them.
“Gentlemen,” he said, almost in a whisper, “that is the problem. The population growth is out of control.”
Jim Burton momentarily put his hand over his eyes, Oh, no, he thought, not this again.
“We have all agreed in the past, at least in principle, that one of the greatest dangers to the world’s population is the population of the world itself. Correct?” he looked for confirmation from the group and several of them nodded.
“Recent computer projections clearly show that this area of the world has entered an even more unstable growth pattern than in the past. Projections are for an exponential increase in the number of babies born in the next several years, no doubt due to the failure of the people to use birth control methods, either because of religious objections or just because they interfere with their own personal pleasure or some such thing. The attempts by these countries to control their population growth by means of birth control has been a failure despite their governments’ propaganda to the contrary.”
Jim had heard similar discussions before and couldn’t see why this was being brought up now.
“Gentlemen, the numbers don’t lie. With population numbers in Asia reaching into the billions, they will soon leap to the tens of billions and the lives of everyone worldwide, including us, will be altered, inevitably, for the worse. We simply cannot allow this to happen. That is why we have, reluctantly and certainly only out of the direst necessity, decided to activate at the earliest opportunity a very secret but necessary population-culling program.” He looked at the audience for comments then quickly added, “I must emphasize that this is truly only for the overall good of people everywhere.”
Jim looked around the table but everyone was looking downward and no one met his glance. “Culling?” Jim asked, “Did you say culling? I never heard of any such program. What are you talking about?”
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sp; Dr. Goodfellow looked at the others and then at Jim. He gave him an indulgent smile. “No, Jim, of course you haven’t heard about it. You’ve been out in the field and you haven’t been able to attend some of our prior meetings. Culling is not a word we use publicly. Perhaps it’s not a very accurate description of the idea anyway. Usually the concept is simply referred to as risk and financial prioritization. After all, we are budget limited and we really can’t do everything we might like to do.”
“I still don’t get it.” Jim replied, “What do you mean by culling?”
“Of course.” Dr. Goodfellow said gently. “Let me explain. In the natural world all species are subject to various threats, either from environmental changes, predators, disease, famine, you name it. In some cases the population of some animal, or even plant groups, drops by ninety percent or more when these natural disasters are encountered. It happens all the time. Some species even become extinct.”
Jim nodded but said nothing.
“In general these phenomena cull out the weakest members of the group and only the strongest members survive. In the long run it is a necessary and natural process that strengthens the remaining members of the group and actually helps them to survive.”
“OK,” Jim said, “I’ve heard that many times in the past. It’s certainly not new. It’s called survival of the fittest. Right? How can this possibly apply to our mission? We’re here to protect the world’s population aren’t we?”
Dr. Goodfellow looked around the room and paused before he replied. He enjoyed moments like these. It reminded him of his days as a student at Harvard when a professor was about to share a profound thought with his slow-to-understand undergraduate students. I could have done that, he thought to himself. He allowed himself a slight smile.
“It’s really quite straightforward,” he said at last, “left alone, nature will perform selective culling when a population group becomes too large. This is good, not only for that particular population group, but for all groups in general. In our case we would determine if a particular group became too large for its own welfare, for example, the group I was just talking about. Now, let’s suppose some sort of natural calamity were to strike this group. It might be a disease, or it could be an earthquake, volcanic eruption or some other disaster. It might even be a manmade disaster such as warfare in a neighboring area that spills over into this population center. If the circumstances were appropriate our culling program would be enabled.”
The Viral Epiphany Page 7