The Barrier

by Shankari Chandran

  ‘An evolving, sentient vaccine – that he tested against his own engineered Ebola virus. You don’t think that merits a call to Hackman on the old sat phone? Or did he say “Don’t call me, I’ll call you?”’

  ‘Something like that.’ She opened her medi-kit. ‘We have a little time. Khan said he’ll go through a proper trials process. He’s a scientist first, a rebel second.’

  ‘What if he tried to smuggle the vaccine out of the East? He’s constructed it with enough of the right markers to pass the Haema Scanner.’

  ‘It’s not fresh fruit, Noah. You can’t just put it in a cooler box and catch a plane with it. Someone will notice. The next call you make to Hackman is the last one. Khan knows the Faith Inhibitor is damaging the frontal lobe – but is he the supplier? Is he the ghost?’

  Noah shook his head. ‘We’re looking at two different decoys but only one – Khan’s – protects people against Ebola.’

  He gasped as she peeled off the dressing and cleaned his stitches. When she finished redressing the wound, he opened the muslin net around his bed and sat down.

  ‘Maybe Khan hadn’t got that far yet but thought Hassan Ali could test it for him. Khan would need clinical trials at some point – maybe this was it,’ she suggested.

  ‘No. Khan wants his vaccine to immunise people. Full herd immunity. He would never risk the lives of people on a premature trial.’

  ‘Is he trying to bring back the Sixth Virus with his new vaccine? He thinks he’s being guided. Just like the other vaxxers.’

  ‘He thinks he was guided to create his new vaccine. I doubt he’s thought beyond that.’

  Sahara was quiet for a moment. ‘You don’t believe in much of anything, Noah, and yet here you are having faith in him; protecting him.’

  ‘I’m not protecting him – I just don’t think he’s being instructed by a higher energy to bring that energy back. He is being instructed, if you want to call it that, to aid the Global Vaccination Programme.’

  ‘Maybe this energy is using standard tradecraft – each piece in the link doesn’t know about the other pieces, or their objectives, except for the piece directly next to it,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure this energy has read Bio’s manual. What do we do next?’ he asked.

  ‘We wait for Hackman.’ She walked over to the bed and stood in front of him. She reached out, first inspecting the small welt on his left arm, where repeated vaccinations had thickened the skin. Then her fingers were on his face, tracing the line of his jaw, an eyebrow and, finally, in his tangled hair, pushing it out of his eyes. She locked her hands there and tilted his head back, exposing his neck.

  He placed his hands on either side of her hips, drawing her closer. She released his head and he rested it on her chest. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, gently. He could hear the steady rhythm of her heart, the resigned rise and fall of her breath. He moved his hands under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin.

  He kissed her and this time she stayed, pulling the soft muslin around them both.

  *

  Sahara left Noah, still asleep. She returned to her apartment and locked the door before she opened the freezer. It was still there. A small container hidden behind three packets of frozen rotis. She checked the thermometer. It read minus twenty degrees, the acceptable temperature for medium-term live virus storage. She didn’t know why she had kept it.

  She did the maths again. Twenty-five millilitres divided by five babies equalled five millilitres each. She had given them three millilitres each, leaving her a vial of ten millilitres in her freezer, behind the rotis, next to the frozen chicken curry and the pistachio ice-cream.

  She had no plans to use it. She wasn’t stupid. She just wanted to have it. Just in case. She scratched the swelling on her left arm. It was small and red, disguised among the many mosquito bites on her body. She remembered how she got it, at the end of the war fifteen years ago.

  It was the monsoon season in the north of the island, and although she should have been afraid of malaria, she knew there were worse diseases out there.

  ‘Stop scratching,’ the commander ordered.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I can’t help it.’ She touched the welt, reassured by its presence. The whole platoon had them, a tattoo that bound them together.

  ‘You’re sure the vaccine works?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not your job to doubt us. But for the record, I’m one hundred percent sure,’ he replied. ‘Our scientists stateside have tested it – a compressed longitudinal study, given the urgency. But the live trials were successful even after prolonged exposure to Ebola, strains 1 through to 47. It’s already been added to this season’s flu jab at home, the UK and as much of Europe as we can reach – two vaccines for the price of one.’ He didn’t smile.

  It was the greatest medical breakthrough of their time but its existence hadn’t been made public yet.

  ‘You are immune – we all are.’ He motioned to the Western Alliance soldiers around him. They were dressed in WHO uniforms.

  ‘We are – but they aren’t?’ she asked, looking at the charts spread across the table. Maps of the countries that would soon become known as the Eastern Alliance. Red indicated Ebola, blue indicated war. Many countries had both colours. Some, like Sri Lanka, had only one – pockets of blue. The entire continent of Africa was ablaze in red, the Middle East in blue.

  ‘Not yet – we’ll give it to them eventually. For now, we let Nature take its course. And we help it. Listen up, soldiers,’ the commander walked to the front of the room. He stood at the head of the table, his feet apart, shoulders square and strong. His eyes were unrelenting. Soldiers always remembered his eyes.

  ‘I’m only going to say this once. We are about to implement a cull and control strategy – my strategy.

  ‘I sense hesitation and concern from some of you. There is no place for it in this unit. If you want out of this mission, I can arrange for you to be humanely executed, which is more than you deserve.

  ‘This is war. We have intelligence from the Middle East – factions there are funding the armed militia in Asia to defend the Muslim communities here. Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia and Malaysia have enough Muslims to keep this thing going for a while. We also know that the governments of India, Sri Lanka, Burma and Thailand are getting better at killing their minorities.’

  The commander’s voice was raised but he never shouted. He spoke clearly and slowly. Like he was reading the Bible in church.

  ‘The Ground Force Depletion Report puts the Western Alliance body count in India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka at 40,000. The potential losses across the rest of Asia are far greater and that’s before we send a seventh battalion to Afghanistan and Syria. We need to get control of these regions and finish this war. This way is faster and safer.’

  For us, she thought but didn’t say.

  ‘You know what to do. I don’t expect it to be easy for you.’ He almost sounded empathetic. ‘But I do expect you to get it right. You’ll go to separate medical camps. Each unit will carry the weapon in a different jab – the flu, tetanus, hepatitis. Some in blood packs. Each weapon has been engineered to incubate and manifest at different times. We don’t want our Patients Zero to be connected to a clinic or a particular immunisation. It has to look like normal transmission.’

  He looked directly at Sahara. ‘You’ve been in this hellhole since the beginning. You’ve seen what this war is doing to people. I expect you to understand. You’re assigned to the Sivanadana Caves.’ He motioned to a temple complex at the northern tip of the island. Sivanadana – the dance of Lord Shiva, the destroyer.

  ‘There are hundreds of refugees there. A Hindu priest has set up a makeshift camp around the temple. You will provide food packs and health checks, including a cholera jab which contains the weapon. Once they’re infected, we’ll send another unit in to purge the temple. It has to be shut down.’

  Sahara felt her hands shake. She tried to control it but the commander saw.


  ‘Staying in the conflict full-scale is not an option for us anymore. This way is safer.’ He looked at her directly. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand, Commander Hackman,’ she replied.

  She repacked the freezer and shut the door. Her hands were still shaking.

  Chapter 27

  Noah knocked loudly. ‘Open up.’

  Garner opened her door, weapon drawn.

  Crawford was at one of the computers. ‘You asked us to look into Khan’s full medical records, and the other vaxxers who were involved in the breaches. We can get everything on them – but still nothing on General Rajasuriya.’

  ‘Forget the general for now. What do you know about the others?’ Noah stood over Crawford’s shoulder.

  ‘From their Haema Scans we could tell they had cancer but we couldn’t identify what kind.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Noah said impatiently. ‘What types of cancer are we looking at?’

  ‘Only one – a frontal lobe tumour.’

  Noah’s mind reeled. He inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders. ‘Give me the headlines.’

  Crawford brought up the individual scans on one screen and the medicals on another. ‘They all have exactly the same kind of tumour in exactly the same place.’

  ‘The periodic scans indicate comparable rates of growth in this cerebral zone, with no metastasising elsewhere,’ Garner added. ‘Symptoms include migraines, some vision weakening, fatigue and dizziness.’

  ‘I know what the symptoms are,’ Noah said tersely.

  ‘Yes, sir, sorry. This section here –’ she pointed to the screen. ‘These are the glial tissue neurons – the packaging cells that repair the brain. That shading tells us those cells are multiplying exponentially.’

  ‘Increasing repair and facilitating the speed of information transmission.’

  ‘Exactly. Which is why the patients all appear to have full intellectual and physical faculties. They’ve all refused treatment too. For a tumour of this size in this location, the usual treatment would be surgery and then radiotherapy – possibly chemo as well.’

  ‘They’ve refused treatment?’ Noah repeated. He thought about the patients he had seen at Khan’s clinic. And the general. ‘Is there a prognosis for any of them?’

  ‘One year at most given that there’s no mental attrition. Most likely six months.’

  ‘They’re all dead men walking.’

  ‘Correct. Early treatment would most likely prolong life – possibly even save it.’

  ‘Have you checked the literature – are these symptoms normal?’ Noah leaned over Crawford to begin a search on his computer. Crawford pushed him away.

  ‘No, Chief – the literature would indicate that these symptoms are highly abnormal. The literature predicts a far greater loss of mental and physical faculties. This is the frontal lobe we’re talking about.’

  ‘Do their doctors comment on that?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Garner replied. ‘A number of them requested permission to write up their case studies. Examples of malignant, terminal tumours that do not cause loss of function and interact almost benignly with the brain are hard to come by.’

  ‘Have the case studies been published yet?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Some. Most neurologists are waiting to track the progress of the tumour – they don’t want to publish until they see what happens.’

  ‘Can’t talk about a benign tumour that betrays them in the end and has them feeding and shitting through a tube, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s right, sir – it’s important to know your enemy first.’

  ‘Indeed, Garner.’ Noah smiled. ‘That’s why you are a great agent.’

  ‘Actually it’s the confluence of intellect, powers of analysis, eidetic memory and proficiency in all areas of field training, including bomb disarmament.’

  ‘How are you still single?’ Crawford asked.

  ‘That’s good work, both of you. Anything else?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. We’ve been having a little trouble with our surveillance computer motherboard – the local power surges are overheating it. The relay from our cameras keeps crashing.’

  ‘It’s annoying,’ Crawford said. ‘We could separate the cameras onto two or three motherboards if we could – you know, borrow a few more from our WHO friends?’

  ‘How many cameras do you have? I know you like big lenses.’ Noah laughed.

  ‘Six – two on the road, one on each door and two others,’ Crawford replied.

  ‘It’s fine, sir. Something to remember for next time. It’s hard to enter the Eastern Alliance inconspicuously with that much gear. One more thing –’ Garner paused, apparently uncertain whether to tell Noah the next part.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘From the scans we’ve seen, the tumours are also exactly the same shape. This isn’t your typical amorphous mass that creeps into whatever healthy tissue it can find. Tumours, like all diseases, tend to colonise and feed randomly with only their own perpetuation as the principle driver for growth. Hence the growth is expedient. The growth of these ones – it doesn’t look expedient. The shape of the tumour is quite specific and, in each case, identical. I know that must sound stupid.’

  ‘Garner, very little that comes out of your mouth sounds stupid. Let’s see it.’ He leaned towards her screen to inspect the tumour. She clicked on the scan enlarging it and increasing the image resolution. He pulled back sharply.

  The tumour started at the same location, a small central mass that radiated tiny arms out towards points in the frontal lobe, covering some parts but avoiding others. It furled around the faith zones but bypassed the other executive function zones. It followed a specific path. A path Noah recognised.

  But was it a deliberate one? he wondered. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

  ‘Sir?’ Garner prompted him.

  He pulled his eyes away from the screen reluctantly and looked down at Garner. ‘Run a check for me – look at the Haema Scans and neurological tests across Sri Lanka and India that match the exact diagnosis of these vaxxers. We’ll start with those two countries and see what comes up.’

  ‘Do you think there might be more cases? The exact same tumour, sir?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t trust himself to say more. He had to find Khan.

  *

  Noah stepped out of the tuk-tuk and paid the man more than the meter fare. The driver smiled back with gappy, betel-stained teeth but there was something about him: the striped sarong wasn’t creased, the white singlet wasn’t sweat-stained, the leather slippers were dusty but too expensive.

  ‘I wait for you, sir?’ The man tucked the money into a belt around his waist. It was a nice touch.

  ‘No – it’s late. I’ll be a while. You can go.’

  ‘Come back later for you? Tell me time,’ the man tried again.

  ‘No, thank you – that’s very kind of you.’ Noah walked towards Khan’s house. The front door was slightly ajar. The man stalled the vehicle a few times. Noah waved goodbye with one hand, his other reaching behind for his gun. The tuk-tuk coughed angrily and started down the street.

  Noah turned, weapon drawn. He pushed lightly against the door. The corridor was empty and dark.

  He inched into the first room on the left, Khan’s spare bedroom. The belly of the mattress had been sliced open, its cotton entrails and springs spilling out; clothes thrown from the cupboards.

  He saw a large boot print across a paper on the floor, its fine red dust pointing out to the corridor. The intruder had kept going.

  No sign of life. He stepped back into the corridor, raising his gun to his chest at the sudden sound in the next room – Khan’s study. He heard furniture dragged, a man straining. Muffled footsteps towards him. He exhaled and forced himself to wait. Come closer, come closer, sweetheart.

  He extended his arms and pivoted into the doorway, moving the gun to the left just in time. The shot rang loudly in the small room, hitting the wall above Khan who dropped the broken chai
r leg and ducked, his hands over his head.

  ‘I could have killed you!’ Noah shouted.

  ‘That’s what happens when you carry a gun!’ Khan shouted back, surprising both of them. He picked up his glasses from his feet and fumbled them back onto his face.

  ‘What are you doing here, son?’ he asked. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Is everything all right? Are you serious? What happened here?’

  He looked around. There were papers everywhere, torn; books thrown from the bookcase; photo frames smashed. Khan’s secure filing cabinet was empty but some of the brain scans were scattered on the floor.

  ‘I don’t know – I came back from work, late as usual, and the house was like this. This room is the worst. I think they were looking for something in here.’ He looked at his filing cabinet.

  ‘Who?’ Noah asked. Only soldiers wore boots in a country like Sri Lanka.

  ‘I don’t know, son.’ Khan sat down at the table. He swept the papers that covered it into a pile and pushed it to one side. Noah’s eyes fell on a back issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. The feature article was called ‘Mining the shadows’ – by Dr Amir Khan and Dr Jack Neeson.

  Noah handed Khan the broken photograph of his wife.

  ‘Thank you.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his face. ‘I’m too old for this.’

  ‘Has anyone ever threatened you? Or a competitor perhaps, who wants to steal your work?’

  ‘No – I’m no threat to anyone. I share my work with my profession. I’ve never even patented a single gene sequence. Besides,’ he said, ‘all of my work is now done through Devi. Everything from the last year has been stored on her hard drive. Once our new vaccine is ready I’m going to share that too.’ He looked at the filing cabinet again.

  Noah tucked his gun at the back of his belt and sat down.

  ‘How are you, Amir?’

  The old man patted Noah’s hand and then held it for a moment.