by Fritz Galt
Chapter 54
Several days later, still weakened by the malaria and the poison his stomach had nearly absorbed, Mick checked the departure display at Bombay’s Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. He had plenty of time to make his midnight flight to New York, with Swamiji, Rajiv Khan and the vial of vaccine.
“You must think that my brother and I are Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” Rajiv was saying with an ironic smile.
“In fact,” Mick said, “the thought had crossed my mind. I’m not sure I’d want to meet your parents.”
Rajiv shrugged. “Last week, they were murdered.”
“The CIA?”
“No. They unwittingly betrayed my brother to your wife when Natalie tracked Abu down in Goa. Abu tended to overreact in such situations.”
Suddenly, Mick spotted Congressman Fred Butler and Keri approaching the Premier Class line for the same flight. Butler looked upset. Mick left Swamiji and Rajiv behind and walked over to him.
“You look unhappy,” he said to the congressman. “Now that we have the vaccine and Rajiv, Lou Potts granted us all entry back into the United States.”
“That’s just it,” Butler said, and refused to elaborate.
Keri hugged her father’s arm. “Daddy’s just angry that we had to leave so soon. There was a Ravi Shankar concert this evening that he had to miss.”
Mick blinked. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe you can catch him at the Kennedy.”
Butler considered this for a moment without reaction. “Say,” he said. “You got your job back at the consulate?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided.”
Swamiji had found his way to Keri’s side.
“Your arms are bare,” she told the old man. “Won’t you be cold?” Her young fingers caressed his blotchy skin.
“Child, warmth comes from within.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said.
As soon as Mick, Swamiji and Rajiv cleared immigration with diplomatic travel papers waiving the quarantine restriction, they took the first flight to Atlanta.
Several hours later, they arrived at Hartsfield International Airport, where the Director of the CDC met them personally. He drove them under police and FBI escort to the CDC’s Department for Parasitic Diseases just north of the city.
“I’ve been talking it over with the president,” the director said. “He assures me that the FDA will approve immediate clinical trials once we can recreate and mass produce the oral vaccine.”
“I’m sure your scientists can produce it,” Rajiv said. “But I’ll need a separate laboratory for my own work.”
“Whatever you need, Dr. Khan. Our entire resources are at your disposal.”
Several weeks later, Natalie received a phone call from Mick.
“Enjoying Atlanta?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said. “It’s warm here even though it’s the Christmas season.”
“My reception there wasn’t so warm. A terrorist was on the loose, and the State Department sent a goon squad after me.”
“You’ll have to explain,” he said.
“Later. When we have time.”
“How’s Mariah?” he asked.
She was silent for a moment and walked away from the hut so that Mariah might not hear her. “She’s not so good. Simon says the fever probably isn’t a cold, but he’s not calling it malaria yet.”
“Chills?”
“Yeah.”
“Poor bunny.”
“It’s strange, though. Since I’ve been here with her, I seem to detect some emotions in her.”
“Are you sure?”
“It might just be my imagination, but I could swear her heartbeat races every so often.”
“Exactly what emotions do you think she’s feeling?”
She closed her eyes and searched for the right word. “They aren’t good emotions. I’d call it something like desperation.”
Now it was Mick’s turn to be silent. “Do you suppose she’s worried about the fever?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Oh, man,” Mick said.
“I think she wants you back.”
“Well, I’ve got some good news on that front. Between the president and Congressman Butler, the FDA will approve the new vaccine later this week. Along with Swamiji, I’ll carry the vaccine in bulk back with me to India, as a sign of America’s good intentions.”
“That’s great. We’ve come a long way.”
“It’ll save millions of lives in India, but it’s still not a cure for Mariah.”
“I know.”
The next week, Mick delivered the first planeload of the new vaccine to the prime minister in New Delhi. Mick and Swamiji J.P. Nilayam were on hand to observe the prime minister taking out a pen and signing the CTBT on the spot.
Mick placed another call to the Maldives. “It’s over. India signed the test ban treaty. Your friend Bronson assures me that international pressure on Pakistan will force it to sign as well.”
“Thank God,” Natalie said. “We don’t need biological weapons or nuclear ones.”
“It feels strange to be back in India. There’s a new optimism.”
“Mick, when are you coming home?”
“Do you want me back there?”
“I know Mariah does.”
“Do you?”
“Mick, come home.”
He was just closing his cell phone when it rang.
“Alec here.”
“How’s Mauritius these days?” Mick asked.
“Well, let me just say I’m calling from beachside now. Multan Malik is in jail, and Mauritius is stable.”
“Did you hear about Al-Faran’s hostages?” Mick asked.
“Yup. Saw it on CNN. Glad the Black Cats found the hospital. Rescued them all. They’ll need some tender loving care for some time to come.”
“Speaking of ‘tender loving care,’ where’s Camille?”
“I’m not saying,” Alec said, a note of suggestiveness in his voice.
“I won’t ask.”
Chapter 55
The atoll’s dazzling white beach etched a brilliant line between the blue lagoon and the lush forest.
Mick leaned over the side of the pontoon boat. Clutched in his arms was a Christmas tree, a box of ornaments, a container of strawberries and his suitcase.
He dropped into the warm, knee-deep water and splashed toward shore.
At the water’s edge, loose seashells clacked as they rolled over each other. The hammock swung by itself in the sea breeze.
The generator chugged and the ventilator pumped and sucked away as he approached the hut. The roof, made of thatched palm leaves, smelled hot and parched.
He ducked under the doorway.
Natalie lay asleep, sprawled across a chair, her head propped against Mariah’s pillow. Natalie’s skin glowed, tanned and healthy, glistening from beads of sweat.
Mick took a deep breath and looked at his daughter. Mariah’s head appeared small and fragile beside her mother’s. Someone had put her dark red locks in pigtails that lay splayed out on her pillow. The only blemish on her porcelain-white skin was a string of perspiration at her hairline.
To him, Mariah looked ready to wake up at any moment. He would tickle her, and she would squirm and giggle with delight.
Natalie’s eyes opened and locked on him.
Wordlessly, as if not to awaken her daughter, she crossed the room and stood by his side.
He squeezed her hand briefly, and they looked at Mariah.
“No change in her condition,” Natalie whispered. “Intermittent chills and fever. She’s still riding it out.”
He crept to Mariah’s side and sat on the edge of her mattress. On closer inspection, he could see that her pillow was soaked with sweat.
“Hi, pumpkin,” he said. “Daddy’s home. I brought you this.” He shook the artificial Christmas tree so that its plastic branches rustled. “It’s a Christmas tree. Tonight’s Christmas E
ve. I also brought ornaments so that we could decorate the tree. Would you like that?”
Natalie was shaking her head, trying to stop him from continuing.
He frowned. “I’ll set it up myself.”
He knelt down and began to bend the fake branches into position.
“Where’s Simon?” he asked.
“He’s returning from Washington right now. The CDC has approved a field research station for tropical diseases here in the Maldives. Needless to say, he’s in Seventh Heaven.”
“All sorts of new funding, huh?”
“Thanks to our friend Congressman Butler,” she said. “He’s got Congress whipped into a frenzy over Third World diseases.”
He stood and took Natalie away from their daughter. “How are you holding up?”
“Easiest baby-sitting job I’ve ever had,” she said with a weak smile.
He always knew when she was lying. The boredom of waiting, the tedium of telling countless stories to herself and the constant concern for Mariah’s breathing and heartbeat and temperature all took their toll on her. She wouldn’t say so, but he knew it. He had felt the same way.
“I want to take you out to dinner tonight,” he said. “The Pontoon Beach Resort is selling tickets for a Christmas buffet, complete with band and dancing.”
“Oh, look at me,” she said. “I can’t go to anything that fancy.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets.
“I’ll call the nurse,” she said with a sad smile.
She turned and he reached for her shoulders. He pulled her back and held her tight against his chest. There he rocked her as he hummed “Hush Little Bunny.”
He was looking over Mariah’s inert form, when a familiar, rotund figure appeared in the doorway. “Look who’s here,” he said.
Dr. Simon Yates stepped into the room and stuck out his hand. “You’ve been doing some good work, Mick,” he said. “Heroic, in fact. Does that mean you’re back in the saddle?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They asked me back. I decided to take the job.”
“No sour grapes?” Natalie asked, curiosity fighting the fixed smile on her lips.
“It was gratifying to hear them eat their words. And now I understand why you had to let me leave.”
He had been the State Department’s sacrificial lamb. Over the past year in Bombay, he had been manipulated like a marionette to convince the Indians that Natalie really was giving them vital nuclear secrets.
“Next time, I’ll trade secrets behind your back. That’s how it works.”
Her face softened into a genuine smile.
Simon cleared his throat. “I brought someone along that you might know,” he said.
They heard a pair of feet stomping off sand by the door.
It was Rajiv, neatly shaven and bowing humbly with his palms pressed together over his forehead.
“Rajiv Khan?” Natalie asked. “You don’t know how hard I’ve tried to find you. The FBI, the State Department, the CDC, they all threw roadblocks in my path.”
He shifted a hard-shell case to his other hand and shook her hand enthusiastically.
“What’s that?” Mick asked, examining the case.
“This is an antidote packed in dry ice,” he said, smiling knowingly at Simon.
“You mean a vaccine,” Mick said.
“No, I mean an antidote. Remember how I was able to revive the malaria victims at my laboratory in Kerala?”
Mick nodded. A day hadn’t passed that the image of those walking, bathing, laughing, talking apparitions by the river didn’t beguile him.
“With Dr. Yates’ help, I extracted an antidote from the new vaccine,” Rajiv said. “Of course, we haven’t yet tried it on any of my comatose subjects,” he said, gesturing apologetically to Mariah.
“Is it safe?” Natalie asked.
Simon nodded. “It won’t harm her. It could even help.”
Mick sat down. His head was spinning. He had so desperately hoped that his daughter wouldn’t succumb to the fever that he was unprepared for the possibility of a complete recovery. He ran his hands through his hair, his armpits damp with cold perspiration. Did he dare to hope?
Rajiv approached the bed. “So this is the little girl who will change the world,” he said. “I am so sorry,” he said to Mariah, and mumbled several reverential phrases under his breath.
Mick felt no malice toward Rajiv, who after all had been attempting to develop a general vaccine, not the curse that Abu released.
“Shall we give it a go?” Rajiv asked.
“Let’s try it,” Natalie said quietly. “Mick?”
“Go ahead,” he said under his breath.
He didn’t want to watch, and hopped up to leave. His head felt faint, and his heart was beating out of control. A monkey scampered away as Mick stepped outside. He leaned his back heavily against the hut and slid slowly down to the sandy grass.
A breath of wind carried the fresh scent of papaya and sandalwood incense. A small crash of waves upon the shore restored his pulse like the calming beat of a metronome.
After a minute, Simon and Rajiv joined him and sat on the grassy carpet.
“I gave her an injection,” Rajiv said. “We must wait and see.”
“If this antidote works,” he asked, “can you reproduce it to cure the millions in India?”
Simon nodded. “We left some of this antidote in the laboratory in Atlanta. They’re geared up to mass produce it, once we prove it’s successful.”
“If it is successful,” he said. Why did he allow so much doubt to linger?
“Of course, in time the vaccine and antidote are biologically ordained to fail,” Rajiv said. “The disease will reemerge somewhere in India in a form that we can’t prevent or cure.”
“Why’s that?”
Rajiv took some pains to explain. “Just like humans, each malaria organism of the Hanuman type is different, each from the other. As Darwin put it, natural selection ensures that the fittest, those with the best adapted features, will survive. Selection pressure will choose the malaria that is resistant or immune to our vaccine, and we will need a new vaccine and a new antidote.”
“Sounds like fighting terrorism,” Mick said, musing. “No matter what security you’ve put in place, some new form will emerge.”
“Yes,” Rajiv agreed. “Entire countries can be victims. It only takes one bad apple.”
For a while, the throb of the ventilator and the frequency of the waves coincided.
“It’s almost like a Hindu fairy tale, isn’t it?” Mick said.
Simon shot him a quizzical look.
“Fighting bad guys, rescuing maidens in distress, genies appearing at my doorstep.” The story reminded him of the wonderful and magical Indian epic the Ramayana, complete with poisoned arrows, mountains with medicinal herbs, deep forests, banishment, separation, aching hearts, mighty battles and monkeys all over the place.
He sighed. Now for the final rescue of the fair maiden. He looked at his watch. It was growing late. “How long should we expect this to take?”
“This could take hours,” Simon said.
Mick took his tickets from his pocket. “You use these.”
“C’mon,” Simon said. “It’s Ch0ristmas Eve. You and Natalie go out and celebrate. Rajiv and I will watch Mariah. I insist.”
Ninety-degree weather at nightfall and the normal bustle of a resort hotel added up to something less than Christmas for Mick.
Natalie was dressed in a native orange-and-blue wrap dress. She looked tense, but determined to enjoy the evening. Taking his cue from her, he permanently retired his business suit and tie and pulled on shorts, sandals and a green batik shirt.
Dinner at the Christmas buffet began on a tentative note as a male choir struggled through “What Child is This” around the swimming pool. The ocean lapped far below, and blue, green and yellow Christmas lights hung tangled between the palms.
Natalie leaned close. “This is going to
be a disaster.”
They moved inside. The cheap tinsel and crepe paper decorations were no improvement.
“Stand back,” a voice shouted.
A team of musicians in red shirts rushed in.
As the Maldivian band in dreadlocks cranked up their electric guitars, Mick found their place cards on a table for four near the dance floor.
He scooted Natalie in her chair and braced for an awkward evening of tiresome banalities shared with expatriates in party dress.
An earnest round of Neil Diamond, Elton John and John Denver began.
The room was filling up with an amazing number of foreigners.
A young couple tentatively approached their table. Mick immediately detected British accents. The couple didn’t want to be seated with them any more than they wanted company.
Shy smiles rather than greetings indicated a tacit agreement between the couples not to talk with each other.
Mick picked up his empty plate, and said to his wife, “Shall we eat?”
They crossed the empty dance floor and loaded up on curried chickpeas, leg of lamb, champagne and Christmas pudding.
A young girl of Mariah’s age was dancing enthusiastically in front of the band. Her energy added some sparkle to the music and incited the room to feverish dancing.
Mick took a deep gulp of champagne and invited Natalie onto the tightly packed dance floor. Their only escape from sharp elbows, spinning couples and spiked heels was into each other’s arms.
He saw her blush in the flashing, multicolored disco lights. He felt the same way. They were unexpectedly close.
To avoid the questioning look in her eyes, he gently pressed her head against his shoulder. As she nestled there, her warm body swaying with his, he took his eyes off the other dancers and stopped listening to the naggingly familiar lyrics.
He concentrated on Natalie, for the first time in months: her silky hair, her gentle touch, her firm body, her ability to follow his inept lead. He had avoided her and avoided thinking of her for far too long. Boy, he had missed a lot.
The song ended and he led her back to their seats. Across the table, the British man had pulled his partner halfway out of her seat and across his lap to kiss her.