The Visitor

by Brent Ayscough

  He went to the refrigerator for liver tissue to start the process on that while she went to work repeating the experiment on the remaining lung tissues.

  As he had done back in the lab’s heyday under the Soviet Union when he was hot on a project, Dr. Dorogomilov had set up small living quarters in the building, so as not to waste time going back and forth to the city, and worked constantly when not asleep. Since his wife died, he had no family, other than hers, and no social life. Dr. Volkova was working on changing that. She stayed in with him, but only on alternate nights, as she had to make sure that provisions were being provided to the prisoners as well as to the animals.

  Dr. Volkova went to his quarters at midnight. “Can I help you relax, darling?”

  He nodded and began to take off his clothes.

  She began to talk about non-scientific things as she undressed. “All I can think of is going to some tropical island, darling. I’ve always wanted to see a beach of sand. I want to go to one of those places where they have tropical fruits. I’ve never had a coconut.”

  “Stop daydreaming until we finish this project,” he replied.

  She watched him lay down on the bed. Then she moved in to do what he liked and that would help put him to sleep.

  ***

  Tai Won Ong was awakened by Nikolay at six in the morning four days after the operations. He was taken by gurney to a special room which had been set up for him in the high containment area, adjacent to the lab in the back of the building. The room had a toilet, a table, a chair, and a bed. The unusual feature was that, to get to it, one had to go through three sets of high containment doors much like the oval doors in submarines.

  Off to one side of the door into the room was a small latch over a shelf where food could be passed to him in the room without anyone opening the door.

  At just before seven, the small food access door opened. In came a bowl of steaming rice. On top of the rice were fried strips of the local produce, in addition to egg and meat, which had been prepared by the doctor’s deceased wife’s aunt that morning. The food contained a special additive, however, provided by the doctor, who was serving it while wearing a pressure suit. That special additive was a sprinkling of the doctor’s deadly virus, newly linked to the antibody created to seek the unique protein located in the lungs of any member of the Han Chinese race.

  Tai became very excited at the delicious smell and appearance of the meal. The doctor helped him take it to the table and Tai eagerly dug in, using the chopsticks provided.

  Outside the cell, the doctor watched Tai through the double window, until Tai had eaten a good portion of the special breakfast.

  In a short while, Nikolay brought one of the Tibetans, Jamyang Gyamtso, to an adjacent room set up similarly to Tai’s. Jamyang was fed the very same dish, which he was pleased to receive after eating bland foods ever since the tests.

  Sum was unable to eat, being still unconscious after having had a part of his brain removed, and so he was fed intravenously.

  ***

  On the third morning after the special breakfast--after suiting, up but before working with the infected monkeys--Drs. Dorogomilov and Volkova stopped by the cells to look in on Tai and Jamyang.

  The first cell they came to was Jamyang’s. He was moving about restlessly, pacing one way and then the other, frustrated about being confined.

  The doctors walked over to the observation window of the next cell and looked in on Tai, who was, in complete contrast to Jamyang, lying on his bed, perfectly still.

  “Tomorrow, after we suit up, let’s go in and get Tai’s temperature and take a blood sample before we start work with the monkeys,” Dr. Dorogomilov said to Dr. Volkova. “It looks like we have done it.”

  “You have done it, dear.”

  ***

  On the fourth day after Tai had been given the virus, Drs. Dorogomilov and Volkova made their rounds, suited up in the pressure suits for safety.

  Looking in on Jamyang the next day, they saw that he was as healthy as ever. It was so obvious that he was feeling no effects from the virus that they did not even bother going in. Moving on to Tai’s cell, they unlocked the door and went in. Tai lay on his mattress, moaning. Dr. Volkova drew blood from his arm and took his temperature, which was elevated to one-hundred-and-one degrees. He had horrible stomach pains and was nauseous.

  By the seventh day, Tai was unconscious. Blood, the color of coffee grounds, bubbled out of his mouth, creating a dark froth. He looked ghastly and had to struggle mightily just to get a breath.

  “Note the coffee grounds color of the blood coming from his mouth,” Dr. Dorogomilov said to Dr. Volkova. “That is older blood from the stomach, so he is definitely bleeding in the stomach now. Later on, there will be bright red blood coming both from his mouth and rectum. This is very good. Now, do you see the frothing at the mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  “The frothing shows that the lungs are infected as well. The virus is in the bloodstream and lungs. Lungs usually infect much more quickly, as there is no stomach acid to destroy the particles, no liner like the stomach has, and no food to mix with. The lungs are fast and simple. I really like it when we can use the lungs.

  “Let’s go ahead and bring in the Tibetan Jamyang as well as another Chinese and put them in with Tai so they can breathe his air,” he continued. “That will tell us if it is working as planned and if the linked Ebola will pass to the Chinese subject through aerosol means. Since we should be in the pressure suits, they might get scared and put up a fight when they see us, so it might be best to knock them out first. You go get the Klophelin, and I will have Nikolay see that they drink it. Once they are out, I’ll have them put onto gurneys wheeled into Tai’s room.”

  Nickoly was located and, with Zuhk, brought a soda spiked with Klopheli. They gave one to the female Ma and one to Jamyang. As it appeared to be a treat, both drank the sodas without being forced to and, in a very short time, both were unconscious. They put them on gurneys, and Dr. Dorogomilov, still in his pressure suit, wheeled them both into Tai’s room.

  Two days later, Ma was ill and lying down on her bed. Jamyang was still energetic and pacing about. Looking through the window at Tai, the doctors saw that he was writhing on his bed, with red blood dripping out of his mouth and mixing with the froth.

  Dr. Dorogomilov turned to Dr. Volkova. “That’s it! We have it! Now all we need to do is to confirm the extent of the infection. I’ll have to get tissue samples from Tai. I’d prefer to wait until he dies and do it as an autopsy, as that way we can also record the time it takes for the Ebola to kill. From the looks of Tai, that should not be too long.”

  ***

  Five days later, Tai expired. He was moved to the operating room so an autopsy could be performed. Lying naked on the operating table, Tai was a ghastly sight. The doctors donned their pressure suits in preparation for performing his autopsy. First Dr. Dorogomilov made a huge cut over Tai’s abdomen, exposing the stomach--or what was left of it. It was surrounded by blood, some coagulated, some not.

  Dr. Dorogomilov sucked out the mess, as well as some red blood that filled the abdominal cavity, with a vacuum tube. He then took a sample of the tissue and put it into a solution of formalin to prepare it for microscopic examination. “Note how the lining of the stomach has sloughed off,” he said as he cut into the stomach. “Good! Let’s have a look at the lungs.”

  With an electric saw, he cut open Tai’s sternum, exposing the lungs. Then he cut into the lungs with a scalpel, revealing an ugly mess of bloody tissue.

  “Perfect! Both the lungs and the stomach are infected. Let’s get samples and check them. If the next subject reacts in the same way, I think it will be time to contact the baron.”

  ***

  As they sipped their Russian tea in the morning, Dr. Dorogomilov turned to Dr. Volkova and Nikolay and began to plan the day. “It’s time to begin making the finished product in sufficient quantity for the baron’s project. We need a large amount of l
ung tissue for the finished product and we are running short. Bogomazov, please go fetch me a Chinese and bring him to the operating room. There we will go ahead and remove both his lungs for the tissue we need.”

  “Any particular one?” Nikolay asked. “Male or female?”

  Dr. Dorogomilov shrugged nonchalantly. “You pick.”

  Nickolay and Zuhk left to go get Yageltchuk and Opanasenko and then to go fetch one of the remaining three Chinese who were not infected.

  “We’re right on schedule,” Dr. Dorogomilov said to Dr. Volkova. “All the monkeys we have brought in are now in the same cage in the containment area and they should be all infected. This will put a strain on us, as we will need to work long hours to collect the Ebola virus from them. They will all fall sick over a fairly short period time, unless we want to wait and work on them after they die. Once we start collecting, we will flash freeze each day’s production in liquid nitrogen.”

  In the monkeys’ area, instead of the usual, wild screeching and jumping about the monkeys had done before when someone entered the room, they were lethargic and listless, clearly infected.

  “We’ll start the large scale production of Ebola after we get the lungs and process them for antibodies for our assistants, who can work in the front,” Dr. Dorogomilov said, referring to the non-containment area. “Also,” he reminded himself aloud, “we need to set up the incubators for the mass production of the antibodies after they come out of the rabbits, as we’ll need them in a day or so. It’s time to start removing the antibodies from the peritoneums of the rabbits. We’ll use five per cent carbon dioxide, mixed with purified air in the humidified incubators, as that will be the best environment for producing more cells.” He sighed. “It is going to be a lot of work, Anastasiya, especially because we will have to do it in pressure suits. Are you ready for some long work days?”

  She smiled at him. “Sure. I’ll start staying up here at night.”

  They arrived at the operating room, where Nikolay, Timoshenko, Zuhk, and Opanasenko each held onto one of So’s limbs. So lay on the operating table and, in spite of the weakness caused by the disease, was still struggling and doing his best to escape. Dr. Volkova wheeled her anesthesiologist cart up to the head of the operating table. She lifted the mask from its hook and put it over So’s face. She turned on the gas and held the mask firmly over his nose and mouth, forcing him to breathe through the mask. In just thirty seconds, he was quiet. She started an IV and dripped anesthesia into him until he was in deep sedation. The four big Russians relaxed their hold, slowly at first, and then altogether, before stepping back, as the four of them took up too much space around the table.

  With a pair scissors Dr. Volkova cut off So’s top and tossed it into the wastebasket. Dr. Dorogomilov, who had been in the scrub room during the preparation, came in, ready to operate. So would not live through this one as he would have no lungs when they were done.

  ***

  Ma, in the bed next to Tai, was two days behind him, and was actually in more pain as she had remained conscious longer. She was bleeding out of all of her orifices.

  “Do you think we should give her morphine for her last days?” Dr. Volkova asked.

  “I’d rather not, in order to get a more accurate estimate of how long it takes them to die. Often the death is from shock itself, and the morphine may extend that time by reducing the shock.”

  “But she is suffering so.”

  Dr. Dorogomilov ignored what to him was idle chatter as they went back to the monkeys. The animals were now very quiet as many had died and been dissected for the Ebola tissue that continued to live on their cells for a time. The remaining monkeys were all very sick.

  The production was nearly half done by this time and progressing well. From the start of the day to around one or two in the afternoon, the doctors would extract the live Ebola cells from the monkeys, both alive and dead.

  “Oh!” Dr. Volkova said. “I forgot to tell you. The liquid-nitrogen cooled canisters arrived yesterday.”

  “Good.” Dr. Dorogomilov reached into the cage for one of the recently deceased monkeys to begin the day’s work. The incubators were all going. Everything was in good order and progressing more rapidly than predicted. “We might as well infect one of the two remaining Chinese later today or tomorrow,” he said. “And we can then compare the Ebola’s progress with another subject. Even though they have been consistent, another subject will add more reliability to the timetable.” He shrugged. “We have no need for the Chinese now and they have to be eliminated. There is no other use for the remaining two, unless we run short of lung tissue, but I doubt that we will. We have more left over. I’ll tell Bogomazov to fetch me one of them later.”

  ***

  Dr. Dorogomilov sealed up the lid on the last nitrogen-cooled bottle. “There it is, Anastasiya. That makes seventy,” he said as the two doctors left and sterilized their pressure suits.

  Tai and Ma had died of Ebola, and So from removal of his lungs. The remaining two Chinese, Mee and Sum, were now infected and being observed as the virus overwhelmed them. Both the Tibetans were still perfectly healthy, but unfortunately for them, they were witnesses.

  The incinerator at the back of Building 221 bellowed out a blast of flame when Dr. Dorogomilov opened the door. Drs. Dorogomilov and Volkova were in pressure suits and had wheeled up a table with a tray on top filled with a horrific mass of black, disgusting-looking organic material.

  Dr. Dorogomilov stepped back from cart and studied it. A substantial amount of tissue was on it, easily fifteen pounds. He dumped the mass into the fire.

  ***

  Andrew lay in bed, awake, in his suite at the New Orleans Windsor Court. Next to him, asleep, was his ultimate prize, Shanta. On her left hand was a diamond that looked too big to be real, but real it was. It had belonged to his mother. His father had gotten it for her as her second ring, long after they were married, when he became rich.

  Andrew and Shanta had been married that afternoon, with Eschmann as a witness. Eschmann had arranged a quick annulment of Shanta’s first marriage, as it had never been consummated. He’d had to simply guess as to the particulars, as Shanta did not have any of the paperwork from Singapore.

  Andrew did not want to get married in Kentucky, as it would have become a media event for the local papers. Instead, he’d contacted Eschmann who had arranged a private ceremony in New Orleans. They had a wonderful evening, and Andrew finally had sex with her, but only after, not before, he took her hand in marriage. It was his biggest day.

  The cell phone, which was solely for the call from the baron, which Andrew had been carrying with him day and night, was sitting in its charging stand on the table. Andrew got up and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Master Saunders? Baron here.”

  “Yes! Good evening!” Then Andrew remembered the time difference. “Is it evening?”

  “Actually it’s morning here in Taipei. How have you been?”

  “I married Shanta today!”

  “My congratulations. She is one of the most charming women alive, to be certain. You are such a lucky man.”

  Andrew knew why the man was calling. “Is it time?”

  “Yes,” Baron said. “Everything is ready. Transfer the money to the same account, and I’ll verify that it came. Keep this phone until you hear from me further to confirm the payment. Then dispose of in a way that no one can possibly find it.”

  “Will tomorrow be soon enough for the wire transfer?” Andrew wasn’t sure if he could do it at night, and he wanted to get back to his bride who was now stirring.

  “That’ll be fine,” Baron said. “My best wishes to your new bride, Mrs. Shanta Saunders.”

  “Thank you, Baron.”

  When the called ended, Baron turned to Tak. “Andrew Sanders and Shanta Laxshimi just got married.”

  “Love is in the air,” Tak said.

  ***

  “What are we going to do with that ridiculous
American diplomat Christine Rhyes-Walters from the State Department, who thinks fungi is going to end the drug traffic?” Doctor Dorogomilov asked.

  “We have to see her,” Dr. Volkova said. “And we must not let on that anything unusual had been going on here. There will be Kazakh officials as well.”

  “Should we tell her now that I have already created it?” Dr. Dorogomilov said.

  “I don’t think so,” Dr. Volkova said. “They will tell the press, and there might be journalists and others wanting to come here and interview you. She will want you to go lecture others in the United States and elsewhere on how to make it. And if you don’t go, it will arouse suspicion. It is best to say you are making great progress. Perhaps after you get your money, you could forward your work on it to some scientist in the West to verify that it works. Let him make the announcement and donate the formula to the world. We don’t want anyone coming around here.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Nikolay began his talk for the twenty people in his now-crowded St. Petersburg office. Extra chairs were found so sixteen of them could sit, whereas the monster-sized Yageltchuk, Opanasenko, Timoshenko, and Zuhk stood behind Nikolay’s desk, as they would be the leaders of splinter groups who would spread out in the Tibetan cities. The sixteen additional people consisted of eight men and eight women, all carefully selected.