Tanya spoke up. “The key is to never move backward. Never move from the second area to the first. And to reinforce the habit, never move from the third to the second. Always only move forward, that way you never risk moving the infection back.”
Koroma’s head was bobbing as he seemed to grasp the concept. “It makes sense.” He motioned toward the wall that had the infected patients on the other side of it, still resting in the sun. “And what of them? Are any well enough to be treated?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes. My initial assessment is nineteen of them might be able to be saved. You have to understand, the mortality rate is as high as ninety percent, but with proper care we’ve been able to bring that down to about fifty percent if they’re reached in time. I’m afraid that we should be expecting closer to the ninety percent since we don’t have any IV fluids to treat them.”
“What’s that?”
“Essentially water with some additives,” replied Tanya. “It’s to keep them hydrated, restore their electrolyte balance. We need to keep them comfortable, hydrated, and fed if they can keep anything down. We need to let their bodies fight the virus and hopefully win. If someone wins the battle, then we need to get them to fully recover so they can donate blood for the sick.”
“Donate blood? What do you mean?”
Several men entered the room in shorts and t-shirts, the protective gear no longer necessary since it had been disinfected. They were carrying ropes and sheets. Sarah smiled and walked to about where she wanted the first line run. “Please run a line across here,” she said, motioning with her arm. She walked toward the other end, stopping about thirty feet from the far wall. “And another line here. Don’t hang them too high. The sheets need to reach the floor.”
The men set to work as Tanya continued to explain to Koroma how the immune system worked and the concept of antibodies. “Those who’ve beaten the disease have the cure within their blood. We can take that blood and transfuse it into the sick. If we catch it in time, the antibodies will go to work and help fight off the illness. If we’re lucky, those people get cured, and they too can become donors.”
Koroma was shaking his head. “Amazing. I had no idea. We have several people who were sick and are now cured, but they have been shunned by the others in the village. Everyone assumed that these people could still make the others sick.”
Sarah frowned. “Unfortunately that’s what most people think, but it’s like any virus. Once it has been beaten, the virus is gone, but the antibodies remain, just in case the virus were to return. About the only risk is that men can infect their partners for up to seven weeks after they have been cured.”
Koroma’s eyebrows jumped at this revelation, but he said nothing. They watched as the ropes were strung, the sheets thrown over the tops, their staged quarantine zones quickly taking form.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“Everyone out there is sick, of that there’s no doubt. We bring those we think we might be able to save in through the rear door and into the second area, then those we don’t think we can save through the same door, into the third area. That will keep this area clean. It is essential that nobody who has been in those two areas come here. I suggest you post a guard.”
Koroma nodded. “Done.” He paused a moment. “You said it is spread through bodily fluids.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Blood, mucus coming into contact with open wounds or mucus membranes like the nose or mouth, usually from coughing, sneezing or bleeding onto someone or onto a surface that is later touched by someone.”
“Blood. So if an infected person’s blood were to get into a healthy person’s blood, they would become infected.”
“There’s a very good chance. It’s highly contagious.”
“And how would you get this blood into another person’s blood?”
“It doesn’t really need to work that way. They could swallow it, for example. The infected people begin to bleed heavily as their cells break down. If they sneeze for instance, it can send a mist of blood that someone else could breathe in. Quite often it’s spread because someone touches an infected person’s blood when they’re trying to get them to a hospital. They then rub their eyes, their mouth, or have an open cut.” Tanya threw up her hands. “There’s just so many ways, the only real protection is the gear we were wearing earlier.”
“What would happen if an infected person’s blood were injected into someone else’s?”
“Why would anyone do such a thing?” cried Tanya. “It would be madness! Murder!”
Koroma waved his hands. “No! No! No! You misunderstand me. I mean from a needle, if you were to get pricked, through your gloves.”
“Oh, sorry,” apologized Tanya. “They could become infected, of course. If the needle did have some of the virus on it, and of course the more blood the better chance, then yes, they could become infected. Most likely would become infected.”
Koroma frowned then turned toward the windows as a woman’s voice called out. “Lunch is ready,” he smiled. “We should eat now, while we can. There is much work left to do.” He marched out of the community center, Sarah pleased to see he actually followed her instructions, leaving through the rear exit.
Tanya looked at Sarah. “Let’s eat, I’m famished!”
“Me too,” said Sarah, following her friend to the rear of the building, albeit a little slower as she mulled over the conversation.
She felt a chill race up and down her spine.
But she wasn’t sure why.
Leroux & White Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia
Chris Leroux leaned against the acrylic shower wall, letting the piping hot water roll down his back. He had managed to get a good number of hours sleep, work only contacting him once indicating they couldn’t access the Sierra Leonean databases because a power outage in Freetown had taken down the servers. He hadn’t heard anything since which meant he’d be going in for his regular shift—probably at least twelve hours straight.
He didn’t mind, he loved it.
And besides, it was for a good cause. They needed to track these terrorists to make sure there wouldn’t be any more attacks, and they needed to try and find the Vice President’s daughter and by extension the Ukrainian national. It didn’t matter how many hours he had to put in, if they were successful in recovering either of them, or preventing another attack, it would all be worth it.
“Call for you.”
Leroux turned off the water, quickly shaking the water out of his hair with his fingers. “Who is it?”
“Sonya.”
Leroux stepped out, grabbed a towel and rapidly dried his hair and head. Taking the phone he smiled awkwardly as Sherrie took the towel and began wiping him down.
“This is Chris.”
“Hi, sir, it’s Sonya. We finally got into those servers. Not too much on the major that’s of interest except that his wife and son died recently of Ebola, and that he’s from the same geographic area as the hostage takers in Norfolk.”
“That sounds like too much of a coincidence.”
“Agreed. You heard about the shooting last night?”
“What shooting?”
“Sorry, the Director said to let you sleep, but I figured you’d somehow know since you seem to know everything.”
“Ahh…”
“Sorry, boss, that came out wrong. Anyway, the terrorist that survived was murdered in his hospital bed last night—looks like an air bubble was injected into his IV. Anyway, security caught up to the guy who did it. Turns out he was an employee at the hospital for almost ten years. Clean record, model employee. Blew his head off!”
“Who, security?”
“No, he blew his own head off.”
“Holy shit! Did he say anything?”
“You mean like the standard Allahu Akbar?”
“Yeah.”
“No, nothing Islamic. He said, apparently in perfect English, ‘For my people’.”
Never ‘for my people’.
“Interesting,” he finally said, his voice distant as Sherrie’s ministrations were momentarily forgotten.
She seemed to notice. “What?”
He didn’t respond.
She yanked his junk.
He jumped, looking at her. “Huh?”
“What?”
He held up a finger. “Just a second. Sonya, I’ll be there in thirty. Have the team ready for a handover to the day shift. Try to find out everything you can on this hospital worker and spread the net out. See if we can find anybody whose immigrated from that area in the past, oh let’s say twenty years.”
“That could be thousands.”
“Could be, but at least we’ll have a pool to work from.”
“Got it, boss.”
Leroux hung up then turned to Sherrie who playfully tossed the towel into his face. “What’s the latest?”
“The surviving gunman was murdered last night in his hospital bed and the murderer blew his own head off.”
“I guess I should have let you listen to the radio this morning instead of jumping your bones.”
He blushed. “Yeah, well, missing the news sometimes has its benefits.”
She smacked his ass cheek sending a delicious shiver through his body. “Good answer.” She turned the water to the shower back on. “Give me ten minutes, I’ll come in with you.”
“Okay, I’ll let them know.”
He sent a text message to the security detail stationed outside to give them the heads up then began to dress, listening to the radio as he did so.
And still not listening.
For my people.
The connotation of those three words was eating at him.
I don’t think this has anything to do with what we think it does.
Somewhere in Sierra Leone
Major Koroma sat back and belched, patting his stomach. It was the best feed he had eaten in some time. He smiled at the grandmother who had fed him.
“Fantastic as usual!”
She smiled, holding out a bowl with more food in it. “You must eat, you’re still a growing boy!”
He tossed his head back and roared in laughter, his men joining in, the two female doctors at the far end of the table looking on curiously, the entire conversation in Krio. “I haven’t been called that in quite a while!” he said. “But I’ve had enough. Save the rest for the sick, they need it more than us.”
The old lady’s face clouded over, the gaiety of the brief mealtime masking the dire situation they found themselves in. He turned to his second-in-command, Amadu Mustapha, who had arrived only minutes before from Freetown. “Has there been any word?” he asked, his voice lowered though still loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.
“Yes. The Americans are angry, demanding answers from our government—exactly as we expected.”
“They must be going mad that there’s been no demands.”
Mustapha chuckled. “You should hear their news reports. They don’t know what to do. Washington is denying any connection between the Vice President’s assassination and the kidnapping of her”—he nodded toward the end of the table at Sarah Henderson—“but the media isn’t hesitating.”
“Making up the facts as usual.”
“Again as we expected.”
“And what is the official response from Washington?”
“They’re sending a team of forensic experts, FBI, to examine the crime scene. They should be arriving later today.”
“Military?”
“None that we know of.”
“Any word on who killed our people?”
“No, but CNN is saying it was military, and if it was, they’re also saying it could only be Delta Force.”
“And what of Sekou, is he still alive?”
Mustapha shook his head. “No. I had him eliminated. We couldn’t risk having him talk.”
“He was your cousin, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He would have killed himself if he had the opportunity, I’m sure.”
“I have no doubt. He was a good man. Family?”
Mustapha frowned. “Wife and three young children.”
Koroma sighed. “The sacrifices we make today will hopefully make the lives of all our children easier in the future.”
“I hope you’re right, but I have my doubts.”
Koroma shifted in his seat, examining his friend and confidante. “Why haven’t you said anything before?”
“I have, Adofo, I have, but you would not listen. You have been set on this plan from the beginning.” He raised a finger, cutting Koroma off. “Don’t for a moment think that I don’t support you and your plan one hundred percent. All I mean is that I don’t have the same confidence that the results will be what you expect.”
Koroma’s head bobbed slowly. His friend was right. As a commanding officer he was used to having to express everything with confidence, as a leader in his community doubt could never be expressed. But Mustapha was right. There were no guarantees and success was a long shot. If they succeeded in what they hoped to accomplish, their names would definitely go down in history, as would Sierra Leone. The question was whether or not the infamy of their actions would spur the change they hoped.
When desperately poor people struck out at the mighty nations, not in the name of some religion but in the name of human decency and mutual respect, would it trigger a sea-change in public opinion among Westerners more concerned today with preserving their lifestyles than with the misery five billion of their fellow human beings lived in?
He put his hand on Mustapha’s shoulder, lowering his voice and leaning closer. “I too have my doubts, my friend, but we must try, otherwise millions more will continue to die.”
“Then let us proceed.” Mustapha pushed his plate away, looking at his friend. “When do you leave for America?”
“Soon.”
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“What have you found?”
Leroux swiped the touchpad on his laptop, his palms sweating like they hadn’t in months. Dating Sherrie had given him a newfound confidence that was failing him today. The Vice President himself and his wife were here, and over speaker was the commander of the Delta Force team that would be acting on his intelligence, along with untold others from the Pentagon, White House, NSA and every other agency that had been brought in to try and rescue Sarah Henderson.
It was more pressure than he could remember ever dealing with.
Except maybe that first date with Sherrie.
He thought back on how they had met, how she had been assigned to try and seduce him, to see if he would spill agency secrets, all as a test by Director Morrison to see if he could trust him.
He had passed, spurning the advances of the hottest woman he had ever met, and by far the sexiest woman who had ever tried to get biblical with him.
It had shocked him, her and the team assigned to protect her.
What he hadn’t known at the time was she had been having second thoughts about her mission. She was certain he wasn’t a mole and was quickly developing feelings for him, even calling her handler to try and get the mission called off before being ordered back into her living room to sleep with him, to pump him for information about his friend and CIA operator, Dylan Kane.
He had gone home with the worst set of blue-balls he could remember, but had done the right thing. The truth had crushed him—devastated him. Learning that she was merely coming on to him as part of an assignment
had been the final blow to his already fragile ego. He had never wanted to see her again, see any woman again.
It was Kane who had recognized that they both loved each other and forced them together.
And he had been happier than he could ever remember since.
But the pressure today was getting to him. His orders were to provide the results of the intel but not how it had been obtained since the Vice President’s wife didn’t have the proper clearances. Under normal circumstances she would never have been allowed in the room, but when the President calls and insists, you listen.
And he’s probably listening in too.
Leroux pointed to the screen which now showed a picture of Sarah Henderson and Tanya Danko. “Our two subjects are Sarah Henderson and Tanya Danko. Both are volunteer doctors with Médecins Sans Frontières working out of the Hastings Ebola Treatment Center in Freetown.” He clicked the button and an image of Doctor Jacques Arnaut appeared. “Yesterday evening local time the body of Dr. Arnaut was found nearly beheaded in Miss Henderson’s quarters. It is believed that she and Dr. Danko were abducted together at the time of the murder.”
“How can you be sure?”
It was Mrs. Henderson that asked the question, her voice cracking slightly.
Leroux looked at her then clicked a button bringing up a timeline of events. “Perhaps this will help. We know that both Dr. Henderson and Dr. Danko exited the quarantine area at approximately the same time. The log book shows Dr. Henderson completed decontamination at 7:35pm local time, Dr. Danko five minutes later. Dr. Arnaut had finished exactly thirty-two minutes before them. According to witnesses in the decontamination area, the two doctors intended to get together for dinner after Dr. Henderson made a call home.”
A cry escaped from Mrs. Henderson.
Payback Page 10