“Ooh, big word!” interrupted Niner with a wink.
“Don’t tease just because you don’t know what it means.” Niner opened his mouth to protest but Jimmy slapped a hand over his friend’s mouth. “I’ll dumb it down for my friend. If we assume Ebola, then we risk thinking these people are doing this for humanitarian reasons, so therefore ultimately have noble goals that we can identify with, rather than what we’re used to—the establishment of a worldwide Islamic Caliphate. We can’t assume their motives are noble.”
“Agreed,” said Dawson. “Clearly they’re willing to kill for their cause, and die for their cause. There’s too many dead hostages in Norfolk to deny that. And you’re right, we can’t go into this with assumptions that blind us to other possibilities. But with them taking two doctors and medical supplies, we have to assume Ebola is at least at the periphery of this. And that in my mind makes them even more dangerous than what we’re used to dealing with.”
Niner nodded. “They could be infected.”
“That’s a distinct possibility. While we’re in-country we’ll have to observe all protocols and avoid all unnecessary contact. No handshaking, no touching anything we don’t need to touch. If we get into a combat situation, shoot them at a distance if you can.”
“Man, if we start having to shoot people, and even just one of them is infected, we could all be exposed in a heartbeat.”
It was Atlas that triggered the moment of reflection, none of the men saying anything as Dawson was sure they all thought of their loved ones. Thoughts of Maggie on the other side of an isolation chamber window, his mother, his sister and niece.
His brothers in arms.
A member of the flight crew walked down the aisle toward them.
“We’re beginning our descent, gentlemen.”
Dawson nodded. “Thanks.”
And as he felt the plane begin to lose altitude, he couldn’t help but look at his team and wonder if they would all make it out of this alive, this unlike any situation they had ever encountered.
For today they not only faced an enemy whose motives they knew nothing about, but Mother Nature as well.
In her deadliest form.
Somewhere in Sierra Leone
“Will this help?”
Sarah turned to see Mustapha holding open a bag, a smile on his face.
“What’s that?”
“Slides and everything else I could find.”
A grin broke out on Sarah’s face. “Show me!” She stepped forward, eagerly rooting through the bag before Mustapha even had a chance to finish putting it on the floor. “Where did you get this?”
“There’s an old clinic that was abandoned during the civil war. It was all just left to rot.”
Sarah paused her inventorying for a second. “A clinic? Is it set up for patients?” She glanced over her shoulder at her own makeshift treatment center, wondering if it had all been a wasted effort when there was something else nearby.
Mustapha shook his head. “No, Doctor, its roof was torn off years ago in a storm. The only reason this stuff survived was because it was in a storage locker.”
“And no one stole it?”
Mustapha smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “Everything of value was looted over a decade ago. Nobody’s paid it any mind since.”
“But these supplies, they’re worth a lot of money.”
“If you can’t eat it or barter it to someone else who thinks they can eat it or barter it, it’s not worth anything.”
Sarah nodded, realizing that electron microscope supplies in rural West Africa were only valuable to a medical professional, and those were few and far between here. But one man’s junk…
“This is fantastic,” she said as she finished rifling through the bag, it containing everything she would need to test at least one hundred people. The only problem now was finding the time to do the tests, it something she couldn’t really trust to anyone but her or Tanya. She stood up, looking around. “I don’t want to do the testing in the treatment center because of possible cross-contamination. Is there another room or building we could use?”
Mustapha nodded, picking up the bag. “Follow me.” He led her to another door of the community center. Inside there was an office area, simply furnished with several desks, chairs and cabinets. “Will this do?”
“Perfect,” she said. “We’ll need to have this room cleaned with a water-bleach solution, just in case anyone came in here infected.”
“No one has been in here for days, I assure you.”
“A single drop of blood can contain a massive amount of the virus and be infectious for days if not weeks. We can’t take any risks.”
Mustapha nodded. “I’ll take care of it right away.”
Sarah yawned, stretching, catching a whiff of her own body odor from the protective suit she had been wearing for hours earlier. “I need to get some rest and to bathe somewhere.”
Mustapha nodded. “We’ve got showers. No hot water, but nothing’s really cold around here,” he said, smiling. She followed him down a hallway to another side of the building, away from the main hall where their clinic had been set up. “Can I ask you a question?”
Mustapha seemed almost hesitant, raising a red flag with Sarah’s subconscious. She felt her stomach flip in fear of what might come. “Yes.”
“If I were to be exposed, like from a needle prick or something, anything I guess, how long would it be before I could infect someone else?”
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, it depends. You’re not contagious until you start to show symptoms, and those can start to show anywhere from two days to several weeks after. It all depends on the individual.” She stopped. “Why, do you think you’ve been exposed?”
He shook his head. “I hope not. I mean, I’ve been careful and fortunately my family hasn’t been affected yet, but I guess I’m just curious. If I were infected today, for example, would I, or you I guess—a doctor—be able to tell?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not without a blood test.”
“Then how do they screen people at the airport?”
“They check for an elevated temperature and unfortunately rely on the honesty of the passengers.”
“What do you mean?”
“They interview everyone to see if they’ve been exposed in some way. Unfortunately as we saw with the case in the United States, people will lie just to get out of here. If they aren’t exhibiting any symptoms yet, then there’s no way without doing blood tests on every passenger to prevent them from leaving.”
“Sounds insane.”
Sarah smiled. “Agreed, but there’s not much else we can do. Locking the country down would simply mean it would be harder to get medical staff in and out along with supplies.”
“I would think you just restrict the civilians. I mean, we’ve got tourists still coming here, people from your country coming here to visit family.”
Sarah frowned. “I know. Unfortunately it’s hard to regulate stupidity.”
Mustapha laughed. “No, that is true in your country I guess as much as it is here.” He opened a door, showing her a shower and change room. “What do you think would happen if you had a large outbreak in your country?”
Sarah stepped inside, pausing. “Define large?”
Mustapha shrugged. “I don’t know, fifty, hundred?” He pointed to a locker. “There are clothes in there. You’ll have to share with the other doctor, we were only expecting one of you.”
Sarah opened the locker and nodded, several sets of medical scrubs sitting in a pile. “These will do perfectly. We’re going to need to launder them every day though.”
“Some of the women in the village will take care of that.”
“It will need to be done in boiling water.”
“Of course.”
Sarah smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Mustapha cut her off with a raised hand. “You didn’t.” He pointed to the showers. “There’s a
tank on the roof that has been pumped full of water. It works on pressure. Try not to waste it because someone has to refill it.” He pointed to a nearby sink. “There’s soap and shampoo. It hasn’t been used and that’s all there is.”
Sarah stepped over to the shower, it from all outward appearances looking like any other simple shower except that the red and blue temperature dots were meaningless. “Understood.”
“I’ll go wake your partner,” said Mustapha.
“No!” Sarah raised her hand apologetically. “Sorry, I mean, let me do that. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Very well.” Mustapha stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. She noticed a small pushbutton lock on the door and pressed it, the comfort it provided slight. She stripped out of her sticky clothes, piling them on the floor by the door, then turned the knob for the shower. Cool water flowed from the showerhead, the pressure excellent. She stepped under the blast of water, her eyes closed, and simply stood there for a minute letting the water run over her naked body, the stress and sweat of the day slowly rinsing away.
She thought of Mustapha’s question and wondered herself what would happen if there was a significant outbreak back home. If fifty or a hundred people were to become infected somehow, what would happen?
Mass panic.
The economic damage would probably be worse than the human toll. The disease was difficult to spread if proper protocols were in place, and with modern communications and good medical support systems, the infected would be isolated quickly and anyone they had contact with traced.
But all it would take would be one person, infected and contagious, to be working at a restaurant, dealing with customers, handling food, for it to spread to possibly hundreds more over the course of their being infected and undetected.
For there was a fatal flaw in the capitalist system when it came to the spread of infectious diseases.
Those who handle our food and clean our buildings are the lowest paid workers, meaning they were also the same people who could least afford to take a day off sick. They were most likely, due to simply being poor, to force themselves to go to work when sick, and all it would take would be one to have the disease, be contagious, and handle the food that went out to the customers.
And at the onset of an outbreak, those newly infected customers would assume they simply had the flu, and instead of isolating themselves and contacting the authorities, they too would quite often force themselves to go to work for the same economic reasons or because they had an important project due at the office.
It would spread for the same reasons the flu spread—people simply didn’t stay home when they should.
She wasn’t concerned about some sort of zombie apocalypse. If the spread continued curfews could simply be declared—it wasn’t like the infected would be dragging themselves through the streets, moaning “Brains!” while the uninfected tried to remember their Walking Dead episodes.
It would be the panic created that would probably hurt more people in the end. The public would stay home, the economy would grind to a halt, and it would last for weeks, possibly months, until the authorities could convince people the outbreak had been halted.
She paused working the shampoo into her hair and thought back to Mustapha’s questions, and again felt a chill run down her spine.
And still wasn’t sure why, the questions innocent and nothing she hadn’t heard dozens of times before.
You’re being paranoid.
She resumed washing her hair, frowning.
And you have every right to be.
She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and tossed her head back, wiping her eyes clear. She opened them and gasped, a face pressed against a window high on the wall quickly disappearing. Instinctively she covered her exposed flesh as best she could, but at that moment, she had never felt more vulnerable or exposed in her life.
And Tanya’s words echoed in her mind.
“Once he leaves, it will be open season on us.”
Hastings Ebola Treatment Center, Freetown, Sierra Leone
Dawson was careful not to step on any of the bloody footprints on the floor as he surveyed the scene of the crime. The body had been moved but everything else had been left in place, at least according to the Sierra Leonean authorities. The evidence certainly seemed to match that already provided in the briefings he had been privy to, and he saw little value in being here, but as part of their cover, he had to at least feign interest.
“Agent White.”
Dawson looked over his shoulder and saw Niner beckoning him. He stepped back into the hallway and saw a well-built man standing with the rest of his team sporting a fashionable suit, dark sunglasses despite being indoors, and a brilliantly white smile. He extended his hand. “Lamina Margai, Agent White. I’ll be your liaison while you’re here.” Dawson looked at the hand, leaving his own clasped behind his back. Margai quickly withdrew it, smiling. “Sorry, old habits are hard to break.”
Dawson had little doubt this man was military or at least former military—definitely security of some type. He wouldn’t want to scrap with him in any case. “Mr. Margai, pleased to meet you. How about we let the forensics team get to work while we discuss the latest updates outside.”
Margai smiled. “Of course. Follow me.” They strode quickly down the hallway, the rooms off either side repurposed classrooms from the former police training center. Exhausted and nervous medical personnel coming off shifts shuffled past, the entire treatment center subdued since they had arrived.
He couldn’t blame them.
One of their own had been murdered in the most gruesome manner possible, and two kidnapped. Not to mention that day in and day out they dealt with death by one of Mother Nature’s most perfect killers, too often powerless to save those brought to them too late.
Yet not a single person had asked to be reassigned or to go home.
Impressive.
He had a tremendous amount of respect for these people. Hundreds of them had died despite their protective gear and training, and hundreds more probably would die before this was over, yet they kept coming, they kept volunteering.
They were soldiers in the fight against an invader that couldn’t be seen.
He didn’t envy them, preferring his targets viewable under the sight of his weapon rather than a microscope.
But the true misery was not inside this relatively sedate cluster of buildings, it was outside the makeshift hospital that was devoid of laughter, devoid of even the sounds of innocent children so often unavoidable no matter how serious the warzone.
Here there was only misery and death, hope drummed out of the population despite the fact in some of these clinics nearly fifty percent were surviving.
Which meant fifty percent were dying.
The insanity of the disease, of the situation, was obvious outside the walls. People would arrive, some under their own power, some dropped off by relatives, and most were turned away, the clinic full.
And instead of going into isolation, they would cross the street and wait at a bar for a position to open, either through death or a rare success, while spreading the disease further.
It was ridiculous.
Margai saw where he was looking. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”
Dawson nodded. “More needs to be done.”
“Yes. We are doing all we can, but we are a poor country. Perhaps when we have oil, we will get more attention.”
Dawson didn’t take the bait. In his briefing notes he had read about Sierra Leone’s economic situation and of how they were hoping to develop possible offshore oil, but that was years away. And the sad thing was the man was probably right. If this country had resources that the rich countries of the West were dependent upon, it would have most likely received a more rapid response. “Have there been any leads?”
“No, nothing of consequence. Three supply trucks were signed out with the proper paperwork by Major Koroma, they were driven to the port, loaded with me
dical supplies, then last seen clearing a checkpoint as they left the city with the two missing doctors claiming to be delivering supplies to the Port Loko Treatment Center.”
“And I assume those supplies never arrived.”
Margai shook his head. “Obviously a ruse. We’re checking reports that they were spotted at another checkpoint heading south but we haven’t been able to confirm those yet. Outside of the city things are unfortunately pretty lax.”
“Understood. What can you tell me about Major Koroma? Any idea why he’d do this?”
“I never knew the man, but I’ve spoken to several of his colleagues and all are shocked by this. Frankly, they can’t believe he’d do this. He’s a family man, dedicated soldier, well respected by his men and superiors, and non-political.”
“Religious?”
“He’s Muslim if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dawson smiled slightly. “No, I mean could he be motivated by religious reasons, regardless of whether or not he was Christian or Muslim?”
Margai smiled broadly. “Of course that’s what you meant. And no, I’ve heard nothing suggesting he has any type of extremist leanings. If anything he was considered quite moderate by his Imam.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yes, but his Imam here in Freetown; what happens back in his home town, I honestly couldn’t say. He may be a completely different man there.”
“Either he is a completely different man when back home, or he’s become a completely different man. Something has caused this apparently upstanding soldier to betray his country.”
Margai frowned. “It may be that he thinks he’s doing this for his country.”
Dawson nodded as he watched a body being carried out of a nearby tent, a poignant reminder of the danger they were under just being there. “Whatever his motivations, his actions are what concern me. We need to find him and rescue the hostages.”
“May I ask you a question?”
Dawson tore his eyes away from the body bag and the small procession carrying the anonymous victim, all clad in protective gear. “Of course.”
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