by Bobby Adair
Could he find a way? Sure. If he had enough time while waiting around the Nairobi airport. Then again, Salim had seen too many videos of beheadings to think that he would live that long, once it had been found out that he turned against his new brothers.
They would think the only logical things. He was a coward, so he deserved death. He was a traitor, so he deserved death. He was a spy, so he deserved death. He was an apostate, so he deserved death. He was just like every other American, so he deserved death.
He’d never be able to talk his way out of those.
What about the American embassy?
What would he tell them? The truth? He’d gone to fight the Great Satan with his Arab brothers, but had changed his mind. Sure, they’d take him in, listen to all he had to say, probably catch Jalal as a result, and maybe even waterboard them both for a few months before dropping them in Guantanamo to be forgotten forever. Then, when budget and PR burdens became too heavy, some future administration would free him to Yemen or some such place, where he’d promptly lose his head in a desert, all recorded for distribution on YouTube, so that his parents could see their misguided traitor son be murdered by people he was stupid enough to trust.
But he had his passport. There had to be a reason for that.
They’d flown him to Nairobi. There had to be a reason for that.
Perhaps it was the beginning of a plan to ship him back to the US to do his jihad business there. If he was patient, in a few days or maybe even weeks, he’d be touching down in an American city with a network contact, maybe not unlike the one he was waiting on in the middle of the night in Nairobi—where the hell is Nairobi? Salim chastised himself for not being a better student in school. He’d be picked up on some anonymous street corner, taken to a safe house. Maybe even told to go out among the Americans and fit in. That would be his chance. He’d find himself a high-priced American attorney to protect his rights, his freedom, and his neck, and he’d trade his information to the FBI or CIA, whichever was in charge of buying it. In return, he’d get immunity and a new identity.
Heck, if he played his cards right, he might even be able to sell the movie rights to his story for a nice bundle of money. Maybe an alternative to the two million dollars he missed out on earlier.
Salim looked up and down the deserted street and didn’t care if he got the money. He just wanted to live through the ordeal, as hopes that he’d live to see his next birthday seeped into the darkness around him.
When a van painted in gaudy colors pulled up next to the curb, with friendly lions, zebras, and elephants surrounding the words “Big Country Safari Photo Tours,” Salim’s hope rekindled. A safari in Nairobi would be a good first step in building a tourism backstory prior to returning to America.
Hope was back in Salim’s future.
Chapter 32
“Dr. Wheeler, may I come in?”
Dr. Wheeler looked up from his laptop.
Olivia walked into the conference room. “I was on my way to the cafeteria, and I saw you in here.”
“I should have closed the door.” Dr. Wheeler smiled widely enough to let her know he was joking. “CDC doctors have lots of groupies.”
“I’m Olivia Cooper.” She pointed in some direction she doubted meant anything to Dr. Wheeler. “I was in the seminar, in the small theater?”
Wheeler nodded. “I remember you.”
“Really?”
“No.” He smiled again. “There were a hundred people in there. But I can go on pretending, if you’d like.”
Olivia scooted a chair back and sat on the opposite side of the table. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I am, if you’re open to it, and won’t tell my wife.”
“You’re flirting with me, and you have a wife.”
“No, I’m divorced. But we both know I’m old enough to be your dad, and I don’t have a chance at getting anything out of this besides a sexual harassment complaint.” Dr. Wheeler made an expansive gesture at the building surrounding them. “I assume you work for the NSA.”
Olivia looked around the room and gestured at the walls. “This is their building.”
“Cagey.” Dr. Wheeler smiled again. It seemed to come very easy to him. “Okay, I assume you have questions about the Filovirus presentation. Since you appear to have made yourself comfortable, maybe you have a lot of them. What can I help you with?”
“I’m sorry.” Olivia started to stand. “If you don’t have time, I can—”
After motioning for Olivia to keep her seat, Dr. Wheeler pointed at his computer, “I’m just answering email. I rode out here from Atlanta with a coworker. He’s still in his meeting. I’ve got some time.”
Olivia lowered her weight back down on the chair and smiled. “I’m worried about my brother.”
Wheeler leaned back in his chair and looked over his reading glasses. “Because I have a genius-level IQ and I just gave a talk about Filoviruses, is it safe to assume that despite your blue eyes and blonde hair, your brother is an African bushman in Sierra Leone?”
Olivia laughed. “You know I’m only laughing so you’ll answer my questions, right?”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Dr. Wheeler got comfortable in his seat. “I should warn you, though, my charms are universally appealing. If you feel yourself being mesmerized by the most intelligent—and, I don’t mind adding handsome—black man you’ve ever met, just let me know, and I’ll dial it back a bit.”
“Are you always like this?”
Dr. Wheeler shrugged. “Yeah. At least my ex said so when she was telling the divorce judge about it.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Seriously, though, you didn’t come in here for my comedy routine. What’s this business about your brother, and why would I know anything about it?”
“You’re an expert in infectious diseases, especially Ebola, which is a Filovirus—”
Grinning, Wheeler said, “So you were awake through the first five minutes, anyway.”
“—and he’s in Africa.”
“You’re concerned about Ebola.” Wheeler nodded, but sounded disappointed, which shifted to boredom when he asked, “Where?”
“Don’t do that, please.” Olivia thought about getting up to leave.
“Sorry. I’ve been fielding questions for a month by people who are just sure this Ebola epidemic is going to wipe out the planet. It’s all over the news. It’s a scary disease, and when people hear about ninety-percent mortality rates with bleeding out of the eyeballs and other less pleasant places, they freak out. You’re not freaked out, are you?”
“Sorry.” Olivia twirled a curl of her blond hair. “You’d think people would have evolved enough by now to know that hair color doesn’t correlate with intelligence. I get overly sensitive when people start talking down to me.”
“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
“Thanks.” Olivia smiled and twirled her hair again without thinking about it. “I know he’s probably as safe there as we are here.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I agree with the sentiment.”
“He’s just not—” Olivia looked for the right word.
“Responsible?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s a responsible kid.”
“A kid?”
“He’s nine years younger than me.”
“He’s nine?” Wheeler flashed a smile.
Olivia laughed out loud and tried to make it sound mocking. “Does it work when you tell twenty-nine year old girls they look eighteen?”
“It has.”
“Really?” Olivia feigned disbelief.
“That whole business I mentioned with the divorce. It started that way.”
“You told a girl she looked eighteen, and your wife didn’t like it?”
“Oh, you’re sharper than I thought. But no, that wasn’t it. I married her. We divorced later on. So you’re twenty-nine. I guessed wrong. I may not be quite old enough to be your dad. You’re not the type to file a complaint w
ith HR are you?”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”
“It should.”
“So your nine-year-old, um, I mean, twenty-year-old brother is in Africa and he’s responsible?”
“Yes, but—” Olivia thought about it for a moment. “He’s one of those suburban kids who doesn’t understand anything about the real world.”
“Naïve?”
“Yes, that’s a good word.”
“So, besides being naïve in a third-world country—which, I might add, could be a good way for him to grow past his naiveté—what has you worried?”
Olivia put on a fake expression of exasperation. “There was the Ebola we talked about.”
“Oh, yeah. I think you mentioned that.”
She said, “I’m afraid he’s not going to take the necessary precautions.”
“I’m assuming you’re not talking about condoms.”
“Dr. Wheeler!”
“You should call me Mathew.”
“I think I’ll stick with Dr. Wheeler for now.” Privately, Olivia was starting to think that maybe she and Mathew could be on a first name basis—except for the age difference, which seemed pretty stark to her. “Let’s not talk about my little brother and condoms, okay?”
“You do know that twenty-year-old college boys seldom think about anything that doesn’t involve a condom, right? Oh, he is in college, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Texas A&M.”
“Oh?”
Olivia shook her head. “Dad was a die-hard Texas Longhorn. I think he went there just to piss off my dad.”
They looked at each other, idling in their conversational cul-de-sac.
Dr. Wheeler sat up straight and slapped a hand on the table. “Back to business. I’m sure you don’t have all day to sit here and flirt with me. Ebola and your brother. What about it? He’s not in Liberia, Guinea, or Sierra Leone, is he?”
“Uganda.”
“What’s he doing there?” Dr. Wheeler asked.
“He’s a teacher at a school for street kids.”
“Street kids. You mean like the Backstreet Boys?” Wheeler smiled at his humor.
Olivia just shook her head.
“I didn’t think it was a bad joke.” Dr. Wheeler drew a breath full of mock exasperation. “So, orphans?”
“Yes,” answered Olivia.
“That’s good. He’s in Uganda teaching orphans. He’s not a medical worker or anything like that?”
“No.” Olivia frowned. “Not even close.”
“He doesn’t eat undercooked bush meat, does he?”
“Bush meat?” Olivia grimaced. Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good.
“Bats, apes, and such.”
“Eew.”
“Sounds like a no. You probably don’t have anything to worry about.” Dr. Wheeler’s confidence was about as infectious as the disease.
“I know.”
“But here you are. And asking questions for a reason.”
Olivia looked away. “Yes.”
“Do you know how many people died last year of malaria?”
She rolled her eyes and ventured a guess. “Eleven?”
Dr. Wheeler laughed. “Dishing it back out. Okay.” He put on a serious face. “Over six hundred thousand. How many died of the Ebola virus last year?”
“None,” Olivia answered right away.
“So you’ve done some homework. How about the year before that?”
“Fifty-one.”
“How many in the history of the disease? If you don’t get this one right, I’ll know you weren’t listening during my presentation.”
Olivia said, “I was so taken with your charm that I didn’t catch a single word.”
“When you use that much sarcasm, it actually hurts my feelings.”
“I’m guessing it just bounces off a deeper layer of ego.” Olivia smiled. “Maybe sixteen hundred died of Ebola. The point I guess you’re making is that Austin’s chances of dying of another infectious disease like malaria are higher than they are of dying from Ebola.”
“Astronomically higher,” Dr. Wheeler said. “A person can get malaria from a mosquito bite just for going fishing in the wrong spot. You almost have to go out of your way to get Ebola.”
“But thirteen hundred cases have been reported in West Africa, and not only is the number increasing, but the curves are becoming steeper. If you graph the number of cases over time, the curve appears to be exponential.”
“You have done your homework. And you apparently paid attention during your Algebra classes.” Dr. Wheeler smiled slyly. “Tell me, why do think that is?”
“Because I liked to be prepared.”
“No, I mean, why is Ebola spreading rapidly?” he asked.
“Poor hygiene. Limited availability of medical facilities—”
Dr. Wheeler cut in, “And little trust of the medical infrastructure that exists.”
“—cultural norms,” she continued.
“Like eating undercooked bush meat. You know certain species of bats are Ebola reservoirs, right?”
Olivia nodded.
“Of course,” Dr. Wheeler went on. “You know if people expose themselves to infected flesh, they risk infection themselves. And people there don’t have the same cultural inhibitions against eating bats, monkeys, rodents, or anything else they can toss over the fire. Africa isn’t anything like Atlanta. We can run down to the grocery store when we get hungry. For most Africans, it’s not that simple. You eat what you can get.”
“I know that.” Olivia didn’t need a lesson on the different levels of affluence around the world.
“Sorry. I’m just making my point.”
“Which is?” Olivia asked.
“Ebola is transferred through bodily fluids. That’s it.”
“There was that test with the pigs and monkeys,” Olivia countered.
“Yes, but pigs give off more aerosolized particles than pretty much any other species.” Dr. Wheeler pantomimed a gesture to emphasize the point. “A repeat of that study with macaques failed at getting a primate-to-primate transmission. Infected monkeys on one side of the room, clean monkeys on the other. Same setup as with the pigs. The infected monkeys died. The clean monkeys stayed clean and went on to live happy little monkey lives.”
“Happy monkey lives as test animals?”
“You never know, maybe they’re testing the addictive effects of long-term Viagra use right now.”
Olivia giggled. Wheeler laughed.
Olivia looked over her shoulder at the open conference room door, feeling slightly self conscious but not sure why. “But the Ebola virus could mutate.”
“Are you trying to get worked up about this?”
Olivia chose not to answer the question.
Dr. Wheeler leaned forward again, put his elbows on his desk, and scrutinized Olivia for a moment. “Yes. The virus could mutate. And before you ask, yes, viruses mutate all the time. I suspect not always for the better—better for the virus, I mean. You know mutation is a random process, although it seems like it’s not. Natural selection is not random. Once a mutation occurs, nature decides whether it is better or worse for the organism. The vast majority of the time, it’s not. The odds of this Ebola outbreak mutating to become more contagious are astronomically small. Don’t worry so much.”
“Sorry, Dr. Wheeler.”
“Your brother will probably be fine. As long as he follows some basic guidelines, he’ll come back from Africa healthy. If he comes back with a disease of some sort, the odds are it’ll be something other than Ebola.”
“What’s this about Ebola?”
Both Olivia and Dr. Wheeler looked toward the voice coming from the open door.
Chapter 33
Dr. Wheeler waved Dr. Gonzalez in to join them. “Olivia, this is Dr. Gonzalez, one of my coworkers at the CDC. Dr. Gonzalez, this is Olivia Cooper. She was at my presentation and acknowledges that this is an NSA building, without admitting that she works here.�
�
Olivia spun in her chair to face Gonzalez and extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Dr. Gonzalez pulled away from Olivia.
Dr. Wheeler said, “He’s a germophobe.”
“Careful is a better word,” said Dr. Gonzalez.
Wheeler said, “Olivia and I were talking about her brother. He’s in Uganda this summer. I was telling her that he’s probably safe from the Ebola outbreak. As you know the outbreak is in West Africa. Uganda is pretty far from there.”
Dr. Gonzalez seated himself on the same side of the table as Olivia, but left an empty chair between them, fussily arranging his computer bag on the conference table. “Uganda. Where?”
“Um,” Olivia thought about it for a minute. “A little farming town. It’s…uh…Kapchorwa?”
“Never heard of it,” said Gonzalez. “Wheeler, open up a map of Africa on your computer.”
Wheeler rolled his eyes and winked at Olivia.
“I saw that,” Gonzalez said. “I’m eccentric, not oblivious.”
“Right.” Wheeler manipulated the mouse and typed. A few seconds later, he turned the computer sideways on the conference table so that everyone could see the screen.
Olivia leaned forward.
Gonzalez leaned back.
“Zoom in over here.” Olivia pointed.
Wheeler did as instructed and zoomed the map in on the eastern half of the country.
Olivia leaned in a little further and pointed to a spot just above a big blob of green. “That’s it there, just north of that park.” She sat back.
Gonzalez leaned forward. “Zoom out, Wheeler.”
Dr. Wheeler fiddled with the wheel on his mouse. “That’s Mt. Elgon National Park.”
Dr. Gonzalez sighed.
Olivia looked at Dr. Gonzalez, who said nothing to elaborate. She looked at Wheeler. He was wearing his poker face. Olivia frowned and looked back at Gonzalez. “What?”
The doctor opened his mouth to speak as Dr. Wheeler cut him off. “Olivia, before you listen to him, you need to know a quarter million people—maybe more—live within a dozen miles of the base of that mountain.”