The Malthus Pandemic

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 15

  At Walt Daniel's hotel, we were waiting for the bar hostess to finish serving a Jack Daniels whisky for Walt and a coffee for me. We had hardly spoken since the taxi ride back. As soon as the hostess had finished, Walt leaned forward and helped himself from a bowl of peanuts.

  "So, what sort of help do you want?" he asked.

  "More facts," I said. "Far more than you will be able to give me, Walt. But understanding those disappearances might help. I need a few pointers to the whole scene."

  "So, are you FBI or something?" Walt asked, looking me directly in the face. "But you're English aren't you. What’s the English equivalent?"

  "I'm nothing like that, Walt," I replied. "As I said, I have been asked to investigate a few problems on behalf of another company. There's not a lot I can tell you for reasons of confidentiality. On the other hand there's not a lot I know yet."

  I stopped for a moment and helped myself to the same peanuts but decided that peanuts and coffee don't mix. I then went on, deciding to get a bit cleaner.

  "I'm a private investigator, Walt. I specialise mostly in international industrial problems - industrial espionage, theft of intellectual property , that sort of thing. But I'm new to your type of business. I’ve read a bit and I know how businesses operate – big ones, small ones. Frankly you must have been asleep if you don't know about outbreaks of disease, resistance to antibiotics, health risks from eating everything from beef to, well, peanuts these days. Everyone from school age up seems to have an opinion on the subject. You only had to sit in on the seminar this morning to know that this business is headlines. A new virus. No known cures. Outbreaks of what looks like the same virus in odd places like Thailand and Nigeria. New drugs, getting more and more expensive to find and produce. Bacteria and viruses getting the better of what is available. Then you get top scientists, scientists with reputations in this field just disappearing."

  I paused for a moment. "So what sort of business is it these days Walt? You've been around a while."

  Walt looked at me with tired, red eyes. "And why should I tell you anything," he said. "Most likely you're working for a competitor. Is that right? Sure, I've been in the pharmaceuticals and medical technology industry for a long time now. How I ended up on sales God knows, but they seem to need scientists to sell to other scientists these days. Green, raw salesmen straight out of college are not enough. The industry still gets a bad press from time to time but things have improved. I remember a time when there was a lot of media pressure. You know, business being bought by unethical incentives to doctors, that sort of thing. You had it in UK a lot at one time. Then there are a lot of multinationals joining other multinationals. Some of these organizations make annual profits bigger than the income of some entire countries. But a lot of the good research and innovation is still being done by the smaller companies, universities and hospital research departments. Biox is one of them. We've had some successes but it takes a long time to get anything licensed and ready to use these days even though we can sometimes get early licensing for special circumstances."

  He stopped. "I'm rambling. What exactly do you want to know?"

  "Tell me about David Solomon and Guy Williams. What's your gut feeling, Walt?"

  "I dunno. For sure, both were a bit alike. They used to socialise together but don't get me wrong, this was not a liaison as far as I know. Dave was as straight as a die. Both had similar political leanings – that’s what they had in common. Environmental issues and such like. That and they were both were from the UK. Both with some weird notions about everyone should get free drugs, everyone was equal and no-one should have a priority on treatments just because they were better off than the next man. Dave was real hung up on this if you got him talking. Fall backs to state run enterprise stuff. It just don't work, man, and everyone 'cept those two knew it."

  Walt took a drink from his glass, wiped his mouth and continued. "Course they both had fall outs with Josh Ornstein, the Biox Vice President. But both were good scientists, working long hours and both were productive.

  "Dave Solomon was given his top post because he could motivate others. In the lab he would keep his private thoughts to himself. Outside, in the bar or wherever, it was different. I don't know what he got up to. But, first thing, Guy Williams left. Went back to UK. He'd been offered a place at Cambridge where he had started out from. We got news he also disappeared last fall. Dave Solomon just went home one night from the lab - this must be over a year ago now - seemed to spend the night with a girl friend who shared his apartment. Next morning she goes her way, left him at the apartment. What he did after that no-one knows. But he didn't turn up for work that day. His girlfriend called the lab next day to ask if anyone knew where he was. None of us did. We were starting to wonder ourselves. Anyway, turns out he had packed a case after his girlfriend had left, said nothing and just disappeared. His girlfriend was interviewed by the police and I know Josh Ornstein and others went to see her. But - nothing. Apparently she had not sensed anything wrong and was naturally a bit upset about everything. There was a bit of newspaper talk for a while but the company deliberately tried to keep it a quiet and, like everything, life goes on."

  Walt stopped again, drained his glass and then said, "And that's about it. None of us have bothered too much about it for quite a while. Any the wiser?" He grinned and slumped back into his seat, clutching his glass of whisky and another handful of peanuts.

  "No, but thanks, Walt," I smiled. "It's a slightly clearer picture now. I think you should get some sleep, Walt. Thanks again for the information. If it’s all right with you I'll call round by your trade stand again in the morning." I made a move to leave and Walt eased himself out of his chair.

  "One last thing, Walt. Do you think these two guys may be together somewhere?"

  "I know that's what Josh Ornstein thinks. You bet. It's a possibility. But where? Who with? They're keeping a low profile wherever they are."

  I thanked Walt, wished him a good night's sleep and said I'd see him the next morning. Ten minutes later - it was now one in the morning - I asked my taxi driver to take a detour along some side streets. Then I told him to stop. I got out, paid him and then tried the door of the bar. It was still open and I walked in. Dimly lit as usual, the only drinkers left were two Europeans, already well oiled and about to leave. They pushed past me, through the door and went off into the night.

  Anna was standing alone behind the bar. I went over, leaned on the stained bar and she smiled at me from a distance.

  "Sorry, Anna" he said, “I was busy. But I did try to phone you."

  She said nothing but continued to clear the empty glasses. She then came over and stood, hands on the bar, and faced me.

  "Where are you staying, now? I called the hotel but they said you'd checked out."

  I think I sighed. I know I said: "Come on, Anna, take me to your apartment. Tell me about all about the lady-boy who lives in the next apartment again. I don't want serious, OK?"

  "Why not the nice hotel?" she asked. "I have no air conditioning in my apartment. Better in hotel. Where did you stay last night?"

  I shrugged. "I was busy. Business. Sorry."

  Some six hours later I found I was lying on my back on a low bed, the dim grey light of dawn just appearing through a small corner window covered in mosquito netting. I was watching a large brown cockroach making its way in rapid movements across the top of a wooden closet. On the floor, boxes, cases and other belongings were piled high. Space here was very limited and it had been very hot all night although the fan had helped in directing a breeze of air at the two of us on the bed. I didn't mind.

  I leaned over and looked at Anna as she slept as usual with her long black hair across her face. I then turned on my side and put my arm around her. It was even hotter but it felt the right thing to do. No, in actual fact, I couldn't resist it. She stirred slightly but stayed asleep.

  Wherever I am, the hours around dawn are my best thinking hours and my bi
ological clock seems to self adjust. I suppose it's got used to all the travelling by now.

  I ran over the events of yesterday and wondered if I should talk to Amos Gazit again today. But my thoughts then switched to the noisy bar where Walt and I had left John Wardley and to Walt's comment about the two other drinkers from Livingstone Pharmaceuticals sat opposite us.

  Suddenly, I sat up. It happens like that sometimes especially when I've suddenly put a name to a face. I now knew where I had seen that man in the picture in the Livingstone magazine - the man called Mohamed Kader. Mohamed Abdul Kader was an Arab, probably Egyptian, with a string of companies in Kuwait and the Gulf States - mainly agency businesses in baby food and basic medicines for pharmacies. I remembered being in Abu Dhabi about two years ago when the man's picture had appeared in the business section of the Gulf Times. A multi-millionaire, he had just acquired yet another agency, this time for a much bigger, higher profile, international pharmaceutical company and was pictured in the same sort of pose as the one in the Livingstone publication.

  If my memory was serving me right, Mohamed Kader's business had spread from the Gulf base and gone international. Many Arab businessmen from his background had stayed local there being, at least at one time, enough money to be made in the Gulf without expanding further afield. But this man was different.

  I was sat on the edge of the low bed. The cockroach had vanished and I wondered where. Having now remembered the man's name from the Livingstone photograph, another piece of information from my memory slotted into place. This was, most likely, the same Mohamed Kader I had heard about in Hong Kong recently. There had been a scare caused by some contaminated batches of baby food sold by a distribution company owned by Kader. Health officials had inspected the company that had made the food in Hong Kong but had been unable to decide what had caused the problem. While I was there, the story had been a paragraph on an inside page but it was enough to log itself into my memory.

  But, and it is times like this when I like to think my self-analysis comes into play again, perhaps I was wrong. Even if I was right, perhaps it was irrelevant. I lay back onto the pillow and found that Anna was now fully awake and watching me. I had nothing on and the fan was blowing the few hairs on my chest. Whether this was especially interesting for her or not I don't know but she suddenly cried out: "Crazy farang, I thought you'd fallen off the bed. What are you doing now?"

  "Sorry. But I suddenly remembered something," I said and I pulled Anna towards me, pressing the side of her cheek onto my chest. If she wanted to get close to my chest hairs then she was now as close as she could get. But I also had another devious little plan. I wanted to say a few things without her staring at me.

  "I'm always saying sorry to you, Anna." I said, "But....but, you’re very good for me you know?"

  That was it. It was rather meaningless, I know. But I'm a bloke, OK? Don't criticise when I'm just getting going. I half regretted it anyway and had second thoughts about continuing. Instead, I hugged her even closer. It was hot, but she stayed there for a moment before wriggling free. She then sat astride me, looking down.

  "Yes, I agree. I am very, very good for you," she said and smiled. "You want to shower? I'll make coffee."

  She wrapped a towel around her waist and went to the corner of the little room where she sat crouched over a low shelf to find two cups. She busied herself while I wandered into the separate, small tiled area that she called the bathroom. I showered, washed my hair and pondered again on whether I was getting somewhere for Virex or chasing unconnected coincidences. But my thoughts then turned back to Anna. I began to think about her real, much longer name and tried to say it to myself. It was a pretty name and I liked it. But Anna was easier.

  As I picked up a towel from the floor to dry my hair, Anna's face appeared through the plastic curtain. "Don't use that. Very dirty. I use that to clean the floor. I find good one."

  She returned with a clean towel with pink floral decoration and stood there, still smiling, watching me. As I finished she took my hand and looked up at me, the towel dropping from her slim waist. Then she led me from the shower.

  "Drink coffee later."