by Ken McClure
The answer came as he stared up at the ceiling and worked through the words . . . interdigital – between the digits . . . metacarpal – pertaining to the hand bones between wrist and fingers . . . control array independence – individual control of more than one switch on a linked mechanism. It was obvious! Pashley was working on a controller which would permit a prosthetic hand to have working fingers. The mechanisms would be small enough to fit between the fingers and each finger would be able to move independently.
Steven felt a sudden adrenalin rush as he suddenly saw that he had made the connection between what Martin Field had been doing and what Pashley was doing. Someone else had seen possibilities in what the two of them had been doing and commissioned them at great expense to come up with a delivery system which could be wirelessly controlled to release more than one therapeutic drug.
Letting his thoughts run on free reign, Steven could imagine some powerful pharmaceutical company understanding the fortune to be made from such a system, were it to be refined and brought to the market place, but such a theory had no place for Chinese murderers.
Steven went in next morning to speak with John Macmillan who asked the obvious question, ‘How does an ultra-sophisticated drug delivery system warrant both Russian and Chinese interest?’
‘I have no idea,’ Steven confessed, ‘but I’m working on it.’ He felt a little deflated at Macmillan’s apparent lack of appreciation of his establishing the link between the two English scientists, but had to suppose, in the overall view of things . . . it wasn’t much.
‘There is one thing . . .’ said Macmillan as Steven got up to leave. He could sense Macmillan’s discomfort. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘I’m getting the impression that the Prime Minister was overly optimistic when she promised to pass on intelligence information to you under the table, so to speak. It’s proving more difficult than she thought.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s not the sort of thing she can put in a brown paper bag and have someone hand over to Jean in the supermarket without arousing suspicion.’
‘Does that mean she’s not going to do it after all?’
‘’No, no,’ Macmillan assured him. ‘It’s just that your involvement might not be the secret she hoped it might be.’
‘I see.’
Steven took a few moments to think through the implications of this.
‘I know how you feel about firearms,’ began Macmillan, ‘but better safe than sorry?’
‘Agreed,’ said Steven flatly. He was thinking about the five victims and how they had met their end. ‘I’ll see the armourer.’
Steven left the office and approached Jean. ‘Anything new?’ he asked.
Jean sensed an edginess in Steven and, looking at her screen, knew why. She said softly, A little note has appeared, asking me to make an appointment with the armourer for you.’
Steven nodded and thanked her.
‘I did get a little more on Phillipe Lagarde,’ she said, ‘more times and dates than anything else. Jean handed him the information.
Steven saw what Jean meant. The dates of Lagarde’s WHO secondment to Afghanistan were given along with the route he had planned for teams to take along the Pakistan/Afghanistan border, providing protection against Polio for the villagers. The dates for his previous secondment to the Democratic Republic of Congo were also given as were they for his time in Uganda. He had gone to DRC in early 2016 and had concentrated his efforts in providing vaccination against Ebola to people in Equateur Province in the north of the country.
‘I hope he did a good job,’ Steven said. He responded to Jean’s enquiring glance with, ‘That’s where Tally is.’
SEVEN
Tally spent her first full day being shown around the area in Equateur Province she was now responsible for. She wanted to see the villages for herself and get a feeling for their size and the accessibility of their locations. She was accompanied by two young people, Mary Kelly, a nurse with Med sans Frontierès and Hans Weber, a World Health Organisation administrator, who both had experience of working in the area and who had been seconded to come along to answer any questions she had.
After passing slowly through two villages Tally asked if they might stop in the next one so she could walk around and get a feeling for the place, having heard tales of local resentment towards foreign outsiders coming in to interfere with traditional life. She had also been warned that not all people – especially in rural areas – thought vaccination a good thing. A number did not believe that Ebola was a disease at all – it was a curse placed on those who strayed from the path of their elders.
After twenty bone-shaking minutes of bumping along dusty tracks that often hid their presence in undergrowth they arrived at the next village, which Mary Kelly gave Tally some statistics about, reading them in a gentle southern Irish accent, which Tally thought went well with her dark red hair, although she found herself wondering what a young girl who couldn’t have been qualified for more than a couple of years was doing here. She had assumed that volunteers were usually older, having seen a bit more of life and encountered a wide range of experiences which had possibly contributed to their selfless act.
‘This village lost thirty-seven people to Ebola in the 2014-16 outbreak,’ said Mary, ‘but of course, there was little or no vaccine available to protect villagers at that time.’
‘How about this time?’ Tally asked.
Hans Weber, the young Swiss administrator seconded from WHO to help Tally settle in, responded, ‘There still isn’t enough vaccine for universal use. It’s still classed as experimental, which means that there are sorts of restrictions on it use, but it’s certainly better than nothing and believed to be very effective if you fall into the group qualified to get it, that being contacts of known cases, both physical and geographical, and of course, all those involved in the treatment of Ebola victims. I take it you’ve had the vaccine?’
Tally agreed that she had.
Mary said, ‘There are no cases in this village at the moment, but there are in the next one we’ll be coming to . . .’
‘Four,’ said Hans . . . ‘that we know of.’
‘You think there may be more?’
‘People tend to hide the fact that there’s illness in the family as long as possible, hoping it’s not Ebola and, with their own care, their loved ones will get better. If the news gets out that there’s Ebola in the village, it affects everyone in terms of jobs and trade and general social interaction. No one wants anything to do with you. Business grinds to a halt.’
‘Understandable,’ said Tally.
‘There are a couple of possible contacts in this village,’ said Mary. ‘We approached them to offer them vaccine, but they wanted nothing to do with it.’
Tally made a sympathetic face. ‘I can see what you’re up against. Nothing’s ever easy, is it?’
Mary and Hans smiled. ‘She’s a quick learner,’ said Hans.
‘I think I’d still like to have a walk around,’ said Tally.
‘Would you like us to come too?’ Mary asked.
Tally shook her head. ‘Unless you advise otherwise?’
‘No,’ Hans assured her. ‘They won’t eat you. Surly indifference is usually as far as it goes.’
Tally started her walk, smiling as she went but generally being ignored. She couldn’t say she was surprised at what she saw thanks to previous exposure to what she was looking at on television. These days everyone knew what poverty looked like just as they knew what refugee camps looked like and drought and famine and civil war. With familiarity had come desensitisation. People might still say the words expressing horror and distress, but it had become an almost Pavlovian response before moving on. The feeling wasn’t there . . . until you were actually on the ground beside it instead of sitting on your couch munching potato chips.
Tally paused as she came to what was obviously a school class being held in the open. A young female teacher was lecturing a group of about fif
teen children who were sitting round her feet on the ground. Tally admired the way she held herself; she was elegant and composed, suggesting effortless authority and was holding them in the palm of her hand until rapt attention was interrupted by her asking a question and a forest of hands jumped up.
The teacher became aware of Tally’s presence and looked across. Tally smiled and prepared to move on, but she saw the teacher start towards her and decided to wait.
‘Hello,’ said Tally, ‘do you speak English?’
‘I hope so,’ replied the girl, ‘that’s what I’m teaching them.’
‘Really?’ Tally exclaimed with a mixture of delight and genuine surprise.
‘I want them to have the best chance of a future. English is the language of so much in the world. Whenever two strangers meet with different home languages, they will choose English to communicate.’
‘You really are looking ahead,’ said Tally. ‘I’m, Tally by the way, I’m a doctor.’ She held out her hand.
‘Monique,’ said the girl taking it with a broad smile. ‘You are here to help with the outbreak?’
‘I volunteered to help manage it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Monique.
It was such a simple thing to say that Tally took an immediate liking to the girl.
‘And your friends too?’ Monique asked, looking back down the road to where the Land Rover waited.
‘’Yes, they’re from Med Sans Frontierès and the World Health Organisation. They’re here to oversee the vaccination programme to keep people safe.’
‘Mm,’ said Monique. ‘I’m sure they mean well . . .’
‘But?’ Tally prompted.
Monique shrugged and said, ‘Many people don’t trust the needles.’
‘So I hear,’ said Tally, ‘I suppose it’s our job to reassure them. We all want your country to be free of Ebola.’
‘That’s what you people always say,’ said Monique.
Tally was puzzled. She had noticed Monique wince when she uttered the very word, Ebola and now her comment seemed to suggest that she might share her compatriots’ concerns. It was a strange situation. She had been feeling delighted and extraordinary lucky that she had met a local who spoke English, who was obviously educated and intelligent and could be possibly a hugely useful bridge between herself and the people she couldn’t communicate directly with and now, she had to be cautious about what she said next: she didn’t want to lose Monique. ‘You obviously have some worries about vaccination,’ she said gently.’
‘The children are getting restless,’ said Monique, looking over shoulder.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Tally, ‘I’m sorry I kept you talking but I enjoyed our conversation.’
‘Me too,’ said Monique, smiling and clapping her hands as she walked back to her class. ‘Who can tell me . . .’
Tally continued her walk, absently taking in the sights and sounds but now preoccupied with thoughts about her meeting with Monique. All the stories she had heard about people being suspicious about vaccination she had been putting down to ignorance and superstition – often fuelled by witch doctors and adherence to ‘the old ways’. Monique would not be subject to these things and yet . . .
Tally stopped two more times to say hello to women she thought might respond but they weren’t interested and turned away.
‘Well, how did you get on?’ asked Mary when Tally got back to the Land Rover.
‘Interesting,’ Tally replied, but not many wanted to talk.’
‘No one wants to talk about Ebola,’ said Mary.
‘Head in the sand syndrome,’ added Hans.
‘A bit unfair,’ said Mary, ‘I saw you met Monique Barbet.’
‘I did,’ said Tally. ‘She seemed lovely.’
‘She is. She was educated in Paris, spent time working in London and then came back to DRC – one of the few. People listen to her.’
‘Although she’s not without enemies,’ added Hans. ‘She’s seen as too big for her boots.’
‘Education can often be a big divider,’ said Mary. ‘Let’s move on.’
Tally got her first sight of a rural hospital in the next village. It was currently dealing with Ebola patients and didn’t look much like what she was used to seeing as a hospital – more a collection of huts with rudimentary fencing round it. A figure emerged from the door nearest them prompting a chill to run up her spine because of the protective clothing he or she was wearing. It wasn’t the Wellington boots or long gown or plastic apron that she found disturbing, but the hood and face visor that completely obscured the identity and personality of who might be wearing it – something that encouraged the imagination to run riot. A monster? A creature from outer space? A vision as far away as possible from the accepted caring image of a nurse. God knows what the patients must think, she wondered before reminding herself that a patient suffering from Ebola would be too engaged in their own nightmares to notice a new one arriving on the scene.
A second figure emerged and the pair went through the procedure of washing each other down and going through the disinfection procedure, a slow, careful and absolutely necessary procedure. The hoods and masks were removed to reveal two young and smiling female human beings, obviously relieved that their shift was over, sweat glistening on their faces, hair plastered to their heads.
‘Did you want to go into the hospital?’ Mary asked.
Tally said not. ‘No one should be going into these places without good reason and that includes us.’
Mary and Hans exchanged glances over seeing a new side to Tally, while she concentrated on the map of her region and the area she’d been given and said, ‘I can see there are six rural hospitals on my patch and a bigger one on the outskirts of Mbandaka, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, this one must be the one marked Alpha 3 on my map?’
‘Yes.’
Tally continued to ask questions with the aim of finding out what went on in the area she was to be managing under various conditions. She wanted to know what would happen when a patient fell ill in an area she picked out on the map at random, where they would be taken in the first instance, how long they would be held there, where they would be transferred to if thought appropriate, where and how they would be buried.
When Tally got back to the hut which was to be her management centre and had thanked Mary and Hans for their help and good company, she found a mound of paperwork waiting for her. Her planned peaceful evening after a tiring day disappeared in an instant.
Most of it was concerned with the help that had been flooding in from international agencies supporting the new initiative for dealing with serious outbreaks of disease. She was pleased to see that much of it comprised details of resources which had been already logged and listed and were available – very different to what usually happened when self-congratulation had been the order of the day from large countries when announcing monetary contributions which often failed to materialise or did without anyone following up on what really happened to it afterwards.
Tally got out her map again and started entering details of what was where in her region. It was so nice to have hard figures rather than rough estimates, which she noticed had been used in deciding how many cases of Ebola there had been. In the current outbreak. The May figures listed 46 cases of haemorrhagic fever of which 26 had died. 21 had been confirmed as Ebola, 21 as probable and four as ‘suspected’ The fact that four of the confirmed cases had occurred in the city of Mbandaka – some two hundred miles away from the village in her region where the outbreak was believed to have started was a worry. Many more cases could be out there, just not being reported.
Tally started going through the vaccination reports for her region. They listed the number of people who had been offered the vaccine, the number who had accepted and the numbers who had declined despite being possible contacts of confirmed cases. She entered these details on her map and looked at the big picture for almost a minute before letting out her b
reath in a long sigh. There was something wrong somewhere. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it would come to her. In the meantime, she picked up her phone to call Steven. She wanted his voice to be the last one she heard on a day that had been full of strange ones. There was no signal.
‘Oh, come on . . .’
Tally wandered around the room, holding the phone this way and that, complaining that there hadn’t been a problem yesterday before remembering that she had called Steven from the air-base not her new abode. She remembered the special phone that Steven insisted she carry and rummaged through her bag to find it still in the box he’d handed to her. She opened it to find the satellite phone and a solar energy charger as well as a conventional one. She felt guilty at not having checked out the phone earlier as she turned it on. She was left hoping that Steven might have charged it before giving it to her. He had.
Tally spent the following few days becoming accustomed to her new working environment and accepting the limitations imposed on progress by an unreliable communications network and a power supply that seemed more off than on. Each evening she would meet up with volunteers who updated her with information of their own as well as voicing accumulated doubts, fears, opinions and complaints about the way things were going.
This evening they had been discussing the various theories about where Ebola had come from in the first place. Its natural host had not been identified although there was a strong suggestion that fruit bats were the source. If this were so, these creatures could be responsible for infecting many other animals in the jungle like monkeys, antelopes, chimpanzees, regarded by many in the north of the country as delicious ‘bushmeat’.
It was during the last of these discussions that Tally had managed to give voice to something that had been puzzling her. She said, ‘I know that more Ebola outbreaks begin here in DRC than anywhere else . . . why do you think that is?’