Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (27 page)

“Hello, boys, I’ve got . . .” He stopped when he saw the monkey’s condition. Two were not screaming as the others were. They instead sat in their cages with a dull expression on their faces. A trail of mucus could be seen draining from their nostrils. Their normally bright eyes were dull and they didn’t respond to his direct eye contact. His monkeys were sick.

They were the two he had injected with the yellow top vaccine.

Arctic ice thinned dramatically since 2004.
Jul 7, 2009—USA Today
 

—TWENTY-ONE—

“W
here did the vials come from, Sydney? I have to know!”

“Slow down, Professor, what’s the problem? What did you find?” Sydney worked to calm him so she could understand what he was saying. He spoke fast when he was agitated and for some reason he clearly was.

“The monkeys I injected with the yellow vial are sick. I pulled a blood sample from both and ran it through the analyzer. It came up as Influenza A.”

“Okay. And?”

“So they shouldn’t have anything! It was a vaccine. This year’s to be exact. They have the wrong strain.”

“They have the wrong strain, who, the CDC?”

“No, the monkeys!”

“Professor, slow down and start all over. I’m not following you.”

The professor pulled the phone from his ear and forced a couple of deep breaths. It had taken all he had to not end the decontamination shower early and run to his office. He’d forced himself to decon properly and walk out of the lab. He gathered the printout off the printer before anyone could see it and called Sydney only after he had shut the office door. Something he rarely did. He mopped the sweat from his head as he sank into his chair.

“Okay, I’m back. Try to follow me here. The current flu vaccine is for three strains; A/Brisbane/59/2007 which is an H1N1-like virus, A/Brisbane/10/2007 which is an H3N2 virus and a B/Brisbane/60/2008-like virus.”

“Okay.”

“So the monkeys I injected with your yellow top vaccine have active flu when they shouldn’t. Somehow they got sick.”

“From another monkey maybe?”

“They’ve been housed in a Level-4 Bio-containment lab for the last two months and quarantined for months before that. They were clean. Anyway, I pulled a blood sample from each of them and ran it through the analyzer. I sent it to GenBank and it came back as Influenza A, H1N1.”

“So they have the flu and it’s not the flu the vaccine is for?”

“Yes, but it’s much worse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The GenBank database identified the strain. There’s no mistake, I ran it three times. It’s H1N1 Influenza . . . from 1918.”

“You mean . . .”

“It’s the Spanish flu. The same flu that killed over 100 million people.”

•      •      •

“Thanks for coming in. We just have a few questions for you,” Deacon said as he gestured toward the remaining office seat. Jack shook the offered hand without getting up as Murphy made himself comfortable.

“Jack, how’s the ankle?”

“All healed up, thanks.”

“So what can I do for the FBI today?”

“We’re investigating the ambush and the medication theft. We’d like to know what your thoughts are.”

“Not too much I’m afraid. I thought it was chalked up to black marketers.”

“That’s the official version. We just have some open ends yet.”

“Such as?”

“Why did they take the risk of shooting their own man and blowing up the cargo, why not just let it go?”

Murphy rubbed his chin as he thought about it. “Shooting their guy I can understand. He could talk and lead us back to them. Ruthless, but effective. As for blowing up the cargo, I really don’t know. Maybe just to deny it to the competition.”

“What do you know about the competition?” Deacon asked.

“AIDS drugs are expensive in Africa, and I don’t mean just by their standards, I mean ours too. One unit in Africa goes for $62 while the same unit in Sweden goes for half that. As a result they get black-market drugs from Pakistan and India for a fraction of the cost. On top of all that you have to deal with a lot of government corruption. It’s estimated that close to half of the drugs shipped don’t even get to the people they were intended for.”

“What about other vaccines?”

“Those are a lot cheaper and more plentiful. Flu and TB vaccines seem to get out without much of a problem. The drug companies work with the embassies to get them distributed. There’s no money in it for the black marketers, so they tend to leave them alone. If they do grab some, it’s usually by mistake.”

“You ever have a hand in that? Drug distribution, I mean?”

Murphy shifted in his seat so he could look Jack in the eye. Jack read his face and was surprised to see a puzzled look.

“To what end are you asking these questions? Am I under investigation by the FBI?”

Jack looked at Deacon and got a nod.

“Yesterday I caught two men going through my house at the beach. A chase ensued and I shot and killed one of them. The other rolled the van he was driving and took his own head off. Maybe you heard about it?”

“That was you?”

“Since then we’ve determined that my home was also searched a few nights ago and one of my people’s office here was also disturbed. By whom, we have no idea yet.”

“Okay, so what does this have to do with me? You think I had something to do with it?”

“No, we’re reasonably sure at this point that you didn’t.”

“Reasonably sure . . . you’ve been following me.”

“Yes, we have.”

“Those training guys? That was bullshit?”

“Yes. We needed to see if you would report it.”

Murphy sat back in his chair and glowered at the two men. Jack waited for him to say something so he could judge his reaction. He didn’t have to wait long for Murphy to think it through and he saw the emotions travel across his face as he did.

“So, if I’m innocent, why am I here?”

Jack smiled as he got the response he was hoping for. “Simple, we need your help.”

“You need
my
help?”

“You and Heather were the only two people on my crew I didn’t know. We figure somebody tipped off the ambush party as to when we were leaving and what we were carrying. We’ve checked you out and decided that you’re clean. Heather, on the other hand, has some strange habits. What can you tell us about her?”

“Wait a minute. You checked me out how?”

Jack held up a file. “We pulled your CIA file and did a background on you. There’s actually not a whole lot we don’t know about you at this point. You can tell your sister happy birthday for me by the way.”

Murphy eyes traveled from the file in Jack’s lap across the desk to Deacon’s face and back to Jack before he closed his mouth. He’d been ambushed. By a couple of pros he had to admit. He pulled himself together.

“Heather Sachs? Not a whole lot. She’s CDC. Works with the vaccination efforts. Her name comes up a couple of times in some reports. She seems to get the job done. Has some connections.”

“What kind of connections?”

“She’s shown the ability to cut through red tape on occasion. How I’m not really sure. She’s been known to make a few calls and suddenly the blockage is cleared. Whether it’s on our side or theirs, somehow she makes it happen. Family connection? Maybe her boss. Far as I know, the agency has never really looked into it.”

“We are. Perhaps the agency could do so also?”

“Okay. How about some quid pro quo?”

“Shoot.”

“What are these people after?”

“We think they believe that myself or one of my people have some of the medications.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“We’re still trying to determine that.”

Murphy thought that over for a moment before asking his next question.

“I’ve seen it in other embassies, I think. Have you looked for it?”

“I have a friend looking into that now. We’ve decided to keep this very tight,” Deacon broke in. “We’ve asked to borrow you for a few more days so consider yourself on the team. Jack’s been reassigned as our Homeland Security liaison and you’ll be working with him. Get your normal duties done and don’t let on that you’re working on this to anyone. Don’t use official communications. I don’t want NSA picking up on this. We don’t know who all the players are yet.”

Murphy nodded in agreement as he looked from face to face.

“What’s next?”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman stretched out on the cramped bunk and listened to the engines of the ship as they vibrated the walls of the small room he had been given. It had only taken him three tries before he found a ship leaving the country and heading south. A small amount of
baksheesh
had convinced the captain to take on a passenger with no questions asked. The captain had been surprised to see no cargo other than the Deliveryman’s small bag. He had heard it rattle as the man adjusted it on his shoulder. Diamonds were his guess. Any thoughts he had of robbing the man were forgotten when he saw the pistol tucked into the waistband of the man’s pants and the look on his face. He was more than happy to take the money and forget about his extra passenger. The man had paid well for passage to Cape Town, a simple day and a night’s travel. It was not worth the risk to rob him.

The Deliveryman now lay as he had for the last several hours in the dark, damp cabin. He occupied the time by flicking the flashlight in his hand on and off, revealing the bag of medications lying on the chair across the room. He had implemented the first part of his plan—getting out of Africa without being detected. In Cape Town he would board a plane to Brazil. There he could get lost in the sea of humanity that made up Sao Paolo or go on to the United States. Either way, he had made the decision, there was no turning back. Now he just had to devise a way to get what he wanted in exchange for the medications. He was not sure of the whole plan, but he had his suspicions. If they were correct, then the bag was very valuable, very valuable indeed.

He made sure the safety was on before he settled back into the thin pillow. He had a whole day and night to think about his next move. He wasn’t short of funding and he had a few passports he could use to get around the world if the need came up. He decided to stick to the current plan and see what opportunities came up.

With the flashlight in one hand and the pistol in the other, he allowed the ship to rock him into a light sleep.

Contraception cheapest way to combat climate change.
Richard Pindar, 2009
 

—TWENTY-TWO—

T
he monkeys looked worse today. They sat hunched in the farthest corners of their cages, a dull expression on their faces. Their morning biscuits sat uneaten next to them. It was only the second day of the infection and already they were showing signs of respiratory failure. Both were coughing repeatedly and producing large amounts of mucus. Neither of them showed the usual monkey behavior of their neighbors. They had no energy. There was no cage rattling or the usual hooting and grunting. The large male was very weak and showed signs of cyanosis, his lips and fingers turning a bluish tint. Neither of them did more than offer a vague look toward the two people observing them through the cage door.

Lynda took in the sight with some regret. As a veterinarian, she was devoted to easing the suffering of animals and it pained her to see the monkeys in such condition, knowing it was introduced by them. But as a researcher she also knew this was the only way vaccines came to be. She put the thought aside and touched her helmet to the professor’s to better conduct the sound of her voice.

“I think the male is the better choice!”

“I agree!” he yelled back. “Be careful!”

She turned to make sure the door to the room had closed all the way before stooping to pick up her equipment. She first pulled the protective plastic cover off the end of the syringe and loaded it into the end of the pole. This allowed her to inject the monkey with the drug without her getting within range of his claws or teeth. The monkeys were equipped with big teeth, capable of biting through a space suit with ease and exposing the worker to the Level-4 environment. These were not the cute and fuzzy monkeys one saw on TV, they were big and powerful animals with surprising speed and agility. Letting one loose in the lab would be a major problem that they didn’t need right now.