The Virus (13 page)

When Rodriguez looked blank, Kaplan answered his own question.

“No, there is no greater threat. Yet WHO has done nothing. Absolutely nothing about it. If the Marburg virus passes into general circulation, half the population of the world could be obliterated overnight! When you’ve got a lethal airborne viral agent against which there are no known vaccines, you’re in big trouble indeed. Well?” He looked at the other man challengingly.

The Brazilian was clearly nervous.

“What Marburg virus? I know there was an outbreak of infection at Marburg. But that was way back at the end of the ’sixties, soon after I joined WHO. We tried to look into it but we could never get any cooperation from the West German authorities. They just shut up tight. Since we heard nothing more of it, I’ve always assumed that it was a case of misclassification. Perhaps they had a particularly virulent strain of ’flu in Marburg that year. Some of these ’flu viruses can seem pretty exotic.”

Kaplan stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out over Lake Geneva. The fountain was steadily sending its jet of water two hundred feet into the air. The plumes of spray drifted away on the afternoon wind, occasionally reaching the late eaters who sat over their coffee and liqueurs at the lakeside restaurants.

He turned to face his host. “José, I’ve come to you today because I need your help and that of WHO. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said a moment ago that the Marburg virus was possibly the greatest single threat to mankind . . .”

“Lowell,” the Brazilian interrupted him. “Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning.”

Two hours later, when the late afternoon sun was slanting over the lake, José Rodriguez asked two other members of his staff to join the meeting. The first was WHO’s Deputy Director-General, the Russian Ivan Leontiev — a tall raffish-looking character who from time to time sported a monocle and who had clearly enjoyed his time sampling the fleshpots of the West. The other man was a bearded Englishman called John Cartwright who had thick horn-rimmed glasses and a serious professional manner. Rodriguez introduced him to Kaplan as WHO’s resident ecologist.

“What Cartwright doesn’t know about animal vectors isn’t worth knowing.”

Kaplan greeted the two men warmly. Though he was taken aback by the fact that Rodriguez’ deputy was a Russian, he quickly decided that this was irrelevant. After all, the WHO was an international organization and the Russians had just as much right to occupy high positions there as they did in, say, the U.N. itself. What counted was the calibre of the man, not the nationality.

Rodriguez, who had recovered from his initial scare (no Director-General of the World Health Organization likes to be told that there’s a lethal disease threatening mankind which he and his people haven’t even heard of), quickly took charge of the meeting. He spoke with emphasis and enthusiasm. Long before Kaplan had concluded his story, the Brazilian had realized that if WHO could add a victory over the Marburg virus to those it had already won in the malaria and smallpox campaigns, his own stock would rise enormously. Since he was up for reelection the following year, that was a factor of considerable importance quite apart from any benefits there might be for mankind as a whole.

By the time the jet of spray in the fountain on Lake Geneva had been turned off for the evening, José Rodriguez had identified the essential options:

“As I see it,” he said, “from what Kaplan has told us, it is possible, even probable, that the green monkey is the vector of the Marburg virus. It is also possible, even probable, that one particular tribe of green monkey, namely a tribe which lives in the . . .”

“Kugumba,” Kaplan prompted him.

“Kugumba region of Eastern Zaire is the vector in this particular case.”

He looked at the other three men and saw that they agreed with his summing-up so far.

“As far as we know,” (José Rodriguez tapped the ash from his long-dead cigar), “there is no other reservoir of the Marburg virus. We cannot, of course, be one hundred per cent sure. But since there have been only two outbreaks of the disease in over fifteen years and both have been linked with green monkeys, I would say that there is a very strong presumption that this is indeed the case. I repeat: as far as we know there are no other vectors and no current cases of infection among human populations. Is this correct, Lowell?”

Kaplan nodded.

“As I see it therefore,” Rodriguez continued, “we can do one of two things. The first option is that we can forget about the Marburg virus. We can hope that it stays where it is, well and truly buried in the jungles of Central Africa. Fifteen years or more elapsed between the first outbreak of Marburg and the second. We can sit back and hope that five hundred years or more will elapse between the second outbreak of Marburg and the third. What are the pro’s and the con’s of this first course of action? The
pro
’s are that by doing nothing, that is to say by
not
trying to track down the source of the disease, we will not be exposing anyone needlessly with all the risk that this entails. The
con
’s are that there may be another release of the virus into civilization. This may occur by the same route as the first two outbreaks, that is to say the capture of a wild animal and its transport to some centre of population. Or it may occur in any even simpler manner. The forests of Eastern Zaire are no longer inviolate, any more than — in my country — are the forests of the Amazon. If there is another release, as Kaplan has so well put it this afternoon, we have effectively no defence beyond first-stage isolation and very limited possibilities of serum-immunization.”

The three other men present nodded, agreeing with Rodriguez’ presentation of the problem.

“What is the second possible course of action, gentlemen?” Rodriguez continued. “It is that we go in there and ELIMINATE THE VECTOR, that is to say THE GREEN MONKEYS THEMSELVES!”

He paused dramatically, waiting for the full effect of his words to sink in. It was Ivan Leontiev who spoke first. He removed his monocle and looked around the room. Speaking impeccable English he said:

“I entirely agree with you, my dear Director-General, I think the second course of action is correct. We must surely eliminate the vector, if by eliminating the vector we can eliminate the disease itself. I believe that this organization should mount an expedition to Zaire to find the green monkeys in the Kugumba region and that you, José, should lead this operation. It will surely turn into one of WHO’s greatest triumphs.”

José Rodriguez acknowledged the compliments of his deputy with a wide smile which set his fat olive-hued jowls quivering.

“Does anyone disagree?”

Instinctively Lowell Kaplan wanted to say that
he
disagreed with Ivan Leontiev. He thought the Russian had been altogether too glib in his support of Rodriguez. It was almost as though he had prepared the speech in advance. Logically, of course, Kaplan couldn’t fault Leontiev’s argument. If there was only one vector for the disease and no other potential sources of infection, e.g. laboratories where a virus was stored for medical or research purposes, then of course by eliminating the vector, you could eliminate the disease itself. What’s more, the green monkey wasn’t like the ubiquitous mosquito. Only one tribe was involved and thanks to his own detective work they now had a pretty shrewd idea of precisely where it lived.

Before Kaplan could comment on what Leontiev had said, Cartwright intervened. He pulled at his beard nervously, clearly concerned at the direction the discussion had taken.

“Director-General,” he coughed apologetically to signal his reservations, “I agree that it will be a major health and public relations triumph if WHO can announce to the world that Marburg disease has been eliminated once and for all. But we also have to think of the practical politics of this operation. Isn’t there going to be an outcry from the conservationists if we move against the green monkeys, destroying them ruthlessly in their natural habitat?” Cartwright’s voice trailed off as he saw Rodriguez looking at him scornfully.

“My dear Cartwright.” There was a cutting edge to the Brazilian’s voice. “Just how naive can you be? You don’t suppose WHO is going to announce this operation
in advance
, do you? No Sir! We announce it when it is over; when we have succeeded; when the last green monkey has been eliminated, and when Marburg disease is no longer a threat to mankind. That is the moment we go public; and that is the moment the world will applaud. The lives of a few diseased animals will at that point appear a small price to pay compared to the inestimable benefits our actions will have brought.”

Whatever further objections he might have felt, Cartwright decided to leave them unvoiced. José Rodriguez had clearly made up his mind. Kaplan too left the meeting convinced that the decision to eliminate the green monkeys was correct. In many ways, he could see the force of the conservationists’ argument, as presented by Cartwright. There was something horrible about the deliberate destruction of a species. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t see the alternative.

He walked back up the hill from the WHO to the Intercontinental at Petit Saconnex. There was a message waiting for him at the desk. It was from Susan Wainwright in Atlanta, Georgia.

“HAVE TRACED STEPHANIE VERUSIO,” he read. “ADDRESS 16 RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE PARIS XVI
^e
TELEPHONE 767-1814 STOP STEPHANIE HAS BEEN IN AFRICA LAST SEVERAL MONTHS STOP HAVE ADVISED HER OF SISTERS DEATH STOP STEPHANIE WISHED TO RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO UNITED STATES STOP HAVE ASKED HER TO WAIT TILL YOU MAKE CONTACT BEST SUSAN.”

Before going upstairs to his room, Kaplan asked the hotel to book him on a plane to Paris the following morning. Whatever other urgent business he might have, the need to visit — and to console — the sister of the dead girl must come first.

8

Kaplan didn’t in the end get away from Geneva until after lunch on the following day. Within the World Health Organization, planning for the Zaire expedition went immediately into top gear and Kaplan found himself drawn into the discussions. It was obvious from an early stage that U.S. logistical support would be of paramount importance. Twice that morning Kaplan was on the phone to Tim Boswell in the U.S. Embassy in Brussels and Boswell in turn was in touch with his Nato counterpart.

One small thing which arose in the course of Kaplan’s second conversation with Tim Boswell puzzled him.

“By the way, Lowell,” Tim had said. “We made some discreet enquiries with SABENA about that fellow you met. They’ve no record of a Jean Delgrave working at Zaventem. Half a dozen other Delgraves and three Degraefs. Are you sure you got the name right?”

Kaplan had been indignant. “Of course I’m sure. I used the man’s ID.”

“Well, we’re still checking,” Boswell had told him. “The airport puts a lot of work out to contract. He could be one of the contract staff.”

They had left it at that. Kaplan had thrust the matter out of his mind. No doubt some light would be shed on it in due course. For the moment he had other preoccupations. He still had misgivings about the Zaire option. It seemed so brutal, so unsubtle — just to go into the jungle and blast the monkeys to death. Yet he found it hard to fault Rodriguez’ logic, nor that of Leontiev, his deputy. (Christ, what a sinister type that Leontiev was, with his monocle and upper-class English accent!) And there was no doubt that the U.S. Health Authorities were backing the Rodriguez approach to the hilt. The U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations in Geneva had called on Rodriguez in person with a message of support. He would never have delivered that message if the State Department and the Department of Health and Human Services (which included the Atlanta Center itself in its responsibilities) had not agreed.

All these thoughts were very much in Kaplan’s mind during the course of the brief flight from Geneva to Paris. And they stayed with him as he rode into the city in a taxi from Orly airport. So engrossed was he indeed in his own concerns that he arrived at Stephanie’s address in the little street behind the old church of St Sulpice without quite realizing how he had got there.

He was immediately struck by the charm of the place. A heavy oak door opened off the street on to a wide stone staircase. This in turn led up to another heavy door on the first floor of the building. There was an iron bell-pull very much in keeping with the mediaeval atmosphere. Kaplan announced his presence by giving it a long firm tug.

She came to the door at once; she had been expecting him since six that evening and her face was a mixture of anxiety and interest.

“Dr Kaplan, come in. I’m so glad to see you.”

She was exactly like her photograph. Slim of build, with soft brown hair, clear eyes which looked straight at yours. Her skin was deeply sun-tanned as though much of her life had been spent out of doors. There were shadows under her eyes. The news of her sister’s death was still very recent.

She offered him a drink and poured one for herself. They sat together in a light spacious room which looked out onto the churchyard. The window was open and the noise of the traffic came up from the street. But it wasn’t a harsh aggressive sound; more of a gentle reminder of the world beyond the oak doors and the stone walls.

“How long have you lived here?” Kaplan asked.

“Five years. Ever since I moved to Europe. Of course I travel a lot, so I’m often away.”

“I understand you’ve been travelling recently. That’s how you missed hearing about . . .” Kaplan wasn’t sure how to phrase it, so he concluded: “missed hearing the news about your sister”.

An expression of intense pain passed across Stephanie’s face.

Kaplan said gently: “Would you like to tell me about Diane? Perhaps it would help.”

“Yes, I think it would. You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to since I heard about it.”

Kaplan thought for a moment that she was going to cry, but she pulled herself together, took a gulp of her drink and began.

“You know, Lowell” — somehow she had switched almost without thinking from the formal Dr Kaplan to Christian names — “Diane was an amazing person. That’s just something you have to understand. She was really committed to her work, wholly committed. We were both involved in the campaign against vivisection and in the protection of wild animals more generally. She concentrated on North America. I moved to Paris and looked after the European end. But that was only part of it. Essentially, anything that concerned animals concerned us. We both of us had money. We inherited when our parents were killed in a plane crash in Africa, flying over the Nrongoro Crater in Tanzania.”