Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller (10 page)

“Always loathe to commit.” Najid’s
derisiveness came through. He had respect for the doctor, for his
skill and his loyalty, but deep down the man was never brave enough
to speak his mind. “What they were saying about the virus being
airborne. Does that make sense?”

The doctor looked back at the door they’d
just come through. A ward full of dying townsfolk lay beyond. “I
have no reason to believe they lied about the rapidity and seeming
universal spread of the disease. If I accept that—” he looked back
at the small collection of houses and businesses that made up
Kapchorwa, and took a deep breath, “—I would have come to the same
conclusion.”

“Would you be right?”

“Maybe,” the doctor replied.

“That is a guess even I could make. Tell me
what you think the chances are.”

Dr. Kassis looked at the porch and used the
toe of his rubber boot to grind something into the concrete while
he thought. “Tomorrow’s reality—if this
is
an airborne
strain of Ebola—is
so
horrific that it begs me to hope the
evidence I seem to see here is wrong. But if these were our people,
and this outbreak was in our homeland, I would say the same. I
would beg for help from the WHO, even the Americans. I would beg
you not to take Rashid out of here until I knew the disease was not
airborne.”

“And how can I find out for sure?” Najid
asked.

“That would be a long process with many tests
and many specialized doctors, and he could die before we find out.
Otherwise, we may not know for months.”

“But if it is airborne, that knowledge will
come too late for these people, am I right?”

“You are correct.” Dr. Kassis nodded
obsequiously. It was a habit of Kassis’s that irritated Najid
endlessly.

The doctor went on to say, “On this
continent, it will be obvious to every doctor that this strain of
Ebola is airborne a long time before the tests confirm it. It will
be obvious in the mountains of bodies—bodies of the millions who
die because they have no access to healthcare that could
potentially save some of their lives.” He was looking out at the
dark sky when he absently repeated, “Some.”

“What will happen then?”

“As soon as that Italian doctor notifies his
superiors and convinces them to come, the world will start to
change. Slowly at first, but as the evidence builds over the coming
days and weeks, the Western countries will close down every airport
in the world. Commerce will stop. They will do whatever they can to
save their own people. They will have their telethons, make ads
showing sick children, cry for the suffering, but this part of the
world will still be ravaged by the disease.”

“And the mortality rate?” asked Najid.

“Of this strain—if it is a new
strain—mortality can’t be known until the bodies are counted.
Marburg, the only other Filovirus we know of, kills a quarter of
those infected. Ebola Zaire is a vicious strain and kills ninety
percent. Other strains kill as few as sixty.”

“With medical treatment will the mortality
rate drop significantly?” Najid asked.

“Anecdotally, I must say yes, but Ebola, as
frightening as it is, is rare. It hasn’t been studied enough for us
to know the effects of treatment for certain.”

Najid eyed the doctor. “So only one in ten
might be alive at the end.”

Dr. Kassis gestured to the hospital doors
behind them. “You see how it is here. A disease that infects so
many so fast does not have to do all the work of killing on its
own. There are people in there who with good medical care might
survive, but the medical staff and the facilities are overwhelmed.
They have run out of everything they could use to treat these
people. Many of these will die of secondary infections and causes.
The death toll may surpass ninety percent wherever the disease
attacks third-world populations.”

Analytical as always, Najid couldn’t help but
ask more questions. “That makes sense to me, but is there medical
data to back this up?”

Dr. Kassis looked at Najid. “How much do you
know of Marburg virus?”

“I read much about these viruses on our trip
here. However, I am certain that my knowledge is shallow. Please,
tell me what you know.”

“Marburg virus was originally discovered in
Germany—in Marburg, of course. So even though the virus was
completely new to the doctors and the patients involved, of the
thirty-one people infected, only seven died, nearly twenty-three
percent.” Dr. Kassis concluded with half a shrug. “Modern country.
Modern facilities.”

Najid leaned against the porch railing. “So
it is not as lethal as Ebola.”

“No.” Dr. Kassis leaned on the railing beside
Najid. “In Durba, in the late nineties, an outbreak of the familiar
strain of Marburg and a new strain killed eighty-three percent.”
The doctor pointed southeast. “That was in Congo, during a period
of upheaval. People had little or no access to medical treatment.
Again, in Angola in 2005, during one of the incessant civil wars,
Marburg killed ninety percent. The people had no access to medical
care. In my opinion, medical care makes all the difference in the
survivability of these diseases.”

Najid smiled behind his mask, both for the
fact that Dr. Kassis took the risk to volunteer an opinion, and for
confirmation that he’d done the right thing in bringing the doctor
to treat Rashid.

The doctor continued, “Imagine what will
happen with Ebola, with its sixty to ninety percent mortality rate,
when the number of cases overwhelms the fragile medical systems of
the Third World.” He gestured at the closed doors. “As is happening
here. It frightens me.”

“What of this experimental drug, ZMapp?”
Najid asked. “I read they are treating infected American doctors
with it.”

Dr. Kassis nodded. “And they seem to be
responding well.”

Najid snorted disdainfully. “But there is
only enough for a few Westerners, while Africans die by the
hundreds. By the thousands tomorrow. Perhaps by the millions
soon.”

Najid continued to speculate. “And all while
the West hides on the other side of the oceans, hoarding their
supplies and doctors, frantically working to mass produce their
vaccines and treatments. It appears they may even succeed. All
while they wring their hands and shed their crocodile tears over
dying Africans and dying Arabs.”

The doctor nodded.

“At the end of it, months from now, the
disease will reach their shores—that is inevitable—but by then they
will be prepared. Over here, most of us will already be dead.”

“That may be true,” Dr. Kassis agreed.

“They will get what they’ve always
wanted.”

The doctor took a moment to adjust his mask
that felt like it was slipping down his face. “What’s that?”

“Africa, the Middle East, probably even
China, and more. Everywhere Islam or communism is strong, the
people will suffer and die, leaving the world to the West.
That
is what the West has always wanted—unchallenged power
to exploit the resources of the world. Those of us who remain will
be too weak and too few to do anything about it.”

Dr. Kassis adjusted his goggles to cover the
top edge of his surgical mask. “Sadly, I can’t disagree with your
analysis.”

“What would you do if you were me, I wonder?”
asked Najid.

“I can’t—”

“Answer me honestly, Kassis. If only this one
time in your life. Tell me what you would do.”

Kassis scraped the toe of his rubber boot on
the concrete again, grinding into nothingness whatever was there.
“I love your brother like my own son. But to bring him back may
bring death to everyone you know. If I were you, I would leave
Rashid in my hands to treat. I won’t tell you that I can save him.
I can only tell you what I told you before we came, that I can give
him a better chance to live. But you should leave this place. Go
home and pray.”

When Najid spoke again, Kassis flinched, as
though he were expecting harsh treatment for his bad choice to
speak the truth. But Najid replied, “We are different men, with
different stations in the life, different burdens. Thank you for
your honesty, Dr. Kassis. I will ask that from this day forward,
you speak your mind openly and honestly whenever I ask. I will not
like what you tell me—I assure you I won’t. But I will need your
honest counsel.”

“You shall have it then,” replied the
doctor.

“Your trepidation will go away in time.”
Najid put a hand on Dr. Kassis’s shoulder. “We came here to save my
brother, nothing else. But I see now that Allah has led me here for
another purpose.”

Najid called to one of his men, commanding
him to retrieve the weapons from the SUVs. To the doctor, he said,
“If this Ebola is airborne, it will kill many—if not most—men. That
is a horror I cannot do anything about. I find it equally
horrifying that the West may come through this unscathed. I will
not allow that. I will not cede the world to them through my own
inaction. Allah put me here for a reason. And that reason is to
make this decision. When this disease ravages mankind, it will not
be only brown bodies on the funeral pyres and in the mass
graves.”

Austin stepped over arms and legs sprawled
off the sides of mats and cots as he made his way to the center
aisle. When he was in front of the doctors, he asked, “Is it really
airborne? Did it mutate?”

The Italian didn’t say anything.

Dr. Littlefield said, “Austin, I hope to God
we’re wrong. But that seems to be the case.”

“We can’t know for sure without testing,” Dr.
Giovanni said. “Regardless, transporting that boy is the stupidest
thing that can be done for him and for public health.” He pointed
at the front doors through which Najid and his men exited. “That
man is an idiot.”

“We need to keep this strain isolated in
Kapchorwa,” Dr. Littlefield added. “We can’t let Rashid leave.”

Austin pointed at the door. “What about
those
guys? How are you going to keep
them
here?”

“They’ll listen to reason,” Dr. Littlefield
replied.

The Italian doctor said, “It won’t matter. I
need to get my phone and make a call. It’s in my pocket but I can’t
take it out, not in here. I need to get this suit off, and—”

“Is it a satellite phone?” Nurse
Mary-Margaret asked. “If it is a cell phone you’ll have to call
when you’re on the road back to Mbale. Our network is down.”

“It happens all the time here,” Dr.
Littlefield added.

“It is a satellite phone,” Giovanni
confirmed.

Dr. Littlefield turned to the Italian doctor,
“You should go make that call.” He turned to Austin and in a quiet
voice said, “Would you go outside and write down identifying
information on those trucks they arrived in, just in case they
decide to leave? I doubt they’ll follow proper decontamination
procedures when they take off their gear. They could carry the
virus with them when they go.”

Austin hurried toward the door. Before he got
there, it opened, and he froze. Marching back inside were the men
in the yellow Tyvek suits. One held a pistol, one a machete, two
had AK-47s. The back door of the ward swung open. Three other
yellow-suited men with AK-47s came in that way.

“Shit.”

The HAZMAT guy with the pistol came to a stop
a few paces in front of the dumbfounded doctors and started
talking. Austin knew it was Najid. It was the same terse tone he’d
heard on the phone.

Najid pointed the pistol at the tall Italian
doctor. “You have a phone. Tell me where it is.”

The Italian took a defiant stance. “Go away
little man. This is a hospital.”

Najid raised his pistol higher and pointed it
at the center of the Italian’s face.

Dr. Littlefield raised his hands. “This isn’t
necess—”

“Quiet,” Najid shouted. Everyone who still
had enough wits to understand hushed.

Austin, without even thinking, was backing up
in small steps, away from the tension, away from the raised
weapons.

Najid said to the Italian doctor. “The
phone.”

“No.”

Austin admired him for his bravery.

Najid looked to his right. The HAZMAT man
with the machete sprang forward. He raised the blade high and
brought it down on Nurse Mary-Margaret, catching her where the neck
meets the shoulder. It cut deep, with the sound of a breaking bone,
a gasp, and a shriek. Nurse Mary-Margaret crumpled to the floor. A
few of the patients screamed.

Austin was struck dumb—paralyzed—as were the
two doctors. His eyes were wide with fear. Why would they attack
her?

The machete man raised the blade back and
hacked once again into Mary-Margaret’s back. She grunted from the
impact and blood poured out of her mouth. The machete man then
hacked twice more across the back of her neck, and Nurse
Mary-Margaret’s head rolled to the side as a bloody fountain spewed
into a growing puddle on the floor.

Najid looked at Austin, then back toward the
Italian doctor.

Austin looked at the front door and judged
his chances of making it through. Just about zero. But he wasn’t
going to stand by helplessly and end up hacked with a machete.

Najid said, “Doctor, your phone. Where is
it?”

The Italian doctor’s defiant stance sagged
into a slump as he looked down at the bleeding body of Nurse
Mary-Margaret.

“The phone.”

Seconds ticked by as Austin accepted that
they were the last of his life as he prepared to run for the
door.

The Italian doctor said, “It is in my
pocket.”

“Give it to me.”

The Italian doctor pulled off his protective
mask, pulled back his hood and put his hands on the seam down the
front of his blue suit. He pulled the seam apart and dropped the
suit down over his shoulder, emerging from his protective cocoon
with his defiance reborn, glaring at Najid. He put his hand in his
pocket, pulled out his phone, pushed a button, and started dialing
a number.