Payback (4 page)

Vice
President Okeke was now dead.

And so were
his brother and friends.

But they
died for a purpose, a purpose no one in America knew.

But when
his plan was complete, it was a purpose no one in America would ever forget.

Then
maybe they’ll pay attention.

They
rounded the corner, the vehicle bouncing over a large pothole, jarring his
entire body painfully. He pointed ahead. “There it is.”

His
driver nodded, the dockyards just ahead.

Dockyards
loaded with medical supplies from a slowly awakening America.

Hastings Ebola Treatment Center, Freetown, Sierra Leone

Dr. Sarah Henderson shoved her knuckles into the small of her back
and kneaded the sore, aching muscles. She had only been here three weeks and
had planned on an eight week tour, but the physical toll was already making its
presence felt.

But it
was nothing compared to the mental one.

She had
seen death in her line of work, too much death. As a volunteer for Médecins
Sans Frontières, or Doctors Without Borders, she often found herself in war
zones. She tried to give two months out of every year to the organization
founded in 1971 by a small group of French doctors who had worked together
during the Nigerian Civil War, it now a widely recognized and respected
organization she was proud to contribute toward both monetarily and with her
time.

But this
was something different, something she had never dealt with before.

Ebola.

Every
day in the treatment center where she was volunteering dozens died, dozens more
were brought in to fill the freed up beds, and even more were refused at the
door, there simply not enough room.

Which
meant those infected were sent home to die, and worse, to infect their loved
ones.

It was
heartbreaking.

Entire
families were being wiped out, quite often because one of them made the
uninformed mistake of helping an infected neighbor take a family member to a treatment
center, exposing themselves to the deadly disease.

Fear was
the enemy, fear was one of the greatest causes of the spread.

If only
anyone who thought they or a loved one might be infected told the authorities,
and quarantined themselves, they might actually break the back of the pandemic,
but there was little hope of that. People were terrified of what their
neighbors might do to them if they revealed one of their own was sick, so they
kept them hidden away, but without proper protocols, they too were almost guaranteed
to become infected.

Thousands
were dead, thousands more were dying, and if things continued unchecked, the Centers
for Disease Control was predicting over a million cases within months.

And if
it hit those numbers, there was no hope in saving these people.

She
feared the solution, should it reach those proportions, would be for the
Western nations to completely pull out then isolate the countries so the
population would simply die off, the disease’s incredible mortality rate its
own greatest enemy.

But for
now she was here, on the frontlines, doing her duty as a doctor, fulfilling the
Hippocratic Oath she had so proudly taken just ten years ago. She was trying to
stem the tide against overwhelming odds, working sixteen hour days to save
those brought in early, to comfort those who were too far gone. She cried
herself to sleep the first week, but now she was becoming numb to it all.

And it
scared her.

Would
this experience change her so much that she no longer was affected by the death
of her patients? She was an Emergency Room surgeon in Los Angeles which meant
she was constantly faced with death from gunshot wounds to stabbings. But back
home there was always somebody to blame.

Here
there was no one.

It was a
disease.

And the
only real way to save someone was to throw everything modern medicine could
offer at each individual patient.

Which
was simply too expensive.

The
individual cases in the United States that had been treated—and not all
successfully—cost over one million dollars each on average. An insane figure
that would overwhelm even the richest of countries should it face tens of
thousands of victims like these poor African countries were dealing with.

And yet
she did her small part.

She knew
in the grand scheme of things it made little difference, her efforts merely a
finger in the dyke. But tens of thousands of fingers
could
make a
difference, especially with the right equipment and facilities.

They
didn’t need modern hospitals, they needed beds, manpower, and isolation
equipment. They needed locals to properly dispose of the bodies, to provide the
nursing efforts, to properly transport the sick to the quarantine centers.

Which
meant they needed to be trained, and paid well for the risks they were taking.

Money
was beginning to pour in, but money was of little value without manpower and
supplies. Experimental vaccines and treatments were fantastic, but if there
were only a few thousand samples in existence, what good was it?

She bent
over, touching her toes, not an easy task in her personal protective equipment.
She felt the tension slowly ease from her muscles, knowing that soon the pain
would be back, and worse.

“Are you
okay, Dr. Henderson?”

She
turned her head, still bent over, and looked up at Doctor Tanya Danko, her
voice muffled from her suit. She smiled as she straightened up. “I’ll live.”

Tanya
looked at the long line of beds, all full.

“I’m
afraid few of them will.”

Tanya
was a short-timer. She was due to leave in two days, returning to her native
Ukraine only to probably deal with more carnage.

But at
least there they had someone to blame.

Russia.

And that
was what she hated so much about this disease. There was no perpetrator, no
weapon with a human at the end of it.

And it
didn’t choose its victims because they were from some ethnic group, some
political leaning.

It
didn’t care whether or not you were a doctor or a dock worker, a mother or a
child, black or white.

It just
killed.

Sarah
stood for a moment, watching the nurses administering to the patients, shaking
her head. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

“If only
we could get more people who’ve been cured to donate their blood, we might be
able to stop this.”

Sarah
nodded. Tanya was right, though it would be a slow process. It was at the
moment the most effective treatment. Take the blood from those who survived,
and give it to those who were sick. The transfusions would transfer the
antibodies built up in the healthy survivor into that of the infected, and
quite often cure them.

Which
meant
their
blood could then be used.

But each
survivor could only donate so much blood, and it took time for those cured to
recover enough to actually provide the blood.

Eventually
the treatment would win out as a critical mass of people survived.

But how
many tens if not hundreds of thousands would die first?

“There’s
just too many,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “We’ve got two hundred
patients here and only four getting transfusions.”

Tanya motioned
toward the four who were nearest them. “Those four will hopefully survive, and
provide blood for four more. The four who provided blood for these four will
also provide more. Those eight will then provide blood and so on.” Tanya placed
a gloved hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Don’t lose hope yet, Sarah, you’ve only
been here a few weeks.”

Sarah
shook her head. “I don’t know how you’ve kept your optimism through all this.
Eight weeks!”

“I was
like you when I first arrived. Overwhelmed. Completely. I lost track of how
many tears I shed. It’s the children dying that I think get you the most. If I
could, I’d stay here until it was over, but I have a family back home and I
miss them.”

Sarah
sucked in a deep breath then sighed, her eyes filling with tears as she
pictured her husband, Steve, and their little boy, Tommy. Tommy was twelve, old
enough to claim to understand why she had gone, but she wasn’t convinced he
really understood. He hadn’t cried at the airport, but his lip had trembled and
his eyes had watered.

But he
hadn’t sobbed.

Steve
told her after she had cleared customs and given them a final wave before
heading to her gate, that Tommy had cried the entire way home from the airport.
Only a trip through the McDonald’s drive thru had settled him down.

And then
only for a few minutes.

A tear
rolled down her cheek.

“I miss
my family too.”

“Don’t
you start crying otherwise I will too, and there’s no blowing our noses in
these infernal outfits.”

Sarah
laughed, sniffed hard and rapidly blinked her eyes clear. “You’re right. Don’t
we make a good pair? Better not let the men see us or they’re going to think
we’re the weaker sex.”

“Bah!”
cried Tanya, batting her hand. “I saw Jacques heaving this morning. They’re not
tougher than us.”

Sarah
chuckled. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Tanya
punched her gently on the shoulder. “Sarah!”

Sarah
shrugged. “Sorry, but that guy’s an asshole. There isn’t anything with a
heartbeat and a vagina around here that he hasn’t hit on.”

Tanya
snorted, bending over slightly as she stifled a laugh. “He hit on you too?”

“I think
wedding bands just attract the pig.”

“Too
true, too true.”

Sarah
looked at the clock on the nearby wall. “Looks like our shift is over. Dinner?”

“Absolutely,
I’m famished. I wonder what’s on the menu tonight.”

“Nothing
good, I’m sure.”

“They
try.”

“I know,
I know. But I’d kill to have grilled chicken on a bed of fettuccini just oozing
with a creamy alfredo sauce.”

“Oh
woman, you’re torturing me.”

“And
myself. At least you’re leaving soon.”

“I can’t
wait to have some home cooked meals, even if I’m the one who has to cook them.”

They
stepped through the first door of the isolation chamber, one of the local staff
beginning to hose her down with a soapy spray. “Steve does most of the cooking
at our home.”

“Lucky
girl.”

“Yeah,
he’s way better at it than me. I do toast and coffee well, but that’s about
it.”

“My
mother raised me to cook. I love it. With my job though it does make it hectic
sometimes.”

The man
with the spray motioned Sarah forward, turning the chemical shower on Tanya.
She stepped through another set of doors and a local began to remove her gear,
a checklist being read by a second, a third watching Sarah closely to make sure
she didn’t touch herself, all of the actions very deliberate, very carefully
done.

This was
where you’d get infected.

If you
were properly covered, the chances of becoming infected were very low. But
touch something contaminated with your glove, then touch your face with that
glove when your headgear had been removed and you could be infected.

And
become another statistic.

She
stepped out of her booties and into the next chamber where she was
decontaminated once again, her light clothes tossed into a basket leaving her
in nothing but her panties and bra. A thorough shower and she was dressing when
Tanya appeared wrapped in a towel.

Tanya
tossed the towel aside, her European lack of concern over nudity still
something Sarah was getting used to. “Just give me a minute and I’ll join you
for dinner.”

Sarah
looked away, hoping it wasn’t too obvious. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room
first and see if I can get in a quick call home.”

“Okay,
enjoy!”

Sarah
stepped outside, the stifling heat of the afternoon now just starting to give
way to what she hoped would be a cooler evening. The Doctor’s Lounge was air
conditioned, but not much else was. Her room had an oscillating fan and little
in the way of creature comforts.

But she
wasn’t here to be comfortable.

She
walked down a hallway of the repurposed police training school, opening the door
to one of the classrooms. Inside she shared the room with four others,
temporary walls having been put inside providing some modicum of privacy and
not much of that, their acoustic shielding properties little to none.

But it
didn’t matter. At the end of a hard day’s work she was usually so exhausted
there was little difficulty getting to sleep.

Even
when one of her bunkmates was “entertaining a guest”.

There
was little to do here in the form of entertainment. Many of the doctors were
young, attractive, with no husbands or wives back home.

Which
meant sex was quite often the chosen pastime.

She knew
she felt the urge from time to time, but she loved her husband and it wouldn’t
even occur to her to cheat on him, despite the fact he would never know.

I’d know.

And that
was more than enough reason to keep her libido locked up.

She
opened her door and screamed, grabbing at her chest in shock as her mind reeled
for a moment at the sight of a strange man lying on her cot.

“Jacques,
what the hell are you doing here?”

“Why,
waiting for you, ma chérie,” he said in that thick French accent of his, an
accent she had to admit was as sexy to her ears as the language of romance had
been described to her.

Especially
in her heightened state of arousal brought on by weeks of forced celibacy.

She
snapped her fingers, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the door. “Out. Now.”