Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (7 page)

“No, not so far. They didn’t have a remote view camera there either.”

“Damn, that really would have helped.”

Jack referred to a camera that had become standard at most embassies that was set up about a block away and recorded a constant view of the embassy. Some had multiple cameras. Most likely, the cameras hadn’t been set up due to the impending move.

“So we want the two cameras that viewed the front, the east wall camera, the lobby camera, the stills from the ATM across the street, and all the news footage from the local station. Are we going to have a problem getting that?”

“I understand we have it already. The station gave it up on order from their president. He seems to be backing us very strongly. We’ll have to dig for the rest,” Jack answered.

“CNN cameras tend to bring that out of a person,” Greg commented.

“I’m told it’s more than that, but we’ll see when we get there if it’s just lip service or not. What’s your security plan?”

“Well, we have some pissed-off Marines for perimeter control. The locals have given us control out to a block away. Any extra Marines will be sifting through the rubble. We have an earthquake recovery team flying in with their dogs. Heavy equipment is on the way from local mining operations, but we can’t use it till we determine if there are any survivors left. The airport donated klieg lights so we can work non-stop. The Navy is moving the Mercy offshore in about a day. It was on its way back from India after that small tsunami they just had, so that solves the medical problems. We get a bunch of rooms at the Kilimanjaro Hotel, built by the Israelis about a hundred years ago. Touristy, but nice. Security will be okay. Tanzanian military, but we’ll have Marines at the ends of the halls and in the lobby 24/7. I’ll set us up a comm center on the best balcony. No uniforms for us, we’ll try to look like tourists. The Marines will take us in groups to and from the site. I want one of my people with any group that travels. Same if somebody needs to go somewhere alone.”

“You brought all your toys, right?” Jack asked.

He got an evil smile in return. “And then some. First thing I plan on doing is taking a little toy of Brad’s on a drive around the city. It’s a little box that sends out signals on all frequencies. It tends to set things off prematurely. If there’re any more remote detonators in the city, it’ll find them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack agreed. “Let me know if something changes, I’m going to try and absorb this before we get there.” He held up a two-inch stack of paper. He adjusted the overhead light and settled back in his chair. Outside the sun was going down over the ocean, but he had no time to enjoy it.

•      •      •

The plane circled slowly over Dar es Salaam and Jack looked down on the port city, attempting to find the embassy. The downtown area was quickly passed and Jack was given a view of the city extending to the west. The homes were all the same size and shape, sporting blue or red tile roofs and whitewashed exteriors. All the buildings looked the same from a thousand feet up, and the billowing dust carried by the offshore breeze obscured details. It was a month before the wet season, and Jack was thankful for that. The plane straightened and leveled off, flying directly over the city on its approach to Julius Nyerere International Airport. Jack pulled his attention back into the plane and observed his team.

Despite the luxury of the Gulfstream 5 aircraft, they all looked haggard and worn out by the journey. Flying east was always harder then flying west. The jet lag was worse. It was easier to go to sleep later than usual rather than try to force the body to sleep earlier. Dar was a full eight hours ahead of Washington, DC. They would be out of their circadian rhythms for a few days.

Jack tucked the file he had been reading into his overstuffed briefcase. He had saved it for last and was glad he had finally found time to read it. It was a six page summary on Tanzania, a cut-and-paste document thrown together by a junior staffer somewhere in the bowels of the Hoover Building. Jack had absorbed it in the last hour and had been appalled by the numbers. For a country roughly the size of California, it held a population of forty-one million people, 470,000 of which were refugees from the neighboring countries. The life expectancy was only forty-nine years for the average male, this due primarily to the diseases that ravaged the country. An estimated 32% of the people were infected with AIDS. Despite an aggressive effort by the government and several aid groups, the number was still climbing. He returned his gaze out the window in time to see them touch down on the main runway. The plane taxied off the runway and soon followed a pickup truck flying the green and blue national flag on the rear tailgate. It proceeded down the taxiway to a large hangar. The plane stopped just outside the hangar doors, and the co-pilot emerged from the cockpit to open the door.

Jack watched Larry out of the corner of his eye. Larry didn’t respond well to heat, and Jack knew he was in for a spectacle when the door opened. With a hydraulic hiss it broke its seal and the stairs were lowered slowly to the ground. The heat flooded the interior, removing any remnants of air conditioning that remained. Larry’s face scowled, his eyes rolled, but he said nothing. The thick humid air contained the smell of the tropics and emphasized the fact that they were no longer in DC.

“It’s not bad,” Jack offered. “At least it’s not raining all day.”

“Hate Africa,” was all Larry had for a reply. His face was already starting to sweat. He put on his sunglasses before grabbing his bag and moving toward the door. He unconsciously rubbed the knot in his ass as he moved forward. They all had one from the shot of gamma globulin Sydney had administered the day before. Larry thought it was cement, or maybe peanut butter she had injected instead. Between the knot in his butt and the upset stomach due to all the pills, he had not had a pleasant flight.

Eric however, was the first one off the plane. He had taken Jack’s advice and was sporting a pair of rip-stop pants similar to military fatigues and a new khaki Columbia brand fishing shirt. He had stopped at the Century City Mall before they departed and picked up several pair, mostly the same color since they were out of season. So he would dress like Einstein for a few days, big deal. Jack had also mentioned he would probably not wish to return with some of them. He swung his bag over his shoulder and did a quick one-eighty, taking in the view. There seemed to be two terminals, one, a modern structure with a vaulted concrete and steel roof several hundred yards to the west, and another, older, red brick building with neat white trim. It featured a short control tower just off to their left.

“No welcoming party?” he asked Sydney.

“I guess not. We’re supposed to be low profile, remember?” she replied. She removed a tie from her wrist and gathered up her hair for a more comfortable ponytail.

“Can you
be
low profile in a G-5?” Eric asked.

She looked around the tarmac and the only plane she saw bigger then theirs was a commercial DC-9 with the Air Kenya logo on the side. Everything else was propeller driven and very old.

“Maybe not,” she conceded.

Larry joined them and dropped his bag on the hot asphalt. “What is it you think, about a hundred?” His shirt was already stuck to his back and sweat stains adorned his armpits.

“Maybe, may cool off into the ninety’s tonight. Good sleeping weather,” Sydney offered.

“Very funny. Who’s this guy?”

“That would be our embassy contact,” Jack answered. “Follow me.”

Two men approached from the hangar door, a white man of about forty and a black man of the same age. The black man wore the uniform of the Tanzanian military and stood at least 6'5" with a heavily muscled frame. He was not sweating at all.

“Mr. Randall? Peter Brooks from the embassy. This is Major Arusha from the Tanzanian Security forces. He’ll help us through customs and get us into the city.”

Jack shook both the offered hands. “You’re from the embassy staff?”

“Yes, aide to Ambassador Green. I was fortunate enough to be out of the building the day of the bombing. I was meeting with the Major here to discuss medication delivery. I’m afraid it requires security as a vicious black market has developed.”

The major spoke with a deep voice that carried over the sound of the jet engines in the distance. “I wish to express our sympathies on behalf of my country. My president asked that I extend you any courtesy you may need to help bring these criminals to justice.”

“Thank you, Major. I hope our people can work together to make that happen,” Jack replied.

“Like an English Darth Vader,” Eric whispered.

“Shut up,” Sydney hissed back.

“If you will just follow me, please?” the major bellowed at them. He turned and led them through the hangar and into the red brick building. The customs facilities were bypassed and airport security scrambled to get out of the major’s way as he led them with long strides out to the street. Two buses waited, accompanied by two Jeeps sporting mounted machine guns and three-man crews. A police car led the motorcade with lights flashing.

“A precaution. We don’t expect further trouble,” Brooks quietly offered Jack. “They feel embarrassed by what happened. We can’t really say no without offending them.” Jack just nodded in reply. He’d been briefed. The Tanzanian government saw the terrorist as a threat to their nation as well. While the island of Zanzibar had a high Muslim population, the mainland people were mostly Gratian or Tribal in their religious beliefs. The current government was like all governments—they wished to remain in control.

“Why the wire?” Eric asked Larry. The buses came with thick wire over the open glass windows.

“To keep the grenades out,” Larry answered.

“Oh.”

“Did I mention that I hate Africa?”

Drought and famine in northwest Africa.
August 9, 2009—USA Today
 

—FIVE—

S
ydney stood up from her seat in the front of the bus and turned to face the group. She consulted a list she had put together while on the plane and addressed them in her loudest voice, to be heard over the open windows and street noise.

“Everybody listen up! We’re making a stop at the hospital on our way in. We have some supplies for them, and those of you who can will be asked to donate blood. Supplies are critical and the local donors can’t be screened thoroughly. I have all your types here, and these people need every drop.” She paused, expecting some resistance. There was none. She got an encouraging smile from Heather. Sydney realized she was the wrong person for the rest of the speech. “Heather will fill you in on what you’ll be seeing and what we’ll need of you.” She let go of the overhead rail and dropped into her seat with the help of the potholed road. Heather struggled to take her place and quickly grabbed the vacated rail.

“I don’t know all of your backgrounds or what you may have been exposed to, so forgive me if I’m talking down to any of you,” she began. “The hospital here has been overwhelmed for some time, mostly due to AIDS. When the beds are all full people end up on the floor or in the hallways. Now with all the victims of the bombing, they are barely hanging on. Supplies are being flown in from outside the country, but they take time to load and ship. So we beat them here, is what I’m trying to say. People are being treated in a tent city that was set up for the overflow, but until the Mercy docks in the harbor, the situation won’t improve. Those of you that did not require new vaccinations will be asked to donate blood. The local population is full of HIV and other diseases, so any outside donations will be priceless. I’m told that the Americans that are stable enough to be flown out are being moved in the next twelve hours or so. Those that can’t are being treated as best we can here. They need blood and platelets mostly, so please donate.”

“The hospitals range from a modern facility here in Dar, to tents in the bush country. Medications are very limited. You’re going to see some people suffering. That doesn’t really cover it, but just know what’s coming. Try not to touch anything you don’t have to, keep your gloves on, and just be careful. I don’t know what else I can tell you.” Heather shrugged and looked to Sydney for help.

Sydney stood and took her place. “Any questions?” She got nothing but head shakes from the team. It was hard to know what to ask when everything was an unknown. Those who knew just watched out the windows as the bus made its way through the busy streets.

The hospital came into view as they rounded a corner. A building of modest size with little thought given to aesthetics, it sat in the city surrounded by a large group of people. Most sitting quietly in whatever shade they could produce while others crowded around the entrance, pleading their case to the military guards controlling access to the door. Children and adults, some covered in blood, milled about aimlessly, unsure as to what they should do as they waited to see if they would be allowed into the hospital. The bus closed on the bumper of the Jeep in front of them and they slowly forced a path to the front door. The crowd of refugees, disease victims, and the recently wounded parted slowly. From their elevated position, the passengers of the bus could see over the square and down the side streets in every direction. The sea of humanity stretched out as far as they could see. The mass of bodies moved like a single living organism. Most of them dressed in rags, some carrying children, or what few possessions they still had. Some lay still in the dirt under the open sky and merciless sun. The smell and sounds of the living and dead filled the bus, and they all heard the fragile, erratic coughing of sick adults and children coupled with the moaning of the wounded and the wailing of the mourners as relatives died. It was as if they were crossing a battleground just after its horrible conclusion. The fine cloud of dust stirred up by the mob did little to hide the scene from the team.