The Dolos Conspiracy

slippery conditions. It was a cold dark late-Fall night with misty rain falling almost horizontally in the stiff wind. Wet leaves swirled in wind vortexes forming between in hills and trees, depositing circular patches on the glossy black surface. All in all, it was an ugly night in the Mid-Atlantic coastal area. The outside temperature was above freezing, but the wind made it seem like the roads could turn to ice at any moment. Kelly was getting nervous, realizing John’s mind was somewhere else. “John, slow down.”

  His foot left the gas pedal immediately. “Sorry, babe, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  She had never been called “babe” before by John or anyone else. She’d grown up in a stilted household and developed a detached persona like her parents. Maybe being someone’s “babe” was a good thing. “You’re worried again, aren’t you? You’re scaring me. I don’t understand any of this.”

  He relaxed, not wanting to upset her. “I don’t know what it is, Kelly. We showed up together this morning like nothing had changed. Everyone saw us together. I was gone for three days, and my boss died mysteriously. No one came in to help you run 4B. I, at least, expected someone, Jules maybe, to say something to me or to both of us. The silence there was deafening today.”

  She agreed. “Why do you think that was?” It was rhetorical. “I had kinda the same feeling. Jules promised to work with me, and he’s been avoiding me ever since, I’m sure of it. What should we do, John?”

  He gave a quick sideways glance then returned his full attention to the road. “Kelly, I don’t know. I don’t have any idea what this is all about, but we need to find out.”

  Coming Home

  The plane carrying Lorne’s body touched down at Dallas’s Love Field at three o’clock in the morning and taxied to a holding area away from the passenger terminal. A specially-prepared ambulance was waiting. Normally, a hearse would transport a body, but this case was potentially lethal to anyone exposed without proper protection.

  Jules was awake at his home, aware of the plane’s schedule and awaiting the phone call that the body had arrived. He’d been informed of the departure from Germany and approximate flight time to Texas. His friend was coming home, except that his next stop would be atop a large stainless table to be cut open. It pained Jules almost as much as if he was on the slab. Lorne had died prematurely; and, in a few hours, they would know why.

  Jules hadn’t slept and returned to the Institute around midnight to start the next step in refining the VHF cultures that were growing in the lab. Dr. Egan didn’t need to know that he was working in the lab during off hours. No one needed to know exactly how certain processes were done. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t steal technology or, if taken to court, reveal anything during testimony. It hadn’t taken long. In fact, it took him longer to suit up and decontaminate on the way out than was actually required in the containment chamber. He’d gotten very good at this work. The junior lab scientists could spend hours doing what he could accomplish in a few minutes inside the chamber.

  When the call came from the airport, he was already back home in bed. He was tired and needed to sleep, but there was one more call he needed to make. “Hello, Abagael … Yes, the body has arrived … They should have the test results in about a week … I agree with you, we may want to begin transferring vaccine bottles … Of course, all precautions are being taken, but the largest precaution is to have the vaccine in country as soon as it’s confirmed … Will do … Bye for now.

  He went back to bed around five in the morning but still couldn’t sleep. Too many things were coinciding. The vaccines required special containers and export documentation. They needed to be prepared to ship some of it tomorrow. Then there was the meeting with the Saudis to prepare for. He would need to fly to New York in the afternoon. Then, he still needed to deal with the 4B personnel problem.

  His mind was buzzing and he couldn’t rest, so he was back in the office at six o’clock. There really wasn’t anything to do until other people arrived, so he went to 4B and logged into the secure database. By six-thirty, everything was arranged. It would take most of the day for the staff to prepare and ship the vials of serum. The description on the shipping documents might not be completely accurate, but nobody in Customs on either end would want to inspect anything derived from Ebola virus.

  Roughly four hours later, a surgeon in a full hazmat suit with triple gloves began performing the fluid sample extractions from Lorne’s body that would normally be performed by the medical examiner. But given the suspected disease involved, the Dallas ME was grateful not to be doing this. Every sample was handled carefully and placed in special containers. No further examination, requiring opening of the body cavities, would be performed at this stage until the biologics were done. The cadaver would be double-bagged and refrigerated pending the outcome. The test results would take longer than usual due to handling precautions.

  At GHI, meds would begin shipping to West Africa later that afternoon. In a show of arrogance, Jules was expecting to be even farther ahead than ever before in heading off the next outbreak. He was confident in the work of his team to predict the next mutation and was betting most of their financial investments in inventory of vaccines and antidotes on it. If his team was right, the publicity for GHI would be incalculable – worth millions. Adrenalin flowed at full rush. To him, he wasn’t so much interested in the amount of money they got for the Institute; it was the challenge to get more. In any event, the money would be astronomical. He just needed to pull the trigger and deal with the prospective buyers. He would then deal with the other partners.

  Payoff

  Victor Diakité was sweating profusely. The bicycle he was riding was more than fifty years old. It was heavy, rusty, and had only three speeds to select. The red clay road from his village into the edge of Conakry was full of small ravines from the rainy season that had dried brick-hard during the oppressive summer heat. His village had poor electrical service, and he needed to charge the mobile phone given to him by the Americans. The call was scheduled for ten o’clock in the morning, five o’clock at the caller’s location.

  Near the capital city, he went to his favorite café that allowed him to use their electrical outlet if he ordered something. He had coffee and rice bread. The air conditioning was welcomed. He only had a few minutes to relax before the phone buzzed. He answered in a muted voice while the phone remained tethered to the wall outlet. It would be a short discussion. He was being paid well to follow instructions, which were always brief, no questions were allowed and no names were used.

  Victor answered, “Hello,” then listened. Moments later, he replied, “Yes, I understand,” and the call ended.

  He had been the guide and interpreter for the WHO team to the village of Kambia Town, just across the border in Sierra Leone. Kambia Town was inhabited by different ethnic groups, generally ignorant of the causes of any diseases and in the locale where several deadly Ebola outbreaks had occurred. The WHO team made the trip shortly after Dr. Lorne Bridger had arrived at the Guinea capital; just after he had checked into his hotel and showered from his plane trip. Dr. Bridger had actually met with Victor immediately after arriving, before going to the hotel and then later meeting with the WHO doctors. Lorne had given a Styrofoam cooler to Victor with instructions to keep it refrigerated. Inside were unmarked thermos bottles. Victor still had the cooler at his home, in the ice box with fresh ice delivered each day costing six US dollars per bag.

  Dr. Bridger was not looking well on the trip to the Kambia Town and had been lucky to have other doctors in the Land Rover with him. Everyone, including him, initially believed he was suffering from the time change and overnight travel. Dr. Van Acker had been most attentive. Lorne had seemed to improve after they entered the village and visited the health clinic. But after departing, he started complaining about his stomach and became feverish. Victor left the group near his home. The rest continued to the hotel and Lorne ha
d died sometime in the early morning of the next day.

  Victor was compensated nicely for his services through funds wired to his bank account. Having a bank account at all was a status symbol in his village. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was being asked to do now was wrong. He’d done it before, and the pay was very good; more than he made in one year as a fisherman’s helper. Tomorrow, he would take one of the thermos’ to Kambia as he was told.

  Later that same night, he received a call from Dr. Abagael Van Acker. “Victor, I need to arrange a trip back into Sierra Leone, Kambia, as soon as possible.”

  He was confused but sure that his assignment was not related to her request. “Yes, missus doctor Abagael. When you wish going there?”

  “We will pick you up in the morning at the post in your village.”

  “Yes, missus, I be there.” He could not believe his luck. Money was sent to him for all of his travel expense, and now it would be free. He was truly blessed to have learned to speak English and the other local