The Leaves in Winter (18 page)

“How?”

“I can get you the base to the 2nd Protocol – before they release it. You may be able to devise a way to inoculate humanity against it and any future phases.”

“What future phases? I thought you didn’t know about the 3rd Protocol.”

“That’s right, but The Group left the door open. They have other ideas. Nothing as formalized as the 2nd Protocol – the one you must stop.”

“That’s crazy! You’re asking me to genetically engineer something and release it on the world. If I did that, I’d be no better than them.”

“A bullet has no morality, only the person using it. You’d be stopping them.”

“It’s out of the question. Why not just expose The Group and their plan?”

“Be real. They’re too well insulated. They maneuver within layers of disinformation. They buy influence and create cover stories that become the history books used in schools. I could never pin them down. I’d be shuffled out the side door with the media clowns and conspiracy bloggers.”

Facts and opinions cascaded across Janis’ mind. She had to stand and walk away from him. Knockout Mouse leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“If Mass is using the same base, maybe you can stop them both.”

“Are the 1st and 2nd Protocols based on
GenLET
?”

“No.”

Janis paced. “Then he isn’t using the same thing.”

Knockout Mouse raised up. “He based 3rd Protocol on life extension? How does he collapse the population with life extension? That doesn’t make sense.”

“As best as I can tell from what Riya discovered, he’s harnessed apoptosis – programmed cell death. By using metagenomic techniques, the 3rd Protocol convinces the body’s immune system that
all
body cells have severe DNA damage. The body naturally views DNA-damaged cells as prone to becoming cancerous. In effect, the body sees its own DNA as a cancer and triggers apoptosis in all cells. In a convoluted way, he’s used
GenLET
to craft a cancer of DNA.”

“Insidious little fucker, isn’t he.”

Taken with a new angle, Janis turned back to face him. “What about the government – is the government involved in this? Are they partners in any way?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“Good and bad come in all shades. Some people have been planted in key places, many others co-opted, many more bought off with grants, tenure, or a civil service paycheck. Most don’t know the master they serve.”

“If you have to dance around the answer, you must be lying.”

“There is no yes-or-no answer to some questions. As far as the government is concerned, Mass and The Group feel the same way. Governments are too dimwitted, lethargic, corrupt, and self-serving for something like this. Elected officials are the intellectually and morally bankrupt reflections of the populaces they serve.”

As long as Knockout Mouse was being so talkative, Janis went to the next question on her list. “Did you steal a GAMA from a Navy lab years ago and give it to the
Friends of the Ocean
?”

His eyes widened at the non sequitur. “Ah, that’s close to the truth. I had someone else steal it for me and I
sold
it – I didn’t give it to LALO. The whole thing was a stunt to provide cover for the 1st Protocol. LALO didn’t know they were being used. They enjoyed the publicity. Meanwhile, the suicide gene from the GAMA was put into the 1st Protocol Base.”

“And you got blackmailed.”

“It was a sensitive time between me and The Group. I couldn’t afford a screw-up, especially one with exposure that came so close to them. As time passed, the blackmail perpetuated itself. The things I had to divulge to keep the original secret only forced the deception deeper.”

“You must really want to bring them down. Why else would you tell me all of this? You couldn’t be setting me up for something, could you?”

“Only wingbats and moon-nuts would be so foolish.” He checked his watch. “Hey, I’ve got to go. I’m not used to being out from behind the wall this long.” He put on his coat and shoes.

“Just like that you’re out of here?”

“You know how to reach me. Think about what I said.” He opened the door to leave. “You are important. You could be the lynchpin that blows this whole fucking thing wide open. You know what’s going on, you know
GenLET
, and I can get you the 2nd Protocol. Imagine it – there’s no one else in the world like you…” He smiled a wicked smile. “…and there’s seven billion fuckers out there – and counting!”

He shut the door and scurried off down to the shore. Janis stood at the window and watched him hurry along the water’s edge until out of sight.

She turned and faced the empty boathouse. The smell of overheated coffee filled the air. Then it hit her – they hadn’t poured a single cup. She switched the brewer off but couldn’t bring herself to dump it out.

On pins and needles, she rambled back and forth. Her ears rang as if she had heard a loud noise before abrupt silence. It was all too much to know what to do. Without another plan, she went through the motions. She retrieved the laptop from the pocket door wall, gathered up her research, then headed back to the main house. There wasn’t time to tell Sara what had happened, who she had met, if indeed he was who he said he was.

Janis left the tin of Calissons d'Aix almond candy with a note to her mother on her bed. The note was more of an apology than an explanation. She hoped her mother would take it as it was intended – an act of love.

Sara would find it later – when Janis was in the air, on her way to Marseille.

Chapter 17

Hotel Azalai
Independence
,
Ouagadougou

Burkina Faso
,
Africa

The beat-up Peugeot 505 skidded to a stop at the hotel entrance. Curtis Labon climbed out of the bush-taxi’s front seat and squinted into a dry wind. A fog-like haze moved through the city. The gritty
Harmattan
had been blowing steadily out of the north for two days, a rare occurrence at this time of year. Flights were grounded. His one-day visit to attend a World Health Organization symposium had become an unexpected detour into a sub-Saharan alternate universe for the marooned.

Only two things were good about being stranded.

Temperatures had dropped and he had met Djamila Baye.

The taxi roared off, leaving Curtis holding onto hope tempered by a growing sense of being unsettled. If it wasn’t for his chance meeting with Djamila and their unlikely conversation, he wouldn’t have learned what he did. If he hadn’t been able to speak fluent French, their connection would have been impossible. So many things had aligned. Most importantly, if he hadn’t convinced her there was a legitimate reason to keep their liaison secret, he wouldn’t have taken the chance at whatever she might bring him today.

Djamila was a local health worker. She was also a part-time researcher, employed by a multilateral development bank. Her job with the MDB was just as much a demonstration of the bank’s commitment to the Maputo Protocol, the African charter on women’s rights, as it was of interest to their Analytic and Advisory Services Division. Unlike most
Burkinabè,
Djamila possessed a key qualification. She was literate. No doubt her unique contribution was highlighted on their website.

Curtis hurried inside the hotel lobby and dodged the reservation desk. A pathway off to one side led to doors that opened onto the pool area. He paused there, sickened yet invigorated with the clandestine way he had to proceed. He was taking a big chance. If only the instinct to follow through wasn’t so strong.

A gust of wind rippled the surface of the water at the deep end. The movement reinforced a feeling. He should have been long gone from here. After one more conference in another country, he would have been heading home by now.

Ever since the dust storm arrived and departure time came and went, it felt like he was living a parallel reality. Another possible pathway into the future had been struck for the world. Priorities had shifted. There was no going back.

For all mortals, time moved in one direction only. Where it was going was anyone’s guess, but everyone’s destiny. For Curtis, the question remained; how much of that destiny was preordained? How much of it was blind chance? Where was the human element in between? JFK had said, “
Our problems are man-made, therefore they can be solved by man. No problem of human destiny is beyond human beings
.” Curtis had once championed that quote. Now he was not so sure. Now it seemed there might be some messes that none of us were ever going to clean up.

The pool area was deserted, the lounge chairs abandoned. It was an odd place to meet, given the weather, but it had been the best place he could think of on the spur of the moment. Djamila wanted to meet at some place close to the Ministry of the Economy. He wanted to be sure she wasn’t followed but he was no secret agent. In a crude way, a circuitous route passing through hotel property and then to a nearby restaurant made sense at the time. Now it was lame and needlessly devious.

He stepped outside, expecting someone to appear from the shadows but no one did. Maybe she had changed her mind. Perhaps she’d reconsidered the propriety of what he had asked her to do. He’d at least walk the area to be sure. At the far end he wavered between continuing on to the tennis courts or heading back the way he came. As he turned back, she appeared from a sheltered area under a thatched roof and quickly caught up to him.

“Good day, Mr. Labon.”

“I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not at all. I just arrived and was checking around.”

“Shall we go?” Curtis led the way. Without drawing attention to himself, he searched the area for eyes upon them. There were none. So far so good.

“I thought we’d might go to the Algerian restaurant on the corner.”

The change of location didn’t faze her. “That would be fine.”

The street was a clogged clutter of cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and pushcarts. Curtis wove a path along and through them until arriving at the restaurant’s covered porch. They were seated right away. The place was sparse with patrons. Using the weather as an excuse, Curtis asked for a table farther back from the entrance.

Djamila was a bit nervous and overly polite. Her research work had exposed her to a variety of situations but she was still uncomfortable meeting a man for lunch who wasn’t her husband. “Thank you for meeting me near by work.”

Curtis tried to relax. “I prefer it. Hotel Libya is convenient for meetings at the convention center, but too remote from the center of town. It’s good to get out.”

“I hope your visit here has been productive.”

“Progress comes in many disguises. Sometimes it’s recognized only with hindsight.”

“I still don’t quite understand what you were telling the delegate from WHO the other day. It sounded like you have an organization but it hasn’t formed yet. How does that work?”

Curtis preferred a short lunch and even briefer discussion. He liked Djamila but the longer they were together, the more he felt at risk. He had one goal and the sooner it was obtained the better.

They ordered something light and then he dealt with her question.

“The goal of my organization is to form other organizations around the globe. It’s called COPE,
Communities of Population Expertise
. It’s based on the CoE Networks convened by the UN’s Department of Economic and Social Affairs.”

“Oh, I see. You organize people locally so they can discuss population issues.”

“Exactly. The goal is to move beyond discussion, of course.”

“How so?”

“I believe a concerted effort needs to be undertaken to handle world population trends. Reasonable measures should be adopted into the Millennium Development Goals. Each area of the world faces different issues, but the problem is global.”

“Sounds ambitious. You do this apart from your corporate work?”

“Yes. COPE is a separate, non-profit venture of mine.”

“Commendable. But from what I hear, none of the current Millennium Goals have been reached. If you add another one, do you think it will have a chance?”

“What’s the alternative?”

“True.” She wasn’t convinced but it would have been rude to explore the truth.

Curtis was anxious to get on topic. “So…how did it go at the health clinic?”

“Oh, you mean the blood sample?”

“Yes.” All of his hopes hung on her next words.

“I couldn’t get you one of the glass slides from the blood differential test.”

Curtis deflated but then she added, “But I did get some blood. It’s not stained or prepared for study.” She produced a small box from her pocket. Inside was a small vial of blood. “I verified it was taken from the same patient.”

Curtis was greedy to find out if she had gotten everything. “And the vaccine?”

“Yes, that too. For a while, we kept the evidence for the police. The stolen box contained many small patches. In all the confusion, they weren’t going to miss one.”

“You said
patches
?”

“Yes, this new vaccine is quite different than anything I’ve seen before.” She produced a sterile pad in its clear protective pouch. The pad was small and square, about the size of one wrapped condom.

Curtis recognized it right away. “Microneedles…”

“Really?”

“Yes. The center of the sticky side…right there.” Curtis pointed. “It’s coated with a hundred microneedles. They’re very short but after they pierce the skin, they dissolve and release the vaccine. The whole absorption process completes in anywhere from thirty seconds to five minutes.”

Djamila handed over the box and vial to Curtis. A rush of accomplishment filled him. He was excited and worried all at once. The deed was done.

“What happened to her – the patient?”

“She was ceremonially washed and shrouded then buried right away. It’s required by Islamic custom.”

“And her husband?”

“He’s still in police custody.”

“You said they tracked him down far north of here.”

“Yes, in Gorom-Gorom. It’s where her mother lives. When the woman first got sick, she went home. That’s when her husband broke into the storehouse. He heard it contained new halal vaccine that had just arrived. Rumor said it was a conjugate vaccine, targeting several diseases. He claims he was desperate to save his wife and thought it would help. He didn’t know about the restriction. I think the police will eventually let him go.”

“What restriction?”

“We got instructions that said this vaccine was not ready to use. We shouldn’t use it until we were told it was all right. That’s why we locked it up.”

“Is that typical?”

“I don’t know what’s typical. I know several medicines in the body at the same time can cause bad interactions. Burkina is in the part of
Africa
known as the meningitis belt. Bacterial epidemics usually arrive with the dry harmattan winds, like now. Many people have just received their immunizations for meningitis. It’s prudent to do things in proper order.”

“That’s what you said before. So what’s your opinion? Do you think the vaccine is partly responsible for the woman’s death?”

“It’s a possibility. Not that the vaccine is bad. I don’t think that. But it is certain we were told not to give it to people – not yet.”

Curtis flipped the sterile pouch over and examined the patch sealed inside of it. A characteristic logo was evident. He read the fine print at its edge – MIOVAC.

“As I told you a couple days ago, that’s why we need to keep this quiet, between you and me. We wouldn’t want people to panic. Those who already received their meningitis vaccine might get worried. Those who haven’t received it might refuse to take it. We wouldn’t want that.”

“No, that would be bad.” Djamila nodded in agreement.

“I can have this quietly studied in a lab – one that has advanced tools. That is the only way to be sure everything is all right.” Curtis smiled at her. “You’ve been a big help.”

Djamila was concerned. She motioned to his face. “Your nose. It’s bleeding.”

Curtis dabbed his napkin on his upper lip, then held it up against one nostril. “It must be the humidity. With these winds, it’s dropped so low.”

Djamila looked away. “I hate to see blood. I know it’s strange to say, me working in a clinic. I guess in the clinic I expect it. I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” Curtis quickly put vaccine patch and blood vial in pocket. “So tell me, what sickness did the woman have? What was the cause of death?”

“The doctors aren’t sure. They believe it was some kind of non-specific lower respiratory infection.”

“Non-specific?”

“I know her lymphocyte count was next to nothing. The doctors said with such a suppressed immune system, just about anything would have killed her.”

“They checked for other things, didn’t they?”

“Of course. Diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis, tuberculosis, measles, hepatitis B, poliomyelitis, and naturally this time of year, meningitis. All came up negative.”

Curtis was intrigued. “…a minor bacterial infection.”

“With all the terrible things one can catch in this country, it’s odd this woman should fall victim to something so benign in comparison.”

“Maybe it was HIV.”

“No. They ruled that out.”

“Interesting.”

They finished their meal and went their separate ways.

Two days later, Curtis was finally able to fly out of
Ouagadougou
. He landed in a Mediterranean state where he chartered a private jet. If his instincts were correct, he could waste no time getting his precious cargo to the lab.