For now she had to protect everyone in the region. It wasn’t just the people that had contact with Lorne; she needed to isolate the source of his virus and try to get treatment there as fast as possible. VHFs were occurring more frequently and threatening the entire continent. GHI had had the most recent success in controlling the disease, and she was pleading now.
It was before eight in the morning as Jules listened on his mobile phone in his car, before having a chance to go inside the office, “Abagael, please calm down … yes, of course, we are all upset here … what can I do? Do you have a definitive diagnosis yet?”
It was dusty, hot and noisy as she moved to find an awning or tree and to get away from the heat and crowds of people. “Jules, of course, we have nothing, yet. We will not have anything until Lorne’s body is tested in the states. But you know my experience. It is definitely VHF, I would stake my credentials on it.”
“Abagael, I’m not questioning you, but if you’re asking for my help, I will need something from you, from the WHO.”
“Tell me … what?”
“You know exactly. For starters, we need Lorne’s body for testing. After that, I’ll need government support to get treatments on scene. It’s expensive; it’s always expensive; you know it’s expensive. It also will take a lot of personnel and transportation equipment. You already have a lot of it there, but the world community will need to ante up to stop this. I’m sure the US will pay the most, but it always takes time for the Government here to commit. You can help. Get the WHO on top of the UN and put the right pressure on the right buttons. You know how to do that.”
“They won’t move until the diagnosis is confirmed.” She was frustrated but had been through this process before and knew every aspect. It would be weeks before any relief was coming, but the authorizations and commitments needed to start now for anything to happen.
He continued, “As soon as we confirm the specific VHF, I can get supplies coming at you. There’s a better than 50% chance that we already have the right vaccines and antidotes in production right now.” They both knew an exact match was needed. With hundreds of strains identified over the decades, no general cure was possible, even at GHI.
She knew all of this, of course. The call to Jules, she knew, would start things in motion at GHI. He would be ready as fast as the wheels of government could turn. He’d saved whole villages in the past; he could stop this plague before it took off. She would get the remains en route back to the US as quickly as humanly possible. It would all depend on proper transportation equipment and a receiving hospital. The in-country paperwork would move quickly when she mentioned Ebola.
After ending the call, Jules went to see Charlie Ritter. Jules was the only person in the Institute that would just open Charlie’s door and walk into his office. Charlie looked strained as he ended the call, “Carol, our thoughts are with you. Please, let me know if there is anything we can help with … yes, never fear, we will be seeing a lot of you soon … take care.”
Charlie looked at Jules, as he spoke, “We have another plague developing the West Africa.”
Charlie just shook his head, “I imagine that’s so; another chance for us to save the world.” He wasn’t being boastful, it was just his nature to seek irony whenever things went badly, and this was worse than anything in their past. Lorne had died!
Jules brushed it aside, “Right … look Charlie, start pushing some of those congressional buttons you know so well.” GHI contributed to the reelection of several key people in Congress; who, in turn, wrote appropriations language, funding research projects for GHI. “We need to ramp up production ASAP.”
“Whatever it takes, Jules. But, don’t we need more information first? We don’t even know it’s Ebola yet, much less the specific pathogen.”
“I don’t really care. Call it an educated guess. I’m betting we already have it nailed. We just need to stockpile, which means more of our facility in operation.”
Charlie, more than anybody at GHI, marveled at Jules’ uncanny ability to win these high-stakes guessing games. Twice before, he’d been right about the bug, could he be right three times? None of the exact viruses had existed in the past, prior to GHI’s experimentation. It took months of research and testing against synthesized conditions to grow the virus samples, and then pick the ones to kill off before the plagues exploded. It was an enormous investment risk, choosing the right ones to build products against. Any wrong course could drive them to bankruptcy. He really didn’t know all the complexities of their modelling efforts, except they had proven accurate. Jules was the master; he could see into the future and predict the right antidotes and vaccines to produce in quantity, using Irina Petronova’s analysis. No major drug companies, even spending billions in research, could come close to their success. When outbreaks had occurred in the past few years, GHI had been on scene twice with the correct drugs. There had been other outbreaks, but none was ever defeated before there was huge loss of life. When GHI was involved, the success rate was unbelievable, and the statistics proved it.
Where’s John
He still hadn’t figured out in his own mind exactly what he was doing. He didn’t really have an explainable reason for leaving his job. He had a good reason, but nothing he could share with anyone at work. This included Kelly. He was conflicted. She wasn’t just another co-worker. He could take personal time off under Institute policy for many different reasons; it could mean anything, but Kelly deserved an explanation. But he couldn’t tell her without jeopardizing her career. She loved her work, and he would only scare her. He didn’t care about the bosses or personnel department; they might ultimately figure he had quit the Institute without notice, but he really didn’t want to leave her wondering. He pondered this while sitting with Gort’s family at the dinner table. Gort had left his coveralls and weather boots on the entry porch but didn’t otherwise change his wintery Maine clothing. John had changed in the bedroom, but was running thin on clothing. He would need to ask Gort’s wife to use the washing machine, or ask Mary, who had joined them for supper. She was perky, “Okay, John. How was the first day on the docks?”
Everyone listened as he swallowed, “Oh, fine. I learned a lot and your dad’s a good teacher. It’s kind of amazing how everyone depends on Swensen’s.”
Gort chimed, “It’s a business started by my father almost fifty years ago. We was a fisher family, just like everyone, but they needed someone to carry the catch to the mainland and bring back bait. It didn’t make sense for every boat to make the trip when only one could do it, so’s everyone else could fish each day. So, my dad volunteered to handle everyone’s catch and transport it and handle the money. After a time, he started buying direct from the fishing boats and selling the catch for himself. As long as the fishermen got paid close to the market price, it was easier to get paid up front, so’s my dad got a little profit for paying them directly … been that way ever since. At first, he almost went crazy with all the work all day plus cruisin’ overnight to the coast and then dealing with the dealers there. But after a while, probably a coupla years, things settled down and a routine started. Hasn’t really changed much over the years.”
They were eating lobster pie as John said, “I don’t know how it could be improved. You’ve got it running pretty well, supporting the whole fleet.”
Gort snickered, “Yeah, the whole fleet.” He thought for a minute. “It’s kinda a sore point around here. There’s only about half as many boats here now. There’s a lot coming to our grounds from the mainland. They don’t stop for fuel or bait or to offload their catch. The boats are faster now days, and they don’t live here anymore. Hell, lotsa the houses is empty around town. That’s why all the businesses closed. Ya can’t even buy groceries much here, just Ben’s place, and he don’t carry much. Now days, we pay some boat captain to buy our food stuff whenever one of them goes to the mainland. It’s getting harder to live here.” After a
pause, he continued, “You know John, honestly, I can’t keep doin’ this indefinite. I’m getting’ older and some nights I don’t get back from the coast ‘til morning, just to start it all over again. The only days off are when it’s too stormy. Hell, me and the missus ain’t ever had a vacation. The only one here enjoyin’ life is Mary, and maybe Buddy, just bein’ away and all.” Mary gave her father a sideways glance. If school was a vacation, then she wasn’t having the kind of fun her father imagined. It was a way off the island, an escape route. She never wanted to return to life on the island and was using the time in Portland to get an education and, hopefully, find an alternative way of life for herself. If she didn’t make a clean break at the completion of high school, and get a job on the mainland, or possibly go to college, she’d be forced to return home and never be able to leave it again. She felt trapped and needed the time away to make an escape … yeah, some vacation.
Mary paused, using her fork for emphasis, “Daddy, you can complain all you