He was under no illusion about who was to blame. Throughout the latter decade of the twentieth century as he’d started his career with the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control he’d kept a keen eye on developments in Africa. He watched as Western governments—mainly the United States—acting in the interests of their pay—masters reduced African and many parts of the Middle Eastern landscapes to rubble, either directly or indirectly through proxy agents. Most of the military actions or wars undertaken were in the guise of freedom. Freedom against communism or terrorism or against drug cartels. Moya knew otherwise, however. The real truth of the matter was these wars and military actions were used to take control of the wealth of other nations. Of their minerals, oil, privatize government services and even their drug fields. After the US had their ass symbolically handed to them in the debacle that was Vietnam, new markets had to be found. Still, he surmised, having your ass handed to you, no matter how symbolic, was much easier on most Americans, than the Vietnamese. The bombed cities, the defoliated and poisoned countryside and a casualty rate in the millions. Americans got their news from the safety and luxury of their couches or easy chairs. Tiny snippets of sugar coated stories about “one thing or another” just before or after the ball game or their favorite talk show host came on, which fell on deaf ears as viewers went for another beer from the fridge. It was a much different story in Vietnam where most people didn’t even have a TV. And as the Cold War tensions also changed, so did the political climate. With the fall of the Soviet Union and its satellite states, the need for constant readiness and the manufacturing weapons of war, at least at the high levels, became a luxury rather than a necessity.
Like many of his friends in the medical field, Moya watched with a renewed hope that peace and co—existence between peoples could become a reality. But he couldn’t help his cynicism. The writing, he believed, was on the wall as far as the dissolution of the Soviet empire was concerned. If the US didn’t have a direct hand in it (as was suggested by a top aide in the Carter administration), then it certainly had foreknowledge. Was this the big stick being wielded by Uncle Sam and the faceless men behind the office of power? If you don’t toe the line then we will change your government to one that will? Moya believed, and rightly so, that the powerful military/industrial/banking complex would need a new enemy. Peace was not good for business. By the late eighties that new enemy had been found. One that would guarantee perpetual war and keep the cash registers of the military/industrial powers overflowing. More wars, more hatred and more deaths. This would lead to severe health issues and in turn a greater need for medicines and vaccines; the pharmaceutical companies—another partner within the pyramid of world power—would benefit greatly, as Moya would find out.
After years of disdainfully observing all of the subterfuge of the treachery and the lust for power, he had come to the realization that as much as he wanted to help change all of it, without money he couldn’t. He never considered himself a socialist but did believe in social justice, and as a senior member of the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control, he was convinced he could solve the disease problems in poorer areas of the world; but he needed to get his plans heard by those who could help. The shakers and the makers. However, by the early twenty-first century his “leftist” political views were well known and he was no longer invited to speak at many conferences attended by the bigwigs. Increasingly avoided, he retreated into his own world. He would have been happy to stay that way, until the sudden outbreak of an influenza-like strain that would be dubbed the Baltic flu.
As the Centre for Disease Prevention and Control prepared an emergency team to respond to the situation, Moya was shocked to find himself ostracized; he was being punished for his views. He considered leaving the organization altogether and going back to Spain, where there were enough hospitals that would gladly take him, when he received a late night phone call from Noel Thorncroft himself. He knew of Thorncroft, anyone in the medical field in Europe if not the whole world did. Thorn Bio-Tech, the largest pharmaceutical company in Europe, was founded by Noel’s father and was now controlled by him. Moya, had also come across Thorncroft’s name in relation to other activities. As a major shareholder in several of Europe’s largest merchant banks and a private military weapon manufacturing company. He also funded certain groups in Africa and the Middle East that were, according to a US intelligence release, a destabilizing threat to the peace of the regions. What Moya found most repulsive of all, was the obese rich bastard used his wealth for secretive—and perverted—sexual encounters with teenage male prostitutes. The last piece of information wasn’t found by following up on rumor, hearsay or reports from independent sources on the Internet. No, Moya heard these stories—more than once—at several medical conventions he’d attended over the years. He’d also heard of what became of those who knew of his carnal liaisons and were foolish enough to threaten Thorncroft with disclosure should he not honor a small tribute.
“We have an opening for a physician of your standing. We’re in the development stages of a vaccine to tackle this terrible flu, would you be interested?” Moya recalled these exact words spoken to him by Thorncroft in that conversation.How did he know I might be seeking other employment?
When Thorncroft told him that he, Moya, would have a major say in how to best distribute the vaccine and in conjunction with other medical programs around the world, he didn’t hesitate, and agreed.
Now as he sat on his bed in the American city of Des Moines, Iowa, he realized he’d sold his soul to the devil that day. What followed was money, trips overseas (to sell Thorn pharmaceuticals or the vision) and more money. He received a large office of his own with staff where he could plan health programs for the poorer countries and actually saw the initial stages implemented but that was about all. Increasingly, however, he became nothing more than a salesman. He would travel to European and Middle East countries to extol the virtues of Thorn Bio-Tech and its products. With each new commitment, he received a bonus and with the bonuses came the cars, the travel, the good dining, the fine clothes and of course the women—young women. The idealistic doctor was no more. He had become a whore, of that there were no longer any doubts. The only difference, he reflected, was that he didn’t have to bend over and spread his cheeks. Now in his late forties he could no longer afford to care like he once had. After so many years of working side by side with death, he had come to terms with his own life. He wasn’t infallible. It was time to look after number one, a phrase he despised because it was so selfish and was the epitome of all he hated about the rich, the powerful and the corrupt, everything he had become.
“Fuck you, Thorncroft, fuck you!”
He threw the half-full bottle of water against the wall with disgust, but a moment later he allowed himself a slight chuckle.
“No, I’m too old for his tastes!”
He would need to check with Calgleef or Thorncroft to see where he would be relocated to, but before then he would check out of this hotel; he was much too close to Riverside Hospital.
And the pestilence that was about to be unleashed.
The former hospital and patients-staff–turned–blood-craving fiends didn’t give up easy. They pushed, pounded and kicked on the door to the security storeroom. Tilford was correct in his assessment of the door being of a stronger construction, Delaney thought; she also thought there probably weren’t any other people on the second floor either—not alive at any rate.
“Look, the safe’s open.” Sanders pointed to the corner of the room. The door was only open an inch or so, but it was enough for Sanders to see it, even in this light.
Tilford quickly rushed over to check the safe’s contents.
“What’s in there Isaac, is there a gun?” Childs asked optimistically against the rhythmic pounding from the outside office.
“Let me look.” Tilford searched the safe while Delaney opened the drawers and the small cupboard that belonged to the small desk.
“Here, this might help.” She passed Tilford a small flashlight she’d discovered. The light in the storeroom was small and, with just emergency power in operation, not very strong.
“Great, thank you.”
Tilford’s hand clasped over the top of hers as he reached for the flashlight. Their eyes met and for the briefest instant, time all but ceased. They had exchanged a smile before their fleeting moment was interrupted by a chorus of heavy thumps on the door.
“Uh, thanks.” He said then turned to search the safe.
“Here look.” He pulled a metal lunch box from the safe. It was locked with a small brass padlock. “Find something to break this open, quick!”
Sanders looked on the shelves on the far side while Childs looked in the closet opposite the door. As far away as she could get from the pounding suited her just fine.
“How about these?” Delaney found a set of keys in the drawer. “I bet one of these will do the job, Isaac.”
“Can we hurry up and find out?” Childs said.
“Keep your voice down, Jenny, for Christ’s sake!” Sanders said
“Why bother? They already know we in here so—”
“We don’t need to encourage them is what I mean, that’s all.”
“Okay… here we go!” Tilford sounded like a kid given the keys to a candy store when he took a .38 revolver from the tin box along with a box of ammunition.
“Great, we can defend ourselves now!” Childs beamed.
“You take it I’ve never used one before.” He said handing the gun and ammunition to Delaney. Delaney immediately swung the cylinder out to check to see if it was loaded. Satisfied it wasn’t, she tucked it into the top of her pants, under her white coat.
“Aren’t you going to load it?” Childs demanded. She was elated that a gun had been found but confused when Delaney didn’t load it.
“In a moment, I will. Trust me, I will.” She smiled, hoping to ease Childs’s anxiety.
“Shh, listen…” Sanders called. “They’re moving on, or it sounds like it.”
Everyone stopped and listened. The pounding on the wall and doors had ceased, and they could hear the sound of footsteps moving away from the door. Had they just given up, found something better or got bored? No one knew the answer but didn’t much care as long as they were gone.
“We’ll have to wait for a while to be sure. We’re safe in here for now. Jenny, check the fridge over there and see what’s in it.”
Jenny searched the fridge as Tilford and Delaney huddled closer together. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to use it if I have to, and it looks to me like I’ll have to!” She cocked a thumb toward the door behind her.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you think they’re gone for good?”
“From here maybe, but not from the hospital. Just like us, they’re sealed in!”
“Hey, we got some water and a few sodas in here,” Childs announced.
“Great, I could do with a cold water. I’d lay off the sodas. Too much sugar. After the stress we’ve been through and the running, we don’t need any one having a bad reaction right now.” Delaney, the most experienced doctor, warned.
Childs passed water to everyone as they sat against the far wall. A few deep breaths and a time out is what they all needed. All four drank their water and stared at the white linoleum floor just passed their feet. The eyes said it all as each one contemplated how close they’d come to being caught, having their blood drained or becoming infected—or all of the above.
“How are we going to get out of here now?” Childs’s question had everyone re—focus their attention. “I mean we’re basically stuck in here, right?”
“No, we’ll continue with our plan, to the roof right?” Delaney looked over at Tilford for support.
“Yes of course and there’s more room on the roof, we can probably keep the door locked but other than that,” Tilford fired back. “Our only avenue is the fire escape.”
“There’s a heliport on the roof.” Sanders added.
“And you have your own personal chopper up there waiting to spirit us away?”
“No I don’t. I was just saying!” her retort was full of barbs.
“Okay, okay let’s not lose ourselves. We’ve still got some distance to travel yet and that’s our only priority for now.” Delaney stepped in as the voice of calm and control.
“Okay, you people know this place better than me, how do we access the roof from here?”
“There’s a set of stairs,” Tilford told Delaney, “from the third floor straight to the roof.”
“We might not have any other choice but to take the fire escape into the waiting arms of the authorities below but at least we’ll be out of this hell hole.”
“Dr. Delaney’s right, we can’t just stay here until we die.” Childs sat on the office swivel chair—the only chair in the storeroom. It had no arms on the side, which made it easier for her to plop her ample rear end into it and was far better than the floor.
“Damn straight, we’ll give it another five minutes before we go. Any objections?” Delaney was pleased she didn’t receive any.
“Tell me about this Moya you were speaking to, won’t you?” Tilford asked as Delaney drank from her water.
“Sure.” She had no hesitations now about telling everyone what she knew or believed; not after what had taken place. She spoke loud enough for all of them to hear, but not so loud anyone beyond this room could. “He was one of the best doctors in Europe in the understanding of contagious disease and the treatment thereof. When this new strain of flu broke out and became a pandemic throughout Europe and the Middle East, we at the CDC were put on alert. I was selected to head up a team to begin vaccinations, the current ones we are conducting here. Well, he was the first person I contacted as I attempted to get as much information as possible on the situation taking place across Europe.”
“That last conversation you had with him sounded pretty heated.”
She raised her eyebrows, and stared Tilford in the eye: “If I had been within arms’ reach, I would have killed him with my bare hands, I can promise you that.”
“But he saved our lives. He gave us the combination to the office. If he didn’t—”
“Yes I know, Beth, I know, but it’s the things you don’t know about Moya for which I’d have gladly killed him.”
“Care to elaborate?” Tilford’s eyes showed an apprehension usually reserved for when meeting people that express violent tendencies and this was just such an occasion.
“I’d heard a lot about Moya over the years, about his idealism and beliefs. When I started with the CDC I met him on one occasion, briefly at a conference, but I didn’t have time to find out for sure. But when I spoke with him just before we started here at Riverside Hospital, I was shocked to discover he was now a consultant and advisor with Thorn Bio-Tech, the giant pharmaceutical company and the very company that is marketing the vaccine. Thorn was given the green light without so much as a basic test by the FDA and the CDC. Even Director Calgleef gave the president a glowing report on the man who controls the company, Noel Thorncroft, as well as the company’s good name.”
“So he’s now a consultant with the pharma company, what’s the big deal? Doctors do that all the time, don’t they? It’s no reason to want to kill him, is it?” It was more an accusation from Sanders than a question.
Delaney felt as if the cat’s claws had come out. Sanders could have asked without inferring that Delaney wanted to kill him merely because he’d become a consultant to the company.
“Thorn Bio-Tech manufactured the vaccine we’ve been using today. In the nearly twelve months that this, this pestilence has swept across Europe, there’s been not a single mention of a vaccine from Thorn or any company. Now, as soon as the United States talks of vaccinating its citizens against the flu… well, it magically appears.”
“I’m still not seeing the full picture.”
“Money, that’
s the full picture. The Internet is full of inferences that Thorn—and other big pharma companies—don’t make vaccines that actually work. There’s no profit in that. Instead they manage it, hide it or treat the symptom or scare you into believing you must take X or Y to stave off the virus in question. This of course will require continual doses at regular intervals, usually twelve months. There are rumors big pharma actually spreads the diseases in the first place if not even develop them—”
“What? That’s preposterous! How can you of all people claim such nonsense?” it was obvious to everyone where Sanders stood on the matter. “That’s conspiracy theory bullshit!”
“That’s what I used to think, and as a senior member of the CDC I had the opportunity to run tests on vaccines. They all came up positive as vaccines, nothing abnormal about them. But the rumor is that big pharma only provides these grade A vaccines to the relevant authorities for testing—these aren’t the ones that are made available to the public.” Delaney did her best to sound knowledgeable on the subject. “When you look at certain diseases and afflictions, even though we’ve supposedly had vaccines to combat them, they’ve risen rather than declined. At the same time the rate of vaccinations is now at an all-time high. I now believe there is a correlation between the two, yes. This new vaccine, which just appeared overnight practically, didn’t have to go through the usual procedures and tests. It was given the green light by the president on advice from Calgleef from the Center for Disease Control and others in high standing. You’ve witnessed firsthand the results of the inoculations, so you tell me, is it really conspiracy bullshit?”
Pestilence: The Infection Begins Page 8
