Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  “No. No. No.” Aldus waved his hand. “We’re going abroad, to many places, I just want to make sure you are inoculated.”

  Sharon chuckled. “I assure, especially in my line of work, I am up to date on all my vaccines.”

  “I know that and I assure you, that in my line of work, I know what’s out there, what’s not made public. The nasty bugs people get that aren’t spoken about. Call it a paranoia side effect from my profession. This is …a precaution. My companies own soup mix, if you will of vaccines. Do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So do this for me. I just want to make sure you are healthy and stay that way.” He leaned to her and kissed her on the cheek.

  It was an odd request, one that took Sharon back a few seconds. Then after reasoning in her mind, she realized, Aldus knew best. It was what he did. If anyone had a heads up on an outbreak, it was Aldus. His concern and insistence did worry her at first, as if he had a premonition or insider information.

  He was doing what was best.

  She trusted him.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  Happily she rolled up her sleeve for Dr. Lunstrum and after a slight pinch from the jet injector, Sharon relaxed and prepared for what would be a wonderful romantic vacation.

  NINE – CONTRACTED

  London, England

  June 24

  He had his fair share of good times. Plenty of money, food, clothing. He had a house, a wife and then it was gone. It wasn’t a matter of a gradual decline. His wife left and took it all, then Beggar man broke his hip, was unable to work his job at the zoo, lost all benefits, and then he lost everything.

  If someone would have told him he would be on the street asking for spare change to get a bite to eat, Beggar Man would have argued. Never. Not him.

  Then he found himself homeless.

  He was embarrassed to go to his mother with his problem, so he hung out in the cold, dead of night, pressed against a building for warmth, and hoping the police didn’t come by. Soon he was asking for change, then he realized he didn’t have to ask, he only needed to look desperate. That desperation appearance started earning him more money than he made as a gatekeeper at the zoo. More than a hundred pounds per day. Beggar man was a success. He’d leave the streets at night, change his clothes, go home to a nice flat and relax.

  It was not only a way of life, it was his new job.

  He put in the hours. Like any other and he got paid well for it.

  Perhaps it was unethical, but it worked for Beggar Man.

  One thing he also did was avoid other street people. The ones truly in dire straits didn’t take kindly to those who played the system.

  Then he believed at that was going to change.

  A man, a foreigner, grasped his hand, slipped him a hundred pounds and a small airplane bottle of vodka.

  “Be well my friend,” the stranger said. “Your life is going to change.”

  Something about that man’s generosity made Beggar Man feel guilty. He went home that evening, drank the vodka and started at the hundred pounds.

  It took the kindness of a stranger to make Beggar man reevaluate everything. The next day he didn’t leave. He didn’t don his worn attire and hit the streets, instead he stayed home and went to the internet searching for a job.

  He sent out resumes, applications, the first two days he was inspired, then on the third, he woke up.

  His head felt fuzzy and Beggar man felt off.

  He had to pull it together, get showered and get dressed. It was the day he was going to go out and truly knock on doors, get a new job and put the begging life behind him.

  At least he hoped.

  But just as he was about to leave his flat, he started to cough. It was odd. It began as a tickle, a constant tickle and within seconds his throat and chest felt full, as if he were trying to stop something from entering his airways.

  Beggar Man couldn’t stop coughing. It went from a dry cough to a deep cough. A cough he couldn’t stop.

  With each sequence of cough, strong of hacking his head began to pound. The pain was unbearable.

  Something was wrong, horribly wrong and he knew it. Beggar man needed help. He had never coughed like that in his life. Not so hard and never constant. No breaks for breaths, no way to inhale. He struggled with every wheezing breath.

  Beggar Man wasn’t even sure if he was able to even speak. He had to try, he had to call for help.

  He sought his phone and lifted it. Seconds later, his pounding head caused a blurry vision and along with his inability to breathe, Beggar Man fell to the floor.

  There, alone, he coughed hard a few more times before his airways tightened and blood filled whatever space remained.

  Beggar Man drowned on no more than a tablespoon of blood that filled his brachial passages and he died.

  TEN – WARRANT

  SAT Biomedical Research BSL4 Facility

  San Antonio Texas

  June 25

  Charles didn’t notice. He didn’t hear him enter, nor did he pay attention to the footsteps. He was far too engrossed in the newest batch of flu variation. Trying to predict which ones would be prevalent in the upcoming cold and flu months.

  He did pay attention when the hand slammed on the counter and then his index finger pointed to a tiny little article.

  The article was so small his finger nearly covered it.

  “Is this yours?” Stokes asked.

  Why was a maintenance man bringing him a newspaper?

  “Mine what?” Charles asked.

  “Your virus.”

  Admittedly, Charles felt a flutter in his stomach. He quickly read the headline of the back page article.

  ‘Man found dead’

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Charles said. “And I believe you, as a maintenance worker probably don’t know what you’re talking about either.”

  Stokes proceeded to recite the article. “Man found dead in his London flat. It appears to be of a mysterious virus. Authorities are taking all necessary precautions…”

  “Stop,” Charles said. “Why in the world would you bring this to me?”

  “Because I need to know.”

  “You need to know nothing.”

  “I disagree. Is this your virus?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You know.”

  “This article tells me nothing.”

  “How about this,” Stokes said. “He died. When they found him he had blood on his nose, from his mouth and in his eyes.”

  Charles slowly looked at Stokes then back to the paper. “The article doesn’t say this.”

  “I know.”

  “You know nothing.” Charles flung his hand out. “No go away. Mop a floor.”

  “I know,” Stokes said strong. “That for the past year you have been working with this mysterious virus. I know … it is a pure form of a strain that wiped out villages in the Congo. I know that you failed to register this virus with the United States Government. That you have been working on it illegally. I know that when the government finds out, gets their hands on the virus, that not only is this facility done, but you’re going to jail.”

  Charles looked hard at Stokes. Conrad ‘Stokes’ Pletcher, janitor, knew far too much. Had he been listening, watching, gathering information and waiting for his opportunity. Did he plan to use information to get money? It was absurd and Charles prepared for some sort of blackmail offer.

  “If by chance,” Charles said. “You are even remotely correct. How do you know all this? Why do you know all this?”

  “It’s my job,” Stokes replied.

  “Your job as a janitor requires you to know this.”

  “No my job as a federal enforcement agent does.” He laid down a wallet, opened it and exposed not only his identification but his badge. “I’ve been chasing this for years. Now Dr. Pepper …” He pulled the newspaper forward, pointing to the article. “Is this your vi
rus?”

  “Preposterous,” Rupert argued. He stood behind his desk, trying to get Charles’ attention while going back between the contents of a folder and Stokes. “I’m telling you …”

  Charles held up his hand. He was on the phone. “Thank you.” He spoke into the phone. “I appreciate it.”

  Rupert handed the folder to Stokes “How did you get all this information?”

  “It’s my job. When I saw that itty bitty news story, I called a friend over there. Trust me, this isn’t the first virus story I chased. But it is the first one that is similar to the one you call EC175.” Stokes turned to watch and listen to Charles who continued his telephone conversation.

  “Tell him we worked together in the Congo on an outbreak,” Charles said on the phone.

  “Dr. Kimble told me you have been chasing this for years,” Rupert stated. “Is that so?”

  “It is. This virus extraction disappeared from its facility five years ago amongst other things. I’ve been tracing it. The outbreak in the Congo was the first and last outbreak regarding it. Since it was missing,” Stokes said. “We assumed the Congo was a test of it. There were three private corporations brought in down there to take a look. I was assigned to watch SAT.”

  “So you knew we had it.”

  Stokes shook his head. “No. That’s my bonus. I was only assigned to see if you guys came up with a cure. You’re not required to report. We need to know in case of another outbreak.”

  “I assure you,” Rupert pointed. “It may look like it. But it can’t be our virus. It’s a single source. Our virus isn’t a freak of nature. It’s man made.”

  “We know that.”

  “In order for there to be an outbreak,” Rupert said. “There’d have to be a lab malfunction or a deliberate release, in both cases there would be more than one patient. One person does not catch a manmade virus. Someone would have had to give it to him. Why give it to one person and not a whole group.”

  “Maybe to hide that there will be attack.”

  “I’m not following you,” said Rupert.

  “Give it to one person, one person only, then wait a few days before hitting a larger group. Giving it to one person shifts blame, makes it look natural and establishes your patient zero.”

  Before Rupert could respond, he saw Charles had hung up. “Well?” He asked Charles. “Is it our virus?”

  “I spoke to Dr. Carson,” Charles shifted his eyes to Stokes. “Carson was with the WHO at the time of the Congo outbreak and is in London on this one. He said that virus didn’t cross his mind. He’s going to test the London man’s blood and let us know the results. So … we just wait. On a positive note, the man’s landlord stated he hadn’t left his flat for days. Didn’t even grab his mail. Which means, he was sick, and that would eliminate our virus. But if he wasn’t sick, he wasn’t around anyone. So if it is our virus, that’s a positive.”

  “Unless of course,” Stokes added. “Like a said, he’s a feint. A make believe patient zero, someone to blame for an outbreak that’s already been planted.”

  “Aren’t you Mr. Sunshine,” Rupert snapped. “No, I refuse to believe it is.”

  “Let’s look beyond this,” Charles said. “What if it is?”

  Rupert answered. “They know you were on site. You let them know you developed an antidote of sorts from the sample you took. Even though you couldn’t extract it fully.”

  “That covers us as far as working on it, but we have it.”

  Rupert nodded rapidly and nervously. ‘Then we get rid of it. All of it.”

  “Need I remind you …” Stokes lifted a finger. “I am a federal agent and am required by law to report this.”

  “Why haven’t you yet?” asked Charles. “I mean, if you knew we had it, why haven’t you?”

  “I can only suspect.” Stokes shrugged. “You guys are the scientists. Not me. Who’s to say what you have. But I know what this thing does and I heard those chimps. When I heard them, I knew.”

  Rupert shook his head, confused. “How? I mean, you said there was only one outbreak.”

  “I said since it disappeared,” Stokes corrected. “This thing left its mark. Like I said, I have been chasing this thing since its origins.” Stokes said. “It's a scary thing. Especially since it has progressed, it definitely progressed.”

  “Its origins?” Charles asked. “It was man-made.”

  “Yes it was.” Stokes said. “However it has been manipulated. Origins, meaning where it first started.”

  Rupert asked, “Where did it start?”

  “If you can believe it, it was a science fair project.”

  Rupert laughed at the ridiculous notion of that. “A science fair project? College?”

  “High school.”

  Rupert laughed. “No. There’s no way a child made it.”

  “Yep. A kid made it.”

  “How did you find this out?” Charles asked. “No one really pays attention to science fair projects. They must stand out. Unless it was one of the elite schools.”

  “Nope. It was just your plan old average high school just outside of Cleveland Ohio.” Stokes recounted. “It’s also the perfect argument for paying attention to what your kids do. Three day science fair, right? We get a call on day two from the kid’s own father. The guy’s a veterinary virologist and was concerned about the pest and animal control agent his son made. He shared his concerns with school officials who dismissed it. They said it didn’t work. Not that they tested it, but they were certain the stuff in the Mason jar was pretty much for show.”

  “It wasn’t, I take it.” Charles said.

  “Nope. We almost dismissed it. The Vet Germ guy said his son based this germ on Kennel cough. And that the kid spent countless hours in the lab with him. Kennel cough is not transmittable to humans. Although some will argue. What the kid made was airborne. A fluke. Humans did catch it but it wasn’t contagious. The jar seeped, the father stated that people in his home and some of the teachers had this weird cough. Sure enough, it was form of Kennel cough. The kid serves six months in a Juvie home, the germ goes to The World Health Organization and supposedly they destroyed it. The kid had to turn in his so called recipe. But he also turned it in to the fair. Here’s the kicker. Not all samples arrived. Apparently a sample of the mutated virus extracted from the victims went missing. Just when we started that case, we learned the tenth grade recently retired science teacher sold the kid’s recipe to someone for three point eight million dollars.”

  “Jesus,” Charles gasped.

  “That’s when things got interesting. Someone got the mutated extraction sample and the recipe and mixed them. That’s what we’ve been chasing. When it showed up in the Congo, I chose to be assigned to you.”

  “What happened to the kid?” Rupert asked. “I would have found the kid to help.”

  “Oh, he’s in the field of bioengineering. Coincidentally, and it was a coincidence, no more, he was at the Congo site.”

  Charles closed his eyes. “Emir.”

  “Was that a guess?” Stokes asked.

  “Yes.” Charles said. “Just his fear of it, passion for it.”

  “Emir?” Rupert did a double take looking back and forth between Stokes and Charles. “Our Emir Najjar created the original virus. I find it…”

  A hard double knock on the door preceded, the opening and a security guard stepped inside. “I’m sorry to bother you. But we have a situation. I’m not sure if it’s authorized, but we were reviewing …”

  “What is it?” Rupert asked, hurrying the security guard along.

  “May I?” He pointed to Rupert’s computer.

  “Yes.”

  The guard made his way to the computer then after several clicks, he pulled up security footage. “The BSL4 High Pry Lab.”

  Rupert and Charles looked at the footage.

  Emir was in the sample room, full gear.

  Rupert shook his head. “He works there. Not a big deal. He’s authorized.”


  “Watch.” The security guard said. “Is he authorized to do this?”

  Just as he finished speaking they watched Emir carry a case.

  “What is he doing?” Rupert asked.

  The security guard clicked and switched the footage. The next video feed showed Emir outside the lab with the case.

  “Oh my God,” Charles said. “He took it?”

  “When?” Stokes questioned.

  “Um, sir, do I need to say this in front of the janitor?” The guard asked.

  Rupert, speaking rushed and irritated, repeated Stokes question. “When?”

  “This was brought to my attention an hour ago.”

  Stokes slammed his hand. “An hour? He has an hour head start.” He lifted his phone.

  Charles stopped him. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling this in. He …:

  “He’s got good intentions,” Charles said. “I know him. If he took it, he has a reason.”

  “Yeah, to release it.”

  “No,” Charles argued. “That’s not Emir. Don’t call this in, not yet. Let’s go find him. I’ll call him. He’s not releasing it.”

  Stokes drew in an expression of debate, then exhaled. “One half hour. We have one half hour to find him, after that, we issue an APB and terror alert.”

  ELEVEN – RESPONSIBILITY

  San Antonio, Texas

  June 25

  “Come on, Emir, answer.” Charles said as he drove frantically with Conrad ‘Stokes’ Pletcher as his front seat passenger.

  “Seven minutes, Doc.”

  “I didn’t think we’d hit this much traffic.”

  “Not my problem. Where are we going?”

  “His apartment.”

  “You really think he went there?”

  “I do.”

  Stokes chuckled. Why are you so convinced this Emir is innocent? He sure went through a lot of trouble to be inconspicuous about taking that bug.”

  “It’s just not Emir. He wouldn’t …” Charles stopped talking when the phone rang. He looked down to the caller ID. “It’s him.” He lifted it and answered. “Emir, where are you?”