by Jack Hyland
“Blood money,” Tom said scathingly.
“Spare me your moralizing,” Bailitz barked. “You are in a position to save millions of starving people, victims of the shortsightedness of their leaders.”
“And you would put hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, at risk to prove this point?” Tom cried out. “This virus may start a pandemic. Without an antidote you would be committing mass murder.”
“Semantics,” Bailitz answered. “There are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people starving and dying every year because of small-mindedness and corruption. Aren’t these corrupt leaders really the mass murderers you should care about? Besides, we would only proceed if we have the antidote.”
“You’ll never get away with it. Once your plan is exposed, every country in the world will hunt you down.”
“Exposed? Who will expose us? You?” Bailitz laughed. “I hardly think so.”
Tom was silent.
Bailitz became serious and stared directly into Tom’s eyes. “Make no mistake, we will get the virus, whatever it takes.”
Bailitz stood and Crystal followed suit. “Please follow me,” Bailtiz said to Tom. “I will explain further.”
They walked down a carpeted hallway and stopped at what looked like a laboratory door, highly secure, with a heavy glass panel permitting a person on the outside to see everything going on inside.
Crystal opened the door and led the way into a large room filled with a huge oval conference table around which were placed leather chairs. It looked like the boardroom of a major multinational corporation.
Quietly sitting at the large oval table was a distinguished older man, with a shock of white hair. “This,” said Bailitz proudly, “is Stephen Harrington, the former president of the World Bank, and, before that, one of the most venerated chief executives in the global economy, the former head of the Bank of New York.”
“What’s this room for?” Tom asked.
“It’s comforting for Stephen. He sits here every day, never saying anything, waiting for something to happen.”
“Will something happen?”
“Not directly—he’s ‘retired,’ you might say. But he remains a potent symbol. We’ll paste his picture on a website at the appropriate time, to go along with the speech the world will hear from his lips.”
“Even though he doesn’t say anything?”
“We have ‘organized’ a speech for him. It’s one he gave years ago, which shocked quite a few people.”
“I must have missed it,” Tom said, with some interest.
“In short,” Bailitz replied, “Harrington had grown exasperatingly frustrated at the plight of third world countries—death by malaria, AIDS, and a dozen other causes, starvation of the masses, scandalous corruption by the rulers. During an interview by Mike Wallace on 60 Minutes, Harrington said: ‘The solution to Africa’s problems should be a massive downsizing of its population.’
“‘How would this happen?’ Wallace had asked.
“‘By some act of God, a fearsome virus, perhaps. Wipe the evildoers and sinners out, lock, stock, and barrel.’
“Wallace immediately broke for a commercial, and when the show returned after the commercial, Harrington was gone, and the next guest was sitting in Harrington’s seat. That was the last time Harrington appeared in public view.”
Bailitz then said, “You know, at that moment, I saw that Harrington was correct. It was exactly the wrong thing to say politically. But it was the equivalent of ‘Let the law of the jungle take its course.’”
Tom finally grasped Bailitz’s meaning. “You would set the virus loose somewhere killing people indiscriminately, and have Harrington’s words blame the tragedy on the righteous wrath of the Almighty?”
“No better place for retribution to come from,” Bailitz said. “What’s more, the people who must be silenced, who must be removed, are the bureaucrats. Anyone else is collateral damage.”
Bailitz looked directly at Harrington, who gave no sign he was even listening.
“How would this work?” Tom asked. “You don’t have the virus supply. You don’t have an antidote for the virus. And you only have one old man—and barely that, just to look at him.”
Bailitz reddened. “We will find the antidote once our labs have the supply of virus for testing. And, we have a specific target.”
“Where?” Tom asked caustically.
“Nairobi. Once we strike, killing grain, livestock, and the population, we will devastate Kenya like Moses devastated Egypt,” Bailitz said.
Bailitz gestured to Harrington. “Stephen Harrington, our ‘Moses,’ will pronounce over his website that God has spoken. That corrupt governments must fall. People must be fed. We will let the perilous situation in Kenya fester. The world will wonder, then worry, that the plague will spread wider. Perhaps to their countries. Hysteria will be rampant. And at an auspicious moment, Belagri will announce—with there being no connection with Harrington—that our humane and efficient laboratories have discovered the antidote for the virus. We will offer this to the world agencies for distribution.
“We will also offer newly bioengineered seeds immune from the disease to farmers in the third world whose crops have been destroyed. These seeds will be available from us at rock-bottom prices.”
Tom countered, “What if the world finds out Belagri released the virus in the first place?”
“The Vatican certainly won’t say anything,” Bailitz said. “Their hands are tied with having produced it in the first place. They need to put as much distance between the Church and the virus as possible. Everyone else who knows about it is dead—except you.”
Tom said grimly, “I’ve been thinking about this.”
Bailitz stared at Tom but said nothing.
Tom continued. “The real tragedy is that the virus is likely to kill vast numbers of people. That’s what happened in 1918 with the Spanish flu virus. There is a chance that the virus will become a pandemic, unable to be stopped. This is much more than a ‘local killer.’”
Bailitz said without hesitation, “The real scourge of these countries is their leadership. That’s what we’ll fix.”
Tom looked at Harrington. He had a worldwide reputation for absolute integrity. He was a tall man, six feet five inches tall. His reputation around the world had been made and remained intact. There would be many who would listen to the words of this distinguished world citizen. But Tom grasped the truth. Though he was looking at Harrington, the august man of the past was no longer there. He had declined into dementia. He was solely an instrument for Bailitz to play.
Bailitz said, “I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. Harrington has been retired and out of the public’s eye for eight years. After his wife died, he appeared at her funeral, then he went into seclusion. No one has seen or heard from him since. We kept him out of the press so that the world would not have to see his decline. The beauty of the Internet is that Stephen Harrington can make public statements and even brief appearances over the Internet and no one need know that he has been ‘assisted.’”
Tom realized he needed to know more about Bailitz’s plans if he were to stop this madman. “Frankly,” Tom said, “what you’ve told me sounds like the view from thirty thousand feet. How will you actually inflict this Moses Virus on the government and people of Nairobi?”
Bailitz grabbed Tom by the arm, enthusiastically leading him to the next room.
Tom could see several long tables against the far wall with many computers and large monitors. Lights on the monitors showed that the computers were active. He spotted two young women keeping an eye on the computers and screens, walking back and forth, occasionally typing on the keyboards.
At this point, Bailitz seemed to be on fire with enthusiasm.
“On the evening prior to our operation, our team will arrive by plane from Par
is,” Bailitz said. “They’ll check into their hotel and spend the next day tracing and retracing the steps of the plan as well as familiarizing themselves with the area. Nairobi has an urban population of four million, three million of whom are concentrated in the central part of the city. This group is the prime target for the virus—and there’s the real objective: the central district contains most of the major government officials of the country. To the world, Nairobi is notable: it’s Africa’s mile-high city, with Mount Kenya to the north and Kilimanjaro to the southeast. Kilimanjaro’s famed snow-capped flat top has already been receiving international attention for its ice cover which is melting due to global warming. Kenya’s central position in Africa, its prominence, and its history are ideal to demonstrate the message we wish to deliver. In recent years, Nairobi has become world-renowned as a corrosively evil city overrun with crime out of control. It is its government that has failed to keep order. Time for a change, wouldn’t you agree?”
“How will you use the virus to infect the population?” Tom asked with—he admitted to himself—morbid curiosity.
“We’ve selected the Kenyatta International Conference Centre. It’s among the highest buildings in the central business district, has iconic status, and is in walking distance of several five-star hotels.
“Around 10 p.m., our three team members will be waiting in the lobby of the Kenyatta Centre. They’ll take the elevator to the top floor, the Conference Centre’s observation deck on the thirtieth floor. They’ll carry a small canister of the virus, a supply of oxygen to breathe via their face masks, but also oxygen to aerosolize the Moses Virus so that it can be dispensed as a vapor. Once on the observation deck, the leader of our team will lean over the edge of the deck, letting the pressurized oxygen force the aerosolized contents in a spray out in the evening air, falling toward the streets of Nairobi.
“Their orders are to remain on the observation deck for only fifteen minutes, time enough for the first effects of the virus to occur, but not enough time to become widespread. The team will then summon the elevator and descend to the lobby.
“It’s expected that men and women in and around the building—by that time—will be slumped, dead, or dying. The dying ones are highly dangerous as they immediately become agents for spreading the virus. The beauty of this virus is that death spreads geometrically by contagion.
“Our team, with oxygen masks still in place, will put Red Cross insignias on their arms in case there’s anyone to ask them what they’re doing. They’ll walk to their rental car and drive quickly to the airport. We have studied all aspects of typical wind currents. We did this when we thought we’d be using anthrax. But we’re already studying what changes we’ll need to make to accommodate the virus. I can tell you, we’re excited about using it. After disposing of their equipment, our team will board a private jet at the airport, and yes, we’ve made provisions to deal with panic and hysteria which may close down the airport altogether. I believe,” said Bailitz proudly, “that we’ve thought of everything.”
He paused, then continued. “The circle of those infected by the virus will be spreading out from the Kenyatta International Conference Centre. The livestock similarly infected, but by the anthrax spores, will be a major loss to the farmers of Kenya. The world wire services will cover the incident. There will be no tie to Belagri. Kenya will have been paralyzed—the country will come to a complete halt. Hysteria will spread rapidly from Kenya to the rest of Africa. Europe will experience the fear. So will the United States. News will get out that the virus is the same powerful contagious virus that the Bible spoke of in the Book of Exodus. Some will believe that this is God’s wrath.”
“And,” Tom asked, “as hysteria spreads, what will Belagri do?”
Bailitz said, “We will step forward and offer the antidote. But we’ll also offer attractive terms—not steeply priced—seeds, to assist in this rebuilding effort. The cost to Kenya and the farmers will be in the seeds they are obligated to purchase in future years.”
Tom said, almost in awe, “I had no idea that this operation has been so carefully orchestrated.”
“And, we’ll pick a second target if the corrupt bureaucrats miss the point. This time we’ll run short of the antidote. We won’t stop until we have a monopoly for our business.” Then he proceeded. “I was hoping you’d understand what we’re going to do and how the world will significantly benefit from our plan. You have made our work easier and more effective with the virus. But, as I told you before, I need your supply supply the Moses Virus.”
Definitively, Tom declared, “While I’m impressed with your organization and the completeness of your plan for the world, under no circumstances can I stand by and aid you in the outright murder of thousands if not millions of innocent people. No. My answer is absolutely no. I don’t have it, and even if I did I would not turn the virus over to you.”
Bailitz remained unfazed by Tom’s resolve. “I thought you might take this position. You’re misguided, and I suspect I can’t argue you out of this. I’ll leave it to my colleagues to persuade you to be more helpful. Crystal, will you show Dr. Stewart to our interview facility?”
Tom thought he saw surprise and concern in Crystal’s face at this suggestion. Crystal asked Bailitz, “Are you sure this is the best plan?”
Bailitz said with grim determination, “I’ve made up my mind. Go. Goodbye, Dr. Stewart. It is a pity you won’t see the bright future of the world unfold.” He stood and walked out.
Accompanied by one of Bailitz’s fully armed guards, Crystal led the way down a wide corridor to a small conference room. “Please wait inside. Dr. Krebs will be here soon to visit you.”
“Who is Krebs?”
“The most persuasive man you’ll ever meet, I’m afraid,” she said, and left, locking the door behind her.
Tom looked around the room. There was a table off to one side, and a couple of chairs beside the table. In the center was a high-backed chair with leather straps attached to each arm. There was nothing else in the room. The walls and ceiling were covered with soundproof material.
After a few minutes, the armed guard who had walked Tom to the room entered.
“Take off your jacket and sit in the chair,” he ordered in German.
“Go to hell!” Tom said.
The man backhanded Tom hard and forced him into the chair. He ripped Tom’s jacket off and threw it on the table. Even as Tom struggled, the man was able to secure the straps around his arms and tied Tom’s ankles together before leaving the room.
What seemed like hours later, the door opened quietly, and a man entered and closed the door behind him. He was carefully dressed in a lab coat, with gray hair neatly in place and a perfectly trimmed mustache completing his presentation. In the lapel of his lab coat, he wore a small white rose. He carried a black bag. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly, as he moved closer, sounding very much as if he was a congenial family doctor. “I am Dr. Krebs.”
Tom inwardly clenched his teeth and began to sweat. Dr. Krebs put his black bag on the table, opened it, and withdrew a syringe and a couple of small bottles. “There are so many ways we can do this,” he said softly. “Making my work easy will make it easier on you. However, I am a patient man and have all the time in the world to achieve the desired result.”
Krebs held his syringe up, then put its tip into one of the small bottles, filling the syringe with a colorless liquid. “Let’s start with this. It will keep you awake, but make you highly sensitive to pain. I’ve found that it’s an excellent opener.” He moved closer to Tom, and prepared to give him a shot. “Do you care which arm I use?”
Tom remained silent.
“No? Then I will choose the right arm.” He began to roll up Tom’s sleeve.
Krebs stood with his back to the door, about to administer the drug. Tom heard a small thud, and as Krebs straightened up, a look of surprise swept over his face. T
hen his knees buckled and he sank to the floor unconscious.
15
Are you all right?” Crystal asked as she moved into the room and shut the door.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“There’s no time to explain. We have to act quickly.”
Stepping over Krebs’s body, she quickly freed Tom from the chair.
“I don’t understand. Why are you helping me like this? Bailitz certainly won’t be pleased.”
She ignored him. “Here, take these.” She handed Tom his personal items. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t find your cell phone. That may mean Bailitz’s men are trying to extract information from it. Follow me.”
Crystal walked quickly from the room into the corridor. Tom followed her without comment. About twenty feet further along, the corridor turned right. Crystal touched a panel on the wall and a door slid silently aside. She ducked into the passageway, and Tom followed. “It was built as an escape route four years ago,” she said. Lit by small emergency lights every five feet or so, the corridor was narrow.
“Why are you doing this?” Tom asked again.
“I thought he was all business, engineering a new era of technology with superantidotes to the pestilence. Anything that could knock out a virus as powerful as yours would give us valuable information that would help us deal with other dangerous viruses.” She shook her head. “I’ve admired the man as a leader of a cutting-edge global company and a broad thinker of vital issues facing mankind. There’s no one like him. But, somehow in his thinking he’s decided that the ends he’s striving for justify the means. It horrifies me that he’d be willing to kill innocent people to achieve his goal. He sees the elimination of world hunger and the cash windfall that it brings to Belagri as one and the same thing. But I can’t subscribe to his using any means to reach that goal. The only way to stop him is to destroy the virus first. It’s our only chance, and you’re the only one who can do it.”
They stopped at the end of the passage. “This is a back stairway, leading down to a door at the back of the castle,” Crystal said. She then tapped a code into her iPhone. “I’ve disengaged the security cameras and unlocked the door.”
