The Dolos Conspiracy

by Frank Perry

morning. If you want us out, we’ll know when the guard won’t let us in.”

  Jules reacted quickly. This would complicate any site visit by the Saudi’s or other buyers if the lab was empty. “Now, wait! Wait, sit down … please sit back down.”

  They stood still, not saying a word, so Jules continued. “Look, we’re at a critical time right now. I’m trying to fight a world outbreak of Ebola virus and also expecting one or more potential buyers to look at GHI. I can’t have our most important lab unstaffed. Hell, how would it look if I was the only researcher running 4B. We’d get laughed at. We’d look like a shoestring operation. You two are vital to us right now. I need you at least until the sale is complete.”

  John was surprised by Jules’ mellowing and candor. “Why the hell should we care about some investors? Seems to me you should be treating us with kid gloves, not haranguing the hell out of us. You know, Jules, you should be looking for ways to reward us, rather that berating us.” Kelly was shocked but proud of John. She hadn’t told John about the value of her stock options that would vest immediately if the Institute sold.

  Jules withered and looked down momentarily. “You’re right … you’re right. Look, I’m under a lot of stress right now. Normally, I thrive on stress, but not this much. I’m getting pulled in two directions at once, and I shouldn’t be using you as outlets. I apologize.” He almost sounded sincere. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and come in tomorrow. You’re not fired; hell, I couldn’t fire you if I wanted to. You’re both assets of the Institute. If you wanted a raise, I’d have to think about it. So, please, just leave and let’s forget all about this.”

  They both nodded and left without saying another word. They signed out and were silent until they reached the parking lot at Kelly’s apartment. When they were outside the car, she looked perplexed, shaking her head. She was still shaking and her voice elevated. “What was that about, John? I don’t get it. He’s not just worried about selling the Institute. Something else is bugging him.” Trust a woman’s intuition.

  He looked at her. “You got any ideas?”

  “Not yet, but I do have the inventory.” She tapped her head.

  Mystery Man

  He was calling from his favorite perch at the vista point above the Chesapeake. “Okay, did you get the shipping manifest?”

  The man with a strong Middle Eastern or Eastern European accent (he couldn’t tell the difference) answered. “It is here and very specific.”

  “Okay, then, send me the rest of my money.”

  “Not so quickly, my friend. Do you know when the UN (WHO) people will pick up? What route? What time?”

  “No. How the hell would I know that?”

  “Please, there is no reason to be rude. We are watching them. This is enough. When we have your shipment, you will be paid.”

  He wanted to protest, but what could he do? They had everything they needed, and he had no further leverage. He reminded himself that the “token” down payment had been received as he instructed. He had nothing to lose at this point and everything to gain – a million dollars.

  Meanwhile in Guinea, Abagael Van Acker was at the air cargo terminal, waiting. GHI had emailed the air waybill information. The Delta flight was scheduled to arrive at six in the evening. The weather was clear and hot as the sun set over the ocean. It would have been a beautiful view if they weren’t fighting the clock to prevent an outbreak. Their UN delivery van with WHO markings gave them privileges on the airport. It wouldn’t matter in most of the developed world, but in Guinea, it carried weight. It would be a five-hour drive to Kambia, which she didn’t like to do after dark. It was a huge risk. This was still Africa and any number of things could happen after dark in the wilderness, none of them good.

  The plane appeared first as a reflection, a glint, coming from the direction of the setting sun. As night closed in, the plane’s landing lights became discernable against the red solar ball, which was sinking below the horizon as the flight approached touchdown. She had two medical assistants with her, one acting as the driver. Neither was particularly fluent in English and they didn’t understand the natives in Sierra Leone. They were hard workers, but their medical training was questionable. In the WHO, in Africa, it was useless to complain, so you accepted whatever people the UN offered. Van Acker just wished she didn’t have to beg for everything. At least her friends at GHI were always eager to help. If she had anything to feel satisfied about, it was that she would be saving lives.

  It took another hour for the plane to offload its cargo and for the medical supplies to clear customs. They were on their way after eight that night. At the outskirts of the city, they had to find a specific crossroad to pick up their new guide and interpreter. Victor had been out of contact for days, and it was unwise, and unsafe, to travel without a local guide. There were no reliable maps of the area, and GPS was useless. If they tried it alone, driving by compass, it could be a formula for death. Their new guide, Chima, was waiting. He was just a boy, and Dr. Van Acker was initially uncertain about taking him to Kambia. She didn’t want to cause another young casualty.

  The route from the capitol of Guinea to Kambia, Sierra Leone, is one of the most dangerous in the world. Dr. Van Acker never felt easy traveling through the civil-war ravaged border districts, full of swamps and with one of the poorest indigenous populations in Africa. The life expectancy was only a little over forty. This was also the rainy season, so the dirt roads often washed away. As they left the lights of Conakry behind, they were traveling into total darkness. The equatorial tropical temperatures and elevated humidity gave the air a solid quality. Air conditioning didn’t exist in their truck because their bodies wouldn’t respond well to the difference when they were outside. Storm clouds blocked whatever moon and starlight that might have existed. They would be alone in the low swamplands, with no other drivers daring to be away from the safety of the villages at night.

  Nobody talked. It took too much energy. Besides, they could hardly understand each other. Each was lost in their individual thoughts, but all stayed awake, alert for anything that might stop them. Chima, the guide, gave occasional instructions to the driver, but it was otherwise silent in the truck except for the engine noise or the tires fighting the undulating ground. One of the medical technicians had tried talking to her, practicing his English. His speech had been agonizingly bad and her head throbbed. The trip would take five hours in daylight, but longer this night. It would have been more comforting if any other vehicles shared the road. It was lonely and dark, and there were no reliable communications other than the CB radio, with nobody listening on the other end.

  Several hours after passing into Sierra Leone, they were nearing Kambia. There was no visible clue yet, no signs, but enough hours had passed that it wouldn’t be too far ahead. Van Acker didn’t know why she was nervous. She was always nervous when far from civilization in dangerous territory; anyone would be. Someone observing would be sure she was insane to do this. Most medical doctors who came to Africa stayed short periods then went back to lucrative practices and security in their home countries. But this was the life she’d chosen; she kept telling herself that it was the right decision. Her parents were both still living and proud of their daughter for her dedication and compassion.

  Chima and the driver began chattering nervously, but she couldn’t understand. The truck slowed as it turned a tight corner in the mangrove forest. They were approaching a rice field, and the road made a sharp ninety-degree turn. The two men up front were straining to see something that wasn’t immediately visible from the rear seats. Then the truck stopped abruptly and a lone man with a rifle stood ahead in the glare of the headlights. As she looked harder, there were more shadowy figures in the darkness beyond.

  She screamed. “Go! Go! Don’t stop! The driver hesitated until Chima yelled something also.

  The driver floored the truck while
everyone bent low, instinctively. The truck gained speed slowly, giving the gunman a fraction of a second to dive away. The shadowy figures were moving also. The UN truck sped through them, and Dr. Van Acker didn’t know if the bumps under their tires were from the road or bodies. She was crouching almost onto the floor. It didn’t matter. If they stopped, they would die. She knew it. She only hoped the driver could see the road as he hid low behind the wheel.

  Extreme poverty and numerous warring factions resulted in high crime rates in the country. Roadside bandits were common. In most cases, they had no vehicles for pursuit. These men had guns. She’d seen them. The engine roared, but the sound of bullets passing around them had been loud as they sped forward. When bullets hit the truck, it sounded like hammers or hail, like a storm she’d been through as a child. She prayed that nothing vital was hit, including the people with her. The robbers had assault rifles. Automatic gunfire confirmed it. That meant they had been part of the separatist army or something worse, Islamists. As a woman,