by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 10
In Nairobi, Philippe Fournier, PhD, leaned back as far as was safe to do so in his broken swing chair, and stared at the papers on his battered wooden desk.
Despite his qualifications as a microbiologist and biochemist, he was, at the request of someone far higher up, designing some leaflets for a sexually transmitted diseases poster. But his computer had, as usual, been going slow. Now it had stopped altogether.
"Merde! he said aloud. Then, “Fils de salope."
Then, deciding it sounded far better in English, he said, "Fucking, crap machine."
He got up, kicked the chair and went out, and because there was nowhere else to go, wandered along the depressingly long corridor that smelled of disinfectant and body fluids. Leaning on the ledge of an open window looking out towards the rest of the Kenyatta National Hospital site, he looked down at the ground below and felt a mouthful of saliva building up in his mouth as if he was going to be sick. He wasn't, but instead he let a large glob of the spit fall from his mouth. He watched it's slimy progress all the way until it nestled in the weeds below. Then his mobile phone rang.
He pulled it from his trouser pocket and checked to see if it was Mara's mobile, but no. He didn't recognise the number.
"Jambo," he muttered although he knew full well that it would suggest to anyone who was calling that he was just a foreigner or tourist practising their Swahili. Philippe was past caring.
"Monsieur Fournier?"
"Oui" he said, now thinking in French because of the title he'd just been given.
"We are recruiting highly qualified scientists for a new laboratory. Your name cropped up," the voice said.
Philippe's eyes lit up despite the speaker having already resorted to English. "Yes?" he said, not wanting to appear too enthusiastic.
"We are looking for someone to lead a group doing research in virology. Your name was mentioned."
"Yes," Philippe said, "I have a PhD from an English University but I also studied in Paris."
"Yes, we know," said the voice.
"How do you know?" asked Philippe, naively.
The caller ignored the question. "It would mean an immediate start for the right person. We can probably at least double your current salary. Are you interested in a meeting to discuss the position?"
"Uh, perhaps, " said Philippe, smiling down to where his spit had landed.
"The Oakwood Hotel at 7pm." said the voice. "I will be waiting for you."
"How do I know you?"
"Don't worry Philippe, I'll find you."
