She had developed effective strategies for coping in the familiar environs of her home and at the CDC headquarters in Atlanta where she did most of her work, but going out into the field was always a challenge. Invariably, she would be exposed to a host of unfamiliar stimuli, and there was no predicting just how her nervous system would react.
She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst, then exhaled and opened the door of the rented SUV.
Addis Ababa was relatively modern. Despite the fact that some of the first humans on the planet had probably lived in Ethiopia, the city had only been founded in the late nineteenth century, and its founder, Emperor Menelik II, had envisioned it as an Imperial capital. Because of its remote location and relatively sparse resources, the city had not grown organically like most cities in the developing world, with small villages of farmers gradually coalescing around an urban core. Instead, it had immediately become a center for education and other professional endeavors. Nevertheless, the economic hardships that persistently plagued the region-the entire continent, really-had intensified the flood of migrants from rural areas into the city. Poverty was endemic, and despite the efforts of the government, some of the streets through which the CDC team had passed were thick with beggars. But unlike many cities in the developing world, the roads were paved and there wasn’t a camel, ox, or donkey to be seen.
Sara took a cautious breath, but the expected sensory onslaught did not occur. There were sounds-traffic on the streets around the hospital-and smells-vehicle exhaust and something else…eucalyptus trees, she realized-but these weren’t unfamiliar to her.
So far, so good. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the SUV’s window. With her spiky dark hair and trim, athletic physique, she didn’t look like most people’s idea of a lab rat. At least she didn’t look as tired or anxious as she felt.
“Doctor Fogg?”
She turned to find a nervous looking Asian man, wearing short-sleeves and khakis, approaching her vehicle. “I’m Sara Fogg.”
“I am Dr. Hideoshi Nakamura, with the World Health Organization.” The man smiled, but his anxiety did not abate. “I am pleased to welcome you. But I will confess, I am uncertain why you have come.”
That caught Sara by surprise. When the CDC activated an investigative team to respond to an international incident, it was almost always at WHO’s instigation. “Uncertain? I don’t understand. Didn’t you request our help?”
“I know of no such request. The patient you inquired about…there is no evidence that she has contracted a contagious disease.”
“That’s my fault.” A new voice intruded, someone from heartland America, judging by the accent. Sara turned to greet the newcomer and saw a Caucasian man moving toward her, flashing a roguish smile. She thought he looked kind of like a young Harrison Ford- no, she amended, he looks like Han Solo. He quickened his step until he reached her, and thrust out a hand. “I’m Max Fulbright. Sorry about the confusion, but it was me that called you here.”
Sara warily accepted his handclasp. “Dr. Fulbright, is it? I think you owe us an explanation.”
“Oh, I’m not a doctor.” Fulbright’s smile never slipped. “I work out of the embassy, cultural attache.”
Sara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Cultural attache” was usually a euphemism for “spy.” But if Fulbright was indeed a CIA officer-if the Central Intelligence Agency had a special interest in what might be an unidentified contagion-then it confirmed the suspicions that had plagued her from the beginning. From the moment the call came in, something about this incident had seemed off. She hadn’t been able to pin down exactly what it was, but her anxiety had prompted her to bend the rules just enough to send Jack Sigler a text message.
“The patient,” Fulbright continued, “is an American citizen. That’s how I got involved.”
“Dr. Nakamura just told me that there’s no evidence of infectious disease,” Sara countered, unmoved by his smile or his evident sincerity. “And he’s imminently more qualified than you to make that judgment. Do you have any idea how costly it is to spin up a CDC response team? And, what if there’s a real outbreak somewhere, while we’re here running down your false alarm? Lives could be lost. Mr. Fulbright, didn’t your mother ever tell you the story of the little boy who cried wolf?”
“With all due respect to Dr. Nakamura,” Fulbright gave a polite bow to the WHO representative, “I’d appreciate a second opinion. And Dr. Fogg, as you’ll recall, in the end, there really was a wolf.”
Sara sighed then glanced over her shoulder to where her team was already unpacking their gear. “Kerry, find out where they want us to set up.”
Kerry Frey was a compact man in his fifties, with a kindly face and glasses that made him look like an absent-minded professor instead of one of the world’s leading virologists. He was also Sara’s assistant in charge of personnel. Frey nodded and immediately headed for the hospital entrance.
Sara turned back to Fulbright. “Just because there’s smoke doesn’t mean there’s fire, but once the firemen arrive, they have to check it out anyway. You got us here, Fulbright, so that’s what we’re going to do: check it out.”
“I couldn’t hope for anything more.”
Sara shook her head in resignation, and then joined the rest of her team as they unpacked their rented vehicles. The team moved with practiced efficiency, shuttling the heavy plastic cases containing their portable lab equipment into the hospital. Everyone in the team knew exactly what their job was; her role as team leader did not excuse Sara from pack mule duty. The first priority in any outbreak situation was establishing the command center and laboratory facilities, and that meant everyone had to pitch in to get the equipment up and running. In this case, the area designated for their use was a conference room on the first floor of the hospital.
The second priority was to assess the infected patient.
While Frey and the rest of the team started breaking out computer hardware, Sara began donning a one-piece, single-use Level A hazmat suit, made from disposable Tyvek.
“Can I get one of those?”
Sara realized that Fulbright had followed her team into the conference room. Dr. Nakamura was nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry, none to spare.” She resisted the impulse to make a dig about his lack of any kind of meaningful qualifications. She’d already made her point, and given the size of Fulbright’s ego, it seemed likely that further comment on that subject would just bounce right off the man.
As she pulled the suit around her shoulders, leaving the headgear off for the moment, Nakamura entered the room, accompanied by a handsome bearded black man wearing a white lab coat. The WHO representative made the introduction. “This is Dr. Abdullah. He has been treating the patient.”
Abdullah’s eyes drifted to the hazmat suit and he swallowed nervously. “When we heard you were coming, we moved her-Miss Carter, the patient-to an isolation room on the fourth floor, but… We have very limited resources here.”
Sara surmised that the Ethiopian doctor was probably wondering if he had unknowingly contracted some horrible virus. “The suits are just a precautionary measure. I’m sure they’re not necessary, but I have to follow our protocol.”
The doctor nodded, evincing a measure of relief.
Sara grabbed a specimen collection kit. “I’d like to see her right away.”
“Of course.” He gestured for her to follow. Not surprisingly, Fulbright joined them as if he had every right to. As they walked, Abdullah brought Sara up to date on the patient’s history. “The patient was brought to us three days ago. We haven’t been able to ascertain the identity of the man who dropped her off. She was catatonic, but clearly suffering from dehydration.”