Over the next week, Doug established a routine. When in a foreign country by invitation, the local authorities, both military and civilian had to be deferred to. His squad was there mainly to repel or ideally to prevent spontaneous attacks on the hospital infection disease specialists while they carried out their duties, much like marine guards at embassies around the world. There was little that could be done to resist masses of people if they were determined to overrun a place. And he personally was responsible for deciding at what point security and safety for the “Civilians” as they were called privately, could no longer be maintained. That frequently threw him into the company of Captain Presley, who attended the morning department head briefings held by Amelia for Bob Handley, June and himself. Privately, he conferred with Captain Presley more often.
Doug had his men on two shifts a day, noon until midnight and from then until noon the next day. It was wearing, but already he didn’t like the signs he was seeing: the way black patients looked at him and the others as they were admitted, and particularly the increasingly surly—and fearful—attitude he noticed among the black soldiers guarding the approaches to the hospital and those assigned to the grounds and entrances. He mentioned it to Captain Presley.
Presley’s ancestors were from Scotland. He was red headed, short and swarthy, with a tanned, freckled face. He wiped sweat from his brow as he made the rounds with Doug. “Can’t say as I blame t’ chaps, having t’ wear those suits in t’ heat. They can’t take it more than an hour’r so at a stretch.”
Amelia had allowed all their crew except the blacks and three others with dark skins to dispense with the biohazard suits as it became increasingly evident that Caucasians were immune to the disease—which was becoming known popularly as “The needles” after the pain symptoms. Officially, it was classified as
“Five of my own men are still in the suits, Captain, although I keep rotating them. And I don’t think it’s just the suits making the soldiers nervous and surly. Rumors are rife that it was started deliberately by white supremacists.”
Presley shrugged. “Could be, old man. I dare say th’re’s them as ‘ud do it ‘f given a chance. Though given my druthers, I’d of rather seen ‘em go after t’ ragheads if they were of a mind t’ kill off some ‘un.
Blasted retards, suiciders and all that. Don’t give a bloody damn who t’y kill so long’s it’s Americans or Europeans.”
“Funny place for it to start, though, Nigeria,” Doug commented after pausing with Presley to speak to Buddy Hawkins and the three Nigerian soldiers guarding the main entrance, and to see whether or not they were having any problems. None so far, though if looks could kill, one of the black soldiers would have laid him out.
“Have to agree there. South Africa would’ve been a more likely bet. Or maybe your country. Lots of hard feelings both places, don’t y’know? Even back home, lots of bad feelings. Bloody damned politicians, t’cause of t’all. How’re your boffins doing? Any luck so far?”
Doug had to think a moment before remembering what the term meant. In England, scientists were sometimes referred to as boffins. “You heard Amelia this morning same as I did. We can’t establish a vector. Hell, not even any clues yet.”
Presley took out a pack of cigarettes and shook one free. He tucked it between his lips and offered the pack to Doug. Without thinking, he took one and accepted a light. As soon as the smoke hit his lungs, he felt the familiar satisfying sensation—and a sudden dizziness at his first breath of nicotine in months. It happened every time. War and smoking seemed to go together in his mind. There had been no shooting yet, but he was beginning to doubt they would get out of Nigeria without fighting.
“Same’s back home t’way I hear it over t’ radio. Our boffins say it’s a virus, but ‘s peculiar. Seems to be spread by family sometimes, but not always. Blasted strange, eh?”
They paused again at the back entrance to the hospital. There, a gathering crowd was pressing forward toward rolls of barbed wire that had been hastily emplaced around the hospital grounds two days before, a worrisome sign in itself. All of the crowd were black. Many were yelling and shaking their fists, but others appeared barely able to stand and were being supported by what he supposed were family members.
Abruptly, an irregular volley of rifle shots rode above the crowd noise and silenced it for a moment. Doug scanned the scene quickly and saw that it hadn’t turned violent yet; the Nigerian soldiers had fired over the heads of the crowd. It was a portent, though. He pulled out his military phone and thumbed it on to let the troops in front know what was happening. He had to wait a moment while a voice amplified by a bull horn warned the crowd to stay in line or to go to the new hospital just opened.
“Heads up, guys,” he said, then after giving both the front and back guards time to recognize the incoming message signal, continued. “Those were warning shots, but stay alert. Remember, you’re not authorized to use force unless it’s the last resort—but don’t hesitate if any of our people are threatened.”
In the meantime, Presley was busy conveying information to his troops. When he saw that part of the throng had begun to troop off toward the newly rigged hospital, he spoke to Presley. “How much longer, do you think, Captain?”
Presley’s normally nonchalant countenance had sobered. He shook his head negatively, knowing exactly what Doug was asking. “If ‘twas my lookout, I’d be telling my chaps to start packing, old man. I rather doubt whites’ll be popular ‘round here in another day or two—not that we’re very popular right now, eh?” His grin returned momentarily, then vanished again as his phone rang.
While he was talking, Doug was thinking. It would be nice if the scientists could stay long enough to discover the vector for the “prickles”, another designation for the disease here, but their safety was his primary concern. Local news was already being censored, but Amelia had told him yesterday that the newly commissioned U.S.S. Andrew Jackson, one of their finest aircraft carriers, had arrived offshore with attendant ships, including part of a Marine Expeditionary force. Americans who wanted to leave would be evacuated. When that news got out here, as it inevitably would, the type of mild uproar he had just witnessed would be the least of their worries. Abruptly, he made his decision.
“Captain Presley, I’m going inside to tell our folks to get ready to leave. After that, I’m bringing all my troops and the medical people back here. I’m thinking we’d better call for a lift and get to the airport as soon as possible.”
“I rather agree, old boy. Any chance of going with you?”
“You’ll desert?”
“Call it what you like, old man, but I’ve kept my ear rather close t’ the ground. It’s sticky now, but within a fortnight, I’m willing t’ bet white skins’ll be hunted through t’ streets like bloody foxes. I’d rather like to avoid that ‘f I can.”
“I can get you aboard a flight, Captain, but I can’t guarantee what the customs and immigration folks back home will have to say about it.”
“Better a lockdown than a coffin, eh?”
Doug couldn’t argue with that. He waved one of his guards over, then sent him hurrying to drive one of the big trucks back to the quarters and bring everyone to the hospital.
CHAPTER THREE
Ali Green was called Fridge, his nickname, much more often than by his real name. Right now, he didn’t give much of a damn what anyone called him. All he could think of was the little body of his youngest, his daughter and the last of his children. He had buried them all, one by one. His wife rested in a plot beside them. She had gone first.
Tears wouldn’t come. He had already shed so many that there were none left, but he raged inside at the injustice of the world, at the way blacks were treated. He knew just as certainly as God made the earth that some whites, somehow, had been responsible for this newest scourge devastating the black race. He wanted revenge, but he didn’t know who to strike out at. Deep down, he knew that all whites weren’t guilty but he couldn’t control his feelings. Somehow, someway, he had to make them pay.
He trudged away from the graveyard by himself. Many people, especially blacks, were beginning to avoid
