HARRY’S BAR, MANHATTAN – LATER THAT EVENING
Health Crisis in New York – Is it something we ate? New York’s Hospitals are overrun and over one thousand people have died. I’m Randy Tyler for Fox News. More, after these messages.
Harry had turned up the volume on the TV and most of the people in the bar had paused to watch the 7 p.m. news. Detectives Wyse and Cabrini were sitting on their usual barstools and had a good view of the television. They had briefed Sergeant Connolly on the day’s events, before clocking off.
‘Okay, boys, stay with it,’ had been his reaction. Cabrini had suggested a quick beer on the way home and Wyse had agreed. Anna was working late.
‘Jeez, buddy, hope the hospitals can get on top of this quickly.’
‘Shhh.’ John Wyse pointed at the TV. Dr Kim Scholler had appeared on the screen.
‘Yes, Randy, the public health authorities are on high alert. We’re dealing with an outbreak of e-coli food poisoning. The hospitals have been fully informed. We haven’t yet identified the source, so for the moment we’re asking everyone to ensure that all food is very thoroughly cooked.’
Next, Fox News switched to a story in Syria. IS extremists were threatening to behead another six hostages. Harry turned the TV down again.
‘Fuckin’ assholes,’ said Cabrini. ‘Two more beers, Harry,’ he called as he stood up and made his way to the restroom.
John rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was tired. He focused on the TV again.
‘And there’s even talk of a Nobel Prize nomination for humanitarian work.’
There was some Japanese guy on the TV. Hey, isn’t that . . .?
‘Tsan Yohoto’s Yamoura Pharmaceuticals have spent millions of dollars shipping free supplies of cephalosporin antibiotics in a mission to eradicate disease in famine-stricken African nations.’
The camera cut to show a long line of emaciated figures waiting to get access to a field hospital. The next scene showed the tiny, limp body of a three-year-old girl being bundled up in a blanket and placed in a shallow grave by her mother.
‘And this little girl is just one of thousands to die, because she had no access to medicine or clean water. Her mother has buried all six of her children, just like this.’
The mother’s sunken brown eyes gazed pitifully up at the camera. John Wyse had a lump in his throat. Jesus, that’s awful.
‘And Tsan Yohoto’s benevolence hasn’t done the Yamoura share price any harm at all. Today in Tokyo, Yamoura are up five per cent on the Nikkei. For Fox News I’m Andrea Mortimer in Darfur.’
Wyse took a sip from a fresh bottle of beer. Good to see there’s some decency left in the world. Just shows, I must have misjudged that guy, Yohoto. Must tell Anna. She must know about it, though? He frowned. Cephalosporin – isn’t that the same stuff that –?
His thoughts were loudly interrupted by Mike Cabrini, sitting back heavily onto his barstool, as he invited Smith and Williams to join them. ‘Four beers, Harry,’ he shouted. Then noticing Wyse’s expression, ‘Hey, John, why so serious?’
‘Mike, see that cephalosporin stuff, that they’re giving away free in Africa.’ He cocked a thumb at the TV.
‘Yeah,’ said Cabrini, gulping his beer.
‘Isn’t that the same stuff they were talkin’ about today at the meeting?’
Cabrini paused and then launched into his infamous impression of Huggy Bear, from Starsky and Hutch. Eyes wide, he faced Wyse and said in a hugely exaggerated, African-American accent, ‘It’s all shit to me, brother. Don’t make no difference if it’s black or white! High five!’
Wyse couldn’t help but join in the laughter.
‘Hey Harry, where are those beers?’
*
THE VILLA AT SAITON
‘Omedetou.’
‘And omedetou, to you, Tsan.’
Tsan Yohoto had called a breakfast meeting to review progress. The four members of the Chess Club stood in front of the plasma screen in the drawing room of Lumo Kinotoa’s villa. The clinking of glasses rang around the room as, triumphant, they raised glasses of sparkling water to each other. Lumo Kinotoa had sat a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the table.
‘We will leave the champagne until after the meeting,’ Tsan had said when he arrived.
‘We are nicely on track,’ he continued. ‘Today, Monday, is the ninth day since we started adding e-coli to the sauce. The hospitals in New York are overwhelmed. The Public Health Authorities have identified our e-coli bacteria and are beginning to realise how virulent it is, but now they think they can cure their people with cephalosporin.’
‘So, what do you think will happen next, Tsan?’ asked Kazuhiro Saito.
‘Apparently they started large-scale intravenous cephalosporin treatment today. But as their patients are totally resistant, we will see a big upturn in the number of deaths from tomorrow.’
‘And for how long do we continue infecting the sauce?’ asked Saito.
‘For as long as we can, my friend. How are the BurgerFantastic sales?’
‘Still very strong at about two million per week – and rising. The ninety-nine cent special ensured thousands of new fans! So, gentlemen,’ said Saito, excitedly, ‘every day potentially buys us close to three hundred thousand victims.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Dr Naga, rubbing his hands together, his thin face breaking into a smile.
‘Any news from our al-Qaeda friends?’ asked Kazuhiro Saito.
Lumo Kinotoa responded. ‘They say there hasn’t been a clear chance to kill the detective yet. He must be smarter than we thought.’
Tsan Yohoto interjected. ‘We can tell them to leave Wyse alone for now. We’re past the tipping point – so there’s not much he, or anyone, can do now. Please also tell them that they can cease the van drops of SuperVerve; those tablets have done their job. Tell them to concentrate on the curtain swishing in the hospitals!’
Pop – the cork exploded out of the bottle and Lumo Kinotoa tried to stop the champagne frothing on to the carpet. They moved back to the end of the room and stood in front of the huge plasma TV. The four men hugged and cheered each other as they sat watching minute-by-minute coverage of the disaster unfolding in New York. All the US networks had now switched to nonstop coverage. The Fox News reporter was talking earnestly into the camera from the familiar position at the railings in front of the White House.
‘Government officials now put the death toll at close to five thousand. The President has declared a state of emergency for New York. Troops have been sent into Manhattan to prevent any breakdown in public order. Behind me, the President’s officials are working around the clock in an effort to beat this public health disaster. Just as Mayor Giuliani re-opened the theatres on Broadway, two days after 9/11, the President is encouraging New Yorkers to continue with their daily lives with bravery and dignity. Some senators are saying that the government is not doing enough and seem to have learned nothing from New Orleans. I’m Tom Broden for NBC News, the White House.’
‘Our revenge is in play.’ Dr Naga laughed. ‘Oh, how they deserve it! More champagne, Tsan?’
‘No thank you,’ said Tsan Yohoto, who was looking at the black and white photograph in his hand. ‘Please send a message of thanks and congratulations to our colleagues in Afghanistan. Now I must go and see my mother.’
*
MANHATTAN – 10 P.M.
John Wyse and Anna were snuggled into each other on the couch in his apartment.
Wyse said, ‘So, it was on the TV. A story about Tsan Yohoto saving thousands of lives in Africa, by donating free medicine.’
Anna prodded him. ‘There ya go. I told you he was a great guy.’
‘Hmm. Maybe I misjudged him. Anyway, it turns out that the antibiotics that he’s giving away are the same type they’re using here to fight this food poisoning. Isn’t that weird?’
Anna shrugged and clicked the remote. ‘I’d like to see that interview. Should be on again soon.’ Wyse pulled her closer and inhaled the smell of her perfume. He kissed the back of her head.
‘Mmmm’ was her response. Then after a silence, ‘You know John, I’ve been thinking. And I’d like to ask you a favour.’
‘Sure, honey.’
She turned to face him. ‘You know we both want to have kids in a few years. When the time’s right?’
‘Yeah?’
‘If we have a boy, can we call him Adam?’
‘After your brother. Of course. It’s a beautiful name.’
Anna’s eyes moistened as she kissed Wyse and squeezed him tighter. She had never felt so complete.
‘John. I love you.’
*
Ten miles away, Dr Peter Phillips sat in the darkness of his kitchen with an open bottle of whiskey in front of him. He was on his third glass. He stared blankly through the window into the garden. There was Suzy’s swing, moving gently backwards and forwards in the breeze. His beautiful girl was dead. His wife and son were in hospital. The doctors had assured him that they had identified the infection, had started Sandra and Jonathan on the correct antibiotic, and had sent him home to sleep. He jumped as his cell phone beeped to alert him to a message. He slowly thumbed the buttons to read it. It was from Elaine at the clinic.
John, where are you? Clinic is overrun. Several patients have died – Mrs Riccini, Mrs Walton. Please call urgently.
He sighed heavily and dropped the phone on to the table.
Poor old Mrs Walton and her endless complaining. And Mrs Riccini.
And then he thought of her six children. And then he thought of his own daughter, Suzy. He thought that he could see her now, on the swing in the garden, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind. Singing like Adele. Smiling her beautiful smile. And then he cried.