Rabbit fever, p.11
Rabbit Fever, page 11
Similarly, he surmised, Clive or whoever had allowed the computer operators into the building that morning hadn’t taken the trouble to verify their identities and without question granted them access.
George thought this had to be the case.
The more he pondered it, the more likely it sounded.
Kauffmann and her meddling had probably led them to the hospital in Porthaven. She likely still had the right contacts to ensure she could stir up trouble here. She probably knew precisely what information to share to kickstart one of these real-life training exercises.
George reasoned this was why they had chosen Bubonic Plague as the threat. It had to be something the Health Board had never encountered before to evaluate their resilience and preparedness. George concluded Will was probably in on it as well.
After all, it was Will who had answered the call from Kauffmann. Will who had headed off for a meeting with the alleged Health Secretary and MI5 agent and Will who had likely deduced that his provocation of George in the prior meeting would trigger a furious reaction. Leading to Will being sent down to Porthaven for the investigation.
Uncomfortably, he had to admit his organisation’s less-than-ideal initial response to Covid likely put his area at the top of the list for such an exercise.
There probably wasn’t much prodding or pushing Kauffmann needed to do to set things in motion here. He also considered this was an ideal situation for her.
While in Porthaven, she had been relatively quiet, except for sporadic complaints about insufficient resources or funding and occasional suggestions on how things could be improved. She seemed to spend most of her days smoking and brooding in her dim office, only emerging to tend to a few elderly patients, probably biding her time until she can launch an attack on George such as this.
Turning to Tina, George sought her opinion.
“So you didn’t actually see anything when you went down there, did you?” he inquired. “So, in fact, we don’t really have much evidence of anything, do we?” he answered his own question rhetorically before Tina had a chance to respond.
He continued,
“This smells of a training exercise. I heard rumours things like this were being considered to assess how we’d perform in a situation like this. That’s why they have us all in this room – so we can see for ourselves how things are going and how our organisation is performing.”
He attempted to reassure himself everything was under control.
Tina reacted with disbelief.
She, too, had heard rumours about these supposed real-time training events, sprung without notice to assess response and capabilities. However, it all seemed too extreme. The cost of simply gathering all these people in the room. Coupled with Kauffmann’s activities in Porthaven – locking up her hospital and burning its contents in the car park – didn’t seem like something that would be part of a training plan. And if it were, what about the ensuing media outcry?
Had George forgotten about all that? Would a training plan be designed to prompt the media to scrutinise the government’s performance?
Tina found it highly unlikely.
She could see George was grasping at straws, but this explanation went too far, even for him. It was evident he was eager to return to the golf course but attempting to dismiss the ongoing situation as a training exercise, considering the dire circumstances they all found themselves in, was laughable.
Tina attempted to reason with George, taking him aside as best she could in the midst of the crowded boardroom, filled with tables, computers, and operators.
She began,
“I can see what you mean, but I really don’t think—”
But it was too late. George, now confident in his belief this was all a training exercise, began addressing the room.
“Now, I do have to say,” George began, attempting to speak with an air of authority.
The room’s occupants ignored him, as if he hadn’t uttered a word, as if he were invisible. This was an unfamiliar situation for George, he was accustomed to speaking and having people listen to him. He tried again, thinking adding some humour might draw more attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I have to say that we’ve all found this exercise very useful, insightful and I’d like to thank you for all your time you’ve devoted to us this morning and over the past few days,” George proclaimed, “For next steps may I recommend that it might be beneficial for us to schedule a debrief at a later date. However, I think we can all agree that this is diverting everyone from their daily responsibilities and has already gone on for far too long.”
The members of the Health Board collectively gasped audibly, and the Health Secretary turned to face George. While he had managed to elicit a reaction with his latest statement, it was clear from the expression on her face it was not the reaction George had anticipated or desired.
“You never cease to amaze me,” she snapped. “This is no training exercise. Do you think I want to be here? Do you think anyone wants to be here, sorting through your mess?”
She wagged her finger at George, akin to how a strict headteacher would admonish a misbehaving child.
“This is far from a training exercise, and it only reinforces my suspicions you’re in the wrong job.”
George appeared to shrink into himself, his previously inflated chest now deflated, and his proud countenance morphed into one of dismay.
He had believed he had exposed them, but he had to admit to himself it was improbable a training exercise would involve an actor playing a government minister who was instructed to question his performance.
The Health Secretary, with an air George could only interpret as menace, looked in his direction but addressed the entire room. She instructed the remaining members of the Health Board to vacate the room, with the exception of Will and George. She then directed a computer operator to reconnect Kauffmann on a conference call.
George observed meekly as Tina, Clive, and the other board members exited the room. They exchanged glances with him and Will, wearing apologetic expressions, relieved to escape the uncomfortable and tense atmosphere in the boardroom. They didn’t like George and Will, but they couldn’t help but feel sorry for the predicament they now found themselves in, understanding they wouldn’t want to be in a similar situation.
As the boardroom door closed quietly, George’s mind wandered as he recalled how he had insisted on the installation of those soft-close doors. He had wanted to minimise disruptions from doors being slammed shut and provide an outlet for his own frustrations to be absorbed when he slammed them in a temper.
He thought about how simple things were before Kauffmann’s call a few days ago, but he also realised he had to admit to himself, this was far from a training exercise.
George scanned the room with a pleading look, hoping for an update that seemed elusive.
To his surprise, it was Will who broke the silence. Will had found a newfound confidence and challenged the room,
“So, I presume there’s a reason you’ve kept both of us,” he said, “I suppose you have more questions.”
The MI5 agent nodded, confirming there were indeed more questions for Will, George, and Kauffmann.
George, though still deflated, decided to fight back.
He was not willing to be accused and lumped together with whatever Kauffmann and Will had gotten themselves into.
He attempted to argue he should be allowed to leave the room. He didn’t know the individual Kauffmann had stored at Porthaven, had little medical training, and, if the Chief Doctor had been allowed to leave, he should be allowed as well. Additionally, he hinted that he still questioned Kauffmann’s motives.
But he was taken aback by the response. So much so, he had to steady himself on the table, reach for a glass of water with trembling hands, take a sip, and finally sit down in a chair a concerned computer operator had vacated.
“But I don’t understand,” he stammered, “what do you mean by ‘all those who we’ve asked to remain, either know, knew, or interacted with the individuals we are looking into?’’“
Chapter 11
2019 – Maputo - Mozambique
As the early morning sun rose over Maputo, the capital city of Mozambique, it cast a sweltering haze across the vibrant metropolis. The increasing heat mixed with the dust and debris stirred up by the bustling morning traffic, creating an atmosphere that encapsulated the city’s energetic pulse.
Street sellers transported their goods in battered, some almost antique, trucks to colourful local market stalls, where the kaleidoscope of offerings added to the city’s rich tapestry. Taxis, adorned with vibrant colours, impatiently blared their horns as they navigated the congested streets, weaving through the diverse crowds.
A network of numerous buses carried passengers, their destinations ranging from factories on the city’s outskirts to bustling marketplaces, their routes winding through the lively streets.
In this urban landscape, street children, full of life and dreams, competed for the attention of passersby. Either hoping for a few coins or banknotes that would brighten their day or engaging in the daring game of who could hold onto the back of the bus the longest. Echoing the spirit of youthful exuberance that coursed through the city’s veins.
Maputo, once a city mired in challenges, had embarked on a remarkable journey of economic growth in recent years, shedding its former reputation as a destination to be approached with caution by tourists. Instead, it had blossomed into a coveted haven for upscale travellers.
The introduction of new five-star beachfront resorts marked the turning point, luring visitors of affluence who brought with them a wealth of foreign currencies.
The city’s currency exchange booths, often abuzz with activity, stood as a testament to this newfound prosperity, and the sense of freedom in spending was palpable in the air. Maputo was evolving, and its transformation served as a testament to the resilience of its people, their spirit reflecting the beating heart of a thriving urban centre.
The haunting memories of the catastrophic 2000 floods, which had once seized global headlines, had now receded into the past. Maputo had made a remarkable recovery. Astute entrepreneurs saw the potential unlocked by Mozambique’s newfound prominence on the world stage. The world had learned about Mozambique, and this attention allowed clever and resourceful individuals to harness the advantages of the global spotlight.
This progress had a ripple effect throughout the city. Dilapidated colonial structures underwent renovations, and several skyscrapers began to grace the skyline. Palm trees and other greenery lined the streets that tourists were expected to frequent.
Like any city, Maputo had its fair share of challenges, but then again, even the world’s most celebrated cities faced their own sets of difficulties without much searching, and it was this city Jose surveyed as he gazed out of the apartment window.
Turning his attention back inside the room, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the individual seated across from him, whose disinterest in Maputo’s usual attractions made him a bizarre figure in this tropical, tourist-filled city. The stranger’s demeanour was far removed from the typical excitement tourists had for Maputo’s offerings.
Unfazed by the allure of the city’s tourist resorts, scenic sights, or the promise of a thrilling safari, the stranger displayed a remarkable indifference to these conventional charms. Even the prospect of drinking at the finest establishments held no appeal for him. He was an outlier, marching to the beat of his own drum.
What made the situation even more curious was the stranger’s attire. He was decked out entirely in black – black jeans, a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, and an out-of-place black safari hat. It was as if he had dressed for a chilly European climate, a stark contrast to the equatorial heat of Maputo. Despite his visible discomfort, he refused to adapt to the local dress code, maintaining a steadfast commitment to his unconventional, all-black ensemble.
The juxtaposition of this peculiar figure against the vibrant, sun-soaked backdrop of Maputo only deepened the mystery.
Jose couldn’t help but wonder about the story behind this individual and what had brought him to a place so wildly different from the environment he seemed more accustomed to. The encounter with the man in black promised to be far from ordinary, a deviation from the typical tourist interactions in the city.
His unkempt long blonde hair also seemed unsuitable for the local weather.
Jose chuckled, recalling how he and his friends had mockingly dubbed it a ‘rat’s nest’ due to its long, greasy, tangled, and knotted appearance, when Jose had sent them clandestinely taken pictures of this individual. This, along with the stench of body odour, which the heat and sweating exacerbated, earned this individual the nickname ‘King Rat’.
It was evident King Rat had little regard for personal hygiene, or perhaps he couldn’t cope with the heat, leading to his persistent odour. Jose would never have chosen to associate with King Rat voluntarily. Whenever he accompanied King Rat to various meetings or destinations, he attempted to lead the way, ensuring he stayed ahead of the ratty individual. Sometimes, when King Rat managed to navigate by himself, Jose preferred to lag a significant distance behind his unusual companion.
His task however, was clear-cut: keep a watchful eye on King Rat, preventing him from getting into troublesome situations and resolving any problems that cropped up.
The job paid well, perhaps suspiciously so given its simplicity and much more than Jose was used to from foreigners, even those who liked to fritter away their money offering over the odds for his services.
Nevertheless. Jose hadn’t worked for a few weeks so was keen for the cash, so he responded to a job listing for a ‘personal security guard’ with the demand replies and applications to be sent ‘ASAP’.
Anticipating duties like escorting a millionaire’s wife on shopping excursions or overseeing gated communities on the city’s outskirts. He also considered scenarios involving celebrity visitors to Maputo who might need a bodyguard familiar with the locale. Although he lacked genuine security experience, Jose believed it was worth a try, even though he thought his application was a long shot.
He was taken by surprise when he was accepted for the position without an interview or any questions. He was instructed to meet an individual crossing the northern border, accompany him to Maputo, and provide an apartment.
The fact this person hadn’t arrived at the airport had crossed Jose’s mind. Driving to the dusty and desolate location near the Tanzania border, where the illegal crossing was a well-known yet unspoken secret, seemed odd. Equally puzzling was the behaviour of the individual who escorted King Rat to the border, unceremoniously pushing him out of the car and giving Jose a condescending look.
Money was Jose’s focus, and he concluded it was probably better not to ask too many questions. The less said about the forged security certifications he had included with his application, the better.
“Jose, I’m hungry,” King Rat demanded, displaying the petulance of a newborn baby.
Jose sighed. This was worse than dealing with a baby; at least a baby or toddler could be reprimanded, corrected, and taught. In contrast, this individual, Jose’s responsibility, made it clear that his money afforded him the freedom to behave as he pleased.
Jose often wondered who was footing the bill.
King Rat knew Jose was being paid but had, on several occasions, inquired about his compensation, implying he was unaware. It seemed he enjoyed playing games to catch Jose off guard.
King Rat had also suggested it was him paying Jose but through a complicated system of proxies, whatever the situation it was clear he liked the fact he could keep Jose on his toes.
Once, he had sent Jose out to purchase food, only to leave their small, stuffy apartment while Jose was shopping and hide several hundred metres down the street. King Rat had expected Jose to panic upon returning to find him missing. To King Rat’s surprise, Jose had matter-of-factly deduced that if his ward had disappeared, his job was over, and he had begun packing his meagre belongings.
Jose regarded King Rat with disdain, relieved that, at least today, his charge had risen from his bed and wasn’t issuing commands from its depths.
This likely meant King Rat had arranged yet another of his mystery meetings, details of which he never shared with Jose. Jose’s role was to escort him to the meeting location, wait while the meeting took place, and then return with him.
It perplexed Jose how many of these meetings appeared to occur in high-end hotels. Jose thought if he were attending such establishments, he would dress in his finest attire, perhaps even purchase a new outfit to look his best. King Rat, who rarely practised proper hygiene, didn’t see any need to change his appearance, causing other hotel guests to notice him for all the wrong reasons.
Jose muttered in exasperation,
“What would you like to eat? You didn’t like what I got for you last time. And remember, you need to come with me when we go out; those are the rules.”
He had no intention of getting entangled in another game of hide and seek with King Rat.
King Rat hesitated, unsure of his appetite.
He wasn’t really hungry but needed to devise a way to start a conversation.
Today was important; he would be having an especially important meeting.
After extensive online searches and venturing into the depths of the dark web, he believed he had finally located the contact he needed. More to the point they had provided evidence they had carried out the tasks he had requested.
However, he needed Jose with him at the meeting, even if he were uncertain of the support Jose could provide.
Safety in numbers was essential today.
King Rat felt apprehensive about this meeting, which was unusual, but driven by his lack of control over the location for the planned conversation to take place. He usually insisted on meeting in high-end hotels, not because he enjoyed them, but for the security they offered.
