Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 3 by Bobby Adair Page A

cover the fact her real purpose was to get Austin’s feet back on American soil.  Somewhere during those calls she told them, “Look out the window.  You see what’s going on, right? Everybody’s pulling their weight where they can.”
    Turns out, that was effective.  She made progress.  But progress kept being one more call—one more attempt—to beg some help from someone who didn’t have the authority she needed to get some kind of long-range airplane from here to there and back again. 
    To make it all worse, she couldn’t even find an airport at which to land an airplane.  The problems in Africa were laughable in their variety if the whole situation hadn’t been so sad.  The bottom line in most airports was simple.  Ebola had killed so many that the airport was nothing but an abandoned tarmac; in a state anybody could guess, with nonexistent support.
    And support was required.  Refueling would be required.  She wasn’t trying to send a puddle jumper.
    The phone rang and Olivia snatched it up, hoping.  “Cooper.”
    “Olivia?” asked Wheeler’s voice.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey yourself.  How are things on your end?”
    Olivia sighed.  “Same as last time we talked.  The closest I can get permission for the CDC’s jet to land is at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti.”
    “That’s the word coming back down the pike on this end, too.”
    “You know that’s nearly seventeen hundred miles from Mbale, right?”
    “Yes,” said Wheeler.  “I Googled it too.”
    “Starting with the first question that needs to be answered, if we get a set of samples from the hospital in Mbale, will they keep if I get Mitch to drive them to Lemonnier?”
    “They’ll degrade,” said Wheeler.  “They’ve got no refrigeration.  No ice.  No way to keep them cold.”
    “I know.  Will they be usable at all?”
    “We can probably get what we need.”
    Olivia smiled.  “Are you telling me what I want to hear?”
    “No,” said Wheeler.  “I think we can make the samples work as long as they don’t get too hot.  As long as this doesn’t take too long.  Now the question for you.  Do you really want to send Austin driving through East Africa the way things are now?”
    “No,” answered Olivia.  “And I wouldn’t even consider it if he wasn’t going to make the trip with Mitch.”
    “Does Mitch know he’s doing this?”
    “He will.”
    “You’re sure of yourself?”
    “No,” answered Olivia.  “I’m sure of Mitch.  I think he’ll do it because he’ll think it’s the right thing.  I think that’s all the motivation he needs.”
    “Yeah,” Wheeler agreed.  “He’s a Boy Scout.”
    “Don’t be that way.”
    “I’m not.” Wheeler chuckled.  “Same as you, I’m tired.  The hours are getting to me.  Maybe it’s the futility.”
    “What you’re doing isn’t futile.  You’re making a real difference.”
    Wheeler sighed.  “We’re trying, but most days it feels like everything’s working against us.  Not just Ebola, everything.”
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “Do you want to hear me vent?”
    “You’ve done it for me a thousand times.”
    Wheeler laughed.  “I suppose I have.  Sure, I’ll cash in a few credits.  First, there’s Ebola.  Dammit, if it would just stop mutating.  The vaccines in the pipeline are ineffective against half the strains.”
    “Half?” Olivia asked.  “I thought they were better.”
    “We don’t have any way right at this moment to vaccinate anyone against all the strains of Ebola out there.  We just don’t.  We’re praying and treating.”
    “What about the blood serum programs? They’re succeeding, right?”
    “Despite themselves,” said Wheeler, in as defeated a tone as Olivia had ever heard from him.  “I hate the camps they’ve set up.  I hate everything about them.  The thing I hate the most is at first, they produced serum just as predicted.  Then, production went down.  Way down.  More and more people