At the World Health Organisation in Geneva, Dr Chu, the director general, was with the South African Minister of Health.
It was a formal meeting with pleasantries and dignified acknowledgements of the important status of each other. The politics was obvious. Chu was showing no outward signs of the impatience she felt but Joseph Musa recognised it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from his own secretary and a sign that something important had cropped up or someone else
was waiting to speak to Chu. He pressed a couple of keys and waited.
The three-letter text response was “SEA,” and he knew what that meant. The WHO’s regional director for Southeast Asia was waiting on the phone. He stood up. “Excuse me, Minister, ma’am,” and left the room.
“Dr Pradit,” his secretary said as he returned to his office.
“Transfer it to my office. Tell him the DG’s busy. I’ll deal with it.”
Musa quickly digested the information from the regional director for Southeast Asia.
“Ah, Joseph, ah. It’s Pradit. I’m in Bangkok. We’re getting some, ah, vital information on the Bangkok outbreak. First, ah, viral tests show it’s, ah, a new one. They’re calling it TRS-CoV. What the lab here would like is, ah, samples from the Nigerian cases for sequencing.
Just wondered if there’s any chance of some, ah, what you say, ah, arm twisting?”
“Not much hope of that, Pradit. It’s too late.”
***
Larry Brown had been summoned to Abuja to meet the USambassador, but as it was too late when he arrived, he was given an embassy flat for the night.
Sprawled on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, he played with his mobile phone, trying to build a list of contacts that would come in useful. For a minute or two, he couldn’t place who’d called him a few days before and left no caller’s number. Then he remembered it had been from Philippe in Kenya. Philippe had been sharing an apartment with another Frenchman, Pierre, a lecturer at the university. Larry tried the number.
“Oui, uh, yes. This is Pierre.”
Larry asked to speak to Philippe.
“Philippe is not here. I have not seen him for three days. He left on Monday. Took a small bag. He is not at the hospital either. No one has seen him. It is very strange. Do you know his family in Paris? I think they should know.”
Larry apologised for being unable to help. Neither did he have any other contact details. Feeling sure Philippe would turn up somewhere, sooner or later, Larry forgot about it; and instead, began to think about his meeting with his boss, the American ambassador, next morning.