Biowar

74

Karr wrapped his hand around the strap next to the seat in the back of the Sikorsky. He was all alone in the chopper, one of several precautions the doctors had asked him to follow just in case they were wrong about the tests and he was still contagious. The NSA op was supposed to keep several feet from everyone he came in contact with, not touch them, and not let them touch anything he touched. He wore gloves, a special set of rubber boots, and layers of pants and shirts that were supposed to keep his sweat from contaminating anyone.

“How you feeling, Typhoid Mary?” asked Chafetz.

“Just dandy,” he said. “Even had solid food for lunch.”

The helicopter banked so sharply Karr nearly fell out of his seat. A Thai patrol had run north a few minutes before and Puff/1 was flying shotgun just ahead, but the guerrillas had already demonstrated that they were adept at taking down flying objects. It took nearly twenty minutes to weave across the border and reach the village. Karr stared out the window. It was a good thing he was feeling better, though; the zigzag route would have done a number on his stomach otherwise.

He stepped out of the helicopter, steadied himself with a huge breath of air, and started toward the hamlet. He nodded at the Thai military people who’d put down earlier; all of them were wearing surgical masks. Contrary to popular belief, the masks offered little, if any, protection against most infections and were undoubtedly of little value here, where the disease was spread through saliva coming in contact with the skin. It was difficult, however, to argue with the psychological value.

The doctors reasoned that, since Karr had already been here, it was unlikely that he would infect any of the villagers even if they were wrong about him being contagious. Nonetheless, he followed the protocol they had outlined, making sure to stay at least six feet from them. The doctors with the company fanned out, preparing to administer tests to see if anyone had been infected earlier.

“I came for a refill,” said Karr, smiling and waving as the Burmese nurse appeared from the village. She was frowning; Tommy quickly gathered that she was suspicious of the soldiers.

As Karr started to explain why he was back, Chafetz warned him that the interpreter wasn’t translating his words properly. He dismissed the man and began trying to repeat what the Art Room Thai expert told him to say. But his pronunciation left a great deal to be desired, and while it greatly amused the nurse to be called “a young cake,” Karr realized after a few minutes that he wasn’t going to be able to talk to her this way. Finally he hit on a solution.

“You have a Burmese language selector on Speaker ID?” he asked, referring to the neural Net program that could translate intercepts in real time.

“Of course,” said Rockman.

“Why don’t you use it to translate my questions into her language, then beam the characters down to my computer?”

“I don’t know if that’ll work.”

“Well, find out,” said Karr, smiling at the nurse.

He gave up asking technical questions and started asking the woman about herself. Her face turned sad; she told a story about being chased out of Loikaw due to her husband’s profession nearly thirty years before.

“What was his profession?” Karr asked.

“He was a doctor,” the translator told him, relaying what she said. “Anyone educated, they were persecuted. The way she’s talking about him, he’s long dead.”

Karr nodded as the woman added details about her family and friends, all lost. He might not understand the words she used, but the meaning of what she said was clear, and even his naturally buoyant spirit was weighed down with the tragedy of a life torn to bits by a dictator’s paranoia.

“We got it,” said Rockman. “We have the character set and we can make it work. We’re just double-checking everything before downloading. You’ll have to put the unit down and walk away from it. Tommy? Hey, are you there?”

“I’m here,” said the agent somberly. “Go ahead.”