Pharmageddon Chapter 7

Pretoria, South Africa 09:00 Tuesday 4 January T+ 2 days 6 hrs

‘Gipsy! Why has it taken you so long to come back to us?’ 

After running the gauntlet of growling chihuahuas, at least the alpha bitch behaved like the old friend she was, giving me a big hug and a peck on both cheeks.

Bettina Shabangu was every bit the career woman, slim and beautifully turned out in a dark green tailored suit with discreet silver jewelry. I’d watched and applauded as she soared through the ranks of South Africa’s NGO community until she was offered a senior post in the department of health. Then, when her boss compounded his incompetence by being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, she was the obvious choice to succeed him as director general, the top job in the government health service.

‘Yeah, well it seems like this is the only way I’ll get to see you, since you stopped coming to conferences.’

‘Ayeee, I know! I really miss seeing everyone. But I have to expose younger people to the latest information – broaden their horizons.’

‘Younger? You must be joking – you’re just a baby yourself.’

She shrieked with laughter, and I guessed not many people who came into this office dared tease her like I did. I knew she’d accepted the top job in the ministry of health with some misgivings, since she didn’t agree with many of her government’s policies. We’d talked about it often enough in restaurants and nightclubs over a bottle of wine. Or two. But it was largely thanks to her determination that the nation with the biggest AIDS epidemic finally began to roll out antiretrovirals with the same kind of enthusiasm as its neighbors. Unfortunately it came too late for hundreds of thousands of people, but late was a lot better than never for those now receiving the life-prolonging medications.

She was looking at me thoughtfully. ‘Oh Gipsy, it’s so good to see you. It reminds me of... better times. When we thought we could save the world.’

I sensed a real pain in her words, so I took her hand. ‘Bettina, the way I hear it, you’ve been doing a pretty good job of saving at least a part it.’

I wasn’t ready for her reaction. Her face seemed to melt like ice cream in a microwave, and I could see she was fighting back tears. She looked... vulnerable. No, more like violated! For a long moment she couldn’t talk, and I put my arm across her shoulders. Finally she shook her head and retreated behind her desk, gesturing to me to sit across from her. When she spoke again her voice was strong, and I sensed embarrassment behind her smile.

‘So Dr North, what can I do for you?’

‘Well Dr Shabangu, I was hoping you’d tell me what the fuck is going on with this looting?’ For a moment she looked at me deadpan, and my heart lurched as I wondered whether I’d presumed too much about our friendship, but then she gave another shriek of delight.

‘Aaah Gipsy! Two steps forward, one step back. This one is a really big step back. But listen, I’m going to have to be careful. Everyone will know that you’ve come to see me today. Can you still dance the quick- step?’

Aha! An old joke. I’d once told Bettina that reporting sensitive news was like dancing the quick-step, meaning both journalist and informant had to be light on their feet and totally in synch or they were likely to tread on each others’ toes, bump into somebody else, or worse. In short it meant protecting your source – making it seem like the information came from someone else. Bettina and I had done it a few times over the years. So far we hadn’t been caught.

‘Of course, Betts, so let me tell you what I’ve got already. Your public hospitals and clinics have been cleaned out by the cops. Not even an aspirin left. Pretty much every AIDS patient who pitched up at a clinic yesterday went home with nothing. So did every medical patient, regardless of their illness. Your doctors are staying away. Only your trauma centers are operational – to some extent. Your chief of police has told private pharmacies and hospitals to hand over their stocks of ARVs, and it looks like they might. Your boss, minister Makeba, has said nothing to the media. Your ambassador to the UN walked out when they said they’d only send ARVs to countries where universal treatment is continuing.’

She nodded grimly, but said nothing.

‘The way I see it, girl, you’ve got a window of opportunity here. If you somehow get the ARVs back into your hospitals and start treating people, and if you give the UN a tally of your stocks, you’ll be fine... you can carry on like nothing happened.’

She just looked at me.

‘But if you don’t... by the end of the week... the backlog of patients, the mind-set of doctors, and cops – you’ll have a real treatment interruption on your hands. After a month it’ll be total, because every patient will have run out of their meds. You’ll have to get second-line ARVs for everyone, and somehow kick-start your treatment program from scratch.’

Finally she drew a long, unsteady breath. ‘Oh Gipsy. It all sounds so easy. That’s what the minister said when I told him exactly what you just said. It all sounds so easy. It’s what he always says when he has no argument, but he’s not going to take your advice anyway. There was nobody else in the room so you mustn’t use that.’

‘I won’t. But Jesus, is he serious? What’s happening in his head?’

Again she looked like she was fighting back tears. ‘I don’t know what to do. Will it help if I resign? Or should I stay and try to change things from inside?’

‘Bettina, what if you go on record? Confirm everything. Say that if the cops don’t take the ARVs back to the hospitals today, there’s no turning back, no way to avoid putting countless lives at risk. Getting into a trap you can’t get out of. I’m sure they’ll fire your ass, but it might... make them reconsider. It would give the international community a lot of ammunition. It could save a lot of lives.’

She looked at me thoughtfully. ‘We don’t like pressure, here in Africa. If people tell us to do something, we usually do the opposite. You can persuade us behind closed doors, sometimes. But the moment you go public, then you can be sure we won’t do what you say. We just don’t bow to public pressure. It’s not our way.’

‘Okay. So what would work? Today?’

‘That’s the problem. We also don’t like to do things quickly. Decision making is done by committees...’

‘Shit Betts, the cops moved quickly enough. It’ll be a lot easier to return the drugs today than it will tomorrow, and by the end of the week it’ll be bloody nearly impossible.’

‘I know. But what can I do?’

‘You mean, what can WE do? I obviously can’t leave you hanging all by yourself, girl.’

This time there was no fighting the tears. It took some time, and some tea served by a secretary who glared at me as though I was abusing her boss, but finally Bettina cleared her diary for the rest of the morning and we got down to some serious thinking.

++++++++

South Africa came late to democracy, but when they finally sloughed off the dead skin of apartheid they did so in style, with a model constitution and an election which was both peaceful and joyful. And when founding president Nelson Mandela reached the end of his first term of office he gave the world – and particularly developing nations – a lesson in dignity, as he made way for younger blood.

In the fight against AIDS South Africa once again came late to the party, but when they did, true to form, it was in grand style. In just a couple of years they developed the largest antiretroviral treatment program in the world, and the human carnage is at last abating.

Faced now with the greatest challenge yet to their survival as a nation, in the form of the unexplained attack on the global supply of these drugs, the South African government has once more given the world a lesson – this time in decisive action. By sending their police to secure the nation’s reserves of ARVs within hours of the bombings, the South African government effectively slammed the door in the face of gangsters who would without question have used these drugs as their ticket to unimaginable wealth and power.

Happily, South Africa’s example was followed by a number of African states, who have also successfully secured their precious stockpiles of life-saving medications.

Today’s statement by the director general in South Africa’s department of health, Dr Bettina Shabangu, that supplies of ARVs will be delivered under police escort to public health facilities from tomorrow, and that regular hospital services will be restored immediately, leaves South Africa’s critics scraping egg off their faces.

Dr Shabangu had hard words for UN bureaucrats who yesterday threatened to withhold further shipments of drugs to countries that declined to explain their actions, or to account for the ARVs already in their possession.

‘It’s just horribly inappropriate. In South Africa we manufacture most of our own ARVs, so this is just empty posturing on their part. But it’s far more sinister for other countries that acted immediately to prevent the theft of their drugs, and now find themselves being threatened with genocide by the UN!’

Confidential discussions at the UN suggest there is, in fact, no cause for panic. The world has sufficient stores of ARVs for at least two months, and Chinese pharma – the world’s largest producers of pharmaceuticals – have said they can step up production in good time to meet demand.

All that is needed is for cool heads to prevail and this crisis will pass, like many before it.

Near Stockholm, Sweden 12:00 Tuesday 4 January T+ 2 days 10 hrs

‘I’m not sure what I’m doing here,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘At one level these bombings are so obvious – what the perpetrators did, and how they did it. Yet we don’t have the slightest idea who’s behind it, or what they hoped to gain from it. And I have no idea where to look for the answers. This seemed as good a place as any.’

‘We’d like to know as well, colonel. And any friend of director Dumont is welcome here.’ Stefan Einarson was the director of the UN emergency supply depot near Stockholm, which served a cluster of UN agencies including the WHO, UNAIDS and UNICEF.

Baldwin was surprised that Frankie had introduced him as a friend rather than a business associate, but he covered his feelings well. ‘That’s kind of you.’

From the outside the warehouse building appeared undamaged, and the reception and office areas gave no sign of the sabotage just two days earlier. But as soon as Einarson opened the door to the warehouse itself Baldwin noticed the unmistakable odor of an extinguished fire, overlaid with a sour chemical smell which made his eyes smart.

Einarson noticed. ‘We don’t know if that is the smell of burned drugs or the packaging. But the warehouse has been fully ventilated, so I believe it is safe.’

The Swede led the way through rows of steel racks, thirty feet high and mostly filled with boxes on pallets. ‘We have a lot of supplies here – tents, mosquito-nets, water purification equipment, mobile kitchens, election-monitoring kits, educational toys, protective suits for biological or chemical hazards, emergency food rations...’

They came to a large area in one corner of the warehouse secured by heavy chain-link fencing from floor to ceiling. The wire mesh was blackened but intact, as were the walls and the steel roof, high above. The concrete floor had been cleared, and a stack of about 50 steel barrels stood against one wall, while a large pile of trash – including charred remnants of wooden pallets, twisted steel racking and packing materials – had been pushed against the other wall.

‘This is where we keep pharmaceuticals. Or it was. After the fire was put out they hosed everything down and pumped the contaminated water into those drums. That...’ he pointed at the pile of sodden junk ‘is all that’s left of the containers and racking system.’

‘Who is “they”?’

‘Stockholm bio-hazard unit. It is a unit within our fire brigade.’

‘Did they put out the fire?’

‘No, it was already out by the time they arrived. We have a very good automatic fire control system – it covered everything with foam. The fire was out within 10 minutes, but it was enough to destroy everything in this area.’

‘So there was no blast at all?’

‘No, just the fire. Very hot. And very quick. Let me show you the recording.’

Back in Einarson’s office the director turned on a TV monitor, and inserted a DVD into a machine. Two camera angles showed pallets packed with cartons, each roughly four feet cubed, stacked in a steel racking system just like the rest of the warehouse. Without warning there was a huge bloom of light, and in an instant the entire area was burning. In another moment foam began to cascade from unseen nozzles above and, just as the Swede had said, in ten minutes it was all over.

Baldwin was transfixed by the image. ‘Oh man, that’s fast! It wouldn’t have happened any quicker if the whole area was soaked in gasoline!’

‘Our bomb squad said some kind of incendiary ribbon must have been spooled between the pallets. It would have taken them hours to lay it out.’

‘Surely it would have been visible if anyone had inspected those pallets?’

‘It seems likely, yes, but there was nobody here over the New Year weekend – except for the security staff – and they do not have access to that area. I do not think it is possible that the device was planted before Saturday, because people were collecting and delivering stock to the cage...’

‘And the security recordings from Saturday?’

‘The DVD from the day shift is missing. If the guards had a key to the cage... the drug storage area... they would have had twelve hours to work, without being disturbed. The cage was closed when the next shift came on duty.’

‘Could the guards have disabled the automatic fire system if they wanted to?’

Einarson took his eyes off the video monitor to look at the American. ‘Yes... they have access to the master valve. That’s an interesting point. Either they didn’t think of it, or they didn’t want the fire to spread outside the cage.’ Neither man believed that the saboteurs had overlooked the fire control system.

‘Mr Einarson, when we first spoke you told me that two guards from Saturday’s shift are missing – a German and a Swede?’

‘Yes. We still have not found them. But we... I... do not believe the local man was involved. He is an older man – a grandfather – who has worked for our security contractors since he retired from his regular work four years ago. He was well respected by everyone. Of course the police have spoken to his family, and there appears to be no reason why Tomas would involve himself in anything like this. We are afraid he may have been taken by the other man. The German, Erich Von Klemperer.’

Baldwin saw no reason to press Einarson to clarify what he meant by ‘taken’. But before he could say anything, the Swede continued, his voice soft and introspective. ‘We are all aware it could have been much worse, if it happened on a working day. So much worse.’

+++++

‘Sir, the German police have names and photographs of the missing guards from Reykjavik and Stockholm. I don’t know what the chances are of finding them but, even if they do, I doubt they’ll know who ordered the sabotage.’

‘So you’re saying we’re no closer to establishing a motive, or figuring out whether there are any implications for homeland security?’ Baldwin could hear muted traffic sounds behind the deputy director’s voice, and guessed his boss was being driven somewhere. He knew it was nine in the morning in DC.

‘Yes sir, it looks that way. And from what we know about the Indian bombings, it looks like those devices were planted by contractors as well.’

‘Do you have any thoughts on how we can establish a motive, colonel?’ 

‘Well sir, maybe the answer lies in what the saboteurs didn’t do...’ 

‘Like what?’

‘Well, they didn’t try to kill people. In fact, it looks like they tried hard not to hurt anyone. It seems those who died were just... unlucky. In the wrong place at the wrong time. And the device in the UN warehouse was planted in such a way that it only destroyed pharmaceuticals, but left everything else untouched. It would have been easier to plant a bomb and flatten the place.’

‘Okay, but what does this tell us?’

‘It’s almost as if they’re sending a message that their fight isn’t with the UN, or pharma, or any particular country. Just with people living with AIDS.’

‘But why...?’

‘Whoever did this, they really wanted to stop the flow of antiretroviral drugs. For me, the most significant fact in all of this is the destruction of that research data in Reykjavik, because it tells us they want to interfere with the treatment of AIDS patients in the long term...’

‘Fair enough, but who fits that profile?’

‘So far I’ve thought of two kinds of people, sir. The epidemic is much worse in Africa than anywhere else, and these drugs are the only thing keeping millions of Africans alive.’

There was no response from the deputy director, although Baldwin could still hear traffic noises in the background. ‘Sir?’

‘I’m still here, colonel. I’m just trying to imagine what kind of animal would want to kill millions of Africans.’

‘Yes sir. The other kind of person is the one who is paying for these drugs.’

‘What?’

‘Well, sir, from what I understand the epidemic is not getting any better in Africa. So whoever is paying for antiretrovirals will have to carry on paying... for a long time.’

‘Jesus, colonel! Who IS paying for them?’

‘Sir, that would be us – the United States government. We donate the drugs to countries that can’t afford them. The next biggest purchasers are the governments of the southern African countries – South Africa, Botswana and Namibia – who are able to buy their own ARVs. In fact South Africa has their own factory that makes most of the ARVs used in that region.’

‘But they weren’t sabotaged, were they?’

‘No sir, but they depend on the active ingredient from India, just like all the other ARV factories around the world.’

Once again there was a long silence on the phone. Baldwin could hear the line was open, although the sound of traffic had disappeared. He heard a low voice in the background and the sound of a closing car door before the deputy director spoke again.

‘Sorry Art, just getting some privacy. I’m sure you understand the implications of what you’re saying?’

‘I think so sir. It’s possible that the perpetrator may be a white supremacist organization, possibly based in the US or involving US citizens. Or it could be one of our own government agencies.’

‘Exactly. I take it that you’ve talked to nobody else about this?’

‘No sir. Only you.’

‘Good. Do you have any ideas on how to narrow it down? Or at least to cross US interests off the list?’

‘Only one, sir. Whoever it is, it seems they are very good at covering their tracks. Although it’s early days, it looks to me like we may never find them through regular police work. It’s just too well planned. I believe we need to take the initiative away from them. Force them to act... to show themselves.’

‘Show themselves! Art, you could be talking about the CIA, or one of our special military groups.’

‘Yes sir. Or it could be someone else.’

‘Fuck! Well, I suppose this is why they pay us the big bucks. Do you have a specific plan in mind?’

The deputy director of national intelligence listened carefully while Baldwin outlined his idea, and then authorized him to put all the elements in place before checking in for a final go-ahead.

Johannesburg, South Africa 15:00 Tuesday 4 January T+ 2 days 12 hrs

‘Great story from Bettina, Gip.’

I was expecting this, but still I felt guilty about the piece I’d posted a few minutes earlier. Our executive editor wouldn’t take kindly to me writing fiction dressed up as fact, even if the scam succeeded. Then again, maybe he would approve. I didn’t feel like finding out, though.

‘Yeah, thanks Jim. We’ve got stringers lined up all over to see what happens tomorrow.’ 

‘Great! Okay people – you know the drill. New news?’

‘Jim, you first. Did you talk to your friend in Washington?’

‘Yeah, Georghe. He took my call. He sounded pretty rattled by the bombings. Said he couldn’t believe that all our work... the US government’s work... on AIDS could be undone so easily. I told him it’s been suggested that someone in his administration may be behind it. Tried the funding black hole scenario on him. He said it simply didn’t scan – the USA gets more out of Africa... you know minerals, oil, stuff like that... than they put in. ARVs are just a way of making friends and protecting our interests. In fact he’s going to ask Congress to release cash faster than originally planned, to restore the production of ARVs.’

‘Well that doesn’t exactly strengthen our conspiracy theory.’ Georghe sounded almost disappointed. ‘Did you try the big-pharma-kills-the-generics scenario?’

‘I did. He laughed. Said big pharma were still making money hand-over-fist on ARVs. The last thing they’d want to do is kill the goose. Course it was all off the record.’

‘Jim, you know this man...’

‘Yeah, Georghe. And I’m sure he’s leveling with me. I’m not saying we should kill that scenario, or even the possibility that he’s involved. But to my mind it’s pretty far fetched. What did you dig up on it?’

‘Not much, chief. At least not on the government involvement angle. Spoke to a few congressmen and they weren’t really worried about the financial black hole. One guy said that after the banking bail-out of ’08 this was peanuts. Another said the AIDS program was a lot cheaper than a war – less than the price of one warship, and much better at keeping the peace...’

‘What about pharma?’

‘Yes, that was a bit strange. A lot of people said they wouldn’t put it past pharma, but nobody could think of a reason why they would do it. As your first friend said, Jim, they are still making a lot of money out of AIDS, even though the generics have muscled in on their action.’

‘So where do we go with this, Georghe?’

‘I’m not sure we can do a lot with the black hole angle, Jim. But big pharma is an obvious suspect in the public mind – maybe we should do some interviews, print some denials, just to lay it to rest. Maybe some fleas will jump out in the process.’

‘Okay. Perhaps pump it up with some vox pop? We could ask people whether they think it’s suspicious that Kurt Hohner refused Shan’s offer to fast-track that new drug.’

Vox pop is journo-speak for vox populi – the voice of the people – which means getting our stringers to ask people how they feel about something. Since we had no difficulty putting stringers on any street, anywhere in the world, it was one of our most popular tools. It cost a lot of stringettes – which cut into advertising revenue – but our sugar-daddy wasn’t complaining. I had a sneaking suspicion that Kurt Hohner would never speak to me again but... you never can tell. If everyone reads what you write, people have a way of overcoming their reluctance to talk to you.

With the details sorted, Jim turned to Linus and Mandy for a progress report on the Al Qaeda angle.

‘Jim, I spoke to a few Islamic scholars today. They thought I was out of my mind at first, but as we talked they started to buy into the idea that Al Qaeda may be thinking that western drug companies and taxpayers are blocking the will of Allah.’

‘Mandy, surely if someone is making drugs to keep people alive, that’s also the will of Allah?’

‘Well, sure. But you must remember that Al Qaeda is famous, or maybe I should say infamous, for re- interpreting the Koran so that it supports their fight with the infidel in general, and the USA in particular.’

‘Okay, but would Al Qaeda hire contractors to do the bombings? Doesn’t seem their style.’

‘No. My contacts said absolutely not. You can’t be a holy warrior and then pay someone to fight your battles. But we haven’t proved yet that it was contractors... have we? Linus?’

‘No, it’s just a strong theory. I was talking to some guys and they also liked the Al Qaeda scenario very much. But they put a different slant on it. For them it was about non-Muslims behaving badly.’ Linus smiled at the confused faces of his colleagues.

‘They say the HIV epidemic is tiny in Muslim countries, compared to Christian and Hindu populations. What if the bombings were intended to make the world recognize this fact? Send a message that Muslims behave better than Christians...?’

‘Jesus!’

‘You can say that again, boss!’

Jim pulled a face at Linus’ snappy comeback. ‘Well, from what the two of you say it sounds like the Al Qaeda scenario has legs. What do we do with it? Linus?’

‘I think we should write it up, boss. Interviews and op-ed. I’ve got quite a lot of on-the-record material. Mandy has too. It’s a good story. If nothing else it’ll drive the religious boards crazy.’

‘Excellent. Let’s go with that. Russ, what about the white supremacist thing?’

‘Okay, I also spoke to a few people. Some who run around in white hoods with burning crosses, and some who prefer jackboots and swastikas. It seems they are all extremely happy that these bombings threaten the lives of blacks and homosexuals. They said things like – if we didn’t do it, we should have. But I couldn’t find anybody who thinks they actually have the initiative or the capacity to do it, or the money to pay others. White supremacy hasn’t been a money-spinner for a long time, especially since apartheid came to an end.’

‘But Russ, I was checking the forums and there are a lot of rednecks cheering their heads off.’

‘Yeah, Jim, that’s what I’m saying. They’re as happy as... what does Gipsy say? Oh yes, pigs in shit!’ That diverted us all for a moment, but soon Russ picked it up again. ‘One more thing, these guys have no argument with the pharmaceutical industry. On either side of the Atlantic. It’s the kind of equity they put their pensions in, so they’ll be financially secure in their old age as they doze in front of the fire with a shotgun across their knees.’

‘What about a possible link with Islamic extremists?’

‘No, I think we can rule that out, Jim. I was told that after 9/11...’ he looked down at a note, and read from it: ‘the rednecks didn’t want to have anything to do with the rag-heads.’

‘That’s a good line! So where do we go with this, Russ?’

Our economics editor shrugged. ‘The same as the others I suppose. I have some material I can use...’ 

‘I have a suggestion, Jim.’

‘Yeah, Gip?’

‘I think all of these scenarios are interesting, but none of them by themselves will get anyone to cream their jeans. How about if we write outlines of each scenario, with lots of links, and get users to argue for and against, and to do their own detective work? We may not get final answers, but everyone will have a ball. Let’s turn the news into a reality show.’

The others thought this was a great idea – although it seemed alarmingly obvious to me.

Jim was careful not to overlook Enoch like he nearly had the previous day. ‘Enoch, how do you see your scenario fitting into Gip’s pharmageddon fantasy feature?’

Enoch wasn’t in my room today, but it felt like he was smiling at me from his little window on my computer monitor. ‘Actually, I think it’s perfect, Jim. We don’t have enough dialogue between ordinary Africans. Our leaders talk to each other but we only hear what they want us to, and we don’t read newspapers from other African countries. So South Africans have no idea what Malawians or Ethiopians or Senegalese are saying or thinking.’

‘Okay, but let’s start at the beginning. Take us through that scenario of yours in more detail.’

Enoch didn’t waste any time on the near-total shut down of South Africa’s public health system, or the bizarre celebrations which began outside the giant hospital in Soweto, because by now it had been extensively covered by all the media. Instead he told us that opinion was divided on the underlying reasons for the celebrations – some said they were arranged by the government to deflect possible riots by AIDS patients, fearing for their lives, while others said they were a spontaneous expression of public mistrust in ARVs. The government itself had said nothing so far, other than the concoction that Bettina and I had dreamed up.

Enoch chose his words carefully. ‘I still believe my government may be behind this, Jim. The problem is that I have no hard evidence to support this. It is... well, it’s mainly intuition. Based on a lot of small things – rumors, popular misconceptions and so on – which I would feel foolish presenting as evidence. In fact I was planning to ask you to ignore my outburst yesterday, but then I heard Gipsy’s suggestion of a special forum for conspiracy theories – which would be perfect! I would be very comfortable writing a short motivator for this particular theory, and then to let our users take it from there.’

Jim cut in. ‘Gip, what’s your take on this?’

‘Well, the South African government has done some pretty weird shit over the years, so I can’t say it’s impossible, Jim. I remember the Virodene incident in the late 90s, when they funded research into an industrial solvent as a cure for AIDS. But imagine for a moment that they really did blow up these places, and they were found out...’ I let that sink in for a second. I could see shaking heads. ‘Exactly. A giant leap backwards to the dark ages. International isolation. Another North Korea.’

‘Gipsy, I’m sorry my girl, but I don’t believe they are concerned about western opinion.’ I was surprised to see how animated Enoch had become. ‘Ten years ago we would never have believed that Robert Mugabe would steal every white-owned farm in Zimbabwe. And when he did, the west said exactly the same thing – a return to the dark ages, isolation. But African leaders didn’t say a word against him, for many years! And yes, let’s talk about Virodene. Even though the world laughed at us, it was later tested in Tanzania and it is still manufactured in Namibia. Africans don’t easily let go of an idea. If the world laughs at them, they become even more determined...’

‘No no, I’m sorry Enoch! I really didn’t mean to say your scenario is impossible. Even though it’s completely off the wall, I’m kinda getting into it. I think we should put it out there, so people can throw roses and rotten tomatoes at it. What have we got to lose?’

Johannesburg, South Africa 05:00 Wednesday 5 January T+ 3 days 2 hrs

It was already light outside, although government out-patient clinics weren’t due to open for another three hours. Longer, if you take into account the way things work in Africa.

I risked another of the Michelangelo’s breakfast trolleys, but this time Bettina was there to help me get through it. It had been just like old times, solving the problems of the world – with the help of a couple of bottles of Rustenberg Peter Barlow ’99, the most expensive South African wine in the hotel’s cellar, but a bargain compared to anything comparable from the old world.

I’m not sure whether Bettina jumped at the idea of a pajama party because she wanted company or because she wouldn’t feel safe at home. I know she told her husband to take their kids to his brother’s place for the night, so their house would be empty. South Africa can be a violent place, especially if you mess with the police.

Our editorial concoction won pride of place on national prime time TV, just as we’d hoped, so the kite was well and truly flying. Bettina turned off her official cellphone, keeping only her private phone so she could say good night to Ephraim and her kids. After that call her handset remained blessedly silent.

Nikki phoned from the St Regis in New York – and then it really was just like old times. When she heard about our breakfast trolley she called down to the hotel kitchen, which accepted the challenge and sent her a breakfast trolley – in the middle of dinner service! With a cute butler to pour latte-art onto her coffee. I got Nik to take a photo of her trolley so I could write a little fluff on the experience for our lifestyle page.

Bettina had been rambling on about how great it was to have friends around at difficult times. Nikki tried to lighten it up. ‘Hey guys, do you remember our motto from the Barcelona AIDS conference?’

‘Jesus, Nik. Do you think we’re elephants?’

‘No, it was much lighter than that.’

Bettina picked up the clue. ‘Oh, I remember! If we lift each other up, we can fly!’

We all guffawed at the memory, which stemmed from a silly school demonstration of the limits of logic. I could picture every detail of the tacky hotel room in Barcelona where we tried to lift each other up, ending up in a hysterical heap on the floor instead.

It happened in July 2002, in the middle of a wonderful conference which exploded the myth that ARVs were only for the first world. The following decade was good for all of us – a time in which we’d often lifted each other up, and in which many of our dreams had come true.

I looked at the others, Bettina sprawled over a chair nibbling at a croissant, Nikki on the other side of the world, smiling into her coffee cup, both lost in the memory of those years.

‘So... will we fly today?’

Bettina licked the flakes of pastry off her fingers, in quick succession. ‘Let’s see if the newspapers have arrived.’

She phoned down to the concierge and they sent up the morning papers, in three languages. All reported Bettina’s statement, all said attempts to reach her had failed. Two said police and ministerial spokespersons had declined to comment. In another paper a police spokesman said they’d have to wait and see what happened in the morning. I fired up my laptop and found echoes of our story from several other African countries. All waiting for the sun to rise.

Needless to say we’d spent hours chewing over the looting of ARVs, trying to figure out whether it was an idea which simply occurred to the cops, or whether it had been ordered by someone at the center. We even wondered whether the cops in high-prevalence countries could be part of a syndicate which arranged the bombings. After all, if ARVs are freely available, nobody will pay for them, but the moment they become scarce people will give everything they have to stay alive. The sabotage could make a lot of people very rich.

It was a nice theory – and I made a note to include it on the conspiracies forum – but in the end we decided the looting probably began with one corrupt politician or cop and snowballed as others heard about it and ‘scrambled to make eggs’, as Bettina charmingly put it. Actually we were desperately hoping this was how it happened, because the lack of central coordination meant we just might be able to trick some cops into returning their loot. With a bit of luck the rest would follow suit, believing the game was up, the supply of ARVs was about to be restored, and they would all be hailed as saviors. Or something like that.

In Istanbul, Nerisha and the other editorial coordinators had lined up hundreds of stringers in dozens of countries to monitor the major hospitals. It was already nine o’clock in India but still no word from the north-eastern states of Manipur and Nagaland – not that I was particularly optimistic, since the looting of AIDS clinics in that mountainous region had been attributed to ‘insurgents’ rather than the army or police.

As we scanned the online news and counted down to the opening of hospitals in eastern and southern Africa, the sleepless night finally trumped the coffee and adrenalin, and I started to zone out.

I could feel Emily stroking my arm and hair. It felt good, but she became more insistent, murmuring my name. I opened my eyes and it was Bettina, not Em. Beaming at me. ‘It’s working, Gipsy! They’re bringing back the ARVs!’

I sat up. Bettina was dressed for the office, looking fresh, her smile brilliant. ‘We did it!’ I was hugging her, Nikki was beaming from my laptop, and the sun was shining brilliantly outside.

It started at a district hospital in Kisumu, western Kenya, where the police arrived with a van-load of drugs and guns drawn to protect their bounty against imaginary bandits. One of our stringers, Lakeman, reported the solemn handover by the chief of police to the hospital superintendent, in turgid prose. Within minutes our stringers everywhere were posting similar stories, and to lock it in I posted an op-ed calling it a triumph of good over evil, a classic example of the law enforcers protecting the most vulnerable members of society.

Corny. But it’s hard to be original when you’ve just dodged a nuke.

A little later Bettina called from her office to invite me on a walkabout of AIDS clinics, so I leapt into the shower and began dressing. But suddenly I found my heart was racing and I broke out in a cold sweat. I was overcome by nausea and lost my expensive breakfast – and what seemed like pints of coffee – leaving me weak and shaking. I called Bettina back and told her I must have eaten a bad egg, pushed the ‘do not disturb’ button on the nightstand and crawled into bed.

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