Anita Tavares just arrived at the Santo Domingo airport in the Dominican Republic, and she is there on crucial business. Tavares is the powerful and highly visible face of a worldwide HIV/AIDS donor foundation. She's in charge of funding in an effort to fight the disease, and she'll stop at nothing to get what she wants. Somebody has other plans for Tavares, however. Just after landing at the airport, she is shot and killed. Her attacker not only commits murder; he also escapes with two bags belonging to his victim. Officials are left with many questions: Who murdered this powerful woman? Was the crime really about her, or was it about the contents of her luggage? So begins a whirlwind adventure into the depths of Caribbean politics and crooked pharmaceutical sales. Men of power now battle the powerless for information that only a dead woman knew. Greed and corruption rule the streets as the AIDS epidemic continues to spread, and criminals take control of secrets once held by Tavares. But is there a way to stop those who would do harm in a place where no rule is sacred?

VIRAL GAMES

AIDS, Greed, and Passion in the CaribbeanBy Jan Smolders

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Jan Smolders
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-7920-1

Chapter One

Tuesday afternoon, November 25, 2008, at the Miami International Airport

The plane roars down the runway, and Mathieu Timonier feels it when the pilot lifts the old workhorse skyward to reach cruising altitude. A married couple he saw in the airport is in front of him. He hears the man murmur, "Amor, we're ready for a drink."

All is quiet and peaceful; pretzels and Coke have been served. An older lady in seat 15D, blissfully unaware of rules, proudly shows off her texting skills to an admiring neighbor. Some serious napping is underway; snoring here and there vouches for that. Peace.

In his 16C aisle seat, Tim has tried to block out the surroundings as much as possible. Earplugs from his swim kit help him steal a couple of ten-minute naps, but no more. His six-foot-three frame is not an asset in this cramped space. He intermittently moves his long legs into the aisle so they can have brief moments of relief. The exit seats, the "long-leg" seats, were all taken when he booked the flight.

With an eye signal downward and a frown upward from his seat, he tries half-heartedly to dissuade an unsuspecting blue-eyed tourist from proceeding to the restroom in just his socks. Tim lacks the conviction to argue the case. He shrugs his shoulders and mentally wishes the poor youngster well. He seems to be in a bit of a hurry. Don't want to stop a man on a mission. Nobody's perfect, and after all, the air is very dry in airplanes."

Tim's Dell battery called it quits a while ago. His BlackBerry is off-limits. The American Airlines in-flight magazine has nothing to offer that he has not seen or read a few times before; he knows of all the bargain-priced apartments in Miami and the plethora of superb—so they say—plastic surgeons roaming the city and skimming bank accounts.

The heavyset man in the seat beside him asks, "Do those things work?"

Tim looks up.

"Things?"

"Those earplugs you got out of your bag. Good-looking bag. From Paris, I guess? Saw your Lafayette tag."

Tim guesses that his neighbor is from the Deep South.

"Yes, Paris. Plugs don't work well enough, not today anyway. From Georgia?"

"Oklahoma. Muskogee. John Sanders. First Baptist Church."

"Tim. Nice to meet you. Oklahoma, you said. I wasn't even close."

"Business trip?"

"Yes, kind of."

"How do you make a living so far away from Paris?"

"Writing."

Tim shows sudden interest in his travel documents, those nagging immigration and customs forms. He has a sweet escape this time. For now.

The overnight flight from Santiago to Miami wore Tim down. His four-hour layover in Miami did not make matters better. He's tired. He wonders why En Avant sent him all the way down to Santiago to find out what's going on with copper. Some guys active on the London Metal Exchange could have told him the same things he had learned in Santiago. There are more copper-knowledgeable Chileans in London than there are in Santiago. But then, he could not have bought his lapis lazuli at such a Chilean bargain price in London.

John volunteers that he is on his way to Barahona in the southwest of the Dominican Republic.

"I assist as a minister in the spiritual care of AIDS victims. Many of them around there. Global Mission operates two clinics in the area."

"So we're partners in crime. I'm also working on AIDS, in a way."

"Really? Great! Partners. AIDS where?"

"Dominican Republic. For the last seven years, I've covered Latin America as an economics reporter for a French magazine by the name of En Avant. Now here we are, you and I. It's all quite a coincidence. While covering Latin America for the magazine, I've spent many months, on and off, on AIDS work."

"How so? And in the DR? So we are partners and neighbors." The questions keep coming.

Tim hides a sigh and continues, "While working as a reporter, I've been simultaneously active as a volunteer in the Santo Domingo offices and operations of the Alliance du SIDA, French for AIDS. In the DR, they just call it the Alliance. You know them?"

"I'm sorry, I haven't heard of them. Where are they headquartered?"

"In Paris."

"Also, Paris! My apologies, I don't know much about the network of NGOs. I work mostly on the inside."

"No problem."

Tim feigns interest in Nexos, a magazine he has already read.

"A reporter from Paris working on AIDS in Santo Domingo? How does that work? What can you do for AIDS patients?"

"I take days off from my regular job and help out at the Alliance with the writing of small brochures, some translation. Sometimes, I assist with proposals to donors, even budget writing in emergencies. Now and then, they ask me to sit in on strategy discussions that could benefit from my global experience. Occasionally, I've had the opportunity to visit clinics, orphanages, and Haitian ghettos."

"But you never made it to Barahona."

"Unfortunately not."

"Your employer—Avant, right?—keeps footing the bill for you?"

"They do. They're great people. The arrangement suits En Avant well, since I can provide unusual angles, a welcome reprieve from routine, dry economic language. The DR is a pretty interesting economic case; just compare their development to that of Cuba or Haiti. And AIDS has an economic impact. I can say I've gotten some good stuff for the magazine."

John hands him a card and says, "Nice to know you, Tim. Ah, thank you. Nice card. Mathieu too, I see. Paris. Come and see us in Barahona. I'd love to show you the place."

Chapter Two

With thirty-five minutes until landing, the pilot announces that passengers might want to visit the restrooms while they have the chance.

Tim looks forward to reuniting with his old DR friends. One of his comrades will be in the arrival hall in Santo Domingo to pick him out of the crowd being spewed out of the customs hall.

I need my friend in the airport, Tim knows. Just jumping in a taxi, even in the afternoon, is a no-no for a Frenchman like me who looks like a gringo, is tall, forgets that he chews gum, and has this long brownish hair. Robbers have no idea and don't care what a French accent sounds like in Spanish. What counts is that Frenchmen and gringos have the same wallets.

There are lines at the bathrooms in the plane. Tim works his way into and through first class to use the facilities there. There's not much of a trick to it—just make it clear he belongs in front. Back on his way down to row sixteen, he notices Anita Tavares tucked into 5C, half dreaming.

This way she looks better than usual, Tim thinks. Nature has not been kind to Anita. She was not in the front row when God distributed faces, but friends, a good network in high circles, a good brain, and a PhD in health sciences from Yale have helped her career a lot. Even so, Tim admires the way she landed her enviable spot in the WAS. He knows that, as a Mexican with excellent family connections, Anita has worked her way into the circle of executives who monitor, manage, or seem to manage the flow of the hundreds of millions of dollars in money provided to the group by international institutions and major private organizations.

He pauses and says, "Disculpe for spoiling your dream, Anita."

Anita sweeps her hair back. Then her dreamy, half-sad smile comes back. Tim knows she has a lot on her plate.

"Mathieu,...