Gravedigger Read Online Free Page B

were crocus, harvested for the spice saffron. It was one of the most expensive spices in the world, a very smart alternative to poppies.
    He stood up and looked around the fields. They had dug canals to channel water. Off to one side was a shed. Striding to the shed, Muhammed and Abdullah trotted after him, jabbering away. They were probably telling him to stop. He pulled the door open. Inside were several large red metal canisters. The writing wasn’t in English, but the poison symbol and the chemical structure was.
    “Shit.”
    Turning, he saw Abdullah and Mohammed staring at him. “Thanks guys, I’ve seen enough.” He offered them more candy, then headed back into the village. Johnston, Noa and Abasin were standing by the well talking with several villagers.
    When Derek arrived he said, “What are they growing below the village?”
    With a shrug, Johnston said, “Corn, wheat, watermelon, cucumbers. Why?”
    “Their cash crops are above the village – poppies and saffron. But that’s not the problem.” He gestured to Noa. “Translate carefully, okay?”
    Turning to Abasin he said, “The problem is that your well is contaminated. You’re using some very powerful pesticides on your poppies and saffron. They are called organophosphates and they’re very dangerous to people. The pesticides are getting into your water supply. Probably because the irrigation canals pick it up and wash down into the village or seep into the ground. If you can get the children to a modern hospital, that would be good. If not, I think I can come up with something short term. Unfortunately, if you don’t do something about the well, more and more people will get sick and maybe die, children first, followed by the adults.”

    Derek spent several hours with the children, talking to the woman who was caring for them and administering first aid. In his travel kit he kept not only several poison and biological weapons test kits, but various medicines and first aid for the biological and chemical weapons he was hunting. He treated the children with doses of activated charcoal, then with mild doses of atropine.
    He explained to the woman that they should still get the children to a hospital if at all possible. He knew that was difficult. He had grown up with parents who were missionary physicians, in Sierra Leone and Sri Lanka and in Cuba and Congo. Derek knew all about the difficulties that poor people had who lived long distances from modern medical care.
    After two hours the children’s seizures had stopped. Their appetite had returned, at least a little bit.
    When he left the children, the skies had opened up and a pounding rain had arrived. He sloshed through the now-muddy tracks back to the truck. Lightning crackled across the sky. There was a single tent set up, instead of the usual two. He let himself in.
    General Johnston sprawled on his sleeping bag, boots off, leaning against his duffel. He was reading a book.
    Sealing the tent back up, Derek went about stripping out of his wet clothing. “Where’s Noa?”
    “Staying with the women and children.”
    “She happy about that?”
    Shrugging, Johnston said, “She’s not happy about anything.”
    Derek dried off and began throwing on sweats to sleep in. It was going to be a cold night. He was bone tired. He said, “Do you think Abasin’s going to do anything about my suggestions?”
    “Shift the crops around? Dig a new well? Stop using the pesticides above the village? Don’t know. How are the kids?”
    “Recovering. But if they start drinking the water again they’ll get sick again. And they’re the first. It won’t be long before they’re all sick. Or dead.”
    “While you were in with the kids I used the sat-phone and called my contact at WHO about the water problem.”
    Derek nodded, now in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Find anything?”
    “No. Did you?”
    “Besides the pesticide? No. We can go onto the next site tomorrow. It’ll take us a while with the