Bobby Adair - Ebola K

Hope was back in Salim’s future.

“Dr. Wheeler, may I come in?”

Dr. Wheeler looked up from his laptop.

Olivia walked into the conference room. “I was on my way to the cafeteria, and I saw you in here.”

“I should have closed the door.” Dr. Wheeler smiled widely enough to let her know he was joking. “CDC doctors have lots of groupies.”

“I’m Olivia Cooper.” She pointed in some direction she doubted meant anything to Dr. Wheeler. “I was in the seminar, in the small theater?”

Wheeler nodded. “I remember you.”

“Really?”

“No.” He smiled again. “There were a hundred people in there. But I can go on pretending, if you’d like.”

Olivia scooted a chair back and sat on the opposite side of the table. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I am, if you’re open to it, and won’t tell my wife.”

“You’re flirting with me, and you have a wife.”

“No, I’m divorced. But we both know I’m old enough to be your dad, and I don’t have a chance at getting anything out of this besides a sexual harassment complaint.” Dr. Wheeler made an expansive gesture at the building surrounding them. “I assume you work for the NSA.”

Olivia looked around the room and gestured at the walls. “This is their building.”

“Cagey.” Dr. Wheeler smiled again. It seemed to come very easy to him. “Okay, I assume you have questions about the Filovirus presentation. Since you appear to have made yourself comfortable, maybe you have a lot of them. What can I help you with?”

“I’m sorry.” Olivia started to stand. “If you don’t have time, I can—”

After motioning for Olivia to keep her seat, Dr. Wheeler pointed at his computer, “I’m just answering email. I rode out here from Atlanta with a coworker. He’s still in his meeting. I’ve got some time.”

Olivia lowered her weight back down on the chair and smiled. “I’m worried about my brother.”

Wheeler leaned back in his chair and looked over his reading glasses. “Because I have a genius-level IQ and I just gave a talk about Filoviruses, is it safe to assume that despite your blue eyes and blonde hair, your brother is an African bushman in Sierra Leone?”

Olivia laughed. “You know I’m only laughing so you’ll answer my questions, right?”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Dr. Wheeler got comfortable in his seat. “I should warn you, though, my charms are universally appealing. If you feel yourself being mesmerized by the most intelligent—and, I don’t mind adding handsome—black man you’ve ever met, just let me know, and I’ll dial it back a bit.”

“Are you always like this?”

Dr. Wheeler shrugged. “Yeah. At least my ex said so when she was telling the divorce judge about it.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Seriously, though, you didn’t come in here for my comedy routine. What’s this business about your brother, and why would I know anything about it?”

“You’re an expert in infectious diseases, especially Ebola, which is a Filovirus—”

Grinning, Wheeler said, “So you were awake through the first five minutes, anyway.”

“—and he’s in Africa.”

“You’re concerned about Ebola.” Wheeler nodded, but sounded disappointed, which shifted to boredom when he asked, “Where?”

“Don’t do that, please.” Olivia thought about getting up to leave.

“Sorry. I’ve been fielding questions for a month by people who are just sure this Ebola epidemic is going to wipe out the planet. It’s all over the news. It’s a scary disease, and when people hear about ninety-percent mortality rates with bleeding out of the eyeballs and other less pleasant places, they freak out. You’re not freaked out, are you?”

“Sorry.” Olivia twirled a curl of her blond hair. “You’d think people would have evolved enough by now to know that hair color doesn’t correlate with intelligence. I get overly sensitive when people start talking down to me.”

“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“Thanks.” Olivia smiled and twirled her hair again without thinking about it. “I know he’s probably as safe there as we are here.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I agree with the sentiment.”

“He’s just not—” Olivia looked for the right word.

“Responsible?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s a responsible kid.”

“A kid?”

“He’s nine years younger than me.”

“He’s nine?” Wheeler flashed a smile.

Olivia laughed out loud and tried to make it sound mocking. “Does it work when you tell twenty-nine year old girls they look eighteen?”

“It has.”

“Really?” Olivia feigned disbelief.

“That whole business I mentioned with the divorce. It started that way.”

“You told a girl she looked eighteen, and your wife didn’t like it?”

“Oh, you’re sharper than I thought. But no, that wasn’t it. I married her. We divorced later on. So you’re twenty-nine. I guessed wrong. I may not be quite old enough to be your dad. You’re not the type to file a complaint with HR are you?”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

“It should.”

“So your nine-year-old, um, I mean, twenty-year-old brother is in Africa and he’s responsible?”

“Yes, but—” Olivia thought about it for a moment. “He’s one of those suburban kids who doesn’t understand anything about the real world.”

“Naïve?”

“Yes, that’s a good word.”

“So, besides being naïve in a third-world country—which, I might add, could be a good way for him to grow past his naiveté—what has you worried?”

Olivia put on a fake expression of exasperation. “There was the Ebola we talked about.”

“Oh, yeah. I think you mentioned that.”

She said, “I’m afraid he’s not going to take the necessary precautions.”

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about condoms.”

“Dr. Wheeler!”

“You should call me Mathew.”

“I think I’ll stick with Dr. Wheeler for now.” Privately, Olivia was starting to think that maybe she and Mathew could be on a first name basis—except for the age difference, which seemed pretty stark to her. “Let’s not talk about my little brother and condoms, okay?”

“You do know that twenty-year-old college boys seldom think about anything that doesn’t involve a condom, right? Oh, he is in college, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Texas A&M.”

“Oh?”

Olivia shook her head. “Dad was a die-hard Texas Longhorn. I think he went there just to piss off my dad.”

They looked at each other, idling in their conversational cul-de-sac.

Dr. Wheeler sat up straight and slapped a hand on the table. “Back to business. I’m sure you don’t have all day to sit here and flirt with me. Ebola and your brother. What about it? He’s not in Liberia, Guinea, or Sierra Leone, is he?”

“Uganda.”

“What’s he doing there?” Dr. Wheeler asked.

“He’s a teacher at a school for street kids.”

“Street kids. You mean like the Backstreet Boys?” Wheeler smiled at his humor.

Olivia just shook her head.

“I didn’t think it was a bad joke.” Dr. Wheeler drew a breath full of mock exasperation. “So, orphans?”

“Yes,” answered Olivia.

“That’s good. He’s in Uganda teaching orphans. He’s not a medical worker or anything like that?”

“No.” Olivia frowned. “Not even close.”

“He doesn’t eat undercooked bush meat, does he?”

“Bush meat?” Olivia grimaced. Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good.

“Bats, apes, and such.”

“Eew.”