Peter May - Snakehead

Margaret frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, now that I know I have it, I can stop worrying about whether I’m going to get it. Which means I can do all my worrying about what’s going to trigger it.’

She felt tears pricking her eyes. ‘Oh, Steve…’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Don’t get all soppy on me. If I’m going to get sick, this is probably the best place in the whole world to be. And it’s only the flu, after all. Did they tell you this is really part of Walter Reed?’ She nodded, afraid even to try to speak. He spread out his arms to either side. ‘So welcome to Wally World.’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘You know, they call this ward “The Slammer”. I’m beginning to think maybe I’m only here for failing to pay my parking tickets.’ And, as an afterthought, ‘Didn’t George Dubya make that a capital offence when he was Texas Governor? Good thing we’re in Maryland, or I could be on Death Row.’

There was something manic about his relentless attempts to be funny, as if perhaps in stopping for a moment reality might encroach. Margaret could only raise a pale smile. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’ she asked.

‘Books,’ he said. ‘Something to read. I’ve spent my life avoiding watching television, and that’s all they’ve got here. I’ve passed the last hour reading the instruction labels on every bit of equipment in the place. Not particularly edifying, but a cut above South Park.’ He flicked his head over his shoulder toward the TV set. ‘I had no idea that American humour had descended to the level of schoolboy vulgarity. Do you think we caught it off the British?’

Margaret couldn’t even bring a smile to her lips this time. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah, my personal stereo. It’s in my desk in the office. My tapes are on the bookshelf.’

‘They’ll not let me go rifling through things in your office, Steve,’ she said. ‘Can’t one of the guys get that stuff for you?’

He looked suddenly embarrassed. ‘Well…there was something else. I kind of don’t like to ask the guys, you know?’

Margaret couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘What could you ask me to get that you couldn’t ask the guys?’

He shrugged, and to her horror she saw tears filling his eyes. ‘I keep a picture on my desk. In one of those little silver frames. It’s my kid, you know? Little Danni.’ He tried to grin. ‘They’d probably think I was just being soft.’

Margaret looked at him, surprised that he would be embarrassed by a thing like that. Sometimes men could be strange about sharing their emotions with other men. As if it was somehow a sign of weakness. She would not have put Steve in that category. But, then, she realised, she had only known him a matter of days. In truth she didn’t really know him at all. All that she knew for certain was that he was vulnerable and scared and desperately trying to hide it — particularly from himself. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll do that for you — if your boss’ll let me.’

It was Steve’s turn to be surprised. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘I don’t think he likes me much, Steve.’

‘Nah, he’s just a grumpy old bastard,’ Steve said. ‘He’s like that with everyone.’

But Margaret was not convinced. ‘So why doesn’t he wear a uniform? Or does he consider himself above all that?’

‘Oh, no. He doesn’t wear one because he’s not in the services.’

Margaret frowned. ‘How come? I mean, you are. And all the other pathologists.’

‘Yeah, but we’re all from different services. The Armed Forces medical examiner is a civilian; not answerable to any one service. So there’s no risk of bias.’

‘Well, he’s biased against me, I don’t care what you say.’ She knew that by just keeping him talking she was making him take his mind off himself.

‘Well, if he is, I’m going to have to sort him out,’ Steve said. ‘Boss or no boss. And, I can hardly get in any worse trouble than I am already. Can I?’

Margaret grinned. ‘I guess not.’ And for a moment neither of them knew what else to say. Small talk had been exhausted. Then Margaret said, ‘Well, you’re just going to have to hurry up and get out of there. I don’t much care for men who break their promises.’

He half smiled, half frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You promised to take me to this little place you knew in Washington.’

His smile faded. ‘And I suppose the only reason you’d go now is because you felt sorry for me.’

It was a strange, unexpected slap in the face. But she supposed she deserved it. After all, it was only a matter of hours since she had turned him down for dinner that night. ‘I’d go,’ she said, ‘because I enjoy your company.’

He looked at her long and hard through the window, and she saw him bite his lower lip. He put his hand up on the glass, and she placed her hand on the other side of it, a mirror image, palm to palm. But there was no warmth or comfort in it. Just the cold hard surface of the glass.

‘I’m sorry, Steve,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

His eyes filled again. He said, ‘You’ve no idea how lonely it is in here.’ He swallowed, fighting to control himself. ‘I’m scared, Margaret.’

Margaret found Dr. Ward in the reception area of the main entrance, in discussion with a number of Steve’s colleagues, and several of the USAMRIID officers who had attended the meeting.

‘Could I have a word, Dr. Ward?’ she asked.

Ward turned and glared at her. ‘I’m busy right now.’ And he turned back to the others.

Margaret stood smarting for a moment at his rebuff. Then she said, ‘So one of your people is dying in an isolation ward and you’re “too busy” to talk to me about it.’

She saw the back of his neck flush deep red. A hush fell over the group. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, and he turned to lay a dark look on her. ‘I don’t care to be spoken to like that, Doctor,’ he said tightly.

‘Well, at last you and I have found something in common,’ Margaret said, meeting his eye with an unwavering stare. She saw red spots appear high on his cheeks. Contained anger.

‘What do you want?’ he asked evenly.

‘Steve asked me to get some stuff for him from his office. I wondered if I could drop by tomorrow.’

‘I’ll get one of the secretaries to have it sent up to him,’ Ward said.

‘No. Steve asked me to get it,’ Margaret said. ‘Some of it’s personal.’

‘Personal?’ Ward tried out the word, and from his expression did not appear to like the taste of it. ‘Why would he ask you to get something personal for him?’

‘With the greatest respect,’ Margaret said, showing no respect at all, ‘that’s none of your fucking business, Doctor.’

Ward blanched. He gave her a long, hard look. ‘You’re a very hostile young woman,’ he said.

‘Actually, I’m not,’ she said. ‘But when people make it clear they don’t like me, as far as I’m concerned they lose all right to my civility.’ She thrust her jaw out defiantly. ‘So what is it you don’t like about me, Dr. Ward? I’m not aware of having done anything to offend you — at least, before tonight.’

Ward took a long time considering his response, or perhaps deciding whether or not to make one at all. Finally he said, ‘My father was a medic in Korea in the fifties, when I was just a teenager. He died at the hands of the Chinese. Rather horribly, I’m led to believe.’

Margaret stared at him. ‘And your point is?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ he said.

And Margaret knew then that her relationship with Li was likely to prove just as difficult in the United States as it had in China. She looked at Ward with contempt. ‘I used to think, Dr. Ward, that intelligence and reason were one and the same thing. Clearly I was wrong.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll come by and pick up Steve’s things tomorrow.’ She turned toward the door, but stopped and, half turning back, added, ‘By the way, I think you’ll find there are a lot of men and women in China who lost their fathers in Korea, too.’ She tossed her guest security pass on the desk and walked out.