Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

"I don't understand why you insisted on drawing Lisa's blood yourself when we have any number of people who could have done it," he said after some small talk.

"In situations that are critical to my work, I have learned that nothing can be completely trusted unless I have done it myself."

Grayson's smile was ironic. "That understanding puts you well ahead of ninety percent of my executives. You don't seem very comfortable. Are you afraid of flying?"

"No."

"Of me?"

She shrugged. "You're very wealthy, and very powerful, and not at all a reassuring person."

"I'm not accustomed to being told what to do, Mrs. Suarez. Now, because of your letter and that stunt with that bogus Federal Express man, my daughter is issuing me orders like a five-star general. I have no choice but to do what she asks, or I risk losing her again."

"Mr. Grayson, your actions left me no choice. You signed for mail addressed to Lisa. You had your phone number changed to keep me from reaching her."

"Well, now I have given you the new number, as well as my promise to cooperate with you in any way you ask."

"I'm sure Lisa appreciates the significance of those actions."

"I hope so. Do you have children, Mrs. Suarez?"

"Three daughters."

"If someone hurt one of those girls, you would punish them if you could, yes?"

"I would do what I could through legal channels to see they were appropriately punished, if that's what you mean."

"Sometimes my methods are more direct," Grayson said. "Today my attorney called and recommended that I accept an offer from the insurance company to settle our case against Dr. Baldwin without a finding. In view of the revelations regarding Lisa and this diet product, my lawyer feels we might not be able to convince a jury of Dr. Baldwin's guilt. I, however, remain convinced she is responsible for the maiming of my daughter and the death of my grandson."

"You are certainly entitled to that opinion, sir."

"My daughter is not as certain as I am."

"Based on what we know to this point, I don't believe she should be-or you either, for that matter."

"Mrs. Suarez, exactly what do you know?"

It was Rosa's turn to smile. She gazed down at the lights gliding past two thousand feet below.

"Mr. Grayson," she said, "I have learned from bitter experience that it is unwise to discuss the findings of an ongoing investigation with anyone unless it is absolutely unavoidable."

"Ah yes, your debacle in San Francisco."

Rosa spun to face him. "You, sir, are exactly the sort of person from whom I have learned to protect myself. I don't like being checked up on, Mr. Grayson. The mere fact of your doing so could already have jeopardized my work."

"I assure you, my people excel at keeping their inquiries discreet. They've had a good deal of practice."

"I'm sure they have. Well, if they are that good, you must understand me well enough to know that there is no point in pursuing this discussion."

"What I know is that your department chief would be upset to learn you had recovered from your ruptured disk so miraculously but had neglected to inform him."

Rosa glared at him, her cheeks burning.

"Mr. Grayson," she said, "I can see that your reputation has been earned. Well, sir, if you want to bring the force of your massive corporate empire crashing down on the head of a sixty-year-old lady, go right ahead. I assure you, there is precious little trouble you could cause me that others have not already. But just remember, there are some problems I can cause you as well."

Willis Grayson studied her for a time. Then suddenly he laughed roundly, reached across, and patted her on the arm.

"Perhaps, Mrs. Suarez," he said, "after you complete this investigation and retire from government service, you'll consider coming to work for me."

October 25

It was eight-fifteen in the morning when Sarah maneuvered the borrowed maroon Accord into one of the outbound lanes and inched down into the William Callahan Tunnel.

"Ovejas," Rosa said, gesturing at the grim-faced drivers jockeying for their spots in the procession. "Sheep."

"It's especially impressive considering the rush-hour traffic is coming the other way," Sarah said.

She and Rosa were heading to Logan Airport to pick up Ken Mulholland. The CDC virologist, who had been working on Lisa Grayson's serum, had come up with something. But the pressure had intensified on him to turn over any information on the Boston cases to Rosa Suarez's department head and not to assist her in any further way.

"There are just too many egos involved," Rosa had explained. "My chief will go to his grave believing that I ruined his career. I honestly feel he would rather see this mystery go unsolved than to have me come up with the answer. Ken is pretty immune to being squeezed by his superiors, but I really don't want him to get in any trouble. He has a wife and two little ones depending on him. That's why I begged him to let us do as much of the work as possible up here. He was involved in a portion of the BART investigation with me. Some of the culture reports that were altered came from his department. Since then he's had as little trust for the politics of the place as I do. So he's taking a personal day off to fly up to Boston. He's arranged things with a friend at a terminal someplace in Atlanta. They'll plug in by modem to the data banks and electronics in his lab. Ken will be working on his department's computers, but he'll be doing it in absentia twice removed."

"And all he wants from us is an empty room with an IBM compatible terminal?"

"And a modem."

"In that case, we're all set," Sarah said. "Glenn Paris has provided us an office in the data processing unit."

"No questions asked?"

"No questions asked. Rosa, do you think this is something significant?"

"I have believed all along that infection of some sort was the most likely-though certainly not the only-explanation for the DIC cases. So yes, I believe this day could prove most interesting and eventful."

The week just past had been most eventful as well. It began with the surprise decision by claims adjuster Roger Phelps of the Mutual Medical Protective Organization to settle Sarah's case. Then there was Rosa's flight to Long Island to draw Lisa Grayson's blood. And finally, just a day ago, there was the letter from Sarah to Phelps-formal notification that she had opted to reject the MMPO's no-guilt-admitted, $200,000 settlement. She would either have the case against her dropped entirely, or go to trial at her own expense.

There would be no settlement.

Sarah swung onto the exit ramp leading out to the airport. The early-morning overcast was beginning to burn off. The day, with temperatures predicted in the sixties, promised to be near perfect. Sarah had some clinic responsibilities and some library work she needed to do. But she had no surgery scheduled, and planned to spend as much time as possible with Rosa and her virologist.

"Five whole minutes to spare," Sarah said, pulling up in front of the Delta terminal departure level. "I'll wait here. I don't imagine he'll have to go through baggage claim."

"I should think not. He's booked on the three-fifty flight back to Atlanta."

Rosa hurried into the terminal. She emerged a short time later, arm in arm with a cheery, ruddy-cheeked fellow who was taller than average by any measure, but positively gargantuan next to her. He had a curved meerschaum pipe bobbing from the corner of his mouth and looked more like the Burgermeister of some Bavarian village than a scientist. By the time they had passed through the Sumner Tunnel and back into the city, though, Sarah knew why Rosa spoke of Ken Mulholland's dedication with admiration that bordered on awe.