Michael Palmer - Fatal

She slipped the envelope back in the drawer and for the next half hour tried to convince herself not to retrieve it. She had always been a curious sort — probably more so than most — and she had an affinity for gossip that often embarrassed her. Given her makeup, this discovery was a tough one to resist. And at nearly five in the morning, she wasn't as detached and analytical as she was capable of being. Over those thirty minutes, her rationalizations became increasingly lame. If Rudy hadn't meant for her to see it, why had he left it in his desk where she might well come across it? If he was agonizing over whether or not to mail it, wouldn't she be saving him anguish? As absurd and flawed as her reasoning was, she still managed, bit by bit, to bury her common sense beneath it. Almost before she realized she had actually done it, the envelope was open in her hands. Her resolve not to read the contents lasted only seconds.

Dear Ellen,

I suppose the best thing I can do is just get this part out of the way first. I love you. I have since the day Howie first brought you into our dorm room and introduced us. It's been four years now since he left your home, and here I am as much in love with you as ever, knowing you have never felt that way about me. What to do?

As you know, I dated a fair amount over the years following our first meeting. I slept with some of those women, and even tried to get serious with a couple of them. But I always knew I wasn't being fair to them. Then, a few years before he broke up your marriage, Howie started telling me in our man-to-man talks that he wasn't being faithful to you. I wanted to tell you then what he was doing and how I had always felt about you. But it just seemed, I don't know, wrong. With that painful knowledge and my feelings for you, I still couldn't stop being his best friend. For that I'm ashamed.

Well, now Howie's been gone for quite a while and I see the way you've bounced back. You tell me about all you've been doing, and even about dates you've been on. That has hurt. "I'm right here!" I want to shout. "Right under your nose! And I've loved you for thirty-five years."

I probably won't send this letter, but maybe I will. Either way, I think it's great that you have accepted the position on that vaccine commission, and that you have asked me to assist with some research. I promise to do everything in my power to help you become an expert in the field. I wish I were a little more colorful and charismatic and a little less shy, but hey, I am who I am. And I don't regret the path my life has taken one bit.

I just thought maybe it was time that you knew.

Your devoted friend, Rudy

Ellen looked up from the frayed patch she had been studying on the Oriental rug in the embassy's waiting area, and realized that Andrew Strawbridge's attache was smiling over at her.

"Soon," he said in a velvety English accent. "Ambassador Strawbridge will be with you shortly."

"Thank you. I'm fine to wait."

The letter was still in her purse. Rudy had gotten up around six and, without realizing she was upstairs in the study, went out to the backyard where he did twenty minutes of tai chi — fairly advanced tai chi from what she could tell. She knew he practiced the beautifully controlled martial art, and from time to time had watched him work out alone in his yard. She had never thought of asking to join him, and true to his reserved nature, he had never pushed the possibility on her. This morning, though, she studied him as he practiced. Later on, during a breakfast of mushroom and Brie crepes that he had cooked to perfection, she learned that he taught tai chi classes in a nearby community hall.

Several times she came close to bringing up the letter and admitting what she had done, but each time she pulled back. When they embraced as she was preparing to leave for D.C., as they had done hundreds of times over the years, it was as if they were touching for the first time.

Why didn't you just put the darn thing in the mail when you were supposed to? she was thinking as she drove off.

"Mrs. Kroft? Mrs. Kroft, I'm Andrew Strawbridge," the ambassador said, his voice rich and melodic.

Startled out of her reverie a second time, Ellen leapt awkwardly to her feet, mumbled an apology, and took the ambassador's hand. He was a short, slight, dapper man, with warm, deep-brown eyes and rich black skin. His face was slightly pocked from what she assumed was a childhood infection.

"Thank you for coming out to greet me personally," she said.

"Leighton's already gotten out of his chair once," he replied, winking, "I didn't want to tax him. The truth is, I came out myself because your call yesterday intrigued me and I was anxious to meet you."

"Thank you."

"You said you were on the commission that recently approved the supervaccine?"

"I was. Only I didn't end up voting for or against its approval. I abstained."

"Sometimes, abstention is a very powerful statement," he said.

He led her into a spacious, mahogany-paneled office, with a conference table and a wall of well-stocked bookshelves. A framed green-, white-, and blue-striped flag hung behind the expansive desk. The other two walls featured the usual photos of diplomats and dignitaries shaking hands with each other, as well as a large, framed map of Sierra Leone.

"Coffee? Tea?" he asked. "I joke about Leighton, but he is excellent help for me, and he brews a superb cup of coffee."

Ellen pictured the small armies of employees manning the other embassies she had visited.

"In that case, I'll have mine black," she said.

"Leighton, black coffee for Mrs. Kroft, please. The usual for me." He left the door ajar and motioned her to a seat across the desk. "So, now, you have come to talk with me about a vaccine."

"Yes, against Lassa fever."

Strawbridge sighed.

"A touchy subject with us, I'm afraid, Mrs. Kroft."

"I don't understand."

"The company that developed Lasaject about ten years ago is Columbia Pharmaceuticals, located not far from here."

"I know that."

"From all we can tell, the vaccine is very effective. Do you agree?"

"Yes and no," Ellen said. "The vaccine was tested in a very small group of people in your country, and did seem to be protective. But for some reason, the testing was stopped. The vaccine was evaluated later on in a larger group here in the States."

Strawbridge nodded knowingly and chewed on his lower lip. Ellen sensed he was debating how much of the truth to tell her.

"Unfortunately," he said finally, "at the time Columbia was trying to evaluate Lasaject, our country was in a certain amount of, how should I say, turmoil. They chose to pull their people out and test their vaccine elsewhere."

"That's the testing I mentioned that was done here. But instead of measuring protection against Lassa fever, they measured protective antibody levels stimulated by the vaccine. Columbians report to our Food and Drug Administration states that the inoculations did very well in that regard."

"I'm very happy for them," Strawbridge said sarcastically. "Alas, not one person in my country has benefited from their research. I'm sure it comes as no surprise for you to hear that Sierra Leone is hardly a wealthy country. The two people at the head of Columbia, a woman virologist and another doctor, came to Freetown and met with our health ministry. Regrettably, they could not find, how should I say, common financial ground to initiate a mass vaccination program."

"I'm sorry. I read that the World Health Organization was reluctant to get involved until the political unrest was resolved."

Strawbridge's dark eyes blazed, then just as quickly softened.

"Unfortunately, there has been some discord in our country," he said, "but not enough to deprive millions of a medical breakthrough."