Robin Cook - Outbreak

“I know,” admitted Marissa, “but I’m going to do it anyway. This Ebola affair is driving me crazy.”

“Suit yourself, but stop over afterwards. I’ll be up late.”

“Ralph?” Marissa said, screwing up her courage to ask the question. “Do you know Congressman Markham?”

There was a pause. “I know of him.”

“Have you ever contributed to his campaign fund?”

“What an odd question, particularly for a long-distance call.”

“Have you?” persisted Marissa.

“Yes,” said Ralph. “Several times. I like the man’s position on a lot of medical issues.”

After promising again to see him that night, Marissa hung up feeling relieved. She was pleased she’d broached the subject of Markham and was even happier that Ralph had been so forthright about his contributions.

Once the plane took off, though, her sense of unease returned. The theory still undeveloped in the back of her mind was so terrifying, she was afraid to try to flesh it out.

More horrifying yet, she was beginning to wonder if her house being broken into and her dog killed was something more than the random attack she’d taken it for.

MARISSA LEFT THE AIRPORT and headed directly for Tad’s house. She’d not called, thinking it would be better just to drop in, even though it was almost nine.

She pulled up in front of his house, pleased to see lights blazing in the living room on the second floor.

“Marissa!” said Tad, opening the front door of the building, a medical journal in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to see the man of the house,” said Marissa. “I’m doing a home survey on peanut butter preference.”

“You’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking,” said Marissa with exasperation. “Are you going to invite me in or are we going to spend the night standing here?” Marissa’s new assertiveness surprised even herself.

“Sorry,” said Tad, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

He’d left his apartment door open, so after climbing the stairs Marissa entered ahead of him. Glancing at the shelf in the foyer, she saw that his lab access card was there.

“I’ve been calling you all day,” said Tad. “Where have you been?”

“Out,” said Marissa vaguely. “It’s been another interesting day.”

“I was told you’d been transferred from Special Pathogens,” said Tad. “Then I heard a rumor that you were on vacation. What’s happening?”

“I wish I knew,” said Marissa, dropping onto Tad’s low-slung sofa. His cat materialized out of nowhere and leaped into her lap. “What about Philadelphia? Is it Ebola?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Tad, sitting down next to her. “The call came in on Sunday. I got samples this morning and they’re loaded with the virus.”

“Is it the same strain?”

“I won’t know that for some time,” said Tad.

“You still think it’s all coming from that San Diego eye meeting?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” said Tad with a slight edge to his voice. “I’m a virologist, not an epidemiologist.”

“Don’t be cross,” said Marissa. “But you don’t have to be an epidemiologist to recognize that something strange is happening. Do you have any idea why I’ve been transferred?”

“I’d guess that Dubchek requested it.”

“Nope,” said Marissa. “It was a U.S. Congressman from Texas named Markham. He called Dr. Morrison directly. He sits on the appropriations committee that decides on the CDC budget, so Morrison had to comply. But that’s pretty weird, isn’t it? I mean I’m only an EIS officer.”

“I suppose it is,” agreed Tad. He was becoming more and more nervous.

Marissa reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“All this worries me,” said Tad. “I like you; you know that. But trouble seems to follow you around, and I don’t want to be drawn into it. I happen to like my job.”

“I don’t want to involve you, but I need your help just one last time. That’s why I came here so late.”

Tad shook off her hand. “Please don’t ask me to break any more rules.”

“I have to get back into the maximum containment lab,” said Marissa. “Only for a few minutes.”

“No!” said Tad decisively. “I simply can’t take the risk. I’m sorry.”

“Dubchek is out of town,” said Marissa. “No one will be there at this hour.”

“No,” said Tad. “I won’t do it.”

Marissa could tell he was adamant. “Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

“You do?” said Tad, surprised that she’d given in so easily.

“I really do, but if you can’t take me into the lab, at least you could get me something to drink.”

“Of course,” said Tad, eager to please. “Beer, white wine. What’s your pleasure?”

“A beer would be nice,” said Marissa.

Tad disappeared into the kitchen. When she heard the sound of the refrigerator opening, Marissa stood and quickly tiptoed to the front door. Glancing at the shelf, she was pleased to see Tad had two access cards. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice that she’d borrowed one, she thought to herself, as she slipped one of the two into her jacket pocket. She was back on the couch before Tad returned with the beers.

Tad handed Marissa a bottle of Rolling Rock, keeping one for himself. He also produced a package of potato chips that he popped open and set on the coffee table. To humor him, Marissa asked about his latest research, but it was obvious she wasn’t paying close attention to his answers.

“You don’t like Rolling Rock?” asked Tad, noticing that she’d hardly touched hers.

“It’s fine,” said Marissa, yawning. “I guess I’m more tired than thirsty. I suppose I ought to be going.”

“You’re welcome to spend the night,” said Tad.

Marissa pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks, but I really should go home.”

“I’m sorry about the lab,” said Tad, bending to kiss her.

“I understand,” said Marissa. She headed out the door before he could get his arms around her.

Tad waited until he heard the outer door close before going back inside his apartment. On the one hand, he was glad that he’d had the sense to resist her manipulations. On the other, he felt badly that he’d disappointed her.

From where Tad was standing he was looking directly at the shelf where he’d left his access card and keys. Still thinking about Marissa, he realized that one of his cards was gone. He carefully looked through all the junk he’d removed from his pockets and then searched the shelves above and below. His spare card was gone.

“Damn!” said Tad. He should have expected a trick when she’d given up so easily. Opening the door, he ran down the stairs and out into the street, hoping to catch her, but the street was empty. There wasn’t even a breath of air in the humid night. The leaves on the trees hung limp and still.

Tad went back to his apartment, trying to decide what to do. He checked the time, then went to the phone. He liked Marissa, but she’d gone too far. He picked up the phone and began dialing.

Driving to the Center, Marissa hoped Dubchek hadn’t warned the guards she was no longer working in virology. But when she flashed her identity card the guard on duty just smiled and said, “Working late again?”

So far so good; but as a precaution, Marissa first went to her own office in case the man decided to follow her. She turned her light on and sat behind her desk, waiting, but there were no footsteps in the hall.

There were a few letters on her blotter: two advertisements from pharmaceutical houses and a third from Lab Engineering in South Bend. Marissa ripped this third one open. A salesman thanked her for her inquiry concerning their type 3 HEPA Containment Hoods and went on to say that such equipment was only built to custom specifications. If she was interested, she should retain an architectural firm specializing in health-care construction. He ended by answering the question that had prompted her letter: Lab Engineering had built only one system in the last year and that had been for Professional Labs in Grayson, Georgia.