Robin Cook - Outbreak

For the second time that day, Marissa screamed. She kicked again and loosened the man’s grip. In a flash she was back under the bed.

Tiring of the tug of war, he dropped his gun onto the bed and came after her. But Marissa rolled out the other side. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the door. She had just wrenched it open when the man leaped across the bed and caught her hair. Whipping her around, he threw her against the bureau with such force that the mirror fell with a crash.

The man checked the hall quickly, then closed and secured the door. Marissa ran to the bathroom, grabbing what she thought was the gun off the far bed. She had almost managed to get the bathroom door closed before the man reached it.

Marissa wedged her back against the sink and tried to keep her attacker from opening the door farther. But, little by little, his greater strength prevailed. The door cracked open, enabling him to get the arm with the frozen elbow hooked around the jamb.

Marissa eyed the wall phone but couldn’t reach it without taking her feet off the door. She looked at the weapon in her hand, wondering if it would scare the man if she were to fire a bullet at the wall. That was when she realized she was holding an air-powered vaccination gun of the kind used for mass inoculations in her old pediatrics clinic.

The door had opened enough for the man to move his arm more freely. He blindly groped until he got a grip on one of Marissa’s ankles. Feeling she had little choice, Marissa pressed the vaccination gun against the man’s forearm and discharged it. The man screamed. The arm was withdrawn, and the door slammed shut.

She heard him run across the room, open the door to the hall and rush out. Going back into the bedroom, Marissa breathed a sigh of relief, only to be startled by a strong odor of phenolic disinfectant. Turning the vaccinator toward herself with a shaky hand, she examined the circular business end. Intuitively, she sensed the gun contained Ebola virus, and she guessed that the disinfectant she smelled was part of a mechanism to prevent exposure to the operator. Now she was truly terrified. Not only had she possibly killed a man, she might also have triggered a new outbreak. Forcing herself to remain calm, she carefully placed the gun in a plastic bag that she took from the wastebasket and then got another plastic bag from the basket under the desk and placed it over the first, knotting it closed. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should call the police. Then she decided there was nothing they could do. The man was far away by now, and if the vaccination gun did contain Ebola, there was no way they could find him quietly if he didn’t want to be found.

Marissa looked out into the hall. It was clear. She put a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, then carried her belongings, including the plastic bag with the vaccination gun, down to housekeeping. There were no cleaning people in sight. She found a bottle of Lysol and disinfected the outside of the plastic bag. Then she washed and disinfected her hands. She couldn’t think of anything else to do prophylactically.

In the lobby, where there were enough people to make Marissa feel reasonably safe, she called the Illinois State Epidemiologist. Without identifying herself, she explained that room 2410 at the Palmer House might have been contaminated with Ebola virus. Before the man could gasp out a single question, she hung up.

Next, she called Tad. All this activity was enabling her to avoid thinking about what had just happened. Tad’s initial coolness thawed when he realized that she was on the verge of hysteria.

“What on earth is going on now?” he asked. “Marissa, are you all right?”

“I have to ask two favors. After the trouble I’ve caused you, I’d vowed that I wouldn’t bother you again. But I have no choice. First, I need a vial of the convalescent serum from the L.A. outbreak. Could you send it by overnight carrier to Carol Bradford at the Plaza Hotel in New York?”

“Who the hell is Carol Bradford?”

“Please don’t ask any questions,” said Marissa, struggling to keep from bursting into tears. “The less you know at this point, the better.” Carol Bradford had been one of Marissa’s college roommates; it was the name she’d used on the flight from Atlanta to Chicago.

“The next favor involves a parcel I’m sending you by overnight carrier. Please, do not open it. Take it inside the maximum containment lab and hide it.” Marissa paused.

“Is that it?” asked Tad.

“That’s it,” said Marissa. “Will you help me, Tad?”

“I guess,” said Tad. “Sounds reasonably innocuous.”

“Thank you,” said Marissa. “I’ll be able to explain everything in a few days.”

She hung up and called the Westin Hotel toll-free number and reserved a room at the Plaza for that night under the name of Carol Bradford. That accomplished, she scanned the Palmer House lobby. No one seemed to be paying her any heed. Trusting that the hotel would bill her on her credit card, she did not bother to check out.

The first stop was a Federal Express office. The people were extremely nice when she told them it was a special vaccine needed in Atlanta by the next day. They helped her pack her plastic bags in an unbreakable metal box and even addressed it, when they saw how badly her hand was trembling.

Back on the street, she flagged a cab to O’Hare. As soon as she was seated, she began checking her lymph nodes and testing her throat for soreness. She’d been close to Ebola before, but never this close. She shuddered to think that the man had intended to infect her with the virus. It was a cruel irony that the only way she’d escaped was to have infected him. She hoped that he realized the convalescent serum had a protective effect if it was given prior to the appearance of symptoms. Maybe that was why the man had left so precipitously.

During the long ride to the airport, she began to calm down enough to think logically. The fact that she’d been attacked again gave more credence to her suspicions. And if the vaccination gun proved to contain Ebola, she’d have her first real piece of evidence.

The taxi driver dropped Marissa at the American Airlines terminal, explaining that they had hourly flights to New York. Once she got her ticket, passed through security and hiked the long distance to the gate, she found she had nearly half an hour to wait. She decided to call Ralph. She badly needed to hear a friendly voice, and she wanted to ask about the lawyer.

Marissa spent several minutes struggling with Ralph’s secretary, who guarded him as if he were the Pope, pleading with the woman to at least let him know she was on the line. Finally, Ralph picked up the phone.

“I hope you’re back in Atlanta,” he said before she could say hello.

“Soon,” promised Marissa. She explained that she was at the American terminal in Chicago, on her way to New York, but that she’d probably be back in Atlanta the following day, particularly if he’d found her a good lawyer.

“I made some discreet inquiries,” said Ralph, “and I think I have just the man. His name is McQuinllin. He’s with a large firm here in Atlanta.”

“I hope he’s smart,” said Marissa. “He’s going to have his hands full.”

“Supposedly he’s one of the best.”

“Do you think that he will require a lot of money up front?”

“Chances are he’ll want a retainer of some sort,” said Ralph. “Will that be a problem?”

“Could be,” said Marissa. “Depends on how much.”

“Well, don’t worry,” said Ralph. “I’ll be happy to lend a hand.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” said Marissa.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” said Ralph. “But in return, I’d like you to stop this crazy trip. What’s so important in New York? I hope it’s not the new Ebola outbreak. You don’t want a repeat of Philadelphia. Why don’t you just fly back to Atlanta. I’m worried about you.”