Robin Cook - Outbreak

Jake turned the key in the ignition. “Where to?” He knew Al was pissed, and when he was in that kind of mood, it was better to say as little as possible.

“Back to the city.”

“What did Tieman’s office say?” asked George from the backseat.

Jake wanted to tell George to shut up, but he was afraid to speak.

“That the doctor was in surgery at San Francisco General,” said Al, almost white with anger. “His first operation was scheduled for seven-thirty, and he’s not expected at the office until three.”

“No wonder we missed him,” said George disgustedly. “The guy must have left his house an hour before we got here. What a waste of time. We should have gone to a hotel like I said.”

With blinding speed Al twisted around in the front seat and grabbed George’s pink Dior tie. George’s eyes bulged and his face turned red. “If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Understand?”

Al released the tie and shoved George back down in his seat. Jake hunkered down like a turtle into his sports jacket. He hazarded a glance in Al’s direction.

“And what are you gawking at?” demanded Al.

Jake didn’t say a word, and after what had just happened, he hoped George had learned the wisdom of silence.

They were almost at the bridge before anyone spoke.

“I think we should get another car,” Al said, his voice as calm as if the outburst had never happened. “Just in case we run into a problem and have to split up. Then we’ll go to San Francisco General. The sooner we spot Tieman the better.”

With plenty of time to spare and feeling confident that she’d have no problem recognizing Dr. Tieman now that she’d seen him, Marissa left the operating room as the assistant was closing. She changed back to her street clothes. She wanted to be able to leave right after she spoke to the man. Going into the surgical lounge, she found a seat by the window. A few people smiled at her but no one spoke.

A half hour went by before Dr. Tieman appeared, coming into the room with the same effortless grace that had characterized his surgical technique.

Marissa walked over to where he was pouring a cup of coffee. In his short-sleeved scrub top, Marissa could see his beautifully muscled arms. His color was a rich brown, like polished walnut.

“I’m Dr. Marissa Blumenthal,” she said, watching the man for a reaction.

He had a broad, masculine face with a well-trimmed mustache and sad eyes, as if he’d seen more of life than he cared to know. He looked down at Marissa with a smile. It was obvious from his expression that he had no idea who she was.

“May I speak to you in private?” asked Marissa.

Tieman glanced at his assistant, who was just approaching. “I’ll see you in the OR,” Tieman said, leading Marissa away.

He took her to one of the dictation cubicles separated from the lounge by two swinging doors. There was one chair, and Dr. Tieman turned it around, gesturing for Marissa to sit. He leaned against a counter, holding his coffee in his right hand.

Acutely conscious of her short stature and its psychological handicap, Marissa pushed the chair back to him, insisting that he sit since he’d been standing in surgery since early that morning.

“Okay, okay,” he said with a short laugh. “I’m sitting. Now what can I do for you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize my name,” said Marissa, watching the man’s eyes. They were still questioning, still friendly.

“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Tieman. He laughed again, but with a tinge of embarrassment. He was studying Marissa’s face. “I do meet a lot of people…”

“Hasn’t Dr. Jack Krause called you about me?” asked Marissa.

“I’m not even sure I know a Dr. Krause,” said Dr. Tieman, directing his attention to his coffee.

The first lie, thought Marissa. Taking a deep breath, she told the doctor exactly what she’d told Krause. From the moment she mentioned the L.A. Ebola outbreak, he never lifted his eyes. She could tell that he was nervous. The surface of the coffee shook slightly in the cup in his hand, and Marissa was suddenly glad she was not the man’s next patient.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why you are telling me this,” said Dr. Tieman, starting to rise. “And unfortunately I have another case.”

With uncharacteristic forwardness, Marissa gently touched his chest, forcing him back in his seat. “I’m not finished,” she said, “and whether you realize it or not, you are intimately involved. I have evidence that Ebola is being deliberately spread by the Physicians’ Action Congress. You are their treasurer, and I’m shocked that a man of your reputation could be connected to such a sordid affair.”

“You’re shocked,” countered Dr. Tieman, finally rising to his feet and towering over her. “I’m amazed that you have the nerve to make such irresponsible allegations.”

“Save your breath,” said Marissa. “It’s public knowledge that you are an officer of PAC as well as a limited partner in one of the only labs in the country equipped to handle viruses like Ebola.”

“I hope you have plenty of insurance,” warned Dr. Tieman, his voice rising. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Good,” said Marissa, ignoring the threat. “Maybe he will persuade you that your best course is to cooperate with the authorities.” She stepped back and looked directly up at his face. “Having met you, I cannot believe you approved the idea of spreading a deadly disease. It will be a double tragedy for you to lose everything you’ve worked for because of someone else’s poor judgment. Think about it, Dr. Tieman. You don’t have a lot of time.”

Pushing through the swinging doors, Marissa left a stunned doctor desperately heading for the phone. She realized she had forgotten to tell Tieman that she was planning to visit the other PAC officers, but she decided it didn’t matter. The man was terrified enough.

“There’s the girl!” yelled Al, slapping Jake on the shoulder. They were parked across the street from the main entrance to the hospital. George waited behind them in the second car. When Al turned to look at him, George gave a thumbs-up sign, meaning that he’d also seen Marissa.

“She won’t get away today,” said Al.

Jake started the car and, as Marissa got into a cab, he pulled out into the street, heading back into town. Al watched as Marissa’s cab pulled out behind them, followed neatly by George. Now things were working as they should.

“She must have seen Tieman if she’s leaving,” said Jake.

“Who cares?” said Al. “We got her now.” Then he added, “It would make things easier if she’d go back to her hotel.”

Marissa’s cab went by them with George in pursuit. Jake began to speed up. Ahead he saw George overtake Marissa. They would continue leapfrogging until Marissa reached her destination.

About fifteen minutes later, Marissa’s taxi stopped behind a line of cars waiting to pull up to the Fairmont. “Looks like your prayers have been answered,” said Jake, stopping across the street from the hotel.

“I’ll handle the car,” said Al. “You get your ass in there and find out what room she’s in.”

Jake got out as Al slid behind the wheel. Dodging the midmorning traffic, Jake reached the front of the hotel before Marissa had even gotten out of her cab. In the lobby, he picked up a newspaper and, folding it commuter style, positioned himself so that he could see everyone coming into the hotel.

Marissa walked directly to the front desk. He quickly moved behind her, expecting her to ask for her room key. But she didn’t. Instead she asked to use her safe-deposit box.

While the receptionist opened a gate allowing Marissa into the office behind the front desk, Jake wandered toward the board announcing the various convention meetings. Presently Marissa reappeared, busily closing her shoulder purse. Then, to Jake’s consternation, she came directly toward him.