Robin Cook - Outbreak

In a frantic moment of confusion, Jake thought she’d recognized him, but she passed right by, heading down a hall lined with gift shops.

Jake took off after her, passing her in a corridor lined with old photos of the San Francisco earthquake. Guessing she was headed to the elevators, he made sure he beat her there, mingling with the crowd already waiting.

An elevator arrived, which Jake boarded before Marissa, making certain there was plenty of room. He stepped in front of the self-service buttons. Holding his newspaper as if he were reading, he watched as Marissa pressed eleven. As more passengers got on, Marissa was pushed farther back into the car.

As the elevator rose, stopping occasionally, Jake continued to keep his nose in the newspaper. When the car stopped at the eleventh floor, he strolled off, still absorbed in his paper, allowing Marissa and another guest to pass him. When she stopped in front of room 1127, Jake kept walking. He didn’t turn and go back to the elevators until he’d heard her door close.

Back on the street, Jake crossed over to Al’s car.

“Well?” said Al, momentarily worried something had gone wrong.

“Room 1127,” said Jake with a self-satisfied smile.

“You’d better be right,” said Al, getting out of the car. “Wait here. This shouldn’t take long at all.” He smiled so broadly that Jake noticed for the first time Al’s gums had receded almost to the roots of his front teeth.

Al walked over to George’s car and leaned on the window. “I want you to drive around and cover the back entrance. Just in case.”

Feeling better than he had in several days, Al crossed the street to the posh, red-and-black lobby.

He went over to the front desk and eyed the mailbox for 1127. There was an extra set of keys, but there wasn’t enough of a crowd for him to chance the receptionist’s turning them over without asking questions. Instead, he headed for the elevators.

On the eleventh floor, he searched for the housekeeping cart. He found it outside of a suite, with its usual complement of clean sheets, towels and cleaning materials. Taking one of the hand towels, he carefully folded it on the diagonal, creating a stout rope. Gripping an end in each hand, he entered the open suite where the maid presumably was working.

The living room was empty. There was a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the bedroom and a pile of linens on the floor, but he still didn’t see anyone. Advancing to the dressing room, he heard running water.

The maid was on her knees in front of the bathtub, scrubbing its interior. A can of Comet was on the floor by her knees.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Al stepped behind the woman and, using the folded towel as a garrote, strangled her. She made some muffled noises but they were covered by the sound of the bathwater. Her face turned red, then purple. When Al let up the tension on the ends of the towel, she slumped to the floor like a limp rag doll.

Al found the passkeys in her pocket on a brass ring the size of a bracelet. Back in the hall, he hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the knob and closed the door to the suite. Then he pushed the housekeeping cart out of sight into the stairwell. Flexing his fingers like a pianist preparing for a recital, he started for room 1127.

MARISSA PEELED THE LAST of the breakfast fruit with the wooden-handled paring knife, leaving the knife and rinds on her night table. She was on the phone to Northwest Airlines trying to make a reservation to Minneapolis. She had decided PAC and company would figure she’d probably go to LA next, so Minneapolis seemed as good a bet as any.

The agent finally confirmed her on an afternoon flight. Flopping back on the bed, she began to debate how she should spend the next hour or so, but while she was thinking, exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep.

She was awakened by a metallic click. It sounded like the door, but she knew she’d left up the Do Not Disturb sign. Then she saw the knob silently begin to turn.

She remembered being caught in the hotel room in Chicago by the man with the vaccination gun. Panic danced through her like an electrical current. Pulling herself together, she reached for the phone.

Before Marissa could lift the receiver, the door burst open, splintering part of the jamb as the screws holding the chain lock plate were yanked out of the molding. A man slammed the door shut then hurled himself onto Marissa. He grabbed her by the neck with both hands and shook her like a mad dog in a frenzy. Then he pulled her ashen face close to his. “Remember me?” he snarled furiously.

Marissa remembered him. It was the blond man with the Julius Caesar haircut.

“You have ten seconds to produce the vaccination gun,” hissed Al, loosening the death grip he had on Marissa’s throat. “If you don’t, I’ll snap your neck.” To emphasize his point, he gave her head a violent jolt, sending a flash of pain down her spine.

Barely able to breathe, Marissa fruitlessly clawed at the man’s powerful wrists. He shook her again, hitting her head against the wall. By reflex Marissa’s hands extended behind her to cushion her body.

The lamp fell off the bedside table and crashed to the floor. The room swam as her brain cried for oxygen.

“This is your last chance,” shouted Al. “What did you do with that vaccinator?”

Marissa’s hand touched the paring knife. Her fingers wrapped around the tiny haft. Holding it in her fist, she hammered it up into the man’s abdomen as hard as she could. She had no idea if she’d penetrated anything, but Al stopped speaking in midsentence, let go of Marissa and rocked back on his haunches. His face registered surprise and disbelief. She switched the tiny knife to her right hand, keeping it pointed at Al, who seemed confused when he saw the blood staining his shirt.

She hoped to back up to the door and run, but before she reached it he leaped at her like an enraged animal, sending her racing to the bathroom. It seemed as if only hours before she’d been in the same predicament in Chicago.

Al got his hand around the door before it shut. Marissa hacked blindly, feeling the tip of her knife strike bone. Al screamed and yanked his hand away, leaving a smear of blood on the panel. The door slammed shut, and Marissa hastily locked it.

She was about to dial the bathroom phone when there was a loud crash and the entire bathroom door crashed inward. Al forced Marissa to drop the phone, but she hung on to the knife, still stabbing at him wildly. She hit his abdomen several times, but if it had any effect, it wasn’t apparent.

Ignoring the knife, Al grabbed Marissa by her hair and flung her against the sink. She tried to stab him again, but he grabbed her wrist and bashed it against the wall until her grip loosened and the weapon clattered to the floor.

He bent down to pick it up, and as he straightened, Marissa grabbed the phone that was swinging on its cord and hit him as hard as she could with the receiver. For a brief instant, she wasn’t sure who was hurt more. The blow had sent a bolt of pain right up to her shoulder.

For a moment Al stood as if he were frozen. Then his blue eyes rolled upward, and he seemed to fall in slow motion into the bathtub, striking his head on the faucets.

As Marissa watched, half expecting Al to get up and come at her again, a beeping noise snapped her into action. She reached over and hung up the receiver. Glancing back into the tub, she was torn between fear and her medical training. The man had a sizable gash over the bridge of his nose, and the front of his shirt was covered with blood stains. But terror won out, and Marissa grabbed her purse and ran from the room. Remembering the man had not been alone in New York, she knew she had to get away from the hotel as soon as possible.