Robin Cook - Outbreak

“Shit,” said Jake. Things were going from bad to worse.

“Where are you now?” asked George.

“Just on the freeway, leaving the airport,” said Jake.

“Go back,” said George. “Book us on the next flight to Atlanta. I think we owe Al a bit of revenge.”

“READING MATERIAL?” asked the smiling cabin attendant.

Marissa nodded. She needed something to keep her from thinking about the horrible scene in the hotel.

“Magazine or newspaper?” asked the attendant.

“Newspaper, I guess,” said Marissa.

“ San Francisco Examiner or New York Times ?”

Marissa was in no mood to make decisions. “ New York Times, ” she said finally.

The big jet leveled off, and the seat-belt sign went out. Marissa glanced through the window at rugged mountains stretching off into dry desert. It was a relief to have gotten onto the plane finally. At the airport, she had been so scared of either being attacked by one of the blond man’s friends or being arrested, she had simply hidden in a toilet in the ladies’ room.

Unfolding the newspaper, Marissa glanced at the table of contents. Continuing coverage of the Ebola outbreaks in Philadelphia and New York was listed on page 4. Marissa turned to it.

The article reported that the Philadelphia death toll was up to fifty-eight and New York was at forty-nine, but that many more cases had been reported there. Marissa was not surprised since the index case was an ear, nose and throat specialist. She also noted that the Rosenberg Clinic had already filed for bankruptcy.

On the same page as the Ebola article was a photograph of Dr. Ahmed Fakkry, head of epidemiology for the World Health Organization. The article next to the picture said that he was visiting the CDC to investigate the Ebola outbreaks because World Health was fearful that the virus would soon cross the Atlantic.

Maybe Dr. Fakkry could help her, thought Marissa. Perhaps the lawyer Ralph was lining up for her would be able to arrange for her to speak with him.

Ralph was catching up on his journals when the doorbell rang at 9:30 P.M. Glancing at his watch, he wondered who could possibly be visiting at that hour. He looked out of the glass panel on the side of the door and was shocked to find himself staring directly into Marissa’s face.

“Marissa!” he said in disbelief, pulling open the door. Behind her, he could see a yellow cab descending his long, curved driveway.

Marissa saw him hold out his arms and ran into them, bursting into tears.

“I thought you were in California,” said Ralph. “Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming? I would have met you at the airport.”

Marissa just held onto him, crying. It was so wonderful to feel safe.

“What happened to you?” he asked, but was only greeted by louder sobs.

“At least let’s sit down,” he said, helping her to the couch. For a few minutes, he just let her cry, patting her gently on the back. “It’s okay,” he said for lack of anything else. He eyed the phone, willing it to ring. He had to make a call, and at this rate she was never going to let him get up. “Perhaps you’d like something to drink?” he asked. “How about some of that special cognac? Maybe it will make you feel better.”

Marissa shook her head.

“Wine? I have a nice bottle of Chardonnay open in the refrigerator.” Ralph was running out of ideas.

Marissa just held him tighter, but her sobs were lessening, her breathing becoming more regular.

Five minutes went by. Ralph sighed. “Where is your luggage?”

Marissa didn’t answer, but did fish a tissue out of her pocket and wipe her face.

“I’ve got some cold chicken in the kitchen.”

At last Marissa sat up. “Maybe in a little bit. Just stay with me a little longer. I’ve been so scared.”

“Then why didn’t you call me from the airport? And what happened to your car? Didn’t you leave it there?”

“It’s a long story,” said Marissa. “But I was afraid that someone might be watching it. I didn’t want anybody to know I was back in Atlanta.”

Ralph raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean you’d like to spend the night?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Marissa. “Nothing like inviting myself, but you’ve been such a good friend.”

“Would you like me to drive you over to your house to get some things?” asked Ralph.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to show up there for the same reason I was afraid to go to my car. If I were to drive anyplace tonight, I’d run over to the CDC and get a package that I hope Tad put away for me. But to tell you the truth, I think it all can wait until morning. Even that criminal lawyer, who I hope will be able to keep me out of jail.”

“Good grief,” said Ralph. “I hope you’re not serious. Don’t you think it’s time you told me what’s going on?”

Marissa picked up Ralph’s hand. “I will. I promise. Let me just calm down a little more. Maybe I should eat something.”

“I’ll fix you some chicken,” he said.

“That’s all right. I know where the kitchen is. Maybe I’ll just scramble some eggs.”

“I’ll join you in a minute. I have to make a call.”

Marissa dragged herself through the house. In the kitchen, she glanced around at all the appliances and space and thought it was a waste just to be making eggs. But that was what sounded best. She got them out of the refrigerator, along with some bread for toast. Then she realized she hadn’t asked Ralph if he wanted some too. She was about to call out but decided he wouldn’t hear her.

Putting the eggs down, she went over to the intercom and began pushing the buttons on the console to see if she could figure out how it worked. “Hello, hello,” she said as she held down different combinations. Stumbling onto the correct sequence, she suddenly heard Ralph’s voice.

“She’s not in San Francisco,” he was saying. “She’s here at my house.”

Pause.

“Jackson, I don’t know what happened. She’s hysterical. All she said was that she has a package waiting for her at the CDC. Listen, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to get back to her.”

Pause.

“I’ll keep her here, don’t worry. But get over here as soon as you can.”

Pause.

“No, no one knows she’s here. I’m sure of that. ’Bye.”

Marissa clutched the counter top, afraid she was going to faint. All this time Ralph—the one person she’d trusted—had been one of “them.” And Jackson! It had to be the same Jackson she’d met at Ralph’s dinner party. The head of PAC, and he was on his way over. Oh, God!

Knowing Ralph was on his way to the kitchen, Marissa forced herself to go on with her cooking. But when she tried to break an egg on the side of the skillet, she smashed it shell and all into the pan. She had the other egg in her hand when Ralph appeared with some drinks. She broke the second egg a bit more deftly, mixing it all together, including the first egg’s shell.

“Smells good,” he said brightly. He put down her glass and touched her lightly on the back. Marissa jumped.

“Wow, you really are uptight. How are we going to get you to relax?”

Marissa didn’t say anything. Although she was no longer the slightest bit hungry, she went through the motions of cooking the eggs, buttering the toast and putting out jam. Looking at Ralph’s expensive silk shirt, the heavy gold cuff links, the tasseled Gucci loafers, everything about him suddenly seemed a ridiculous affectation, as did the whole elaborately furnished house. It all represented the conspicuous consumption of a wealthy doctor, now fearful of the new medical competition, of changing times, of medicine no longer being a seller’s market.