Robin Cook - Vector

“That’s not being very specific,” Chet said.

Jack reached over and retrieved Jason Papparis’s folder. “This case, for one.”

“What could bother you now?” Chet questioned irritably. “You made the diagnosis, reported it to the deputy chief, called the city epidemiologist, and even the Director of Emergency Management. What the hell else can you do?”

Jack sighed. “Like I said before, it’s too pat. It’s like it was designed to go into a textbook, and it’s bothering me.”

“Bull!” Chet said. “Sounds to me like you’re using it as an excuse. What else is on your mind?”

Jack blinked and eyed his officemate. Jack was impressed with Chet’s clairvoyance. For a fleeting moment Jack considered telling Chet about Laurie’s early-morning phone call, but then decided against it. Such a conversation might lead to questions about Jack’s true feelings about Laurie, an issue Jack wasn’t ready to probe, even on his own.

“There is something else,” Jack said. His face fell into an exaggerated expression of emotional anguish. “I’m upset that Seinfeld is off the air.”

“Oh, for crissake,” Chet said disgustedly. “It’s impossible to have a discussion with you. Fine! Stew by yourself, but at least do me the favor of doing it quietly or, if that’s impossible, go someplace else!

Chet swung around once again and replaced the slide on his microscope stage with another. He leaned over the eyepieces while mumbling under his breath how trying Jack could be.

“Clint Abelard said he’d see that the Corinthian Rug Company’s warehouse was quarantined,” Jack said. He poked Chet’s shoulder with the corner of Jason Papparis’s folder to make sure Chet was listening. “What about the office here in Manhattan? What if the rug merchant brought some of the hides to the office? And what about the advisability of going through the company’s records to see if any of the recent shipment had been sold and shipped elsewhere?”

Chet swung back around. He examined his officemate’s broad face and saw that he was being serious.

“What do you want me to say?” Chet asked.

“I want you to confirm my concerns,” Jack said.

“Fine,” Chet said. “You’re right! So do something about it! Call back the epidemiologist and make sure he’s thought of these issues! Get it off your chest. Then you and I can get some work done.”

Jack eyed his phone, then looked back at Chet. “You really think so?” He’s not a fan of mine and he’s not what you’d call receptive to suggestions, especially my suggestions.”

“So what if the guy is a nerd?” Chet said. “At least you’ll have the satisfaction of having done everything you could possibly do. What do you care what he thinks of you?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jack said as he reached for the phone. “I can’t expect everybody to love me like I do.”

Jack called back the city epidemiologist. The secretary asked for Jack’s name, then put him on hold. Jack waited for several minutes. He looked up at Chet.

“So the guy’s being a little passive-aggressive,” Chet said. “Hang in there.”

Jack nodded. He drew interlocking circles on his scratch pad, then drummed his fingers on the desktop. Finally the secretary came back on the line.

“I’m sorry but the doctor is busy,” she said. “You’ll have to call back.”

Jack hung up. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I just love this intra-agency cooperation crap.”

“Send him a fax,” Chet suggested. “It will accomplish the same thing without the aggravation of having to talk with him.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Jack said. He got out the identification sheet and retrieved Helen Papparis’s phone number. He then put in a second call to the rug dealer’s bereaved wife.

“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Jack said after identifying himself.

“It’s no bother,” Helen said. She was as gracious as she’d been on the first call.

“I wanted to ask if you’d heard from any of the city public health people,” Jack said.

“Yes, I have,” Helen answered. “A Dr. Abelard called soon after I spoke with you.”

“I’m glad,” Jack said. “Could I ask what he said?”

“He was very businesslike,” Helen said. “He wanted the address and the keys for the warehouse. Then he made arrangements for the local police to come by and get them.”

“Excellent,” Jack said. “What about the office in Manhattan? Did Dr. Abelard ask you about that?”

“Nothing was said about the office.”

“I see,” Jack said. He glanced at Chet, who shrugged. Jack thought for a moment and then added: “I’d like to take a look inside the office myself. Would you have a problem with that?”

Chet started waving his hands and silently but emphatically mouthing the word “no” over and over again. Jack ignored him.

“If you think it would help in any way,” Helen said. “It’s certainly all right by me.”

Jack explained to the woman what he’d said to Chet, particularly about checking to see if any of the recent shipment had been sold and sent out. Helen understood immediately.

“Perhaps I can come up and get the keys,” Jack suggested.

“That won’t be necessary,” Helen said. “The address is Twenty-seven Walker Street, and there is a stamp collecting firm right next door. The proprietor’s name is Hyman Feingold. He was a friend of my husband. They had keys for each other’s shops in case of an emergency. I can give him a call so that he is expecting you.”

“That’s perfect,” Jack said. “Meanwhile, have you spoken with your physician?”

“I did,” Helen said. “He’s sending over some antibiotics. He’s also recommended I get vaccinated.”

“I think that is a good idea,” Jack said.

After disconnecting, Jack stood up and got his bomber jacket from behind the door.

“Aren’t you going to ask my opinion about this proposed field trip?” Chet asked.

“Nope,” Jack said. “I already know your opinion. But I’m going just the same. I can’t concentrate, so I might as well do something useful. Besides, now you’ll be able to get some work done. Hold the fort, sport!”

Chet waved with an expression of irritated resignation. He thought it was crazy for Jack to go running out on a site visit, but from past experience he knew better than to try to change Jack’s mind once it had been made up.

Whistling a merry tune, Jack took the stairs down to the third floor and ducked into the microbiology lab. Anticipating his bike ride downtown, he began to feel better than he had all day.

Agnes Finn wasn’t available, so Jack spoke with the shift supervisor. She was more than happy to supply him with a bag of culture tubes, latex gloves, micropore masks, an isolation gown, and a hood. Jack knew that a biological isolation suit would have been safer, but he felt it wasn’t necessary. It also wouldn’t be immediately available, and Jack didn’t want to wait. And besides, he was still convinced that in all likelihood Mr. Jason Papparis had gotten his illness at his warehouse, not at his office.

With his supplies in hand Jack went down to the basement area and unlocked his bike. But instead of heading directly downtown, he rode over to the University Hospital. As a firm believer in the old adage “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” he’d decided it would be wise to take some prophylactic antibiotics.

The ride downtown was exhilarating and transpired almost without incident. Jack went south on Second Avenue, then cut west on Houston. He then used Broadway to get to Walker. On Broadway he had a minor run-in with the driver of a delivery van. But only a few heated words were exchanged before the van sped off.