Scott Sigler - Contagious

“If it’s any consolation, Mister President, it makes me very proud, and very hopeful, that this decision is so hard for you. I’ve served five presidents before you. For some of them, I watched decisions like this become… become easy .”

Gutierrez stared at Murray for a second, then raised the glass in a salute. “Thank you, Murray. Now go take care of this.”

“Yes, Mister President,” Murray said, and walked out.

Margaret paced in the computer room, which was tough to do considering she could only walk about five steps before she had to turn a 180. The PVC fabric on her legs zip-zipped as she walked. She was still wearing the suit, sans helmet, in order to save time when she had to go back in for surgery. Dew was already out of his. She’d never seen him in scrubs before.

Clarence walked into the control room.

“Did you reach Murray?” she asked. “Is it okay with him if we go ahead and save this woman’s life now?”

Clarence looked at Dew, then back at her.

“What’s the problem?” she asked. “Come on, guys, chop-chop. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Dew looked at the floor. Clarence’s face was a blank.

“You can’t operate,” Clarence said.

“What are you talking about? We’ve got everything we can get from her.”

“Not everything,” Clarence said. “Not yet.”

She stared at him for a moment. Understanding flared up, but part of her fought it down. She didn’t want to believe what she was hearing.

“You… Clarence, you can’t be serious. You don’t think we’re going to let those things hatch out of that woman, do you?”

“We have orders,” he said.

Clarence had known what Murray’s answer would be. That’s why he’d insisted they wait, delay the surgery. If he hadn’t fed her that bullshit about keeping people in the loop, she’d already have Bernadette Smith on the operating table.

Margaret had heard the phrase seeing red . She’d understood it in theory, but she had never actually seen red. Until now. A rage exploded inside her like nothing she’d ever felt.

“We are not going to let that woman die!”

She took two steps forward and started jabbing her finger into Clarence’s broad chest. She could have also screamed at Dew, sure, but she’d almost expected this from a cold-blooded killer like him. But from Clarence ? A man she’d made love to? “That woman has a ten-year-old son who just lost his father and two sisters. I can save Bernadette, I know it. We are going to operate on her, and right now, you rotten bastards. Do you hear me? Right now.”

Clarence shook his head. “We can’t, Margaret.”

“That’s Doctor Montoya to you, asshole. Doctor . As in sworn to protect life.”

“We have orders,” Clarence said.

“Orders from who? From that slimy bastard Murray Longworth? From Ogden? From him ?” Margaret pointed at Dew, who kept staring at the floor. “Who the fuck thinks they can order me to let this woman die?”

“The president,” Clarence said quietly. “It’s from the top. Executive order.”

“Is that right? Well maybe he can order you to gas some Jews while you’re at it! How about that for following orders? Or maybe he can order Dew here to tie up some nigger and give him a whippin’ just to set an example!”

Clarence’s face wrinkled in anger, but she didn’t care. In fact, she liked it. She wanted to get a reaction out of this asshole, this goose-stepping asshole. How could she have ever thought she loved a coldhearted machine like this?

“What do you think, Dew?” Margaret screamed. “If you were ordered to do it, that would make it okay , wouldn’t it?”

“Margaret,” Clarence said, “please calm down.”

“Didn’t I tell you it’s Doctor Montoya? Didn’t I, Agent Otto?”

“You don’t understand, we ha—”

Margaret threw a straight right jab. He was still talking when she did. Her fist hit the bottom of his left front tooth. His head snapped back, from pain, not from the force of her punch, and his hands shot to his mouth. She had seen anger on his face before, but his new expression went way beyond that. This was fury. His eyes cut through her rage a bit, made her realize that no matter how mad she got, she was still a small woman and someone his size could hurt her. Hurt her bad, anytime he wanted to… or anytime he lost control.

His nostrils flared. He stood up to his full six-foot-three-inch height.

“You broke my tooth,” he said. His voice remained quiet, but it was no longer calm. Agent Clarence Otto, her lover—correction, former lover—was about one ounce shy of knocking her right the fuck out.

“Leave, Otto,” Dew said.

Clarence’s head snapped to the left and he glared at Dew. For a second, Margaret thought his rage might manifest itself on Dew Phillips.

“That’s an order, ” Dew said quietly.

Clarence glared at him for another few seconds, then looked at Margaret, hate in his eyes. He turned and walked out of the trailer.

“You need to get a grip, Doctor Montoya,” Dew said. “We’re in a very bad situation here, and you’re smart enough to understand the big picture. Do you have that first-aid kit in here?”

“Why the fuck do you need a first-aid kit?”

Dew pointed down to her right fist. “Because you’re bleeding all over the place.”

Margaret felt the hot wetness a second before she lifted her hand. Only when she saw it did she feel the pain. Her right ring finger was split wide open at the base knuckle, cut by a piece of broken tooth wedged between the torn skin and the bone.

With her left hand, she opened a cabinet and pulled out the plastic first-aid kit. One-handed, she lifted its lid and rummaged for a suture needle and some gauze.

Dew held out his left hand, palm up.

“I don’t need your help, Phillips.”

“Yes you do.” His hand was still waiting for hers.

“My left hand is fine,” Margaret said. “I’ll be happy to split that one open on your tooth if you push me.”

“Clarence Otto is a gentleman,” Dew said. “I’m not. I’m a firm believer in equal rights. You hit me and you’ll be spitting up blood. Then, if I know Otto, he’s going to come after me because I hit his girl. He’s bigger than me, so I’ll have to knee him in the balls and then probably break his right arm to make him stay down.”

Margaret just stared at him. Dew talked in a slow, steady voice. A smooth voice. Even while he was talking about nothing but violence, his voice calmed her. Every degree her temper dropped, the pain in her hand went up correspondingly.

“Do you want to know how I’ll break his right arm, Doctor Montoya?”

Images of Perry Dawsey flashed through her mind, images of the huge man curled up on a hotel-room floor, bleeding from Dew’s handiwork. Her brain superimposed Clarence Otto over Perry Dawsey.

Dew’s left hand was still out, palm up.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to know.” She lifted her bloody right hand and put it in his palm.

He picked the tooth out of her knuckle and put it on the computer counter. “Otto might want that back,” he said. “Aren’t you scientist types supposed to be above the fray and all that?”

“I’m not going to let that woman die,” Margaret said. “What just happened doesn’t change anything. I’m going to operate.”

“No you’re not.” Dew pulled gauze on the wound, pressed hard and held it. Margaret hissed at the pain. “What you’re going to do, Doctor Montoya, is what you’re told.”