Radclyffe - Honor Reclaimed

"Fortunately, it's a hairline fracture with no displacement. Ten days of immobilization will probably do it, if you're careful—"

"No, not me. Blair: How long until you're certain she's out of danger?"

Captain Andrews straightened with a sigh and met Cam's probing gaze. "I'm working under Delta level restrictions here, Agent Roberts."

"Understood."

"Define your relationship with Ms. Powell."

Cam's gaze narrowed as she studied the other woman. Not surprisingly, she could read little in her expression. Uncertain exactly where the doctor might be headed, Cam decided that a frontal assault was best. "I'm her lover."

"And her acting security chief?"

"That's right." Technically, Hara was next in line with Stark temporarily out of commission, but word had come from the White House via Lucinda that Cam was to "oversee" operations. Not quite a reinstatement, but the closest thing to it.

"Well," Captain Andrews said, crossing her arms over her chest. "The second might not qualify you as being in a need-to-know position, but the first certainly does."

Cam waited, a knot of apprehension tightening in the center of her chest. She gripped the table on either side of her body and squeezed, oblivious to the pain, preparing herself for the blow she feared was coming.

"Be careful with that hand, Agent Roberts, or you'll displace the fracture enough that I'll have to put you in a cast."

"Just tell me."

"The growth of microbial cultures can't be hurried, I'm afraid. It will be a minimum of twelve hours, and more likely twenty-four, before we identify the organism with absolute certainty."

Cam stopped breathing. "You know for certain there was an organism?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, the gram stains demonstrated that. Basically, that's a quick and dirty way to examine a specimen for living organisms. It doesn't tell us what the bacteria is, only the general class." She hesitated as if trying to judge Cam's reaction. "What we found is a gram-positive, spore-forming bacillus consistent with anthrax. Or smallpox."

"Jesus," Cam whispered, leaning back against the examination table as her legs suddenly went weak. "Smallpox? I thought that had been eradicated decades ago."

Captain Andrews dragged over a tall stool and edged a hip up onto it. "That's true, as far as it goes. Frozen specimens, however, were stockpiled in two places—the CDC in Atlanta and the Maximum Containment Laboratory in Siberia."

"Christ, I bet that place was secure."

"Unfortunately, no. After the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, a considerable portion of their stores disappeared. We suspect that they made their way to the Middle East and Asia."

"And you can't tell if this is anthrax or smallpox?"

Andrews lifted a shoulder and sighed. "We're running diagnostic immunoassays right now, which will hopefully give us a presumptive diagnosis while we await the definitive culture results,"

"What are we talking about here, in terms of casualties?" Cam's voice was steady, but inside, every cell trembled.

"Look, Agent Roberts-—"

"It's Cam."

The doctor nodded. "Ronnie. Look, Cam. We're starting treatment right now. In fact, they've all probably gotten their first dose of antibiotics. Fortunately, with treatment, the cure rate is excellent, assuming they're infected."

"Numbers, Ronnie."

"Once symptoms appear, even with treatment, the mortality rate is high. Seventy to ninety percent if it's anthrax. With smallpox?" She shook her head. "Closer to a hundred percent."

Cam paled and pushed herself off the table. "I want to see her now"

"Wait a minute, Cam. We don't know what they were exposed to yet."

Cam turned back. "But you'll know in a few hours, right?"

"We'll have the immunoassay results in just about four hours, yes, but they'll just be prelim-—"

"Then I'll see her at 2100 hours," Cam said as she set her watch.

*

"Hi, Dad," Blair said, holding the cell phone in her right hand as she sat propped up in bed in her surgical scrubs with an intravenous line taped to her left arm. Stark sat in a similar position across from her on the opposite bed.

"Hi, honey. I'm sorry that I haven't talked to you before this, Colonel Grau has been in constant contact, but he seemed to feel it was necessary to complete their preliminary evaluation before—"

"Dad, Dad, Relax. I'm okay." Blair grimaced. As okay as I can be considering that I'm locked up tighter than Alcatraz and people are poking and prodding me nonstop.

"I've been assured that you are, or I'd be there right now."

"Don't do that," Blair said instantly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with me, but you certainly can't come here and risk catching something. Besides, you're—"

"I'm your father, and if there's the slightest possibility that you're ill, I'll be there."

Blair could hear protesting voices in the background, one of which she was certain belonged to Lucinda. She would not want to be her father's chief of staff at this moment. "Look, Dad, I know the situation. And so do you. Even if there weren't any risk, the last thing we need is the media around here. So send me a card, but no visits. Come to think of it, no flowers either."

Her father laughed weakly. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I want out of here. Then I'll be fine."

"Where's Cam?"

"She's here. I can't get her to leave."

"Good."

"Dad," Blair said gently, "they're taking good care of me. And Cam won't let anything happen to me."

"I certainly got lucky when you found her."

Blair smiled. "Yeah, me too."

After she said her goodbyes and hung up, she turned on her side and regarded Stark mournfully. "This sucks."

"Yeah. It does."

"You doing okay?"

Stark shrugged. "I don't feel sick." She regarded Blair anxiously. "But Renee looks terrible. Something's really wrong."

"I imagine it's been pretty horrible for her, Paula," Blair said quietly. "But I'm sure that you being in her life is helping her get through it."

Stark closed her hands into tight fists and closed her eyes. "I'm not doing anything for anyone. You ended up in here, and Renee's out there, alone, worrying about me. And I'm no good to anybody."

Blair pushed back the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed until she was sitting upright, leaning forward toward Stark. "What the hell is the matter with you? You don't usually sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

"I'm scared." Stark turned eyes dark with misery to Blair. "I'm scared for her, and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, honey, just love her."

"You really think that's enough?"

Blair smiled. "I know it is."

Both women turned at die sound of the door opening, and then Blair shot to her feet. "You can't be in here. Turn around right now and get your ass out of here."

"Hi, baby," Cam said as she hooked an arm around the back of a chair and swung it off the floor. She dropped it next to the bed and sat down a foot from Blair. In a very reasonable voice, she said, "You'll notice, Ms. Powell, that I'm wearing a mask and a cover gown."

"I don't care if you're wearing Kevlar. I don't want you in here." Blair pushed as far away from Cam as she could get. In a voice thin with fear, she said, "Please. Please leave."

"Blair," Cam said gently, making no move to touch her, although she ached to pull her into her arms. It had been only hours that they'd been apart, but the fear had unbalanced her. If she could only hold her—-just feeling the heat of her body and the play of those supple muscles beneath smooth skin would set her world right again. She forced a lightness into her voice. "It's okay that I'm here. The doctors cleared it."