Outbreak (32 page)

Washing her hands, Marissa glanced at herself in the mirror. She was a mess. Taking out her comb, she untangled her hair and braided a few strands to keep it off her face. She'd lost her barrette when the blond man had yanked her by the hair. When she was finished, she straightened her blazer and the collar of her blouse. That was about all she could do.

Jake dialed George's car for the hundredth time. Mostly the phone went unanswered, but occasionally he'd get a recording telling him that the party he was calling was not presently available.

He could not figure out what was going on. Al and George should have been back in the car long ago. Jake had followed the girl, practically running her over when she'd leaped unexpectedly from the cable car, and had watched her go into a restaurant called Peking Cuisine. At least he hadn't lost her.

He scrunched down in the driver's seat. The girl had just come out of the restaurant and was flagging a cab.

An hour later, Jake watched helplessly as Marissa handed over her ticket and boarded a Delta nonstop to Atlanta. He had thought about buying a ticket himself, but scrapped the idea without Al's okay.

She'd spent the last half hour closeted in the ladies' room, giving Jake ample time to try the mobile phone at least ten more times, hoping for some instructions. But still no one answered.

As soon as the plane taxied down the runway, Jake hurried back to his car. There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper, but Jake didn't give a shit. He was just glad the car hadn't been towed away. Climbing in, he thought he'd drive back to the Fairmont and see if he could find the others. Maybe the whole thing had been called off, and he'd find both of them in the bar, laughing their asses off while he ran all over the city.

Back on the freeway, he decided to try calling the other mobile phone one last time. To his astonishment, George answered.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jake demanded. "I've been calling you all goddamn morning."

"There's been a problem," said George, subdued.

"Well, I hope to hell there's been something," said Jake. "The girl is on a plane to Atlanta. I was going crazy. I didn't know what the hell to do."

"Al was knifed, I guess by the girl. He's at San Francisco General, having surgery. I can't get near him."

"Christ!" said Jake incredulously, unable to imagine that the pint-sized broad could have knifed Al and gotten away.

"He's not supposed to be hurt that bad," continued George. "What's worse is that apparently Al wasted a maid. He had the woman's passkeys in his pocket. He's being charged with murder."

"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."

18

May 24

"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 Manssa'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."

Manissa 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.

Obviously, Ralph was a member of PAC. Of course he was a supporter of Markham. And it was Ralph, not Tad, who had always known where she was. Serving the eggs, Marissa thought that even if she could escape there was no one to go to. She certainly couldn't use a lawyer Ralph recommended. In fact, now that she knew Ralph was implicated, she remembered why the name of the law firm he'd suggested had sounded familiar: Cooper, Hodges, McQuinllin and Hanks had been listed as the service agent of PAC.

Marissa felt trapped. The men pursuing her had powerful connections. She had no idea how deeply they had penetrated the CDC. Certainly the conspiracy involved the congressman who exerted control over the CDC budget.

Marissa's mind reeled. She was terrified no one would believe her, and she was acutely aware that the only piece of hard evidence she

had-the vaccination gun-was resting somewhere in the maximum containment lab, to which she knew from painful experience her pursuers had access. The only thing that was crystal clear was that she had to get away from Ralph before Jackson and maybe more thugs arrived.

Picking up her fork, she had a sudden vision of the blond man hurling himself through the bathroom door in San Francisco. She dropped the fork, again afraid she was about to faint.

Ralph grabbed her elbow and helped her to the kitchen table. He put the food on a plate and placed it in front of her and urged her to eat.

"You were doing so well a minute ago," he said. "You'll feel better if you get something in your stomach." He picked up the fork she'd dropped and tossed it into the sink, then got another from the silver drawer.

Marissa dropped her head into her hands. She had to get herself under control. Valuable time was ticking away.

"Not hungry after all?" asked Ralph.

"Not very," admitted Marissa. The very smell of the eggs was enough to make her sick. She shuddered.

"Maybe you should take a tranquilizer. I've got some upstairs. What do you think?"

"Okay," said Marissa.

"Be right back," said Ralph, squeezing her shoulder.

This was the chance she had prayed for. As soon as he was out of the room, Marissa was on her feet, snatching the phone off its hook. But there was no dial tone. Ralph must have disconnected it somehow! So much for the police. Replacing the phone, she rushed around the kitchen searching for Ralph's car keys. Nothing. Next she tried the adjoining family room. There was a tiny marble urn on the room divider with a few keys, but none for a car. Going back through the kitchen, Marissa went to the small foyer by the back door. There was a cork bulletin board, an antique school desk and an old bureau. There was also a door that led to the bathroom.

Trying the desk first, she lifted its cover and rummaged through its contents. There were some odd-shaped house keys, but that was all. Turning to the small bureau, she began opening drawers, finding a jumble of gloves, scarves and rain gear.

"What do you need?" asked Ralph, suddenly appearing behind her. Guiltily she straightened up, searching for an alibi. Ralph waited, looking at her expectantly. His right hand was closed. His left hand held a glass of water.

"I thought maybe I could find a sweater," said Marissa.

Ralph eyed her curiously. If anything, the house was too warm. After all, it was almost June.

"I'll turn the heat on in the kitchen," he said, guiding her back to her chair. He extended his right hand. "Here, take this." He dropped a capsule into Marissa's palm. It was red and ivory in color.

"Dalmane?" questioned Marissa. "I thought you were getting me a tranquilizer."

"It will relax you and give you a good night's sleep," explained Ralph.

Shaking her head and handing the capsule back to Ralph, Marissa said, "I'd prefer a tranquilizer."

"What about Valium?"

"Fine," said Marissa.

As soon as she heard him climbing the back stairs, Marissa ran to the front foyer. There were no keys on the elaborate marble half-table or in the one central drawer. Opening the closet, Marissa rapidly patted jacket pockets. Nothing.