Nowhere to Run (6 page)

By the time the car pulled out on the New Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel, Jerome Henning had given the driver a new destination.

“Essex Hills Hospital, in Maplewood, please.” He then suggested they go west on Route 280, glad that he’d hired the car service. There was no way he could deal with taking his usual train to the suburbs.

It was getting harder to breathe, his chest was so tight. This didn’t feel like any flu or virus he’d ever had before. He had to get to a doctor, but since he had no personal physician, the emergency room of the hospital nearest his home was probably the best option. Maybe he should have gone straight to a New York City hospital. People always seemed to assume that those were superior to the ones in Jersey. He should have asked Annabelle what she thought.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, having to muster unusual concentration to think of the number and push the buttons on the keypad. The phone rang five times before transferring to the answering message.

“Hi. This is Annabelle Murphy, medical producer for
KEY to America.
I’m either on another line or away from my desk, so please leave your name, number, and the time that you called and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Or you can try me on my cell phone.” Annabelle’s recorded voice recited the number.

After the beep, Jerome managed to speak. “Annabelle, I’m on my way home, to Essex Hills Hospital, actually. I was going to ask you what you thought about it, but I guess the Jersey docs can fix me up. Sorry I couldn’t make our lunch today. I still want to hear what you think about the book. I’ll try to call you later.”

He was snapping the phone closed when he remembered he had wanted to warn Annabelle about the unlikely office snoop and chide her for leaving the manuscript out where someone could read it, but he hadn’t the energy to call back on either her cell phone or her office line.

“Do you think we should have nasal swabs taken?”

Wayne Nazareth was waiting for Annabelle when she returned from Yelena’s office. If he paced up and down much longer he would wear a hole in the carpet, thought Annabelle. She felt sorry for the thin, intense young man. It was bad enough having Linus Nazareth as a boss. Annabelle couldn’t imagine having him as a father. Wayne was as quiet as his father was brash. Thoughtful and talented, yet well aware of the whispers of nepotism that hissed through the office.

“I’m not going to, Wayne,” she answered. “The nose is the body’s first line of defense. There are thousands of germs swirling around in there, and even if anthrax is in the nose, that doesn’t mean it’s in the lungs. Besides, the container of anthrax was sealed. We haven’t been exposed.”

“Then why were those HAZMAT guys in the orange suits wearing boots and masks when they checked the studio and Lee’s office?”

“Taking precautions, I would imagine, while they tested. But Lee says he never opened the anthrax, and I believe him. He may be many things, but he’s not suicidal.”

Wayne considered Annabelle’s reasoning. He didn’t want to be a wimp, but he was worried. “I don’t know,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“Look, Wayne, if it will make you feel better, get tested. But just know that while those nasal swabs may allay public fear, they’re not very useful at a clinical level. If it comes up positive, all it means is you’ve been exposed. That doesn’t necessarily translate into an infection.”

“Then maybe I should just get a prescription for Cipro?” he grasped.

Annabelle tried to be patient. “Again, I wouldn’t, Wayne. That’s an antibiotic that you’ll have to take for sixty days. It causes serious side effects for some people. And even more important, if you take antibiotics when you don’t really need them, there’s a chance they won’t work if and when you do.”

Annabelle didn’t know what else she could say to assuage the young man’s fears. She decided to try to distract him. “If you don’t have another assignment, I could use some help with my story. I have to do the follow-up on this thing.”

“Gee, Annabelle, I’d like to help you out, I really would, but I already have a load of stuff I’m working on. I have to go down to Wall Street and do an interview for Gavin, and I promised Lauren I’d do some research and pull file tape for her piece.” He backed out the door.

Watching him disappear down the hall, Annabelle wondered what it would be like to have a brother, a twin no less, lying for twenty years in a vegetative state, a sibling you had been with since conception, as close as two people could be. She thought of Thomas and Tara, and the special bond between them. Chilled, she rubbed her arms, imagining what it would be like for one of them to watch the other sink beneath the broken ice of a skating pond, as Jerome’s manuscript recounted six-year-old Wayne Nazareth had done all those years ago. According to Jerome’s research, Wayne had stood there, screaming for help, not wanting to run away from his brother. How had he dealt with the realization, which must have come as he grew older, that those precious wasted minutes could have made a difference? If he had gone for help right away, his brother might have been all right. It was too horrible to dwell on, and she intended to tell Jerome that, in her opinion, he should strike that chapter from his secret manuscript.

It was too cruel.

Joe Connelly returned to the president’s office with the latest news.

“The FBI want to see John Lee’s e-mails,” he announced.

From behind her desk, Yelena looked up without expression. “What a surprise.”

“What do you say? Should we cooperate?” the security chief asked.

“No, Joe. If the feds want Lee’s e-mails, let them get a subpoena.”

Today was definitely a day to lunch at Michael’s, but not because of the California-sunny decor or the mouthwatering menu. The restaurant was a media hangout, known for the power lunching that went on within its spacious layout.

The
KEY to America
executive producer and his lunch companion were shown to a table near the front of the room. Linus enjoyed being up front. This way everyone who entered or exited the restaurant had to pass by, nodding acknowledgment or stopping to exchange pleasantries. They had arrived later than usual today, but there still were enough diners willing to pay homage.

“Helluva job with that anthrax story this morning, Linus.”

“Way to go, buddy. That was damn fine television.”

“Congratulations to both of you. You really provided a public service.”

Linus basked in the praise as the salads arrived at the table.

“You see, John? You’re a hero. Maybe these guys didn’t know who you were before, but you’ve made a name for yourself now.”

Lee took a sip from his wineglass. “I’m not feeling like a hero after that meeting with Yelena.”

“Don’t worry about Yelena. She’ll come around when she sees that this was all good for KEY News.”

“I’d feel better if you told her the truth, Linus.”

The executive producer frowned. “Hey, we agreed, didn’t we? I had to veto the plan in front of her at the meeting. If I had gone to Yelena ahead of time and told her what we were going to do, there was no guarantee she would have gone for it. It was good for the show and good for your career, and that’s all we have to concern ourselves with.”

“Still, I wish you would have told her that you knew about everything beforehand.”

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
The old adage flew through Linus’s mind. No, he was glad everything had played out exactly as he had planned.

Linus speared a piece of blackened chicken with his fork. “Let’s not send each other any more e-mails on this subject, John. We can’t be too careful. From now on, we’ll only talk about this face-to-face.”

The emergency room doctor placed his stethoscope on Jerome’s back. “Deep breath,” he commanded.

The intake of air collapsed into repetitive coughing.

“Do you have a runny nose?”

Jerome shook his head groggily. “No. Just the fever and the body-and headaches, and now I’m having trouble breathing. And I’m very, very tired.”

“Okay, we’re going to get a blood test done and do a chest X ray.”

This wasn’t a common cold gone bad.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Henning?” the doctor asked as he made notations on his chart.

“I’m a producer at KEY News, on
KEY to America.
”

“Really? I watch the show almost every morning.”

“I do the book segments.”

“Interesting.”

The doctor’s mind was not on the latest best-seller being hawked. It was on this morning’s anthrax story, which everyone was talking about.

After September 11, he had done extensive reading on biological and chemical agents, but this couldn’t be happening right before his eyes, could it?

The FBI was finally getting around to questioning her.

“I feel like I should have a lawyer or something,” Annabelle said as she indicated that the agents should take a seat.

“That’s your prerogative, of course,” answered the female agent, “but you aren’t being accused of anything here. We just have some general questions we’d like to ask you.”

“All right.”

“You were the producer of Dr. Lee’s piece this morning, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And we’ve been told that you knew nothing of Dr. Lee’s intention to obtain anthrax and bring it into this building. Is that also correct?”

“Yes, it is. He had talked once about the idea, but I never thought he would actually do it, especially after Linus Nazareth told him not to.”

“When did Nazareth say that?”

“At a staff meeting one morning last week.”

The FBI agent made a notation.

“Do you have any idea how he got the anthrax?”

Annabelle paused before answering. “I would imagine he obtained it from the lab where part of the piece was shot, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Were you with Dr. Lee at the lab?”

For once, Annabelle was glad that KEY News was under such strict budget constrictions. Beth Terry, the unit manager, had approved the travel expenses for only the medical correspondent to fly out to the lab. Annabelle had set up the lab shoot and arranged for a local camera crew over the telephone but hadn’t actually flown to the site.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“So you don’t know who Dr. Lee may have had contact with once he was at the lab?”

“That’s correct.”

As the agents were rising to leave, Annabelle glanced at her computer screen and clicked on the message directed to all personnel. Yelena Gregory was going to do a closed-circuit broadcast to the employees to announce the good news. Preliminary tests showed no trace of anthrax in the Broadcast Center. With a sigh of relief, Annabelle checked her phone messages, learned that she would be lunching alone, and headed for the cafeteria.