Outbreak (21 page)

"Marissa!" said Tad, opening the front door of the building, a medical journal in his hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to see the man of the house," said Marissa. "I'm doing a home survey on peanut butter preference."

"You're joking."

"Of course I'm joking," said Marissa with exasperation. "Are you going to invite me in or are we going to spend the night standing here?" Marissa's new assertiveness surprised even herself.

"Sorry," said Tad, stepping aside. "Come on in."

He'd left his apartment door open, so after climbing the stairs Marissa entered ahead of him. Glancing at the shelf in the foyer, she saw that his lab access card was there.

"I've been calling you all day," said Tad. "Where have you been?"

"Out," said Marissa vaguely. "It's been another interesting day."

"I was told you'd been transferred from Special Pathogens," said Tad. "Then I heard a rumor that you were on vacation. What's happening?"

"I wish I knew," said Marissa, dropping onto Tad's low-slung sofa.

His cat materialized out of nowhere and leaped into her lap. "What about Philadelphia? Is it Ebola?"

"I'm afraid so," said Tad, sitting down next to her. "The call came in on Sunday. I got samples this morning and they're loaded with the virus."

"Is it the same strain?"

"I won't know that for some time," said Tad.

"You still think it's all coming from that San Diego eye meeting?" she asked him.

"I don't know," said Tad with a slight edge to his voice. "I'm a virologist, not an epidemiologist."

"Don't be cross," said Marissa. "But you don't have to be an epidemiologist to recognize that something strange is happening. Do you have any idea why I've been transferred?"

"I'd guess that Dubchek requested it."

"Nope," said Marissa. "It was a U.S. Congressman from Texas named Markham. He called Dr. Morrison directly. He sits on the appropriations committee that decides on the CDC budget, so Morrison had to comply. But that's pretty weird, isn't it? I mean I'm only an EIS officer."

"I suppose it is," agreed Tad. He was becoming more and more nervous.

Marissa reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"All this worries me," said Tad. "I like you; you know that. But trouble seems to follow you around, and I don't want to be drawn into it. I happen to like my job."

"I don't want to involve you, but I need your help just one last time. That's why I came here so late."

Tad shook off her hand. "Please don't ask me to break any more rules."

"I have to get back into the maximum containment lab," said Marissa. "Only for a few minutes."

"No!" said Tad decisively. "I simply can't take the risk. I'm sorry."

"Dubchek is out of town," said Marissa. "No one will be there at this hour."

"No," said Tad. "I won't do it."

Marissa could tell he was adamant. "Okay," she said. "I understand."

"You do?" said Tad, surprised that she'd given in so easily.

"I really do, but if you can't take me into the lab, at least you could get me something to drink."

"Of course," said Tad, eager to please. "Beer, white wine. What's your pleasure?"

"A beer would be nice," said Marissa.

Tad disappeared into the kitchen. When she heard the sound of the refrigerator opening, Marissa stood and quickly tiptoed to the front door. Glancing at the shelf, she was pleased to see Tad had two access cards. Maybe he wouldn't even notice that she'd borrowed one, she thought to herself, as she slipped one of the two into her jacket pocket. She was back on the couch before Tad returned with the beers.

Tad handed Marissa a bottle of Rolling Rock, keeping one for himself. He also produced a package of potato chips that he popped open and set on the coffee table. To humor him, Marissa asked about his latest research, but it was obvious she wasn't paying close attention to his answers.

"You don't like Rolling Rock?" asked Tad, noticing that she'd hardly touched hers.

"It's fine," said Marissa, yawning. "I guess I'm more tired than thirsty. I suppose I ought to be going."

"You're welcome to spend the night," said Tad.

Marissa pushed herself to her feet. "Thanks, but I really should go home."

"I'm sorry about the lab," said Tad, bending to kiss her.

"I understand," said Marissa. She headed out the door before he could get his arms around her.

Tad waited until he heard the outer door close before going back inside his apartment. On the one hand, he was glad that he'd had the sense to resist her manipulations. On the other, he felt badly that he'd disappointed her.

From where Tad was standing he was looking directly at the shelf where he'd left his access card and keys. Still thinking about Marissa, he realized that one of his cards was gone. He carefully looked through all the junk he'd removed from his pockets and then searched the shelves above and below. His spare card was gone.

"Damn!" said Tad. He should have expected a trick when she'd given up so easily. Opening the door, he ran down the stairs and out into the street, hoping to catch her, but the street was empty. There wasn't even a breath of air in the humid night. The leaves on the trees hung limp and still.

Tad went back to his apartment, trying to decide what to do. He checked the time, then went to the phone. He liked Marissa, but she'd gone too far. He picked up the phone and began dialing.

Driving to the Center, Marissa hoped Dubchek hadn't warned the guards she was no longer working in virology. But when she flashed her identity card the guard on duty just smiled and said, "Working late again?"

So far so good; but as a precaution, Marissa first went to her own office in case the man decided to follow her. She turned her light on and sat behind her desk, waiting, but there were no footsteps in the hall.

There were a few letters on her blotter: two advertisements from pharmaceutical houses and a third from Lab Engineering in South Bend. Marissa ripped this third one open. A salesman thanked her for her inquiry concerning their type 3 HEPA Containment Hoods and went on to say that such equipment was only built to custom specifications. If she was interested, she should retain an architectural firm specializing in health-care construction. He ended by answering the question that had prompted her letter: Lab Engineering had built only one system in the last year and that had been for Professional Labs in Grayson, Georgia.

Marissa looked at a map of the United States that her office's previous occupant had left hanging and which she'd never bothered to take down. Poring over Georgia, she tried to find Grayson. It wasn't there. She searched through her drawers, thinking she had a Georgia road map somewhere. Finally she found it in the file cabinet. Grayson was a small town a few hours east of Atlanta. What on earth were they doing with a type 3 HEPA Containment Hood?

After putting the road map back in the file cabinet and the letter in her blazer pocket, Marissa checked the hallway. It was quiet, and the elevator was still at her floor; it had not been used. She decided that the time was right to make her move.

Taking the stairs to descend one floor, Marissa left the main building and crossed to the virology building by the catwalk. She was pleased that there were no lights on in any of the offices. When she passed Dubchek's door, she stuck out her tongue. It was childish but satisfying. Turning the corner, she confronted the airtight security door. Involuntarily, she held her breath as she inserted Tad's card and tapped out his access number: 43-23-39. There was a resounding mechanical click and the heavy door swung open, Marissa caught a whiff of the familiar phenolic disinfectant.

Marissa felt her pulse begin to race. As she crossed the threshold, she had the uncomfortable feeling she was entering a house of horrors. The dimly lit cavernous two-story space, filled with its confusion of pipes and their shadows, gave the impression of a gigantic spider web.

As she'd seen Tad do on her two previous visits, Marissa opened the small cabinet by the entrance and threw the circuit breakers, turning on the lights, and activating the compressors and ventilation equipment. The sound of the machinery was much louder than she'd recalled, sending vibrations through the floor.

Alone, the futuristic lab was even more intimidating than Marissa remembered. It took all her courage to proceed, knowing in addition that she was breaking rules when she was already on probation. Every second, she feared that someone would discover her.

With sweaty palms, she grasped the releasing wheel on the airtight door to the dressing rooms and tried to turn it. The wheel would not budge. Finally, using all her strength, she got it to turn. The seal broke with a hiss and the door swung outward. She climbed through, hearing the door close behind her with an ominous thud.

She felt her ears pop as she scrambled into a set of scrub clothes. The second door opened more easily, but the fewer problems she encountered, the more she worried about the real risks she was taking.

Locating a small plastic isolation suit among the twenty or so hanging in the chamber, Marissa found it much harder to get into without Tad's help. She was sweaty by the time she zipped it closed.

At the switch panel, she only turned on the lights for the main lab; the rest were unnecessary. She had no intention of visiting the animal area. Then, carrying her air hose, she crossed the disinfecting chamber and climbed through the final airtight door into the main part of the lab.

Her first order of business was to hook up to an appropriately positioned manifold and let the fresh air balloon out her suit and clear her mask. She welcomed the hissing sound. Without it the silence had been oppressive. Orienting herself in relation to all the high-tech hardware, she spotted the freezer. She was already sorry that she'd not turned on all the lights. The shadows at the far end of the lab created a sinister backdrop for the deadly viruses, heightening Marissa's fear.

Swinging her legs wide to accommodate the inflated and bulky isolation suit, Marissa started for the freezer, again marveling that with all the other "high-tech," up-to-the-minute equipment, they had settled for an ordinary household appliance. Its existence in the maximum containment lab was as unlikely as an old adding machine at a computer convention.

Just short of the freezer, Marissa paused, eyeing the insulated bolted door to the left. After learning the viruses were not stored behind it, she had wondered just what it did protect. Nervously, she reached out and drew the bolt. A cloud of vapor rushed out as she opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment she felt as if she had stepped into a freezing cloud. Then the heavy door swung back against her air hose, plunging her into darkness.

When her eyes adjusted, she spotted what she hoped was a light switch and turned it on. Overhead lights flicked on, barely revealing a thermometer next to the switch. Bending over she was able to make out that it registered minus fifty-one degrees centigrade.

"My God!" exclaimed Marissa, understanding the source of the vapor: as soon as the air at room temperature met such cold, the humidity it contained sublimated to ice.

Turning around and facing the dense fog, Marissa moved deeper into the room, fanning the air with her arms. Almost immediately a ghastly image caught her eye. She screamed, the sound echoing horribly within her suit. At first she thought she was seeing ghosts. Then she realized that, still more horrible, she was facing a row of frozen, nude corpses, only partially visible through the swirling mist. At first she thought they were standing on their own in a row, but it turned out they were hung like cadavers for an anatomy course- caliper-like devices thrust into the ear canals. As she came closer, Marissa recognized the first body. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out: it was the Indian doctor whom Marissa had seen in Phoenix, his face frozen into an agonized death mask.

There were at least a half-dozen bodies. Marissa didn't count. To the right, she saw the carcasses of monkeys and rats, frozen in equally grotesque positions. Although Marissa could understand that such freezing was probably necessary for the viral study of gross specimens, she had been totally unprepared for the sight. No wonder Tad had discouraged her from entering.

Marissa backed out of the room, turning off the light, and closing and bolting the door. She shivered both from distaste and actual chill.

Chastised for her curiosity, Marissa turned her attention to the freezer. In spite of the clumsiness afforded by the plastic suit and her own tremulousness, she worked the combination on the bicycle lock and got it off with relative ease. The link chain was another story. It was knotted, and she had to struggle to get it through the handle. It took longer than she would have liked, but at last it was free and she lifted the lid.

Rubbing the frost off the inner side of the lid, Marissa tried to

decipher the index code. The viruses were in alphabetical order. "Ebola, Zaire '76" was followed by "97, E11-E48, F1-F12." Marissa guessed that the first number referred to the appropriate tray and that the letters and numbers that followed located the virus within the tray. Each tray held at least one thousand samples, which meant that there were fifty individual vials of the Zaire '76 strain.

As carefully as possible, Marissa lifted tray 97 free and set it on a nearby counter top while she scanned the slots. Each was filled with a small black-topped vial. Marissa was both relieved and disappointed. She located the Zaire '76 strain and lifted out sample Eli. The tiny frozen ball inside looked innocuous, but Marissa knew that it contained millions of tiny viruses, any one or two of which, when thawed, were capable of killing a human being.

Slipping the vial back in its slot, Marissa lifted the next, checking to see if the ice ball appeared intact. She continued this process without seeing anything suspicious until finally she reached vial E39. The vial was empty!

Quickly, Marissa went through the rest of the samples: All were as they should be. She held vial E39 up to the light, squinting through her face mask to make sure she wasn't making a mistake. But there was no doubt: there was definitely nothing in the vial. Although one of the scientists might have misplaced a sample, she could think of no reason a vial might be empty. All her inarticulated fears that the outbreaks had stemmed from accidental or even deliberate misuse of a CDC vial filled with an African virus seemed to be confirmed.