Outbreak (8 page)

"Well, I'll try the hotel, but in case I don't get him, could you give him a message?"

"Of course," said Marissa.

"It's not good news."

Straightening up, Marissa pressed the phone to her ear. "Is it personal?"

"No," said Tad with a short laugh. "It's about the virus you people are dealing with. The samples you sent were great, especially Dr. Richter's. His blood was loaded with virus-more than a billion per milliliter. All I had to do was spin it down, fix it and look at it with the electron microscope."

"Could you tell what it was?" asked Marissa.

"Absolutely," said Tad excitedly. "There are only two viruses that look like this, and it tested positive with indirect fluorescene antibody for Ebola. Dr. Richter has Ebola Hemorrhagic Fever."

S

"Had," said Marissa, mildly offended by Tad's callous enthusiasm.

"Did the man die?" asked Tad.

"Last night," said Marissa.

"It's not surprising. The illness has a ninety percent plus fatality rate."

"My God!" exclaimed Marissa. "That must make it the deadliest virus known."

"Some people might give rabies that dubious honor," said Tad. "But personally I think it is Ebola. One of the problems is that almost nothing is known about this illness because there has been so little experience. Except for a couple of outbreaks in Africa, it's an unknown entity. You're going to have your work cut out for you trying to explain how it popped up in Los Angeles."

"Maybe not," said Marissa. "Dr. Richter had been bitten just prior to his illness by a monkey that had come from Africa. Dr. Vreeland is pretty sure the monkey was the source."

"He's probably right," agreed Tad. "Monkeys were responsible for an outbreak of hemorrhagic fever in '67. The virus was named Mar-burg after the town in Germany where it occurred. The virus looks a lot like Ebola."

"We'll soon know," said Marissa. "Now it's up to you. Hepatic and splenic sections from the monkey are on the way. I'd appreciate it if you'd check them right away and let me know."

"My pleasure," said Tad. "Meanwhile, I'm going to start work on the Ebola virus and see how easily I can culture it. I want to figure out what strain it is. Let Dubchek and the others know they're dealing with Ebola. If nothing else, it will make them super careful. I'll talk with you soon. Take care."

Leaving the cubicle, Marissa stepped across the hall and peered into the CDC room. It was deserted. Going into the neighboring room, she asked the technicians where everyone was. They told her that some of the doctors were down in pathology, since two more of the patients had died, and some were in the ER admitting several new cases. Dr. Dubchek had gone back to the hotel. Marissa told the technicians that they were dealing with Ebola. She left it to them to pass the bad news to the others. Then she went back to her paperwork.

The Beverly Hilton was just as Dubchek had described. It was certainly nicer than the seedy Tropic Motel, and it was closer to the Richter Clinic. But it still seemed like unnecessary effort to Marissa as she plodded after the bellman down the eighth-floor corridor to her

room. The bellman turned on all the lights while she waited at the door. She gave him a dollar, and he left.

She'd never unpacked at the Tropic, so the move wasn't difficult. Yet she wouldn't have made it if Dubchek hadn't insisted. He'd called her that afternoon, several hours after she'd talked with Tad. She'd been afraid to call him, thinking that she'd awaken him. As soon as he was on the line, she told him Tad's news about the outbreak being Ebola Hemorrhagic Fever, but he took it in stride, almost as if he'd expected it. He then had given her directions to the hotel and told her that she merely had to pick up the key for 805, since she was already registered. And he had told her that they'd eat at seven-thirty, if that was all right with her, and that she should just come to his room, which was conveniently located a few doors from hers. He said he'd order up so they could go over her notes while they ate.

As she eyed the bed, Marissa's exhaustion cried for attention, but it was already after seven. Getting her cosmetics bag from her suitcase, she went into the bathroom. After washing, brushing out her hair and touching up her makeup, Marissa was ready. From her briefcase, she removed the sheets of information concerning Dr. Richter's activities before he'd become LU. Clutching them to her, she walked down to Dubchek's door and knocked.

He answered her knock and, smiling, motioned for her to come in. He was on the phone, apparently talking to Tad. Marissa sat down and tried to follow the conversation. It seemed the samples from the monkey had arrived and they had tested clear.

"You mean the electron microscopy showed no virus at all?" said Dubchek.

There was a long silence as Tad relayed the details of the outcomes of the various tests. Looking at her watch, Marissa calculated that it was almost eleven in Atlanta. Tad was certainly putting in overtime. She watched Dubchek, realizing the man had a disturbing effect on her. She recalled how unnerved she'd been when he'd turned up at Ralph's dinner party and was upset to find herself inexplicably attracted to him now. From time to time he looked up, and her glance was trapped by an unexpected glint in his dark eyes. He'd removed his jacket and tie, and a V of tanned skin was visible at the base of his neck.

Finally he hung up the phone and walked over to her, gazing down at her. "You're certainly the best-looking thing I've seen today. And I gather your friend Tad would agree. He seemed very concerned that you don't put yourself at risk."

"Certainly I'm in no more danger than anyone else involved in

this," she said, vaguely annoyed at the turn the conversation was taking.

Dubchek grinned. "I guess Tad doesn't feel the rest of the staff is as cute."

Trying to turn the talk to professional matters, Marissa asked about the monkey's liver and spleen sections.

"Clean so far," said Dubchek, with a wave of his hand. "But that was only by electron microscopy. Tad has also planted the usual viral cultures. We'll know more in a week."

"In the meantime," said Marissa, "we'd better look elsewhere."

"I suppose so," said Dubchek. He seemed distracted. He ran a hand over his eyes as he sat down across from her.

Leaning forward, Marissa handed over her notes. "I thought that you might be interested in looking at these." Dubchek accepted the papers and glanced through them while Marissa talked.

In a chronological fashion, Marissa described what she'd been doing since her arrival in L.A. She made a convincing argument that Dr. Richter was the index case and that he was the source of the Ebola, spreading the disease to some of his patients. She explained his relationship to Helen Townsend and then described the two medical meetings that Dr. Richter had attended. The sponsoring organizations were sending complete lists of the attendees, with their addresses and phone numbers, she added.

Throughout her monologue Dubchek nodded to indicate that he was listening, but somehow he seemed distracted, concentrating more on her face than on what she was saying. With so little feedback, Marissa trailed off and stopped speaking, wondering if she were making some fundamental professional error. After a sigh, Dubchek smiled. "Good job," he said simply. "It's hard to believe that this is your first field assignment." He stood up at the sound of a knock on the door. "Thank goodness. That must be dinner. I'm starved."

The meal itself was mediocre; the meat and vegetables Dubchek had ordered were lukewarm. Marissa wondered why they couldn't have gone down to the dining room. She'd thought that he'd intended to talk business, but as they ate, the conversation ranged from Ralph's dinner party and how she came to know him, to the CDC and whether or not she was enjoying her assignment. Toward the end of the meal Dubchek suddenly said, "I wanted to tell you that I am a widower."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Marissa sincerely, wondering why the man was bothering to inform her about his personal life.

"I just thought you should know," he added, as if reading her mind. "My wife died two years ago in an auto accident."

Marissa nodded, once again uncertain how to reply.

"What about you?" asked Dubchek. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Marissa paused, toying with the handle of her coffee cup. She had no intention of discussing her breakup with Roger. "No, not at the moment," she managed to tell him. She wondered if Dubchek knew that she had been dating Tad. It had not been a secret, but it wasn't public knowledge either. Neither of them had told people at the lab. Suddenly Marissa felt even more uncomfortable. Her policy of not mixing her personal and professional lives was being violated, she felt. Looking over at Dubchek, she couldn't help but acknowledge that she found him attractive. Perhaps that was why he made her feel so uncomfortable. But there was no way she was interested in a more personal relationship with him, if that was what this was leading up to. All at once she wanted to get out of his room and return to her work.

Dubchek pushed back his chair and stood up. "If we're going back to the clinic maybe we should be on our way."

That sounded good to Marissa. She stood up and went over to the coffee table to pick up her papers. As she straightened up, she realized that Dubchek had come up behind her. Before she could react, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. The action so surprised her that she stood frozen. For a brief moment their lips met. Then she pulled away, her papers dropping to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't planning that at all, but ever since you arrived at CDC I've been tempted to do that. God knows I don't believe in dating anyone I work with, but it's the first time since my wife died that I've really been interested in a woman. You don't look like her at all-Jane was tall and blond-but you have that same enthusiasm for your work. She was a musician, and when she played well, she had the same excited expression I've seen you get."

Marissa was silent. She knew she was being mean, that Dubchek certainly had not been harassing her, but she felt embarrassed and awkward and was unwilling to say something to ease over the incident.

"Marissa," he said gently, "I'm telling you that I'd like to take you out when we get back to Atlanta, but if you're involved with Ralph or just don't want to . . ." his voice trailed off.

Marissa bent down and gathered up her notes. "If we're going back to the hospital, we'd better go now," she said curtly.

He stiffly followed her out the door to the elevator. Later, sitting silently in her rent-a-car, Marissa berated herself. Cyrill was the most attractive man she'd met since Roger. Why had she behaved so unreasonably?

r

/

4

February 27

ALMOST FIVE WEEKS LATER, as the taxi bringing her home from the airport turned onto Peachtree Place, Marissa was wondering if she would be able to reestablish a pleasant, professional relationship with Dubchek now that they were both back in Atlanta. He had left a few days after their exchange at the Beverly Hilton, and the few meetings they'd had at the Richter Clinic had been curt and awkward.

Watching the lighted windows as the cab drove down her street, seeing the warm family scenes inside, she was overcome with a wave of loneliness.

After paying the driver and turning off the alarm, Marissa hustled over to the Judsons' and retrieved Taffy and five weeks' worth of mail. The dog was ecstatic to see her, and the Judsons couldn't have been nicer. Rather than making Marissa feel guilty about being gone for so long, they acted truly sad to see Taffy leave.

Back in her own house, Marissa turned up the heat to a comfortable level. Having a puppy there made all the difference in the world. The dog wouldn't leave her side and demanded almost constant attention.

Thinking about supper, she opened the refrigerator only to discover that some food had gone bad. She shut the door, deciding to tackle the job of cleaning it out the next day. She dined on Fig Newtons and Coke as she leafed through her mail. Aside from a card

from one of her brothers and a letter from her parents, it was mostly pharmaceutical junk.

Manssa was startled when the phone rang, but when she picked up the receiver, she was pleased to hear Tad's voice welcoming her home to Atlanta. "How about going out for a drink?" he asked. "I can pop over and pick you up."

"Marissa's first response was to say that she was exhausted after her trip, but then she remembered on her last call from L.A. he'd told her he had finished his current AIDS project and was hard at work on what he called Marissa's Ebola virus. Suddenly feeling less tired, she asked how those tests were going.

"Fine!" said Tad. "The stuff grows like wildfire in the Vero 98 tissue cultures. The morphology portion of the study is already complete, and I've started the protein analysis."

"I'm really interested in seeing what you're doing," said Marissa.

"I'll be happy to show you what I can," said Tad. "Unfortunately, a majority of the work is done inside the maximum containment lab."

"I'd assumed as much," said Marissa. She knew that the only way such a deadly virus could be handled was in a facility that did just what its name suggested-contained the microorganisms. As far as Marissa knew, there were only four such facilities in the world-one at the CDC, one in England, one in Belgium and one in the Soviet Union. She didn't know if the Pasteur Institute in Paris had one or not. For safety reasons entry was restricted to a few authorized individuals. At that time, Marissa was not one of them. Yet, having witnessed Ebola's devastating potential, she told Tad that she was really eager to see his studies.

"You don't have clearance," said Tad, surprised by what seemed to him her naiveté.

"I know," said Marissa, "but what could be so terrible about showing me what you're doing with the Ebola in the lab right now and then going out for a drink. After all, it's late. No one will know if you take me now."

There was a pause. "But entry is restricted," said Tad plaintively. Marissa was fully aware that she was being manipulative, but there was certainly no danger to anyone if she were to go in with Tad. "Who's to know?" she asked coaxingly. "Besides, I am part of the team."