Dead Love (12 page)

Everyone heard him say, over the speakerphone, “Are you sure?” And after a pause, he said, “I know he is in isolation. Yes, we are checking on our inventory of anti-viral medications. How is your stock?” A few moments later, he responded, “Good. Thank you. I’ll get back with you.”

When he came back on the line, he said, “I just received information regarding the lab studies done on the patient most recently admitted to the Edgewood Medical Facility, Joey Caruso.” The room became still.

“The maintenance worker from the subway, admitted to the Edgewood Medical Facility, has a virus, an exact replication of the one recently transported to the APG, a possible weaponized version of H5N1 virus, commonly known as bird flu. It was mutated by a team of virologists at,” he hesitated, “a yet unnamed research facility, outside the US. This mutation allows the virus to pass from human to human, as opposed to its normal transfer from bird to human. The recent transport of this virus to the Edgewood Lab was for the purpose of further characterization and development of a treatment to prevent the transmission of the virus.”

Everyone froze while listening to the scientific jargon, trying to digest its full meaning and implications.

“This virus is airborne transmitted, with flu-like symptoms occurring normally within three to four hours of exposure. Those suffering from the virus can develop varied symptoms. Breathing difficulties can develop with the onset of pneumonia. The immune system is threatened, and death can but does not always occur within a certain time frame, from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, or perhaps longer, depending on the condition of the host or patient.”

Dr. Ambrose concluded, “Ladies and Gentlemen, in simple terms, we are dealing with a probable avian flu pandemic of uncertain proportion and scope.”

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38

M
ike was sweating, tired of sitting in traffic. The air-conditioning was working, but not well enough. The sun was beating through the windows, and in standstill traffic, the heat was building.

The radio announcement was an alert about the heavy traffic.

“Due to the subway closure, all New York City residents are being asked to walk, take alternate transportation, or remain home until further notice. There is no reason for panic, and we ask that those planning on traveling into New York, do so only if absolutely necessary. There is no further information that we can report at this time. We will now continue with our regular programming.”

“Crap,” said Mike. It was getting closer to noon. He decided to head back home and call Johns Hopkins. He would try to get there tomorrow. Perhaps he could at least talk to Maggie or possibly see her. She was probably improving by now after getting hydrated. Maybe he was over reacting. There was nothing on the news about a bomb or any suspicious finding. Since 9/11 everyone panicked over the least little thing, himself included. He wanted to call, using his cell phone, but decided to wait until he got home. Making a turn in this traffic would require all of his attention. It would be a long crawl home, but he looked forward to getting there, being with the boys, especially if something was said at school that might scare them. He knew that would be what Maggie would want.

It took him a while to turn around, but he managed. It was just as busy going toward their apartment but at least he knew he would get there in a reasonable time frame. Pulling up in front of the building was a relief. Arnie was still there, standing under the awning, staring down the street.

“Nope, no news yet, Mr. Ryan. Guess it was impossible to drive out of town?”

“Yes, Arnie, it is a mess out there. I gave up but will try again tomorrow.”

Mike hoped so anyway. He had lived in NYC a long time, but the uncertainties and the lack of information was beginning to raise many questions. As soon as Mike got into their apartment, he dialed Johns Hopkins, asking for the ER. Finally he was connected and asked for Jane Phillips.

“This is Jane Phillips,” she answered. “May I help you?”

“Yes, this is Mike Ryan. You called me earlier this morning, about my wife Maggie. Can you please tell me how she is doing?”

“Mr. Ryan, your wife is in isolation. She is stable, and we have ordered lots of tests, and so far, the results have been inconclusive. But it appears that she has a virus of some type. Her lungs are congested, indicating pneumonia. She has a high fever, and we have placed her on antibiotics as well as an anti-viral medication. She is sleeping, and we are administering oxygen, to make her more comfortable.” She was blunt but reassuring.

He said, “When can I bring her home?”

Ms. Phillips hesitated but said, “We can’t be sure, Mr. Ryan. She is no doubt highly contagious, and we are monitoring her condition carefully.”

“May I see her if I come there tomorrow? I tried to get out of the city today, but traffic was heavy.”

Phillips said, “You can look at her through a window, for now. We are being cautious. I am sorry,” she answered. “But if she improves, you may certainly visit her. I suggest you call before you make the drive.” He was quiet.

Nurse Phillips said, “Mr. Ryan, she is getting the best of care. Please rest tonight, and let’s hope she is better tomorrow so you can talk to her, at least on the phone.”

Mike said, “You have my phone number if anything changes. Right?”

“Of course, Mr. Ryan.”

“Thank you, I will call later this evening. Please tell her I love her and that I will see her tomorrow.”

Mike hung up the phone, upset and confused, and just wanted one thing, to be with his wife. But he also understood she must be pretty sick, and somehow he felt a chill, feeling something was very wrong. He shook it off and knew he had to keep it together for the boys. He went to the family room, adjoining the kitchen, and turned on the TV set, hoping to hear any further news about the possibility of a citywide lockdown and the subway incident.

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39

C
aptain Wesley kept the air-conditioning and ventilation systems running at full capacity while on the ground as they were waiting for the standby flight attendants to sub for Terry and Maggie. They couldn’t fly without the FAA approved number of flight attendants for this equipment. Both standbys had checked in at operations and would arrive momentarily. Boarding would be slightly delayed, but hopefully they wouldn’t be too late getting back to New York.

Flight Service was still cleaning the plane, loading fresh supplies, warm meals, and restocking the liquor drawers as the passengers on Flight 943, from MIA to LGA were waiting at the gate. Nearly all seats were booked.

John and Allen were in the cockpit, doing their pre-flight cross check, waiting for boarding to begin. They were concerned about Terry and Maggie, having received no further reports of their conditions. The hospitals were contacting the families, and John and Allen would be notified if there were updates.

John requested that maintenance check out the ventilation system and run it at maximum velocity to make sure it was thoroughly flushed with fresh air. No other passengers or crew, to his knowledge, had symptoms similar to Maggie’s and Terry’s, but he didn’t want to take chances. They had checked with flight control for any news coming out of NYC, but so far, nothing conclusive, though the Mayor was to address the city momentarily. Traffic tie-ups and the usual announcements of “nothing to report” continued. However, there was speculation that there had been a possible terrorist attack on the subway but nothing definitive.

John and Allen called their wives upon arrival in Miami, reassuring them that things were fine and that they would be home as usual. Both were at home, watching the news, and didn’t feel overly concerned. They were used to living in New York, where there were frequent alarmist news reports. Upon learning about the two flight attendants who had gotten sick, they did feel some concern. But they were “go with the flow” personalities, used to the life of military and commercial pilots, and there was always something to talk about when their husbands came home from a flight. John’s wife, Dee Dee, had been a flight attendant back when they were called stewardesses, and nothing fazed her. She had carried many a barf bag in her flying days and handled more than her share of in-flight emergencies, from unruly passengers to dangerous turbulence and several emergency landings.

Captain Wesley still had that feeling of foreboding, an instinct he had learned when flying as a military pilot. Something wasn’t right, and the fact that both Terry and Maggie were seriously ill was not a coincidence. But it would be business as usual as he pushed his negative thoughts aside. He was eager to get this “baby” back in the air, heading home.

He asked his copilot. “Okay, Allen, what do you think? The dispatcher says we are cleared to go. Your opinion?”

Allen, in his easygoing manner, said “Why not? Nothing to indicate that we stay. I’d like to get home tonight if possible.”

John nodded. “Agreed.” But he couldn’t shake his uneasiness.

Allen turned to the doorway as the two FAs arrived, chatting about their first flight to NYC. They were fresh faced and bubbly, and the other crew members were waiting in the forward galley to greet them. After quick introductions, it was decided that the two novices would work in the rear cabin, with Justin and Jackie. Mary Ann, the more experienced of the crew, would man first class.

Captain Wesley and First Officer Allen met the two new girls as they passed the cockpit. Soon after, the gate attendant came out and got clearance to start boarding, and it was “standard operating procedure” at least for now.

Flight 943 nonstop to LaGuardia was scheduled for departure at 1:00 p.m. EDT. It was 12:30 p.m., and boarding would be starting momentarily.

Captain Wesley, without saying a word to Allen, picked up the mike and buzzed the gate agent, who answered right away.

“Yes, what is it, Captain? You ready for boarding?”

“No, don’t let anyone on the plane. Scrub the flight. This plane is going into a service holding area. I won’t put any of our passengers or crew at risk until we know fully what we are dealing with.” Allen turned, looked at John, shaking his head, negative.

“What the fuck?” thought Allen.

“What should I tell the passengers?” asked the gate agent, irritated..

“You can tell them that there is a mechanical problem and reschedule them on another flight, or tell them anything you want. But as captain, I have full responsibility for the safety of my crew and passengers, and it is my call. Got it?” He looked at Allen and could see he had Allen’s support.

“I don’t know if we have a problem, but if we do, I don’t want to find out about it at thirty thousand feet.”

“You got it, Captain,” said the agent.

John’s next move was to notify operations. They weren’t going to like it, but tough shit. He told Allen to tell the crew what was going on. An overnight in Miami wouldn’t be considered tough duty. John wanted to check on Terry and Maggie, anyway. He would check with the tower about where he could park the plane. It should go into an isolated holding “box” or other secure area of the airport.

Things could go from bad to worse fast, and he had to listen to his gut. It had gotten him through some dicey moments when flying C-130 transports in the air force. He wasn’t going to ignore it now.

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40

S
uzy and Max spent that May Saturday morning making love in his king-sized bed at his spacious brick townhouse in Georgetown. She didn’t stay at his place as often as he stayed at hers, but she felt comfortable in his home. She had left many of her personal belongings there, from a spare blow dryer and toothbrush, to sexy lingerie and gym clothes. He belonged to a gym, where they enjoyed working out together. Suzy did her light weight workout, and Max had a more strenuous workout, lifting heavy weights to maintain his trim military physique.

She had awakened Max that morning with feather light kisses to the back of his neck. They had slept spooned together, her naked body pressed against his strong warm back. They often woke in the night, made gentle love to each other, and then fell back to sleep. Their desperate need for each other had not diminished. Their passion grew, as they explored all ways of pleasuring each other. He loved her beautiful little ass, holding it against him, their intimate caresses and kisses, touching her intimately, and especially when she would pleasure him, sitting on top of him, controlling and moving him in and out of her at her whim, squeezing her muscles tight around him, making him beg her never to stop. She loved when he kissed her and moistened her secret place with his tongue. She was still wet from their lovemaking in the night.

As her morning kisses became more intense, she began to touch his body, between his legs, and Max reacted suddenly, rolling her over, holding her arms over her head, his mouth hard on hers. He opened her legs fiercely and shoved his huge hardness into her wet opening, and he wouldn’t stop until she was coming. And he kept saying, “Tell me you love me, only me,” and she said it over and over and over again, “I love you, Max—I love you, only you,” until the waves of orgasm stopped, and then he came in her, the heat magnifying the waves of pleasure. They kissed and held each other, talking softly, loving each other, in real time, knowing it was forever.

Later, Suzy was in the shower, washing her hair, but she could hear his cell phone ring. Max was talking with someone, but she couldn’t understand what was being said. He didn’t get many calls on Saturdays, and she hoped he wasn’t being called to work. Emergencies had come up before when he would have to report for duty. Fortunately it wasn’t often. She cherished every moment they could spend together.

She stepped out of the shower, grabbed the soft gray towel that matched the dark gray-tiled bathroom, dried herself, and then wrapped the towel around her torso. Max had dressed and was in the kitchen, having promised to make her breakfast. She could smell the coffee and hear him busily preparing their eggs, toast and bacon.

Suzy picked up Max’s cell phone from the night table. She brought up the call history and memorized the most recent phone number on the list. She grabbed her cell phone from her purse, which had caller ID blocked, and dialed the number. She didn’t want Max to know how jealous she was, and she wanted to make sure it wasn’t a woman who answered.