Taji's Syndrome (25 page)

“You may run into Doctor Blair at one of the hospitals,” said Dien, her attitude less challenging than Wil’s.

“I won’t say I want to meet him, but it might give me a chance to find out why he’s so reluctant to assist this investigation.”

“I’ll tell you why: he wants his slate kept clean,” said Wil. “He’s a politician and what he cares about is keeping his ass covered and gathering favors owed him. An epidemic looks bad on his record.”

“Not cooperating with the NCDC doesn’t look terrific on a record,” Jeff pointed out.

“You’re there and he’s here,” Wil said. “Never mind all this. Let me have a little time to go over this new stuff.”

“Also,” said Jeff hesitantly, expressing something that had occurred to him on the plane, “if you can, I’d appreciate any tracing back you can do to the first cases of . . . TS you saw. What’s been puzzling me is how it occurred in such divergent places within such a short length of time.”

Dien shrugged. “That might be hard. You know that the outbreaks we’ve had have come from several locations.”

“About the first case I know of was a motel owner, name of Tucker, in the town of Mullen. The next cases were in Twin Falls.” Wil braced his hands on his hips. “That’s what brought me in on this.”

“A sports team,” Jeff said. “I remember. And there were also some ranch hands, weren’t there?”

“From the Gowan ranch, yes,” said Dien. “Only one of them survived, but in the last month they’ve reported only two new cases. The Twin Falls high schools aren’t so lucky.” She glanced once at the window, at the lavish start of spring, and felt despair for those who would never see summer.

“Any military or civilian dumps on the Gowan ranch that you know of?” Jeff asked.

“Not that we know of,” Dien answered carefully.

“And no record of new dump sites near this city or . . . Mullen, was it?”

“Not that we can find a record of,” Dien said.

“What about incidence of the disease in anyone under age twelve?” Jeff remembered the discussion he had had on the phone with Weyman the night before. “No case of this disease striking any patient who has not reached puberty.”

“No,” said Wil, looking uncomfortable.

“No,” Dien concurred.

Jeff slapped his hands together and pressed his steepled fingers against his jaw. “I
know
we’re on the wrong track. I can feel it. We’ve got a communicable disease that does strange things to the blood and the brain and for some reason is triggered by the hormonal changes of puberty, I don’t
care
if it looks like a dozen other kinds of environmental toxic reactions, it’s not. It’s not.”

“Doctor Taji?” Dien ventured, unsure of herself in the face of Jeff’s outburst.

Jeff looked around at her and his attitude softened. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s been nagging me, and the more I learn, the more convinced I become. I know we’re seeing a pattern like toxin disease, but I know in my bones that it’s not. I’ve seen too much toxin reaction not to know it when it’s under my nose.”

Wil had listened carefully. “That’s the reason for all the questions and whole family histories, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jeff said. “I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I pray I’ll know it when I see it.” He laid one hand on the printouts. “I’m a minority of one on this. Everyone else in my division believes that this is a double-toxin reaction. For what it’s worth, I thought so too.”

“But you’ve changed your mind?” Wil prompted. “Why?”

“Because it’s the only thing that makes sense,” said Jeff slowly, as if the admission weighted him down. “Everything else leaves unanswered questions. The trouble is, we got so spooked by the Tunis Flu that we’re locked into seeing every new disease as an extension of the Tunis Flu; we think we’ve got to find two or three strains of everything and if we don’t then the disease isn’t as dangerous or as real as those three strains were. It can’t be avoided, I guess, seeing all new forms of disease this way. And this . . . TS, it acts like environmental disease. The incidents of it are in limited geographical areas, those affected are from a narrow slice of the population, at least for
the time being, and we haven’t a clue to the resistance pattern, if any.”

“And you haven’t encountered unanswered questions before?” Wil was not quite mocking him, but was dangerously near it. “How lucky for you, Doctor Taji.”

“I’ve ended up with long lists of unanswered questions,” said Jeff, refusing to be baited. “But not like this. The thing is, if it turns out that there is a biological trigger to this disease, if it is communicable, or communicates a susceptibility to toxins, then there are fewer unanswered questions, and the questions all make sense. That’s what convinces me to pursue this line of inquiry.” He met Wil’s gaze directly. “Can you help me? Will you help me?”

Wil puffed out a sigh. “I suppose I’ve already said yes.”

“Doctor Paniagua?” Jeff said.

“Certainly.” She pulled the material she had been given toward her. “I’ll set to work on it this evening; if Blair will permit it, I’ll start sooner. But don’t assume he will cooperate. I’m planning to work around him.”

“Thank you,” Jeff said.

The three remained silent a short while, then Wil said, “If you’re right, Doctor Taji, then there may be an explanation for the pockets of TS we’ve been seeing. The trigger might be quite common but localized. The other alternative is that someone out there is a carrier.”

“That’s what worries me,” Jeff admitted. “If carriers are involved, who are we looking for, and what is it going to take to find them.” He looked at his watch. “I’m due at the Twin Falls Community Hospital in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll drive you,” offered Wil, who was reluctantly starting to agree with Jeff’s theory. “”We can talk on the way.”

“I want to come along,” said Dien decisively.

“I’ll still drive,” said Wil, and might have reminded her of his invitation, but was uneasy about Jeff’s presence.

“Excellent,” said Jeff. He busied himself with gathering up the three stacks of printouts that he had taken from his attaché case. “You can brief me on what I have to expect at the hospital.”

“You’ve probably seen it all before,” said Dien. “The lab work has backed up, there’s too much red tape to change that. The hospitals’ staffs are not up to handling this heavy a case load this long. There’s pressure coming from the local paper and newscasters and that’s causing trouble. Some of the local physicians are not answering our inquiries for a variety of reasons. And we’re running short of beds in critical care and we have almost nothing left in quarantine.”

“Damn damn damn,” said Jeff softly. “Damn it all to hell and perdition.”

“Sounds about right,” said Wil as he took out his car keys and indicated the door. “I’m in lot A.”

—Sylvia Kostermeyer and Weyman Muggridge—

At midnight Sylvia realized that neither she nor Weyman had eaten dinner. On reviewing the day, she was surprised to recall that their last meal—if that was the word for it—had been tuna sandwiches more than thirteen hours ago. The low ache in her head began to make more sense and she pushed back from the charts and printouts spread across the table. “We’ve got to take a break.”

Weyman, his eyes slightly bloodshot, met her gaze. “How much more is there to do?”

“Enough that we can’t get it done in the next hour. I’m worn out, Weyman. I need something to eat and a hot bath and two or three glasses of wine. Ten hours of uninterrupted slumber would also be nice.” She made herself stretch and heard the protesting snap of her joints.

“Ten pounds of prime-quality uncut diamonds would also be nice, but you’re no more likely to get that than you are to have that much sleep.” He yawned suddenly and widely. “You’re right. We’re both worn out.”

His yawn was contagious, and brought moisture to her eyes. “Let’s find a place that’s open and buy the food, okay?”

“That place down by Ocean Beach Park is open all night. We could go there; it’s out of the way, I know, but there isn’t much open around here. Unless you want hamburgers.” This afterthought was so lacking in enthusiasm that Weyman laughed.

“Heaven forfend,” he said as he began stacking their material in a single heap at the end of the table. “It won’t take too long to get there at this time of night, will it?”

“Twenty, twenty-five minutes, probably.” She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “We can take the Expressway.”

“You direct me,” said Weyman, though he was reasonably certain he could find the restaurant on his own.

“Too bad the
Moonraker
isn’t open this late. They’ve got great food there.” She got slowly to her feet, thinking as she did that it was a good idea to wear her athletic tights instead of panty hose—if she had the panty hose on her ankles would be the size of grapefruits by now.

“Another time,” Weyman said with a worn-out grin.

“You’re on.” Her coat was hanging in the closet down the hall, but her jacket was draped over the back of her chair. She started to pull it on and was stopped as Weyman took over for her. “Thanks.”

“I’m just an old-fashioned boy, Sylvia. My mama brought me up to do for ladies.” He shrugged into his own tweed jacket and then fished in his pocket for the keys to the door. “How soon will this floor be open in the morning?”

“Probably about seven-thirty, maybe earlier.” She swallowed another yawn and wondered if she would be able to stay awake through supper. “Makes sense to lock the door if we’re not going to be in until later.”

“Okay.” He found the key, and as they left the room took the time to lock up. A freshening wind met them as they went to her car on the far side of the parking lot. “I thought San Diego was supposed to be warm all year round.”

“It depends on what you compare it to,” said Sylvia as she clutched her coat more tightly around her.

“It’s frigid compared to Bangkok. Great. But I’m getting cold.” He chattered his teeth as demonstration.

“Weyman, it’s after midnight and we’re only a few miles from the ocean.”

“The way this wind feels, the Pacific is filled with icebergs,” he said, undaunted by her practicality. He made a show of holding the door for her and then went around to the passenger side of the car.

“One of these days, I’ll hold
your
door for
you,”
warned Sylvia as she turned the key in the ignition.

There was little traffic on the streets at this hour of the night. For two blocks they were flanked by Jeep Suburbans filled with sailors in uniform who were bawling out the words to the All Electric Kitchen’s latest hit, but that was the only incident in their drive. When they reached the restaurant, they found a dozen cars in the lot and lights blazing.

“It looks inviting but garish,” said Weyman as they started up the walk to the door.

“That about sums it up,” Sylvia agreed. Weyman had taken her arm and she was not certain how she felt about this courtesy. “The food’s good and the service is pretty fast,” she added, in the hope that it would make their meal seem more ordinary.

“Fine.”

They were seated in a booth, windows at their backs, and a seven-foot television screen off to the right. “I haven’t seen the news in days,” Sylvia said, mildly chagrined.

“You’ve had things on your mind,” Weyman reminded her. “What’s the country up to?” He glanced at the screen. “Reruns.”

“The sea bass is fresh,” their waitress announced as she walked up to the table. “So’s the trout. The rest were flash-frozen. We’re out of swordfish.”

They ordered, and when the waitress was gone fell into an uneasy silence. From time to time they glanced at the screen where images flickered.

“Commercials,” said Sylvia unnecessarily as the face of a local realtor praised his new “quake-resistant” condos.

Then the face of one of the regional newscasters appeared, her face elegant and serious. “This is Nan Kinny in Sacramento with headlines of the stories we’ll feature at our six A.M. newscast: Governor Guy Derelli has declared an environmental emergency in nine southern California counties. At a special news conference yesterday evening, the Governor said that all necessary measures were being taken to control the toxic factors. On the national front, the National Center for Disease Control in Atlanta has issued a general advisory regarding Taji’s Syndrome to all western states and President Hunter has said that he might extend the advisory to the entire country if circumstances warrant it. In Los Angeles, Horace McReddy said that the Screen Actors’ Guild would support the ASCAP strike if the—”

“Oh, my God,” whispered Sylvia.

“That’s—” Weyman began but was interrupted.

“I can’t believe it. What’s been going on?” She had started to rise, hands flat on the table.

“Hey, Sylvia,” Weyman said gently, putting a restraining hand on her ann. “We can’t ask the set. We’ll pick up a paper on the way out, and I’ll get on the phone to Jeff first thing in the morning.”

“There can’t be that many cases, can there?” she pleaded with him, facing him as she took her seat again. “I mean, I can understand about Southern California, but the rest of it . . . You said that there were cases in Portland and Seattle, but this sounds a lot worse, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t sound good,” said Weyman. “But you’ve seen the printouts. Something had to be done; you said so yourself.”

“But my God . . .” She looked back at the television as if it could provide more information on request.

“Jeff’ll straighten it out,” Weyman said, hoping it was so. “I’ll try to find out how much of it is his decision and how much is pragmatics and politics.”

“Like the Tunis Flu,” she sighed. “What a mess.”

“Except that so far as we know, we have a single form of TS, if only we knew what it was.” He looked up as the waitress returned with their food. “Smells great.”

Sylvia stared at the plate as it was set in front of her; her tongue felt like terry cloth and the fragrant steam that rose from the broiled albacore made her slightly nauseated. She blinked. “I don’t know if I can eat,” she admitted. “I . . . I’m shocked. Food doesn’t . . . well—”

“Take a taste,” Weyman advised. “If you don’t want it after two bites, no big thing, but give it a chance, okay?” He had already reached for the bread and was tearing a slice in half. “It’s been a long day and tomorrow ain’t gonna be no shorter.” He made his Southern accent much stronger and got a half-smile.