Weapon of Choice (32 page)

“I realize that this is not an official investigation yet, gentlemen, but we need to show the patients and any staff Victor Worth's photo,” Cox said. “Start with Holly. Find out exactly what she observed. And Mr. Riedenberg, he's having some lucid moments. Maybe he saw something that could connect Victor Worth to the infected patients.”

“Worth was here visiting his son,” Laura said. “His son was in isolation for HIV. Worth shouldn't have been in the main ICU.”

Laura noticed the agents shift back even farther at the mention of HIV.

“Except,” she continued, “that he knew a patient in the ICU, Norman Kantor. They'd worked together at the NIH. In the same staph program.”

“How quickly can we get a photo of Victor Worth, circulate it? See if anyone saw him in the room?” Cox pointed to the agents. “Start with Holly Knight.”

“And contact Kantor's family for background on the two men,” Cox said, then added, “Please. And will you find out if Worth visited anyone in the ICU? This is where epidemiology and criminology intersect. If ever there's a time to cooperate, it'd be now.”

Laura wasn't sure if the agents agreed, but she figured that until the CDC director got word from Stacy about the “official” cultures, Cox couldn't press too hard.

S
ATURDAY
, N
OVEMBER
30

Charles found his chef's outfit waiting for him in Lonnie Collins's office. The white jacket large enough to slip over his shirt, and the baggy checkered pants that would fit over his jeans. He'd worn black sneakers that he figured would blend in with all the other kitchen workers' footwear.

“You just wait in here until I tell you,” Lonnie instructed him. “You come out too soon and it won't take long for my team to figure out you don't know shit.”

Charles looked at his watch. If dessert was served about nine, he had almost five hours to cool his heels.

“You got the nasty bacteria?” Lonnie asked. “I don't want any part of that. I'm going to step back and let you do your thing. I'm not touchin' that shit. I'm doing what I'm told to get my daughter back. That's it.”

“You won't have to touch a thing,” Charles said. “My delivery system is secure.” And it was, too. Charles had secured a syringe that could efficiently deliver small aliquots of the staph-infested media. Just a simple tap. Tap, tap, tap, profiterole after profiterole. Lonnie had explained that there'd be fifteen plates per tray, pastries already on the individual plates. Shouldn't take more than fifteen to twenty seconds to complete a tray. Twenty-five trays of fifteen. Done. Mission accomplished.

“I gotta go out and set up,” Collins said. “On my way out, I'm locking the door. You don't answer for anybody. Not the phone. Nothin'.” Lonnie reached over and pulled a book off the shelf.
Here, you can read this. Take your mind off what's on the menu tonight.” Lonnie tossed him a hardcover book with a cover illustration of a gorilla. “Skeleton Crew,” he said. “Bunch of short stories. Stephen King. Scare the shit out of you.”

Charles restricted his reading to nonfiction: biographies, mostly of American heroes. Short stories by Stephen King? He looked around the office for other books. There were none.

S
ATURDAY
, N
OVEMBER
30

Now that Natalie was regaining consciousness, Laura could put it off no longer. She needed to tell Natalie about Trey. Seven years ago, she'd had to tell her children that their father was dead. Each one had taken it so differently. Natalie had been only ten years old then; now she had to tell that same child that someone she so held so dear had died. Natalie was now seventeen, and Trey had meant so much more to her than Laura ever could have imagined. And Laura felt profound guilt and a powerful sadness. Had she acted differently, could she have saved Trey Standish? Now she had to be the bearer of tragic news.

To prepare herself, Laura had called home. Her kids all had come back to the Tampa house, wanting to feel close to Natalie even though they knew they couldn't go to the hospital to see her. The grandparents were with the kids and Laura's housekeeper, Marcy Whitman, had come home, too. Her sister and brother remained at her parents' place on Anna Maria Island. The phone lines were kept burning back and forth.

Several times during the day, she'd talked to the kids—giving them updates on their sister, hearing the fear in their voices. Stories about the deadly staph epidemic at Tampa City dominated the local news, and with the arrival of the director of the CDC, now had gone national. Director Cox's appearance on the scene effectively marshaled resources, but also intensified the media hype. The reality was bad enough, the headlines way off the reality charts: Toxic Staph Annihilates Major U.S. City; Florida Quarantined; Scourge
Infecting Thousands With No Cure In Sight; Tourists Leaving The West Coast Of Florida In Droves.

Laura reviewed the events of the last six days. Because of her AIDS patient, she'd consulted Stacy, and mentioned her to Dr. Kellerman, who'd called Stacy at her mother's; with Natalie in grave condition, Stacy responded. By this fortunate chance, Stacy was present and had the authority to call in the CDC rapid-response team. She had such a reassuring effect on Laura—if Stacy could only have stayed in Tampa. And how ridiculous for her to have to fly back to Atlanta just because an insubordinate employee claimed to be ill. Stacy had predicted that he'd be fired, and Laura, too, hoped he would be.

Now as she dialed her home phone number, she knew she needed advice from Natalie's twin sister, Nicole. The girls were dramatically different in personality—but they shared everything. Laura remembered the birth control pills falling out of Nicole's purse. They must have been Natalie's. And she'd blamed Nicole.

Laura's mother answered the phone. “How is Natalie?” she asked, before Laura could get out a word.

“Better, Mom, she's responding to that investigational drug. Thank God.”

“I've been praying so hard. We all just said the Rosary. All the kids and your dad.”

“Thanks, Mom, for being there for me and the kids. Dad, too.”

“All we've done is huddle together, trying to keep up each other's spirits. And, you—we've been worried about you, too. All that TV coverage about how fast the infection is spreading and how dangerous it is. You've been there the whole time. Honey, are you okay?”

“Yes.” Yes, surprisingly. Once she realized that she faced an infectious disease out of control, she'd taken precautions, but being in such close contact with Natalie and being so exhausted, Laura knew she must have a solid immune system to thank for her health. Look at her colleague Ed Plant and her young resident, Michelle, not so lucky, but both had taken a dramatic turn for the better with the ticokellin. And Natalie was responding, too.

“Laura, how is Natalie's boyfriend. Trey? Nicole told me all about him. Everything, including the birth control pills you discovered.”

“Mom, he died.”

Laura heard a gasp, then silence. Finally, her mother said, “Maybe you should talk to Nicole.”

But she hadn't yet talked to Natalie. “The boys? I never had much chance to see Mike and Kevin. They'll go back to school tomorrow and—”

“They won't go back until Natalie is okay. Neither of them.”

“I think she's going to be okay, Mom. She's in and out of delirium, but when she wakes up, she'll want to know about Trey. What should I do? Should I tell her right off or wait until she's stronger?”

“Talk to Nicole,” her mother repeated. “She'll know. Natalie and Nicole have always had a secret language, some kind of unique communication.”

A brief silence on the other end before Laura heard her other twin daughter's urgent tone. “What did you tell Grandma about Trey?”

“Honey, he didn't make it. He died of the staph bacteria. He was one of the first infected, too many days before we got the new antibiotic.”

Nicole burst into a breathy sob. “Mom, Natalie will not be okay without Trey. They loved each other. I mean, deep love. We're young, but Natalie loved him so much. She wanted to tell you, but—”

“Nicole, she did tell me before she fell into the coma. And I am so sorry that I accused you—”

“That doesn't matter,” Nicole said between sobs. “Why didn't you tell me that she was in a coma?”

“That happened before she got the drug, but now she's coming out. What am I going to tell her about Trey?”

“You're sure that she's not going to die, Mom? You're
sure
?”

“All I can say, honey, is that she's rallying. Her vital signs are better, temperature not so high. She's starting to wake up, ask about Trey, then slip back to sleep.”

“Because if you think she's going to die, don't tell her. Just say that he's getting better, but that she can't see him yet. But, Mom, if you think that Natalie will get well, she'll never forgive you if you don't tell her the truth. That's what you've always taught us. Even though we may not always have been one hundred percent honest with you. Natalie and I talk about this a lot. We need to know the truth.”

“I'll tell her as soon as she seems stable enough. Maybe this evening, but I feel so inadequate.” Laura had told so many people of all ages and all races and all religions that their loved ones had died. But how could she impose this agony on her own daughter? For an instant she wondered if she was the right one or Tim or another doctor, Kellerman maybe.

“You have to do it, Mom. She needs to hear it from you. Even if you're going to court against his dad. That really scared Natalie. That she and Trey would be like Romeo and Juliet, the families hating each other.”

“I wish she'd told me,” Laura said. “The beryllium case involving Mr. Standish is not personal. But—”

Nicole finished her sentence, “But, you'd have read her the riot act about being too young. Even though you and Dad met when you were only eighteen.”

“I do understand, Nicole. She loves him.”

“Mom, when you tell her. She'll be devastated. More than you know. Promise me you will stay with her. I mean, totally. Do not go off to see the other patients. No matter if she tells you to go ahead. Stay with her and don't leave her alone, not even with Uncle Tim.”

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ATURDAY
, N
OVEMBER
30

Stacy called Dr. Cox on the director's secure, private line. “Identical results,” she announced, “to the culture I took from the Tampa City Hospital lab. Technically, not identical, but close enough.”

Stacy could hear Cox exhale. “My God. That means that the staph strain we're fighting in Tampa is based on the same one the NIH transferred to the CDC bank just before the NIH shut down their staph research program. The strain Victor Worth and Norman Kantor developed at the NIH when they worked there together.”

“And both of those two were in Tampa City Hospital at the time of the outbreak.” Stacy tried to sound professional, but she couldn't quite keep the excitement out of her voice.

“We've confirmed that Worth did visit Kantor in the ICU.”

“Coincidence?” Stacy asked. “Or planned?”

“Norman Kantor's wife claims she was surprised to run into Worth that afternoon in the hospital cafeteria, told Worth about her husband's medical problems, brought him into the ICU to see Kantor.”

“And?” Stacy prompted.

“The wife didn't stay. Kantor sent her out. When she got back, she asked her husband how it went. Kantor told her, ‘Worth has a knack for making himself a pain in the ass.' That was it. End of discussion. Never again mentioned the name Victor Worth.”

“So—”

“But,” Dr. Cox said. “Thursday morning during a shift change, Worth was seen again in the main ICU. He had no reason to be in
there. Wasn't on any patient's visitor list. His son was still a patient—but in the isolation room. A surviving ICU patient said that she can identify Worth as being in the ICU that morning. She'd assumed he was a staff doctor. He skipped two beds, hers and the one next to hers. Those two are the only patients in the ICU who survive. Agents are headed to Worth's house in Bethesda now, with a warrant.”

“This was—murder?” Stacy asked, horrified. “He deliberately infected helpless patients? Why?”

“We don't know why,” Cox said. “His only connection is to Dr. Kantor. Why the others? We don't know. Maybe we will soon when he's apprehended.”

“They have enough to arrest him?” Stacy asked, doubting herself for the first time. Had she done the right thing? Victor Worth is a fellow scientist. What if she'd made a mistake? Verified the wrong premise?

“The FBI team has his address,” Cox said, “We'll see. And meantime, you'd better scurry home and get dressed up for the gala tonight. You'll be surprised at who all is there, Stacy. Oh, and by the way, Dr. Nelson's daughter is improving. I know you're glad to hear that.”

Stacy was. If only she could skip that dinner tonight and crash into bed. But Director Cox had left her no out, so Stacy left the CDC thinking about her nail polish color choice.

S
ATURDAY
, N
OVEMBER
30

Stephen King's
Skeleton Crew
held no interest for Charles, so he tossed the book aside and slouched in the lone chair facing Lonnie Collins's desk.

He watched the clock tick by. Five o'clock came and went. No Lonnie. Nobody interrupted his solitude until he heard a key turn in the door.

Turning in his chair, he faced a stranger.

“Don't recognize me, hey?”

He knew the voice, all right. Nothing else about Will Banks was familiar. Unremarkable suit and tie, shiny buffed-leather shoes, and what must be makeup. Or a mask. Bank's pasty, lean face was bulked up and tan. His hair, normally a dull brown, was a sandy blond, with sideburns you could call stylish.