“That’s exactly the point,” said Dubchek, his patience wearing thin. “The AIDS virus is totally different from our current problem. It is essential that the media understand this point and communicate it to the public.”
“Have you isolated the new virus?” asked another reporter.
“Not yet,” admitted Dubchek. “But we do not expect to have any difficulty. Again, that’s because it is a very different virus from AIDS. It should only take a week or so to culture it.”
“If the virus has not been isolated,” continued the same reporter, “how can you say that it is different from the AIDS virus?”
Dubchek stared at the man. Marissa could sense the doctor’s frustration. Calmly he said, “Over the years we’ve come to realize that totally different clinical syndromes are caused by totally different microorganisms. Now that is all for today, but we will keep you informed. Thank you for coming at this early hour.”
The conference room erupted as each reporter tried to get one more question answered. Dubchek ignored them as he and the other doctors made their exit. Marissa tried to push through the crowd but couldn’t. Outside the conference room the uniformed policeman kept the reporters from entering the hospital proper. After showing her CDC identity card, Marissa was allowed to pass. She caught up to Dubchek at the elevators.
“There you are!” said Dubchek, his dark eyes lighting up. His voice was friendly as he introduced Marissa to the other men.
“I didn’t know so many of you were coming,” she said as they boarded the elevator.
“We didn’t have much choice,” said Dr. Layne.
Dr. Abbott nodded. “Despite Cyrill’s comments at the news conference, this outbreak is extraordinarily serious. An appearance of African viral hemorrhagic fever in the developed world has been a nightmare we’ve lived with since the illness first surfaced.
“If it proves to be African viral hemorrhagic fever,” added Dr. Eckenstein.
“I’m convinced,” said Dr. Vreeland. “And I think the monkey will turn out to be the culprit.”
“I didn’t get samples from the monkey,” admitted Marissa quickly. “That’s okay,” said Dubchek. “We sacrificed the animal last night and sent specimens back to the Center. Liver and spleen sections will be far better than blood.”
They arrived on the fifth floor, where two technicians from the CDC were busy running samples in the Vickers Mobile Isolation Lab.
“I’m sorry about that L.A. Times article,” said Marissa when she could speak to Dubchek alone. “The reporter approached me when I first entered the hospital.”
“No matter,” said Dubchek. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He smiled and winked.
Marissa had no idea what the wink meant, nor the smile, for that matter. “Why didn’t you call me when you arrived?” she asked.
“I knew you’d be exhausted,” explained Dubchek. “There really wasn’t any need. We spent most of the night getting the lab set up, autopsying the monkey, and just getting oriented. We also improved the isolation situation by having fans installed. Nonetheless, you are to be congratulated. I think you did a fine job getting this affair underway.
“For the moment, I’m buried in administrative detail,” continued Dubchek, “but I do want to hear what you’ve learned. Maybe you and I could have dinner tonight. I’ve gotten you a room at the hotel where we are staying. I’m sure it’s better than the Tropic Motel.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the Tropic,” said Marissa. She felt an odd twinge of discomfort, as if her intuition were trying to tell her something.
Marissa went back to her small room behind the nurses’ station and began to catch up on her own paperwork. First she phoned the sponsoring organizations for the two medical meetings Dr. Richter had attended. She told them that she needed to know if any of the other attendees had become ill with a viral disease. Then, gritting her teeth at the cruelty of her next call, she dialed Dr. Richter’s home number and asked if she could pick up the diary Mrs. Richter had promised her the night before.
The neighbor who answered the phone seemed appalled by her request, but, after checking with the widow, told Marissa to come over in half an hour.
Marissa drove up to the beautifully landscaped house and nervously rang the bell. The same neighbor answered and rather angrily directed Marissa to the living room. Anna Richter appeared a few minutes later. She seemed to have aged ten years overnight. Her face was pale, and her hair, which had been so carefully curled the night before, hung about her face in lank strands.
The neighbor helped her to a chair, and Marissa was amazed to see that she was anxiously folding and unfolding some lined papers that
seemed to contain the requested list of her husband’s activities over the last weeks. Knowing what a strain the woman must have been under, Marissa didn’t know what to say, but Anna simply handed her the sheets saying, “I couldn’t sleep last night anyway, and maybe this will help some other poor family.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He was such a good man… a good father… my poor children.”
Despite knowing of his affair with Helen Townsend, Marissa decided that Dr. Richter must have been a pretty good husband. Anna’s grief seemed real, and Marissa left her as soon as she politely could.
The notes that she read before starting the car were surprisingly detailed. Put together with a further interview with Miss Cavanagh and the doctor’s appointment book, Marissa felt they would give her as good a picture of Richter’s last few weeks as anyone could get.
Back at the hospital, Marissa made a separate sheet of paper for each day of January and listed Richter’s activities. One fact she discovered was that he had complained to Miss Cavanagh about an AIDS patient named Meterko who was suffering from an undiagnosed retinal disorder. It sounded like something Marissa should look into.
In the afternoon, the phone in Marissa’s cubicle rang. Picking it up, she was startled to hear Tad Schockley’s voice. The connection was so good that for a moment she thought he was there in L.A.
“Nope,” said Tad, responding to her question. “I’m still here in Atlanta. But I need to speak to Dubchek. The hospital operator seemed to think that you might know where he was.”
“If he’s not in the CDC room, then I guess he’s gone to his hotel. Apparently they were up all last night.”
“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.”