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
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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.”
“I guess so,” Tad agreed reluctantly.
It was obvious that he was wavering. The fact that Marissa would only see him if he took her into the lab seemed to force his decision.
He told her that he’d pick her up in half an hour and that she wasn’t to breathe a word to anyone else.
Marissa readily agreed.
“I’m not so sure about this,” admitted Tad, as he and Marissa drove toward the CDC.
“Relax,” said Marissa. “I’m an EIS officer assigned to Special Pathogens for goodness sakes.” Purposefully, Marissa pretended to be a little irritated.
“But we could ask for your clearance tomorrow,” suggested Tad. Marissa turned toward her friend. “Are you chickening out?” she demanded. It was true that Dubchek was due back from a trip to Washington the next day and that a formal request could be made. But Marissa had her doubts about what his response would be. She felt that Dubchek had been unreasonably cold over the last few weeks, even if her own stupidity had been the cause. Why she hadn’t had the nerve to apologize or even say she’d like to see him one evening, she didn’t know. But with every day that passed the coolness between them, particularly on his side, increased.
Tad pulled into the parking lot, and they walked in silence to the main entrance. Marissa mused about men’s egos and how much trouble they caused.
They signed in under the watchful eyes of the security guard and dutifully displayed their CDC identity cards. Under the heading “Destination,” Marissa wrote “office.” They waited for the elevator and went up three floors. After walking the length of the main building, they went through an outside door to a wire-enclosed catwalk that connected the main building to the virology labs. All the buildings of the Center were connected on most floors by similar walkways.
“Security is tight for the maximum containment lab,” said Tad as he opened the door to the virology building. “We store every pathological virus known to man.”
“All of them?” asked Marissa, obviously awed.
“Just about,” said Tad like a proud father.
“What about Ebola?” she asked.
“We have Ebola samples from every one of the previous outbreaks. We’ve got Marburg; smallpox, which otherwise is extinct; polio; yellow fever; dengue; AIDS. You name it; we’ve got it.”
“God!” exclaimed Marissa. “A menagerie of horrors.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“How are they stored?” she asked.
“Frozen with liquid nitrogen.”