Flashing red and blue lights washed the room like a tawdry, punk discotheque. There seemed to be many people coming in and out of the room. It was too confusing. She closed her eyes again and wondered what had happened to the men with the guns.
“Marissa, are you all right?”
Her lids fluttered open, and she saw Dubchek bending over her, his dark eyes almost black with fear.
“Marissa,” he said again. “Are you all right? I’ve been so worried. When you finally made us realize what was going on, we were afraid they’d try to kill you. But you never stayed still long enough for us to find you.”
Marissa was still too shocked to speak.
“Please say something,” Dubchek pleaded. “Did they hurt you?”
“I thought you were part of it. Part of the conspiracy,” was all she could manage to utter.
“I was afraid of that,” groaned Dubchek. “Not that I didn’t deserve it. I was so busy protecting the CDC, I just dismissed your theories. But believe me, I had nothing to do with any of it.”
Marissa reached for his hand. “I guess I never gave you much chance to explain, either. I was so busy breaking all the rules.”
An ambulance attendant came up to them. “Does the lady want to go to the hospital?”
“Do you, Marissa?” asked Dubchek.
“I guess so, but I think I’m okay.”
As another attendant came up to help lift her onto a stretcher, she said, “When I heard the first bang, I thought I’d been shot.”
“No, one of the FBI men I’d alerted shot your would-be killer instead.”
Marissa shuddered. Dubchek walked beside the stretcher as they took her to the ambulance. She reached out and took his hand.
Epilogue
MARISSA WAS UNPACKING FROM a two-week vacation, taken at Dr. Carbonara’s insistence, when the doorbell rang. She had just returned from Virginia, where her family had done everything they could to spoil her, even giving her a new puppy that she’d immediately named Taffy Two.
As she walked downstairs, she couldn’t imagine who might be at the door. She hadn’t told anyone the exact date of her return. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Cyril Dubchek and a stranger.
“I hope you don’t mind our turning up like this, but Dr. Carbonara said you might be home, and Dr. Fakkry from World Health wanted to meet you. This is his last day in America. Tonight he is flying back to Geneva.”
The stranger stepped forward and dipped his head. Then he looked directly at Marissa. His eyes reminded her of Dubchek’s: dark and liquid.
“I am deeply honored,” said Dr. Fakkry, with a crisp, English accent. “I wanted to thank you personally for your brilliant detective work.”
“And with no help from us,” admitted Dubchek.
“I’m flattered,” said Marissa, at a loss for words.
Dubchek cleared his throat. Marissa found his new lack of confidence appealing. When he wasn’t making her furious, she could admit that he was actually very handsome.
“We thought you’d like to know what’s been happening,” he said. “The press has been given as little detail as possible, but even the police agree you are entitled to the truth.”
“I’d love to hear everything,” said Marissa. “But please come in and sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
When they were settled, Dr. Fakkry said, “Thanks to you, almost everyone connected to the Ebola conspiracy has been arrested. The man you stabbed in San Francisco implicated Dr. Heberling the minute he recovered from surgery.”
“The police think he wanted to be sent to jail so you couldn’t find him again,” said Dubchek, with a hint of his old sardonic grin.
Marissa shivered, remembering the terrible episode of stabbing the man in the bathroom at the Fairmont. For a moment the image of his ice-blue eyes froze her. Then, puffing herself together, she asked what had happened to Heberling.
“He’ll be going before a grand jury on multiple counts of murder with intent,” said Dubchek. “The judge refused to set bail, no matter how high, saying that he was as dangerous to society as the Nazi war criminals.”
“And the man I hit with the vaccination gun?” Marissa had been afraid to ask this question. She didn’t want to be responsible for killing anyone or for spreading Ebola.
“He’ll live to stand trial. He did use the serum in time, and it proved effective, but he came down with a severe case of serum sickness. As soon as he’s better, he’ll also be off to jail.”
“What about the other officers of the Physicians’ Action Congress?” asked Marissa.
“A number of them have offered to turn state’s evidence,” said Dubchek. “It’s making the investigation inordinately easy. We are beginning to believe that the regular members of the organization thought they were supporting just an ordinary lobbying campaign.”
“What about Tieman? He certainly didn’t seem the type to be mixed up in such an affair. Or at least his conscience really seemed to bother him.”
“His lawyer has been making arrangements for a lighter sentence in return for his cooperation. As for PAC itself, the group’s bankrupt. The families of the victims have almost all filed suit. They’re also suing the doctors individually. Most of the officers are being prosecuted as criminals. So they should be behind bars a good while, particularly Jackson.”
“He and Dr. Heberling would be-I think your word is lynched-if the public got ahold of them,” added Dr. Fakkry.
“I guess Ralph will also be sentenced,” Marissa said slowly. She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that the man she considered a protector had tried to kill her.
“He was one of the first to cooperate with the prosecution. He’ll get some breaks, but I doubt he’ll be released for a long time. Aside from his connection with PAC, he is directly linked to the attacks on you.”
“I know,” Marissa sighed. “So it’s really over.”
“Thanks to your persistence,” said Dubchek. “And the outbreak in New York is definitely under control.”
“Thank God,” she said.
“So when will you be coming back to the CDC?” asked Dubchek.
“We’ve already gotten you clearance for the maximum containment lab.” This time there was no doubt about his grin. “No one relished the thought of your stumbling around in there at night anymore.”
Marissa blushed in spite of herself. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m actually considering going back into pediatrics.”
“Back to Boston?” Dubchek’s face fell.
“It will be a loss to the field,” said Dr. Fakkry. “You’ve become an international epidemiological hero.”
“I’ll give it more thought,” promised Marissa. “But even if I do go back to pediatrics, I’m planning to stay in Atlanta.” She nuzzled her new puppy. There was a pause, then she added, “But I’ve one request.”
“If we can be of any help…” said Dr. Fakkry.
Marissa shook her head. “Only Cyrill can help on this one. Whether I go back to pediatrics or not, I was hoping he’d ask me to dinner again.”
Dubchek was taken off guard. Then, laughing at Fakkry’s bemused expression, he leaned over and hugged Marissa to his side.
The End