by Betsy Ashton
Hysterical information over too long a period produced nation-wide ennui. The public didn’t want to be barraged with scare tactics any longer, in spite of the fact that the U.S. faced real and present dangers.
Bunk. My brain flipped and flopped, flopped and flipped. I was getting nowhere and making myself dizzy.
“Let me get this straight,” Sharon said. “We might have a scientist who hated biological weapons potentially being used on mankind, only to make a one-eighty after 9/11 and create his own biological weapons.” She shook her head. “It does not compute, as Captain Kirk said. He stole the pathogens before 9/11. He must have already had plans for them.”
“It wasn’t Star Trek. It was the robot on the old television show, Lost in Space . . . What? I can’t help it if I’m a science fiction geek,” Dr. Klein said, laughing at Sharon’s look of incomprehension.
Dr. Gupta said, “It does seem unbelievable, but we can all name people who changed drastically after 9/11. We became more patriotic, if only for a short period of time. In the research community, we tightened our security protocols to the levels we already had with our nuclear arsenal. Today, I’d say no one could steal pathogens, but the protocols weren’t as stringent in 1999.”
I paced, dodging anyone and anything that stood in my way. I momentarily ignored the why to ask the how. “What if he wanted to create new delivery mechanisms, like using aerosols to spread the diseases?”
“Aerosols . . . ” Dr. Gupta’s voice trailed off. “Like in a nebulizer.”
“Alex received nebulizer treatments constantly. What if hantavirus was in the solution?” My face must have gone pale because Sharon moved over and took my pulse. “Don’t worry. I’m too pissed off to faint.”
“Delivery experimentation could help explain why Johnny got sick after inhaling droplets Toby sprayed in the ICU. Maybe he’s testing mass dissemination techniques to infect a large part of the population,” Sharon said.
“Have we heard what Keith’s swabs of the ICU turned up?” I asked.
Sharon nodded. “He pulled traces of plague from the spray residue on the walls.”
I was ablaze with questions. “What if he wanted to demonstrate how easily these ancient diseases could be resurrected, manufactured in bulk, and reintroduced into an under-protected population? What if his oversized ego led him to believe he was the only one who could alert the world to the danger?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
HEADS SWIVELED IN my direction—or directions because I hadn’t stopped pacing. As I fit the next pieces of the puzzle together, I ignored my phone merrily buzzing in my pocket. I was certain it was a text from Emilie or Ducks, maybe even a happy face emoji.
“The terrorist attacks of 9/11 resulted in a lot of depression, panic attacks, and mental illness,” Dr. Gupta confirmed. “Heavens knows, the sale of anti-depressants skyrocketed in the weeks and months afterward. Lots of scientists and regular people hoped we’d find a magic bullet to protect us.”
“No silver bullet, huh?” I asked with the trace of a smile.
“No vampires, either,” Dr. White said.
“I was thinking about the Lone Ranger and his silver bullets,” I said. Her expression made me laugh. “Never mind.” I waved both hands in her direction.
“Back to what’s going on here. Do we have any indication Toby was looking for a new way to deliver enhanced pathogens?” Dr. White asked. “We don’t know if he was trying to develop something to keep us safe or a new weapon to kill the maximum number he exposed.”
Before we could say anything else, the door swung open. Leena entered, a tray of instruments and used syringes in her hands, and a very scared Nurse Paula trailing behind. “I was checking our inventory on Dr. Running Bear’s orders, when I found this hidden at the back of the supply closet.”
On the tray were multiple syringes with different labels, nebulizer masks and tubing, and spray bottles. Her jaw set, Leena nudged the trembling woman forward.
“Paula has something to tell us. Go ahead. Talk.”
Dr. Running Bear, Dr. Duval, and Keith slipped in before Paula began. Toby was absent.
Keith caught my questioning look, sidled over, and whispered, “He’s locked in an inner room. No windows, no way out except through one door, which Ben is guarding. He’s not going anywhere.”
I exhaled. I remembered Ben, the six-foot-five hunk of muscle who had spooked me when we first met. Once I got to know him, I realized he was gentle and would have looked perfect with a full beard and buckskins, if the Secret Service would have allowed it.
“Are you all right?” I could see a large lump on the back of Keith’s head.
“No amateur is going to take me out.”
Dr. Running Bear stopped in front of Paula, who quaked under his stare. “Do you want to tell me what you hoped to accomplish?”
Sharon opened her mouth, only to snap it shut when Dr. Running Bear held up a hand.
“I thought he was trying to find a way to prevent terrorists from using pathogens in a biological attack.” Paula’s voice emerged as a near croak.
“And how did you think exposing your colleagues and friends would prevent terrorism?” Dr. Running Bear, still as a granite statue, appeared to loom over the shorter nurse, even though neither had moved.
“He—he said he wanted to test delivery mechanisms that would make the diseases easier to spread throughout a contamination zone.”
Toby had convinced Paula he was only interested in pneumonic plague, even after he released hantavirus and monkeypox in the ICU. He thought plague was more capable of being weaponized if a terrorist manufactured enough of it. Hantavirus and monkeypox weren’t reliable enough for maximum spread of infection.
“If he could find a way to spray the pathogen in bulk, then people would contract plague without knowing the source. If he could show how easy it was, he thought our government would work on preventing terrorists from acquiring the pathogens rather than us working on turning them into weapons.”
“That logic is so flawed I can’t wrap my mind around it,” Sharon exploded. “It’s FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.”
Dr. Duval raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“How does he know the government isn’t working on just that? Does he have a secret source in the government feeding him information? Or a crystal ball?” Dr. Klein’s face reddened, and he pounded one fist into his palm.
Dr. Running Bear shot a glance at the pathologist and shook his head. Dr. Klein’s lips glued themselves together. He was left to stew without further verbal outlet.
“So, he wanted to spray a city with pneumonic plague much like we sprayed Malathion to prevent the Mediterranean fruit fly from spreading?” Major controversies broke out in Southern California when that particular invasive pest threatened to destroy the citrus crop.
“If Toby could prove plague could be distributed through repeated sprayings, he could get governments around the world to pay attention and develop ways to prevent infections,” said Paula, biting a thumbnail that was already bleeding.
“And exactly how does he think he can distribute plague?” Dr. Duval asked. She had remained silent up to this point, but I could almost smell small synapses shorting out. Like Dr. Running Bear, she was as rigid as an obsidian obelisk.
“Drones.” Paula cast her eyes downward. “He said if his experiments with spraying in and around the ICU worked, then nothing could stop a terrorist from putting canisters on military drones.” She pointed to a common spray bottle used for holding bleach or window washing fluid.
“Diabolical,” Dr. White said.
“Cool,” Dr. Klein said.
“What a monster! So, he sprays Johnny and waits to see if he gets sick, huh?” I wanted to slap this fool silly, but I balled my fists and stuffed them inside the pockets of my scrubs. “That doesn’t explain trying to kill him with an overdose of morphine.”
Dr. Running Bear beckoned to Leena, who carried the tray of medical waste. He pulled
on gloves before picking up some IV tubing. “Look at the pinprick holes. He administered morphine through this.”
“Toby didn’t do that. I did,” a mousy voice squeaked.
Dr. Duval rose over the shrinking nurse, who shriveled in front of our eyes. “What did you say?”
“I injected morphine into Mr. Medina’s IV port. You were half asleep when I came in.” Paula stared at me. “Even though you spoke to me, you never really saw me, did you, Mrs. Davies? No one sees me.”
“Why?”
“Toby said you were dangerous, that you were too close to discovering us. He wanted to stop you.” Paula swiped at her snotty nose with a sodden tissue, tears flowing freely. “I gave Mr. Medina the overdose.”
“What had he done to you?” I wanted to strangle her.
“Not him. You.” Paula’s red-rimmed eyes bored into mine.
“Me?” I’d dismissed Dr. Duval’s suggestion that I was somehow in danger. She was right after all.
“I thought you’d give up if Mr. Medina died.”
“Well, you thought wrong. I’ll do everything in my power to be sure you never leave prison.”
“Did you tamper with the nebulizer equipment?” Dr. Gupta asked.
Alex and several of the other ill children received daily treatments before their hantavirus symptoms suddenly worsened.
“Not all. Some children got sick on their own. I injected the virus randomly into the medicine packets. When I put them back on the shelf, I mixed them up. Some kids got regular medicine, others got the contaminated solution.” Paula looked almost proud of what she’d done.
“I checked the supplies,” Leena said. “Several unopened packets show needle marks. I put them into a box where we couldn’t grab one by accident. We’ll send them to the CDC to see what, if any, pathogens have been introduced into the sterile environment.”
Leena carefully placed the items in a box for the CDC facility. My overactive gut said the tests would show Toby’s and Paula’s fingerprints as well.
“You did all this for Toby? Why the hell would you?” Dr. Klein asked.
“Because he treated me with respect. He didn’t look past me like all of you did.” Paula smiled a little. “He said I was smart enough to help him with his research. I was the only person he could trust.”
Keith opened the door and beckoned to one of his detail. “Take her away. Don’t let anyone visit her, and don’t leave her alone, no matter what she says.”
“Copy that.”
I waited until the door closed behind the agents and Paula before erupting. “She did this because Toby was nice to her?”
“I can see it happening,” Sharon said. “We had a med student when I was a third-year. She was so quiet she faded into paint. She was as starved for attention as Paula was. She washed out in her first year because she couldn’t interact well with patients.”
“Still, even if Toby pretended to love her, why would she fall for his line? Couldn’t she see through him?” My mind refused to accept Paula’s motives, which confounded me.
“Maybe Toby was the first man who pretended to like her. That’s the only way I can explain her falling for his bullshit,” Dr. Gupta said.
“Meenu!” Doctors White and Klein protested as one.
Dr. Gupta shrugged.
“How did you trip up Toby, Keith?” Sharon asked.
“He tried to go outside for a smoke. I wouldn’t let him,” Keith said.
“Toby doesn’t smoke,” Leena said.
“I knew that. I’d never seen him outside with the other butt heads. He tried to push past me. I made a mistake when I turned my back to secure the door. He swung at me with an empty oxygen canister. Luckily, I ducked and only got a glancing blow before I drop-kicked him in his balls. He decided he didn’t need a smoke after all.”
“Way to go, Keith,” Dr. Klein said.
Keith shook his head. “Damned stupid to turn my back. Not to worry. He’s in custody well away from his lab. He can’t destroy any evidence.”
One thought breached like a whale, a thought so disgusting I could voice it only reluctantly.
“Please tell me Toby and Paula weren’t—” I could go no further.
“No, Toby manipulated her into doing what he wanted. I interrogated Paula while we were walking from the ICU. He flattered her and made her feel important. She said no man ever made her feel so needed, maybe even attractive. He didn’t need anything but his charm to rope her in. They weren’t lovers,” Leena said.
I couldn’t fathom anyone being so gullible. My face once again gave me away. Sharon reached out a hand and took mine. “You’ve never been plain, Max. We don’t know what this woman has been through.”
“She’s going to go through much more, little of it pleasant. She’s facing homicide, attempted homicide, child endangerment, and terrorism charges. She’s going to spend the rest of her life in jail,” Keith added.
“Can’t she turn state’s evidence on Toby?” Part of me felt sorry for the waste of life, even though she had tried to murder Johnny.
“We don’t need her. Toby’s bragging like a fool. Everything he says, which we are recording, can and will be used against him in a court of law—federal law, of course. He’s facing the same charges as Paula, plus the murder of two people in St. Louis. The FBI will compile a list as long as my arm.” Keith held out one very long arm.
“My granddaughter sensed something was wrong when she met him. She kept warning me about him,” I said.
“But she’s not here,” Keith protested.
I didn’t bother explaining. “And my home-school teacher called him a phony. He said pretending to be gay was stupid. It would only make him stand out in a crowd rather than disappear into it.”
“And how did your home-school teacher know this?” Dr. Klein hadn’t met either Emilie or Ducks, so any revelations from them were new news.
“His gaydar didn’t go off when they met right after Alex’s accident.”
“Gaydar?” Dr. Klein asked.
“Ducks is gay. He can spot a phony quicker than I can. He said Toby used his act to disarm people, but he didn’t fool Ducks.” I then explained a bit about how Emilie’s and Ducks’ gifts worked. “They’re my spooks who keep watch over me.”
“Speaking of pretenses, Toby couldn’t get out to dye his hair. He had dark brown roots showing. When he clocked me, I noticed his eyes were different, too.”
“Different how?” I asked.
“They were lighter. He must have had contacts.” Keith stood, ready to leave.
“Contacts, huh?” Dr. Klein said.
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EVENTS MOVED QUICKLY. Dr. Running Bear called a meeting in the cafeteria. We hadn’t had one in a couple of days.
“Hello, everyone. I have a lot of news for you.”
Before he could say another word, grumbles broke out. Families were anxious to get out of the hospital and return to their normal lives. He held up a hand. “I’ll answer any questions you have left in a few minutes.”
He paused for dramatic effect, leaving me time to scan the room to see if anyone other than Toby, Paula, and two agents were missing. None were.
“First, after a lot of hard work from the CDC team, we know what’s been happening here on the Rez.” Much of what Dr. Running Bear had to say was old news to those of us from the diagnosis room. For the other families, it was new and bewildering. He told them that three deadly pathogens had been purposefully introduced into the community to infect the patients, five of whom had died as a result.
“We’ve been battling hantavirus, monkeypox, and pneumonic plague. Those of you whose children were infected with one of the organisms know which child had what. When this outbreak began, we only identified hantavirus. Since it’s found in nature under certain circumstances, we weren’t all that concerned. While there is no cure, we can treat the symptoms, which we did with moderate success. Unfortunately, four children died in spite
of our best efforts.”
He moved on the monkeypox. “I know this looks like smallpox, but it’s not. Let me repeat: We did not have smallpox. Monkeypox is from the same family of viruses, but is not as deadly. If you had a smallpox vaccine, you are probably protected. If you are worried, the CDC will make the vaccine available. Let us know if you would like one.”
Plague was last. “I don’t know which word, pox or plague, is more highly charged, but as far as I am concerned, I would rather have plague. It’s a bacterium. That means standard antibiotics knock it out.
“I’m sorry we had anyone die, but we did. But we know how the pathogens—sorry, organisms—came into the hospital. Someone, one of our own, was experimenting with new ways of transmitting very dangerous diseases. He used the hospital as a real-life laboratory.”
Voices raised in anger. Scraps of accusations flew.
“You know who he is?”
“Yes.”
“How did he get in?”
“He worked here,” Dr. Running Bear said firmly.
“Why did he choose this hospital?”
“We don’t know yet, but we will. We confirmed our suspicions when Mr. Medina suffered an overdose of morphine, something none of us would have prescribed. Mr. Medina has plague. Morphine can reduce respiration, and his respiration was already compromised. As a result of the injection, he nearly died.”
Parents turned to stare and glare at me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but anger didn’t seek a logical target. It just sought a target. I sat straight and nodded to those with whom I made eye contact. I was in the same mess the parents were. They needed to remember I had two people I loved in the ICU, where none of them had more than one.
“I can’t tell you everything about where the organisms came from, but I can tell you that Toby, our lab technician, and Paula, the neo-natal nurse, released them into our community.”
“Not Paula. She nursed my preemie for two months until I could take her home. She can’t be involved,” one mother protested.