by Robin Cook
“No doubt,” Peter said. “The victim was clearly out of his mind and might have died of the cocaine without any help from the arresting police officer.”
“Much obliged,” Jack said. He was pleased to have something positive to give to Laurie to make up for her frustration at his being out in the field all day.
With the toxicology report in hand, Jack went to the back elevator to return to the basement. Before going to the front office to collect Laurie, he’d change into his civvies and check on Vinnie’s progress. He was particularly interested in making sure the samples had gotten over to the Public Health Laboratory.
28
WEDNESDAY, 7:23 P.M.
After Jack stepped out of his apartment building’s front door, he paused on the stoop. From that vantage point he had a reasonably good view of the playground. As per usual, a basketball game was in progress, with the shirts against the skins sweeping up and down the court. Years ago, Jack had bought a bunch of oversized sleeveless red and blue jerseys to distinguish one team from the other, but no one would wear them, preferring the typical shirts-versus-skins, irrespective of the weather and temperature. At that moment it was in the mid- to upper forties.
As he stood there with the pleasant anticipation of rigorous physical activity with friends he cared about, Jack thought about his day. It had been one of the most unique that he could remember. From the cast of characters he’d met out in New Jersey, to the realization that some sort of skulduggery had gone on involving a heart transplantation, to the scary repeat of the subway cytokine death, he was hard put to think of any other day that came close.
The crowning event had been the drive home in the Escalade, with Laurie grousing in the passenger seat. Although she had been pleased to hear about the toxicology results on the police custody case, knowing the commissioner would be gratified, she was still unhappy with Jack’s fieldwork in New Jersey, especially with his flashing his New York ME badge. After she had talked with Jack that afternoon while he was still in New Jersey, she’d asked counsel if his using his badge was legal. She’d been told under no uncertain terms that it was not. When she’d related this to Jack, his insistence that he was doing it just for efficiency and not to force testimony didn’t assuage her irritation at his penchant for following his own rules.
Worse yet was that they had a marked difference of opinion about the second subway death and what to do about it in the short run. Jack had explained what he had found at autopsy and what he’d learned from John Carver. Although Laurie was in agreement with Jack that having another case did indeed point to a contagious origin, she was still unwaveringly adamant about not raising an alarm with any of the various authorities, such as the Commissioner of Health or the Commissioner of Emergency Management. For his part, Jack felt even more strongly that various agencies should be given some sort of notice in order to at least start the process of what would need to be done in the face of a major, lethal pandemic. He told Laurie that the speed these two patients had died from the time of their initial symptoms and the extent of the lung pathology were simply extraordinary.
“Do we have an actual diagnosis?” Laurie had demanded.
“No, not yet,” Jack admitted. “But we have evidence in tissue culture that a virus pathological to human cells is involved.”
He then went on to describe what he knew of Aretha’s use of a Massive Parallel Sequencing machine and her belief she’d have a diagnosis soon.
“What’s ‘soon’ mean?” Laurie had asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” Jack admitted. “To be honest, I’m not even entirely sure how the process works. It’s based on bioinformatics and uses a database called BLAST.”
“All right,” Laurie said. “Tell me this: Are you one hundred and ten percent, absolutely, without any doubt whatsoever certain that these two women died of a pathological virus? From what you told me, they hadn’t even seen each other for a month. That’s one long incubation period for a viral respiratory disease.”
As Jack remembered the conversation, he had to smile. He knew he’d made a mistake at that moment because he had paused long enough to make Laurie suspicious that there was something he’d not told her. When she’d forced the issue, he had to admit that people at the Dover Valley Hospital had seen no virus with electron microscopy in the lung exudate following a second autopsy.
“Well, there you go,” Laurie had said. “We are not alerting anyone on such shaky grounds. No way.”
“But that’s like waiting to prepare for a hurricane when the wind has already started to blow,” Jack complained.
But Laurie would hear none of it. Instead, she had subjected Jack to a prolonged lecture about what she had been learning in her role as the chief medical examiner about the realities of the political hierarchy and how it functioned or, in her estimation, malfunctioned. She was particularly concerned about the issue of emergency management.
“To tell you the honest truth,” Laurie said, “I think they have overprepared for a major influenza pandemic. Since 2004 they have had drill after drill and have set up a huge system with a hair trigger. There’s even a computer algorithm called ED Syndromic Surveillance monitoring real-time emergency room pneumonia visits. The thing that scares me is that there are no checks and balances. The reason I know so much about it is that the OCME is part of it. That’s why there are all those refrigerated trailers out in the lot by 421, which would be sent to all the hospitals in the city to try to deal with several hundred deaths a day.”
“I think the authorities have a real reason to be worried,” Jack retorted.
“Of course there is reason to be worried,” Laurie said. “It’s almost inevitable there will be an influenza pandemic with the way pigs and fowl are crammed together in the Far East, with their guts acting like virtual influenza incubators. My concern is the switch being thrown by a false alarm with no system in place to stop it. It will be like a bunch of dominoes lined up. Push the first one over and they all go over.”
“I think you are being overly pessimistic,” Jack responded. “I’m supposed to be the cynic, not you.”
“You haven’t had to endure the meetings I’ve had to endure,” Laurie said. “And if you still think I am being unreasonably pessimistic, remember what happened in Hawaii in January 2018 with the incoming missile debacle. That’s what I’m worried could happen here in New York about an influenza pandemic. It could happen so easily, and it would cause true panic.”
Suddenly Jack’s reverie was interrupted by his hearing his name called out. Looking in the direction of Columbus Avenue, he could see Warren and Flash standing beneath a streetlamp on the opposite side of the street near the entrance of the playground. Warren was carrying his basketball. He brought it every night and preferred it as the game ball, which no one questioned.
“Hey, Doc,” Warren yelled. “You coming to run or are you going to stand there all night?”
Jack responded by quickly descending his front steps and jogging across the street. Warren and Flash waited for him, and they all fist-bumped.
“You were frozen there for so long, we thought you were changing your mind about running,” Flash said.
“No way,” Jack said. “I need a workout.”
The three men commenced walking toward the basketball court, which was brightly illuminated with relatively new LED lighting that Jack had again paid to have installed. It was a far better system than the first one Jack had sponsored many years ago when he’d first come to the city. As they walked, Jack gave Warren back the keys to the Escalade and mentioned it was parked practically in the same spot it had been when he’d taken it. He thanked Warren profusely and told him that he’d gotten used to driving the behemoth and started to like it.
“It’s a great set of wheels,” Warren said. “Any time you need them and I don’t, it’s available, provided you pay that parking ticket. What did you think of Dover?”
“You described it perfectly,” Jack said. “Lakes and green hills.”
“Were you able to accomplish what you needed to do?” Warren asked. They entered the playground and passed the swings and sandbox. A couple of preteenagers were using the swings, even though that area was not lighted.
“To an extent,” Jack said. “But not completely. It’s complicated, which I won’t bore you with. But I did have one rather strange experience. I ended up having a formal lunch with a Chinese billionaire businessman in his lavish private lakeside home. Strangely enough, even though the guy grew up in China, his role model was Arnold Schwarzenegger, and he’s still lifting weights into his sixties.”
Warren stopped short, grabbing Jack’s arm in the process. “Come again?”
Jack repeated what he’d said, surprised at Warren’s reaction. Warren was still holding on to his upper arm.
“That’s a strange coincidence,” Warren said. “Does your screwing around out in Dover have anything to do with investigating something shady?”
“That’s a strange question,” Jack replied noncommittally. “Why do you ask?”
“Two reasons,” Warren said. “First and most important, the last time you were investigating a flu-like illness years ago, you attracted the Black Kings gang to our neighborhood, causing trouble. You remember that?”
“Of course I remember,” Jack said. He had a chipped front tooth from being cold-cocked by the leader of the Black Kings as a lasting souvenir. Warren and a few of his friends had saved him from further bodily harm.
“And second of all, we have an Asian dude who’s been suspiciously hanging around today since the middle of the afternoon,” Warren said. He pointed up the street toward Central Park. “See that black Chevy Suburban about halfway up the block on the right side under the streetlight?”
Jack followed Warren’s pointing finger and could clearly see the vehicle. He had learned over the years to take Warren’s misgivings seriously. He knew that Warren, with the help of a bevy of youthful eyes, kept tabs on who was in the neighborhood since he didn’t trust the police to do the same.
“What makes him stand out is that he ain’t moved,” Warren explained. “He’s been just sitting in that truck for hours, which is suspicious, to our way of thinking. I mean, I don’t know if he’s Chinese or not, but just hanging around the neighborhood is weird, if you know what I’m saying?”
“I do,” Jack said.
“You think his presence has anything to do with your bodybuilding Chinese lunch partner?” Warren asked. “Or whatever the hell you were doing out there in Jersey.”
“I can’t imagine,” Jack said, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He recalled Harvey Lauder phoning Wei Zhao after Jack’s visit, which seemed strange at the time. But why have him followed, if that was what the Chevy Suburban was up to? Zhao already knew where he lived.
“Well, we’ll keep eyes on him,” Warren said. “I like you, Doc, but you do have a drift for causing trouble. I have to give you credit there.”
The three men recommenced heading for the basketball court. Jack was silent. He couldn’t contradict Warren, as he had caused neighborhood trouble over the years, and he couldn’t help but ponder over the presence of an unfamiliar Asian driver lurking around his house and whether it had anything to do with him. Unfortunately, there was no way to know. It wasn’t as if there was anyone he could call short of Wei Zhao himself, but Jack couldn’t imagine doing that.
“What’s with the home front?” Warren asked. “Is that why you were paralyzed on your front stoop?”
“Some ways it’s worse and some ways it’s better,” Jack said. After the contentious drive home from the OCME, Jack had braced himself for the worst. But it had turned out to be not so bad. Both Dorothy and Sheldon were watching the network news when they’d arrived, and with Sheldon there, Dorothy didn’t feel obligated to interact other than to say hello. Then the two turned to PBS NewsHour, giving Jack time to interact as best he could with Emma and then with JJ, who was still deeply involved with his school diorama project. At that point Jack had ducked out for b-ball.
“The couch is still available if you need it,” Warren said.
“I appreciate it, my friend,” Jack said.
When they reached the sidelines, Warren dealt with figuring out how the three of them were going to get into the game. As the most respected player, he could have gotten into the very next game, but he held out to play with Flash and Jack. Finally, it was determined that they would have to wait for two more game cycles.
Jack used the time to warm up by doing some running in place and other calisthenics and even shooting a few practice shots with Warren’s ball when the playing teams were at the opposite end of the court. To his surprise and pleasure, he later noticed Aretha had showed up. This time her headband and wristbands were a hot pink, which were as dramatic as her yellow-green ones, especially the way they contrasted with her sneakers. He felt drab moving over and standing next to her.
“I’m glad you made it,” Jack said. “I trust you got the new samples. At autopsy the cases were identical. The lung pathology was again off the charts.”
“I got the samples,” Aretha said. “Thank you, and I’ve already inoculated new tissue cultures.”
“Great,” Jack said. “Have you spoken with Warren about getting in the game tonight?”
“Yes, and I’m happy to say I’m playing with you guys.”
“Perfect,” Jack said. He passed her Warren’s ball, but before she could step out onto the court to take a shot, the playing teams came in their direction. “And I guess there’s no need to ask you if you have any results yet from the MPS machine.”
“Correct,” Aretha joked. “You’ll be the first to know. I want to let it run another eight hours at least. The more time that passes, the higher the chances of success. I also spoke again with Connie Moran of the CDC.”
Jack again made a pained expression, as he’d done the last time they were together when she’d told him she’d contacted the CDC.
“Don’t worry,” Aretha said. “I’ve not given her any more details, and she hasn’t asked. For her it is just an unknown. But what I wanted to say is that she, too, is using the MPS machine, and they are far more experienced with it than I am. There’s a good chance they can have a result way before me.”
“If they do and come back with a weird virus, don’t spill the beans about its origins. What I didn’t tell you is that my boss at the OCME is also my wife.”
“Really,” Aretha said. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
“Well, it raises the consequences if the CDC suddenly shows up and starts nosing around. I’ll be in the doghouse big-time, domestically and professionally.”
“Got it,” Aretha said. The playing teams swept back toward the other basket as the ball changed hands. Aretha stepped onto the court and drilled a moderately long shot. Jack rebounded.
“What I also wanted to tell you is that the CDC also used the electron microscope on the sample,” Aretha said. “And contrary to what the people in New Jersey told you, they did see virus.”
“That’s interesting,” Jack said. Suddenly the thought occurred to him that Dr. Stephen Friedlander could have been lying. Prior to that moment, the idea had not entered his mind. Unfortunately, there was no way to know. It wasn’t like he could call and ask.
“Connie said she was going to email me some of the photomicrographs,” Aretha said. “I can forward them to you if you are interested.”
“By all means,” Jack said.
It took another half hour for Jack, Aretha, Warren, Flash, and Spit to get into the game, but once they did they functioned as a well-oiled machine. They won their first game so easily that they became overconfident and ended up being defeated in the second. Disgusted with themselves, they slunk off the court. No one person had been at fault. Everyone had missed baskets that they shoul
d have made.
“That’s it for me,” Jack said. Like the others, he was eager to atone for his poor performance, but he was feeling guiltier about having abandoned Laurie to deal with her parents alone than he was feeling embarrassed about his play.
“Ah, come on,” Warren pleaded. “Let’s not let these mothers feel they are better than us. One more game, that’s all I ask. Look at the way they’re strutting around like they are kings of the mountain. Shit!”
“Sorry,” Jack said. “I’m on borrowed time as it is. If I don’t go home now, I’ll have to come and park on your couch. And ultimately, you don’t want that.”
“That’s a hell of a lot better than letting these bastards think they’re so great. One game. Be a sport!”
“Sorry,” Jack said. Once he made up his mind, he was adamant. He said goodbye to Aretha and encouraged her to contact him the moment she had anything. He bumped fists with Flash and Spit and commiserated anew for their combined ignominy before starting out for home.
By now the rest of the playground was deserted. So were the sidewalks along the street. At the curb Jack waited for a yellow cab to pass before he started across, but he didn’t get far. Off to his left he saw the lights in the Chevy Suburban that Warren had pointed out earlier suddenly switch on. Then the vehicle quickly swerved out into the street and lurched forward in Jack’s direction with a screech of tires.
For the next second Jack debated whether he should dash forward to get to the other side or retreat to the curb behind him, but the delay cost him the opportunity to do either. The Suburban now screamed to a stop and the driver leaped from its cab. He was one of the tallest men Jack had ever seen, and he was armed. In his right hand he had an automatic pistol with an attached silencer. The suddenness of the episode had Jack momentarily paralyzed. It was as if he were watching the unfolding event on a screen rather than as a participant.
At the same instant the man was jumping out of the car, Jack was aware of a burst of activity from another parked SUV to his right and behind him. But he didn’t turn to see what it was. He was hypnotized by the man in front of him who’d come around the front of his SUV and raised his silenced gun with both hands and pointed it at Jack.