Pandemic

by Robin Cook

  As Jack neared his destination, he could see that Ted’s office door was closed. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or bad, as to whether Ted was there or down the hall seeing patients in the examination cubicles. Hoping to at least find out, he approached the secretary, who was typing on her monitor. She looked up when Jack made his presence known. Instantly, he could tell that she recognized him, but she made an effort to conceal it by merely asking if she could help him.

  “I need to talk to the doctor,” Jack said in a compelling tone.

  “I will see if he’s available. Who should I say is calling?”

  “Dr. Denton Cooley,” Jack said, coming up on the spur of the moment with the name of one of the most famous cardiac surgeons in America. He thought it was a name Ted would respond to in a positive fashion even though Cooley had recently passed away. Whether the secretary remembered Jack’s real name, which he had given the day before, he couldn’t tell. Without another word she disappeared inside the inner office.

  Jack mentally ticked off the seconds she was gone from force of habit. He was glad he did. When she emerged just over ten seconds later she said, “I’m sorry, but he is not available. He has just stepped out.”

  “Interesting,” Jack said, content to fall back on the same comment yet again. “Obviously you were just speaking with him, as it surely wouldn’t have taken you so long to see he was not there. That means he’s counting on me just going away. Please go back and tell him that I am not leaving until I talk with him, and I will be waiting right over there.” Jack pointed to a modern couch off to the side. He then proceeded to walk to it and sit down. Placing his jacket next to him, he smiled back at the secretary.

  For a moment the woman stood frozen in place, neither sitting back down at her desk nor returning inside the inner office. She had a confused and embarrassed look on her face, presumably from being caught in a flat-out lie. Eventually, she recovered, and she disappeared back into the inner sanctum for another ten seconds.

  Picking up a magazine on hospital administration, as it was the only choice, Jack absently flipped through it. It was mostly advertisements. When the secretary reemerged, she made it a point to not even look at Jack, but rather went to her desk and recommenced her transcription efforts.

  Jack looked at his watch. It was 12:48 P.M., which explained to him why he was hungry. He wished he’d taken the time to get some takeout from the coffee shop on his arrival, as his stomach was complaining. But he’d made up his mind. He wasn’t going to move until Ted emerged.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how Jack looked at what ended up happening—Ted did not appear. Instead a group of four rather large, serious-looking, spiffily uniformed Asian security guards suddenly materialized. Jack had not seen them coming, as he was desperate enough to be actually reading an article about the economics of running an outpatient clinic. He became aware only after they had silently congregated in a semicircle in front of him. They were all youthful, trim of figure, and athletic-looking. All of them wore sunglasses. There were no smiles. It was a humorless, no-nonsense quartet.

  In contrast to most hospital security personnel with whom Jack was familiar, these men were armed with holstered sidearms. As Jack was later to learn, they were part of the detail tasked with providing the security around GeneRx and the Farm, not part of the regular hospital security team.

  “We would like you to come with us,” the guard with three stripes on his epaulets said. He had no accent. His colleagues had either one or two stripes. He was clearly the leader.

  “Sorry,” Jack said. “I’m waiting to speak with Dr. Markham.”

  “That is not going to happen. Stand up!” the guard said. There was no inflection in his voice. It was clearly an order. “We are here to escort you.”

  “Escort me to where?” Jack said. He had the impression he was about to be forcibly deported back to New York City. With the sense of having been used vis-à-vis the autopsy and then summarily discarded, he felt his anger begin to rekindle.

  “I was told to accompany you to Dr. Wei Zhao’s home,” the guard said.

  “Oh, well, then. How apropos,” Jack commented. Apparently, he wouldn’t need Ted’s help in getting to Zhao after all. He started to get up but then hesitated. All at once the guard’s wording struck a chord. It sounded as if it had been an order, which evoked a reflexive pushback. Jack felt as if he’d been ordered around much too much of late, culminating in his administrative leave.

  “If this is for another luncheon, I think I’ll pass,” Jack said superciliously. He reclaimed his seat and pretended to go back to his reading.

  The guard barked a few orders in what again sounded to Jack like Mandarin. Jack was aware of a series of snapping noises, which he realized were the other three guards unsnapping the tabs holding their sidearms in their holsters. He then heard a jingling, and when he looked up the chief guard was clutching a pair of handcuffs. When Jack looked at the other three guards he saw they were all holding on to the butts of their holstered weapons. He got the message. These guys were not fooling around. Worse yet, facing these guards was bringing back last night’s shooting episode in searing detail, a memory Jack was trying his best to avoid thinking about.

  “Stand up!” the guard said. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Jack nervously glanced at the eight unblinking eyes boring into him. He stood and did as he was told. If it had been one security person, he might not have been so amenable. But four was an overwhelming force. “This seems like a major overreaction,” Jack said. He winced as the handcuffs were applied.

  The guard then forcibly gripped Jack’s left upper arm and urged him forward. One of the other guards picked up his jacket. As a group, they marched the length of the crowded clinic. Patients waiting to be seen glanced up at him. He wondered what they were thinking. He thought of some great comments—“This is what they do here if you don’t pay your deductible on time”—but he didn’t say anything. It was all rather embarrassing.

  The final indignity was that they didn’t use the regular elevator. They marched him down to the freight elevator, which they used to get to the basement and a freight dock at the rear of the building. There they had yet another black Suburban. Jack was put in the backseat between two of the lower-ranked guards. The chief guard got in the front passenger seat, and the fourth man drove. It was all very sober. No one spoke.

  38

  THURSDAY, 1:20 P.M.

  Somewhat reminiscent of the silent ride from Manhattan out to Dover, the first conversation didn’t occur until the SUV stopped at the security gate on the driveway into Wei Zhao’s home. It was between the driver and the guard in the gatehouse, who made visual contact with everyone in the car. Jack had no idea what was said, because it wasn’t in English. He assumed it was Mandarin, just as he assumed his guard detail were all Chinese.

  The same as yesterday, they parked at the foot of the flagstone walkway that led up to the house. Everyone piled out. It was a little difficult for Jack due to the handcuffs, but one of the guards who had been sitting next to him lent a hand. Once outside the car, the chief guard told Jack to turn around. When Jack did so, he removed the handcuffs.

  “Handcuffing me certainly was unnecessary,” Jack said as he rubbed his chafed wrists. It had not been a comfortable ride. The guard did not respond. Instead he handed Jack his jacket and merely pointed up toward the house. Jack got the message and started up the walkway. He sensed all four guards were following but didn’t turn to look. Their heels clicked against the slate in a staccato fashion as if they were marching in step.

  Once again, the door was opened the moment Jack approached. Kang-Dae bowed while Jack stepped within. When he turned around, he saw that the four guards were right behind him. They, too, entered the foyer.

  “The boss is again in the gym,” Kang-Dae said to Jack. Clearly, he had expected him. “
I will show you.” With another bow, he started off exactly as he had done yesterday.

  For Jack it was a déjà vu experience that wasn’t all that pleasant as he followed Kang-Dae. Since his last visit had been only the day before, his aggrieved mental state when he had left was all too poignant. He vowed to be in more control today, although things were hardly starting out on the right foot.

  After only a few steps he realized the guards were not following, which was a relief. Their single-mindedness and silence made Jack distinctly uncomfortable. Jack relied heavily on the power of words and communication as the way to control circumstances.

  As Jack entered the gym, he was again surprised at its size, despite it being less than twenty-four hours since he’d been there. It was so unexpected in a private house. He could see Wei in the distance using a piece of exercise equipment. Without saying a word, Kang-Dae stepped aside and gestured for Jack to proceed on his own while he took a seat at the door.

  As Jack passed the line of exercise machines he wondered if there was a separate machine for every muscle in the human body. To him it all seemed excessive and unnatural. It was his opinion that a good workout on the basketball court was better, as it forced muscles to work together in tandem the way they had evolved to function. At the same time, he thought any exercise was vastly better than no exercise.

  It was apparent to Jack that Wei had to have seen him coming, but the bodybuilder didn’t stop what he was doing. As Jack got nearer he could hear the man speak with each repetition. Jack guessed he was counting in Mandarin.

  The exercise that Wei was doing was for his back and gluteal muscles. With his hands clasped behind his head and holding a fifteen-pound weight, he was lying prone in an apparatus that supported his thighs and held his heels in place so that he could alternately bend at the waist and then raise his torso to the horizontal. Such effort seemed to Jack a poor substitute for the fun and camaraderie fostered by team sports. It even reminded him of the myth of Sisyphus.

  While he waited, Jack had to admire once again the man’s physique. He was dressed as he had been yesterday, in sweats and a V-neck black top, possibly with a bit of spandex, that showed off his muscles. Noticing the girth of his biceps made Jack wonder if Wei had ever been tempted to take anabolic steroids, despite their associated dangers.

  After watching Wei complete fourteen repetitions—Jack counted by reflex—Jack felt his patience wearing thin, especially since his presence was a command performance via the chief guard. Despite his vow to keep himself under control, Jack felt his ire rising. Was Wei’s ignoring him a way of putting him in his place? As if sensing these thoughts, Wei suddenly stopped and disentangled himself from the apparatus. He was breathing reasonably heavily and perspiring.

  “Finished,” Wei said. He used a towel to wipe his face. “That was my daily eighty reps on the Roman chair. Sorry to keep you waiting, but when I start I have to finish.”

  Jack didn’t respond. He was sure that whatever he said would end up reflecting exactly the way he felt, which wouldn’t be a good way to start the conversation.

  “Have you ever used a Roman chair?” Wei asked. He took a drink from a plastic water bottle.

  “Can’t say that I have,” Jack said. “It doesn’t look much like a chair to me.”

  Wei laughed. “I have no idea why it is called that. It is a mystery. But thanks for coming back to see me.”

  “It seems that I didn’t have much choice,” Jack said, unable to control himself. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it.

  “Why don’t we go into the lounge, so we can be more comfortable,” Wei said, pointing the way. “There’s also a selection of refreshments that I can offer you. I understand you haven’t had any lunch.”

  “Whatever,” Jack said. He was mildly surprised that Wei didn’t pick up on his complaint of not having any choice for the visit, and even more surprised that Wei was also aware he’d not had anything to eat. The man seemed omniscient.

  “I’ve heard that you felt there was no difference between Carol’s and Margaret’s hearts at autopsy,” Wei said as they walked.

  “They looked comparable,” Jack said. “I was impressed with how well both donor hearts had been accepted. It was my impression that had the women not prematurely died, they would have led normal lives, at least from a cardiac standpoint.”

  “That’s good to know,” Wei said. “Thank you.”

  Jack again didn’t respond. Wei Zhao had a peculiar way of making him feel off balance. He didn’t know why he was being thanked.

  The lounge was a sumptuous oasis of lounge chairs, a huge flat-screen TV, a small kitchen, a small round dining table with director’s chairs, and windows that looked out onto the floor of the gym on one side and onto a large indoor pool on the other.

  “How about a sandwich and a juice?” Wei proposed, heading into the kitchen. Silently, Kang-Dae appeared and now took up position in a straight-back chair next to the door to the gym.

  A few minutes later Jack found himself feeling relatively relaxed, sitting at the dining table and eating a fresh mozzarella-and-tomato sandwich. His emotions felt as if they were following a sine-wave trajectory and were now on a pleasant upswing. Wei had gone back to being complimentary of Jack’s medical curriculum vitae, including his extensive forensic pathology knowledge on top of his clinical experience of having been a practicing ophthalmologist. To cap off his eulogy, he surprised Jack by again offering him a position to head up the Pathology Department for Dover Valley Hospital, GeneRx, and the Farm Institute that would be half clinical and half research.

  “Remember my original offer,” Wei continued. “I will double your current salary. The position comes with some stock in our operation, but you will also have the option of buying more stock at about half the current value. My business philosophy rests on my employees feeling that they are, in effect, working for themselves.”

  “That’s very generous,” Jack said. “But as I mentioned yesterday, I’m happy with my current employment.”

  “I remember you saying that,” Wei said. “But I also know that things have changed since yesterday.”

  “What exactly do you mean?” Jack questioned warily.

  “Yesterday you weren’t suffering an unpaid administrative leave of absence stemming from your central role in the mistaken pandemic flu scare that has crippled New York City. I would think that loss of income would have a devastating impact on your family, especially with a child tentatively diagnosed with autism.”

  With a new surge of anger, Jack stared back at his tormenter. The man was again seriously violating boundaries and personal space just as he had the day before. “How do you know this?” Jack managed, trying to keep his voice under control.

  “I listened in on your wife’s press conference at noon,” Wei said. “It seems that some loose talk on your part with an unhappy employee was enough to cause a paralyzing disaster for the city. But as irresponsible as your actions were, I don’t think they warranted your being put on leave. I certainly wouldn’t have done it. Yet I can understand that your wife had little choice. At the same press conference, the mayor and the Commissioner of Health also spoke. It’s clear to me that they both, particularly the mayor, felt the need for a scapegoat and you have been selected. If you ask me, your leave of absence is going to be lengthy, if not permanent, because of the political aspect. Shutting the city down like that even for a day is going to cost hundreds of millions of dollars.”

  Jack felt his face redden as he wrestled with his emotions.

  “Consequently, this would be an excellent time to join our team,” Wei continued. “We are in the perfect position to benefit mightily from the limitless promise of CRISPR/CAS9 in so many arenas, from biopharma to designer babies for the wealthy in our IVF clinics. This gene-editing tool will revolutionize medicine. From a business perspective it couldn’t be more positive, and Gene
Rx and Dover Valley are poised on the cutting edge.”

  Jack forced himself to take the final bite of his sandwich and chew slowly, as if he was weighing everything Wei had said. Instead, he was concentrating on keeping himself in his seat and not flying off the handle.

  “The dossier I had requested to be compiled on you described you as a very vocal person and noted that you always spoke your mind, come what may. Why are you being so silent now, when I am offering you the job opportunity of your life? I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jack said. “I don’t understand, either. Why in God’s name do you want me on your team?”

  “I want you with us because of one of the key principles of business that I learned from my father,” Wei said. “When I was a boy, and we had been sent out into the countryside during the cultural revolution to work the land, my father advised me always to make my smartest enemy into my friend. Following his advice, I made the leader of the Red Guards in our village into a friend. It worked. It was the reason I was sent back to Shanghai, which is how I got to the university. It is a principle I have followed ever since.”

  “So you see me as an enemy,” Jack said.

  “In a fashion,” Wei admitted. “Yesterday I told you I had put an entire team of molecular biologists on solving the cause of Carol’s death, which we all thought possibly had a proteinaceous origin. You thought it was a virus. We now know that you were right.”

  “You now believe Carol died of a virus?” Jack asked. He was shocked. It might have been the last thing he expected to hear from Wei.

  “We know it was a virus for sure,” Wei said. “And just today I heard you thought it was a retrovirus. Well, you were right again.”

  “Have your people identified it?” Jack asked, his amazement deepening.

  “Yes, we have,” Wei said proudly. “We’ve even sequenced it.”