Back at her hotel, Allie Stoker continued to sleep. She was oblivious to her robust immune system as it was attacking the nerves in her body.
After his workout, Troy went to breakfast at Hotel Esatto's restaurant. When he sat down at the table, an attendant immediately served him a glass of juice. "How did you do that?" Troy joked with the man.
"Do what?"
"Read my mind. How did you know I wanted orange juice?"
"Is this your first time visiting Hotel Esatto, sir?"
"It is."
"The juice is actually tangerine juice. Our fresh-squeezed tangerine juice is complimentary, as well as our Colombian coffee. A lot of people are taking their coffee BulletProof these days."
"Thank you. Do you do that for all first-time guests?"
"No. We do it for all our guests all the time. It's one of our trademarks."
"It's a nice touch. Do you have a trademark breakfast that goes along with the trademark tangerine juice?" Stoker asked. Then he interjected, "I mean trademark as in special, not implying it should be free."
The waiter smiled as he responded. "Our healthy power breakfasts are indeed one of our trademarks. I recommend the whole-wheat turkey sausage sandwich. Our whole wheat is the course, grainy type of wheat your body needs. The turkey sausage is low-fat, delicious and high in protein. The sandwich includes tomatoes, arugula, spinach, and thin slices of zucchini. If you want mayonnaise, we'll put it on there; but you must ask for it."
"Sounds great. No mayo. That stuff will kill you."
"Anything else I can bring you?"
"Come to think of it, I'll have two of those sandwiches. If I'm not too hungry, I'll share the second one with my wife."
"Excellent, sir."
Stoker sipped the tangerine juice. It was delicious. He took three more swallows. Then he started to look at email on his phone. Before he could thoroughly read the first email, his coffee and sandwiches arrived. Faster than he could thank the server, his tangerine juice was topped off, too. He was thoroughly impressed with Hotel Esatto. His breakfast sandwich was very satisfying, and healthy to boot. Because he had worked out so hard, he ate the second sandwich as well. He finished off his coffee and decided to look around a little.
Stoker paid, left the restaurant, and walked into the lobby. Everything in the hotel was perfect. It was not the luxurious, extravagant kind of perfect. It was the sleek, pristine kind of perfect. The attention to small details evident in the building's architecture was remarkable. The design of the hotel embodied motion. This was not a place to stay for a luxurious weekend. Hotel Esatto was a place for the ambitious. The people who were going places. Stoker looked at the people around him. They were the achievers and innovators. He could see it in their demeanor, expressions, and body language. As they walked, they executed each step with purpose, drive, and passion. And every aspect of the hotel's architecture and processes catered to this cross-section of society's psychology.
I must tell Allie about my observations of this Hotel Esatto, he thought. He headed toward the elevator. When he got there, he noticed there were flights of stairs that rose alongside the elevator. "Brilliant," he said to himself as he looked up. Many of these A-type personalities were choosing the rigor of taking the stairs, preferring the action instead of the elevator. "Whoever designed this hotel anticipated that instinctive preference within this group of over-achievers," Stoker said to himself almost in a whisper. He considered taking the stairs to explore Hotel Esatto further. But, Stoker had plenty of exercise already this morning. After all, he thought, I should be getting back to Allie.
Ten minutes later, he quietly entered her hotel room. His wife was still in bed. He softly stepped into the bathroom intending to take a shower.
"Good morning, Troy," Allie said in a tired voice.
"I was trying not to rouse you."
"I woke up about fifteen minutes ago."
"And, how are your legs and fatigue this morning?" Stoker asked, keeping any tones of concern out of his voice.
"I haven't tried using my legs yet, but my energy level is still shallow. Could it be a nutrition thing?"
"I doubt it. Not if you've been eating breakfast at Hotel Esatto?"
"You discovered the healthy power breakfast they have over there?"
"Yes. And, I even had seconds."
"What did you have? And, how did you like the tangerine juice?"
"I've never been so transfixed by a health-nut breakfast in my life. Hotel Esatto was a fascinating piece of architecture."
"Isn't it amazing? I love that place."
"And I know why," Troy said. “The place was designed to cater to your type A personality."
"Now you're thinking like a designer," Allie said. "We consider psychology in the architecture of workspaces."
"Right. But, I think your discipline, interior design, prioritizes other design demands above psychology. You must consider square footage constraints, efficiency, aesthetics, and budget. I suspect the latest trends in color palettes come into play even before the type of people with this type A mental make-up—the movers and shakers—who stay here."
"You're right. We rarely start with the personality of the users. It's more about the function or processes that will occur within the space." Allie sat up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed. Her bangs fell over her eyes. "You think I'm a type A personality?"
"You're an achiever. You love to get things done. You work hard. Even your favorite means of recreating is all about achievement and kicking butt. When you cross-country ski around that track, you're pushing yourself with every muscle in your body."
"It's July, and I miss my cross-country skiing. But, running half marathons will suffice." Allie pushed her bangs back up behind his ears and shifted on the bed. "If I'm an achiever, what are you, Troy?"
"I'm an experiencer. If I were an achiever, I would be more concerned about the number of patients I see. But, every patient is an experience for me. I like to figure people out as well as their problems. I provide people with effective medicine. I use therapy to coach them through the process of changing their lives."
"I never wonder why you go to Mexico with Espada Rápida,” she said. “That adventure matches your personality. You need out-of-the-ordinary experiences."
"That's also why I married you," Troy said.
Allie winked at Troy and smiled. "You sense there's a problem down in Mexico, and you want the whole experience of fixing it."
"You're a pretty good shrink, Allie."
"So why are you on this architectural psychology kick?" she asked.
"Because every square inch of that hotel is designed to cater to—no, to catalyze—the hard-driving, high achieving cross-section of society. That's why you like it over there."
"I love the place. It's a little pricey, so I've only stayed there once. But, enough of this philosophy and psychology. I'm an achiever. Forget this fatigue and weakness. I'm getting up to go take on the world." Allie pushed off from the side of the bed with exaggeration. But her legs failed her, and she stumbled and caught herself on the desk. "Whoa," she said.
Troy tuned into an instinct he often suppressed. He usually avoided lending a minor helping hand to the fiercely independent Allie. In this instance, he noticed her stumble, and he jumped to her side.
"What was that?" Troy asked.
"I don't know. My legs are not behaving like the legs of an achiever." Allie made her way back to the bed. "This is alarming. Do you think I could've injured my legs and not known about it? Do I have a pinched nerve in my spine, and I'm only now getting the news?"
"I don't know. Let me take a look at you," Stoker said as he held out his hands. "Cross your hands and grab onto my fingers." Allie followed his lead. "Now squeeze hard with both hands." Allie squeezed as Stoker observed. "I'm testing to see if one side of your upper body is stronger than the other. Now shrug your shoulders while I apply some downward pressure." Allie followed his suggestions. Stoker noticed the right side
of her body was slightly weaker than her left.
With his brow furrowed, he hid the alarm swirling in his mind as he considered the odds of Allie contracting Guillain-Barre syndrome. "Hmmm. That's weird. It could be me, but maybe there's a little bit of asymmetry—some mild weakness—on one side. Do you have any pain?"
"No. Nothing unusual. Just weakness in my legs."
"How about you lie down on your back and let me try some things." Stoker grabbed Allie's ankle and lifted her foot into the air about eighteen inches. Then, he ran the tip of his thumb up, from heel to toe on Allie's right foot. Her reflexes reacted, and all her toes curled downward. He repeated the test on her left foot, and her toes curled downward again. "That's called the Babinski reflex, Honey. And yours is normal. That's good. I don't think there's anything wrong in your brain."
"Now sit up here and dangle your legs over the side of the bed." Stoker walked into the bathroom, found Allie's hairbrush, returned to his wife, and used the handle to tap just below one kneecap. Her leg shot out briskly. Then he performed the same task on her other leg. The response in this leg was much weaker than the first. Allie noticed the difference. "Wow. Every time the doctor used to tap my knee, I thought it was kind of goofy. But, there is a vast difference between the reflexes in my two legs. What's going on?"
"Well, I'm not sure. The first test I did, on the bottom of your foot, made me pretty sure there is nothing dangerous going on in your brain. But, your reflex test tells me there may be a problem with your muscles or nerves. Out of an abundance of caution, I want to have you see a specialist and get you checked out some more.
"Okay. Do you think it could be something serious?
"There are a lot of things this could be. Allie, do you have any shortness of breath or difficulty breathing?"
"No."
In a short time, Dr. Stoker had narrowed down his possible list of diseases or problems from hundreds to less than twenty. But, Guillain-Barre syndrome was looking more and more likely. He noticed how Allie was uncomfortable with his concern.
"Who knows?" Stoker said. "Maybe you hurt something while you were training. But, do you remember when you had diarrhea about two weeks ago?"
"Yes."
"Me, too. And, I think we should get you to a neurologist in the next few hours. Let me make some phone calls."
At three o'clock Allie, Troy, and Errol Rivera met with a neurologist at Northwestern Memorial Medical Center in Chicago. The neurologist ran many of the same tests Stoker and Rivera had seen administered to patients in the hospital in Chihuahua only weeks ago.
After ninety minutes, the neurologist had a diagnosis. "You have a disease that's not permanent or fatal. But, you probably have a few very tough months ahead of you."
"Okay, I'm glad to know I'm not going to die or end up in a wheelchair. I'm pretty good at toughing things out and enduring pain. What's this disease called?"
"Guillain-Barre syndrome," the neurologist said.
"Well at least it's French," Allie joked. "Is it also fashionable?"
Stoker and the neurologist flinched a little. Rivera let out one quiet syllable of an uncomfortable laugh. Overriding the awkward pause, the neurologist continued. "The infection you had two weeks ago triggered your body's immune system, just like it was supposed to. But, your immune system not only attacked the infecting bacteria, but it also attacked your nerves. Your own immune system is attacking the protective sheath around your nerves. Over the next few weeks, you will lose even more strength. Odds are about fifty percent this disease will paralyze you for a few days or weeks."
The mention of paralysis stunned Allie Stoker to her core. She had always been so good at enduring pain. But, the impending loss of control, the loss of motion and freedom, shocked her in a way she never imagined. This new angle on suffering terrified her.
"And you can manage this paralysis?" she stammered. "I mean, how do we handle this?" Troy had never seen his usually stoic wife react with so much trepidation. He put his arm around her. She melted into his embrace, which was also unusual for the fiercely independent Allie. But now, her tears flowed freely. "How do you treat paralyzed people for those days or even weeks? Is there some kind of daycare for paralyzed people?"
Stoker spoke up with a calm, confident tone. "We admit you to the hospital. If you reach the point of paralysis, we put you on a ventilator to help you breathe."
"And what do I do while I'm on the ventilator?" Now Allie was angry. Her voice trembled. "Listen to talk radio, to books on the Audible app? Do I just lay there and count my many blessings? How the hell did this happen? Is somebody going to have to feed me, and bathe me? No way is that going to happen." She broke free from Troy, pushed her hair back, and wiped away tears. But, more tears deluged her eyes and moistened her cheeks. "We're going to beat this." The look on her face was determination. Her voice was too fierce to tremble "There has got to be a treatment for this. I want a second opinion from the Mayo Clinic." Then Allie went silent.
Stoker waited for a few seconds before he interrupted the hush. "Sure, Honey. We'll call Mayo as soon as we finish here." He knew a phone call to the Mayo Clinic, or any other medical facility in the world, would be futile. There were no new or better treatments for Guillain-Barre syndrome. However, he was willing to make the call to support her through the coping process. "But, before we go the Mayo Clinic route, can we please start treating you today with some medications that will strengthen you for the battle to come?"
"No. I'm not ready for that." Her denial was palpable.
Stoker paused for a moment before he renewed his plea. "A treatment today may help lessen symptoms down the road. It's crucial."
"No, Troy! I said no, and I mean no!"
Stoker wouldn't back down. "Your body is fighting a war right now. It needs help. A treatment called immunoglobulin therapy may help you avoid paralysis or shorten the number of days on a ventilator."
"I'm not ready. Maybe further down the road."
Stoker made it a rule to avoid manipulating Allie with "tricks" he had learned as a psychotherapist. But today he knew how important it was to coax Allie into accepting the treatment. "For me, Allie? Will you please do it for me? So, I don't have to spend extra days watching you on a ventilator, agonizing. For your family? You know your sister's going to fly in. There will be people here supporting you. Please don't extend their suffering."
Allie's tone was low and angry. Her words came out slowly. "Don't you use your mental, intellectual malarkey on me, Troy Stoker."
"Yes, I'm trying to persuade you. This treatment is that important. But, I'm mostly thinking of you—"
Allie cut him off and attempted to finish his thought with a sassy expression. "And you'll support me, like you always say you will, if I reject this immunoglobulin treatment?"
"No," Stoker said. "While my love is unconditional, I do not want you to make this foolish decision to avoid the immunoglobulin therapy. Hours count right now. I want you to ski this winter."
It struck Allie to realize her cross country ski season was in jeopardy. "Troy, you're such an oaf sometimes. I'm sure I would've responded to empathy eventually. But, if you want instant results, tell me my ski season's in jeopardy. What's the treatment you're talking about?"
Rivera interjected. "A shot in the butt, for a real pain in
the—"
The neurologist interrupted Rivera. "We inject immunoglobulin into the top of your buttocks." She smiled wryly at Dr. Rivera. "And most of the time without insulting our patients. Isn't that right Dr. Rivera?"
Rivera ignored the neurologist's question and used the opportunity to explain the treatment further. "The antibodies from this shot will counteract the antibodies eroding away your nerve sheaths. Less nerve damage now means more cross-country skiing next winter." Rivera smiled and nodded slightly toward Stoker. "And this is an excellent moment to manipulate your husband into committing to a ski vacation."
"Colorado, Troy. You're taking me to Colorado this winter. We'll h
ire a guide. And, we'll strap on backcountry skis with skins. We will climb the peaks in the wee hours of the morning. Then we will reward ourselves with spectacular descents through virgin powder snow."
"It's a deal," Stoker said. "Now pull down your pants a bit and let the doctor give you this shot. I warn most people this injection hurts. But I know better than to concern you with pain."
That evening Allie and Troy Stoker walked along Chicago's North Avenue Beach. Allie had suggested the stroll by emphasizing how much she wanted to walk, while she still could. They stopped at a diner and ordered hearty spinach salads. Allie ordered Mahi Mahi fish tacos and a glass of Riesling. Stoker chose a jerk chicken sandwich and a dark tap beer. After dinner, they walked further up the beach. "What do we do next, Troy?" Allie asked. "Do I rest and wait, or do I go about my daily business as long as I can?"
"What do you think?" Stoker asked.
"Every once in a while, I hear you talk about how so many of your patients just have to take their lives one day at a time. Now we're the patients. I'm terrified of being helpless and dependent." Troy did not reply. He wanted Allie to continue to process her thoughts out loud. "I guess I just take it day by day."
"We can do that," Stoker said, making sure Allie knew he was listening.
• • •
That morning, Z slept in until nine-thirty at Hotel Esatto. After breakfast, he walked around the hotel. He noted two interesting patterns. First, there were many housekeepers with Iranian first names. Second, there were few Arabic first names among the housekeepers. He wondered, did this hotel favor Shiite Muslims? Was this part of the Iranian connection?
At one point Z also walked down a service corridor into the bowels of Hotel Esatto, an area most guests would never see. It connected the kitchen, laundry, and housekeeping functions of the hotel. He placed additional tiny cameras in hidden places where people were not likely to notice. He also found the employee entrance and hid a small camera in a position to monitor the entrance. Because Roya was more likely to arrive at night, the camera had infrared capabilities. Later that day, he would take delivery of additional cameras and pieces of impressive technology. He would use them to learn more about Roya. With a little luck, she would lead Espada Rápida and the FBI to the Iranian cell.
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