Hosts

by F. Paul Wilson

  Jack gently gripped her arm. "Point blank tends to work better face to face. Where's his office?"

  "NYU Medical Center."

  "Along First Avenue?" That was due east from here—Twenty-seventh would take them right to it. "Road trip?"

  "Why not. We'll pay Dr. Fielding a little surprise visit." She started toward the door, then stopped. "But what if he doesn't want to talk? What if he stonewalls us?"

  Yeah, he might try that. But Jeanette was important to his sister, which made her important to Jack. No stonewalls today. Jack would be along to see to that.

  "He'll talk," Jack told her. When she gave him a strange look he added, "People just seem to open up to me. It's a gift. You'll see."

  10

  "Yeah," Joe said, "but how do we know if that's where he lives? Maybe he's just visiting."

  Stan Kozlowski chewed the inner surface of his cheek as he stared at the ornate apartment building on West Twenty-seventh. This had to be the sixth time Joe had asked that same question, and Stan was just as much at a loss for an answer now as the first time.

  They'd followed their guy here after Riverside Park. Not so hard.

  He hadn't seemed to be on the lookout for a tail, but they'd taken every precaution, giving him so long a lead one time they almost lost him.

  They'd seen him go into this building. Since they couldn't follow him inside, they'd found a shady spot on the same side of the street and kept watch on the entrance.

  "Only one way to find out," Stan told him. "Tail him everywhere he goes, and wherever he keeps coming back to, wherever he spends the night, that's where he lives."

  "You hope."

  "Since we don't know his name or anything about him—"

  "We got that whisper that his name might be Jack."

  "A 'might-be' doesn't help us. And Jack isn't exactly a rare name.

  Don't see how we've got much choice except to watch and wait."

  "I can't wait, Stan. Been waitin' too long already."

  "Just hang in there, Joe. A week ago we had no hope of ever seeing this guy again. Now we've got him in our sights."

  "Ka-pow! Joe said, grinning.

  "Ka-pow is right. We—hey, isn't that him?"

  Yes. Definitely him. And he wasn't alone. He had his arm around a blonde.

  "Shit," Joe said softly as they pressed back against a wall. "He's got a babe. Ain't that sweet."

  "If she's a live-in, bro, we may have found his crib. But let's keep on him, just to be sure."

  "Oh, yeah," Joe said, grinning as he rubbed his scarred hand with his good one. " 'Cause we want to be sure."

  Stan watched the couple turn and head for Sixth Avenue. This was kind of fun. And the best part was that he hadn't seen Joe enjoying himself this much in years.

  11

  "All I can say," Dr. Fielding said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, "is be patient."

  Kate watched the light glisten off his gelled black hair as he sat behind his desk in his cluttered office on the third floor of the Solomon and Miriam Brody Center for Clinical Research. Kate knew the marble halls of this two-story, brick-faced building well. She'd been here enough times with Jeanette.

  Fielding had looked rattled when they'd barged in—Jack had not accepted any excuses from the receptionist—but had settled back into his self-assured role of physician-priest. Kate was familiar with the type; she'd met enough of them in her work.

  He'd sworn he'd been in touch with NIH daily, and that he was as anxious as Kate for their help.

  "But she's getting worse by the day," Kate said, keeping her voice calm though she wanted to scream.

  "I know, I know." He shook his head mournfully. "But we're dealing with a bureaucracy the size of the Pentagon."

  An overstatement, Kate knew. So did Fielding, apparently. He glanced at Jack—something he'd been doing repeatedly. Maybe because Jack had announced upon entering that his sister had some questions and hadn't said a word since. He'd simply sat and stared at Fielding. Kate found his basilisk act unsettling; she could only imagine how Fielding felt.

  Abruptly, Jack came to life. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood.

  "Well, I guess that's it then." He extended his hand to Fielding. "Thanks for your time, Doc."

  Fielding rose and they shook hands. "I'm sure we'll have this all straightened out soon."

  "One more question," Jack said, still holding Fielding's hand. "Why are you lying?"

  "What? How dare—"

  Jack's grip shifted and suddenly he was holding Fielding's thumb, bending it, twisting it. Fielding groaned as his knees buckled.

  "Jack!" Kate said, stepping toward him. "Dear Lord, what are you doing? Stop it!"

  "I apologize for the strong-arm stuff, Kate," he told her. "If we had time I'd find another way. But since time is tight—"

  "I'll call security!" Fielding gasped. He brought his free hand up to try to break Jack's grip but that only allowed Jack to trap his left thumb as well. "The police!"

  "Fine." Jack spoke softly, calmly, as if giving a passerby directions to the nearest subway. "But that won't stop me from dislocating both your thumbs and putting a three-sixty twist on each of them. You're a doctor. You figure out how long it'll be before you can use them again, if ever. The cops may come, but you'll have to live without opposable thumbs. A lower life form."

  "Jack, please!" She'd never imagined her brother like this—an irresistible force, implacable, glowering with the threat, the promise of violence. He was frightening, terrifying. "He doesn't—"

  "Truth!" Jack said, voice rising as he gave both thumbs a quarter twist. "You haven't called NIH, have you. Not even once. Am I right?"

  Fielding whimpered as sweat beaded his livid face. Finally he nodded.

  "You bastard!" Kate said.

  Jack looked at her. "The B-word?"

  Kate ignored him and stepped up to Fielding's desk. Just a heartbeat ago she'd felt sorry for the man—she hated seeing anyone hurt—but now she wanted to grab his brass pen set and brain him. It had taken Jack a mere thirty seconds to melt away Fielding's mask, reducing him from distinguished colleague to weasel.

  "Why not?" she cried. "Explain!"

  "Please?" he panted, nodding toward his trapped hands.

  Jack released the left, but kept a grip on the right. "We're waiting."

  Fielding took a deep breath. "The vector virus didn't mutate."

  Kate was stunned. "But if there's no mutation, why—?"

  He looked away. "It's a contaminant."

  Now she understood.

  "So what?" Jack said. "Either way, Jeanette's got the wrong bug in her brain, so—"

  "He can't be blamed for a wild mutation," Kate told him. "Not unless he exposed the virus to ionizing radiation. But a contaminant… he's wholly responsible for that. No excuses there. A contaminant makes him look very bad."

  "You slug," Jack growled. "Just for the hell of it I ought to—"

  "No… please…" Fielding whined.

  "Jack, don't."

  Jack shoved Fielding's hand away, sending him back into his chair where he cowered.

  Kate closed her eyes and gave herself time to pull her turbulent thoughts together. She knew the next question but hesitated to ask it, feared the answer. But someone had to.

  "What is the contaminant?" she said.

  "That's just it. I don't know. It's unlike any virus I've ever seen. Seems to be in a class by itself."

  Oh, no. Kate's stomach lurched. "How did this happen?"

  "I'm baffled," Fielding said. "We keep all the cultures under lock and key, with a sign-in, sign-out procedure."

  Jack said, "You mean someone would want to steal a virus?"

  "No, of course not. It's simply to insure that only authorized personnel—people who know the protocols of handling viruses—come in contact with the cultures. It's designed to prevent the very thing that happened: contamination."

  "Looks like your people need a refresher course," K
ate said.

  She noticed an uneasy expression flash across Fielding's face.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Wrong?" Fielding said. "Nothing."

  "Tell her," Jack said. He interlaced his fingers and popped his knuckles. Fielding jumped at the sound.

  "We had, er, something of a breach in the security procedures."

  Jack leaned closer. "What kind of something?"

  "An unauthorized person gained access to the viral cultures."

  Kate felt sick. "Some sort of terrorist?"

  "I doubt that. I might never have known if I hadn't learned about the contaminant. I went back and checked the sign-in records and found a name that didn't belong."

  "Anyone we know?" Jack said. "Like Holdstock, maybe?"

  "No. I found only one entry, dated months ago." He sifted through the papers on his desk and came up with a Xerox of a sign-in sheet. He pointed to an entry he'd circled in red. "There. 'Ms. Aralo.' But we have no one named Aralo in the institute, let alone with clearance to the viral lab."

  "Wait a minute," Jack said, grabbing the sheet and staring at it.

  "What's the matter?" Kate asked. "Do you know her?"

  He shook his head. "Never heard of her. But something about that name…" He stared awhile longer, silently mouthing the name, then handed it back. "Forget it. Whatever it was, it's gone. Probably nothing."

  But Kate could see it still bothered him.

  "Well, if you remember anything, please let me know immediately. No one here remembers a thing about this person, not even who allowed her to sign in."

  "Do you think this Aralo woman contaminated them?"

  "I have to assume so. She signed for my adenovirus cultures. But I keep asking myself why. What purpose could anyone have in contaminating cultures used to fight brain tumors?"

  "Some professional rivalry?" Kate suggested.

  Fielding shrugged. "I'm not exactly breaking new ground here; more like fine tuning a protocol."

  "How about germ warfare?" Jack said.

  Fielding smiled for the first time since they'd arrived—a small, condescending twist of the lips. "With an adenovirus? Highly unlikely."

  Jack glared and spoke through his teeth. "I meant the contaminant."

  Fielding's smile vanished. "Also unlikely. It doesn't seem to cause any symptoms."

  "Other than personality changes," Kate said.

  "If that. We can't be sure. But even if it does, that's not a terrorist scenario. They want terror—something of epidemic proportions like ebola where people are dropping like flies in pools of bloody excrement. From what I've learned so far about the contaminant it isn't air or fecal borne."

  "Then it's blood borne?" Kate said, feeling a chill.

  She glanced down at her palm. The puncture wound had healed. But had something entered through that little break in her skin?

  "I believe so," Fielding said. "If only Jeanette or Holdstock or one of the others would cooperate, I might have a handle on it. I'd love to see if they've formed any antibodies. It's a strange virus that can occupy the cerebrospinal fluid—at least I'm assuming that's where it's concentrated—without causing any sign of encephalitis or meningitis."

  "Which are?" Jack said.

  "Anything from fever and headache to paralysis, seizures, coma, death."

  Jack looked at her. "Jeanette looked pretty healthy this morning."

  "Physically, she's been fine," Kate said.

  But what about me? she wondered.

  She felt okay now, but she remembered mild aches and chills and a headache yesterday and the day before.

  "That's what's so puzzling," Fielding said. "There seems to be virtually no immune response—at least nothing that's clinically apparent. If only I could get a sample of blood…"

  "We're going to let NIH worry about that," Jack said. "Aren't we."

  "And the CDC," Kate added.

  Fielding paled. "Look. I'm Jeanette's best hope. I'm way ahead of everyone on the contaminant. I've already started testing virucidal agents against it."

  "And?" Kate said, praying for some good news.

  "No luck so far." He licked his lips and spoke quickly. "But at least I know what doesn't work, and when I find one that does, I'm sure I can reverse the effects on Jeanette and the others. I've already started laying the groundwork for a polysaccharide vaccine against the contaminant."

  "Good," Jack said. "Now the big boys can pick up where you left off."

  Fielding pressed his palms together as if in prayer. "Please give me a little more time. I can do this faster than those big bureaucracies. They'll take forever to start meaningful research."

  "Forget it," Jack said.

  Kate opened her mouth to agree, but a wave of indecision swept over her, clogging the words in her throat.

  Maybe Fielding's right. Maybe he can do more alone than those lumbering bureaucracies.

  No. That was ridiculous. She had a duty to let NIH and the CDC know about a new virus that causes personality changes.

  The indecision mounted… Why not give Fielding some time? With such low danger of contagion, why not wait… for Jeanette's sake. Just a few days…

  She shook her head. Where did these crazy ideas come from?

  "Kate?" Jack said.

  She looked up and found Jack and Fielding staring at her. Fielding's face was hopeful, Jack's expression said, You can't be having second thoughts about this.

  And that look broke through the wall of indecision.

  "Call them now," she said, pushing out the words. Pain lanced through her skull as she spoke them.

  "Right," Jack said. "I see you've got a speakerphone. Use that. We'll listen."

  "No, please. I—"

  "If you call CDC," Kate said, fighting to control her voice, to keep from screaming at this man, "you can salvage something of your reputation. If I have to make the call, I'll tell them how you refused to report a wild contaminant, and then you can kiss your career good-bye."

  Fielding made the call.

  Kate sat with Jack, listening to the speakerphone as Fielding wove his way through the CDC maze until he found the right someone in the right office who could handle his problem. Dr. Paige Freeman, who sounded as if she couldn't be over twelve, gave him specific instructions on how to overnight the sample to Atlanta.

  Kate personally oversaw the sealing, packing, and shipping of the culture. They even waited for the FedEx man to pick it up.

  Dr. Fielding had been subdued during all this, but his resolve appeared to stiffen as they were leaving.

  "It's not fair, you know. I always follow strict anti-contamination procedures. I can't be held responsible if someone deliberately contaminated the culture. It's just not fair!"

  "You believe in fair?" Jack said. "I suppose you believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy too. You think fair just happens? It doesn't. You want fair, you make fair."

  Kate looked at Jack, surprised by his sudden intensity. What was he getting at?

  But Fielding seemed to understand. He nodded, saying, "I still say I'm your friend's best hope. I've got a head start on this and I'm going to keep after it. If I'm going to get stuck with the blame for the contaminant, then I might as well take the credit for discovering how to control it. You watch. Before the CDC has even begun to roll, I'll have the solution for you."

  Kate thought him overly optimistic but didn't want to discourage him.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "And if I could just get a sample of Jeanette's blood," Fielding said, "it would certainly speed the process."

  "We'll see what we can do," Jack told him.

  After they'd left Fielding's office, Kate asked, "How do you think we're going to get blood from Jeanette?"

  He shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Lots of ways to get blood."

  Kate sighed and let it go. At least the experts were on the case now. She knew the Center for Disease Control, despite its worldwide renown, was neither infallible nor omnipotent, but it had access
to the best virologists in the world. She felt confident that a solution was on the way.

  But just as her spirits began to lift, they dipped. Would she need treatment too? Although she had no way of knowing for sure, and did not want to believe it, Kate suspected that Jeanette had infected her with the rogue virus.

  Why? Why would Jeanette do such a thing to her? She shuddered at the thought of an unidentified organism taking up residence in her body, invading her cells and multiplying. What could it be doing to her?

  12

  Stan paid the cabby and joined Joe at the curb.

  "What do you think they were doing over at that medical center?" Joe asked.

  "Beats me."

  They'd followed their guy and his woman over to the East Side, hung around First Avenue for what seemed like hours, then tailed them back here to their starting point.

  "Think he's got cancer or something?"

  Stan didn't remember a sign on the building that said anything about cancer. What was going on in Joe's head?

  "How would I know? And what difference does it make?"

  "Because if he's got the Big C, maybe we don't do him right away. Maybe we wait and watch him rot for a few months, then do him."

  They stood way up toward Sixth near a framing place where they had a long view of the front of the apartment building. Their guy hadn't gone in yet. He hung outside the front door talking to his lady.

  "That'd sort of be like putting him out of his misery, don't you think?"

  Joe kept staring at their guy. "Maybe, but I don't want no lousy tumor putting him away. We gotta do that. We gotta be the ones that sign his death certificate. Ain't that right?"

  Stan wondered if Joe meant 'death sentence' but didn't get to ask because suddenly Joe was grabbing his arm.

  "Shit! What're they doin'? They're splittin'!"

  Their guy had wrapped his arms around his girl in a clinch that had the look of a good-bye hug.

  "Get moving!" Stan said. "Other side of the street. Follow him if he takes off."

  Although he worried about Joe losing control while tailing this guy, he couldn't risk going himself. Stan still looked pretty much the same as he had two years ago. This guy would recognize him if he spotted him. Joe, with his extra forty pounds and semi-beard had a better chance of going unnoticed.