by Jenifer Ruff
“What if I start to feel sick?”
“Call the number on that card right away.”
Amanda said goodbye to Jennifer, wishing she could say something to ease the woman’s fears. Until she knew what they were dealing with, no comforting words could be found. Her assistant, Karen, walked up behind her, putting an end to her thoughts.
“Hi, I’m here.” Karen stopped at the edge of the corridor. “Should I wear a suit?”
“Just wear gloves and a face shield for now. You won’t need to touch the body.”
Karen helped Amanda get dressed into her PPE. They entered Spitz’s apartment together.
“Whoa,” Karen said. “Be glad you can’t smell anything. It’s bad.”
“Jennifer Perkins almost opened the windows. Thank God, she didn’t. Until we find out what type of sickness we’re dealing with, we can’t risk exposing anyone else.”
“What?” said Karen. “It’s hard to hear you when you’re wearing the headgear.”
“Never mind.” Together they walked into Spitz’s apartment and found his body on his worn, tweed couch wearing only boxer shorts.
“Good God,” Karen said, looking around.
Dark splashes and spatters coated the floors of the living room, bedroom, and even the lower walls of the bathroom, evidence of violent sickness. A toppled glass lay atop a side table surrounded by a puddle of water. Below, a dark stain marred the carpet. A blood-tainted shirt and plaid flannel pants were balled up on the floor near the couch as if they had been ripped off and thrown to the ground.
Amanda moved closer to the couch. “Well-established rigor mortis, which puts his death over 24 hours ago. That’s my estimate. Whatever he has, it’s ravaged his body.”
“Wow.” Karen stood a few yards away, unable to take her eyes off the body, “This is bad.”
Severe conjunctivitis marked his eyes and bloody mucosal membranes allowed a trickle of blood to escape his nose and harden into crust. A hemorrhagic rash fanned the fair skin of his torso like a bright red spider web. A chill ran down Amanda’s spine. She had hoped the medics were mistaken. Although she’d been warned, she wasn’t expecting this.
“Have Mass General—”
“Can’t hear you,” said Karen.
Amanda spoke louder. “Have Mass General set up a monitored quarantine unit for Ms. Perkins and the medics who were here earlier. Asking them to stay inside isn’t enough. Not until we figure this out.”
“Okay,” Karen said.
Amanda scraped a drop of blood from Spitz’s cheek and applied it to her DxH device. She stared intently at the device until it beeped. She read the results and pursed her lips. “Inconclusive match for any known viruses, but enough markers to indicate a hemorrhagic fever of some sort.”
“I still can’t hear you well. Did you say of some sort?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what this is.”
Karen stepped carefully around the human detritus. There was something particularly disturbing and mysterious about Mike Spitz’s death, which is why they had been called out to his apartment in the first place. She took short, shallow breaths. Regardless of precautions, infection was still possible. She located a wallet on the floor, wet from the spilled water, and opened it to glimpse inside. Her gloves made the simple task more difficult, but using a small metal file to separate the contents, she identified cash, a football game ticket, receipts, a license, and two credit cards. On the floor next to the bed lay a cell phone. She placed it in an evidence bag just as Amanda’s own phone rang.
“It’s Ron Greene,” Amanda said with a hint of reverence and surprise. She could see the lit screen, but couldn’t answer it without risking contamination.
“If the CDC director is calling you, it must be important.”
“Yeah, but I can’t answer it now.”
The ringing stopped and started again after a few seconds. “Karen, decontaminate your hands, step outside, remove your gloves, use the sanitizer and then call him back.”
Karen nodded.
“Be careful. Take your time.”
A few minutes later Karen called from the doorway. “Amanda?”
“Yes?” Amanda answered with a sharp voice, irritated about her thoughts being interrupted. She was so focused on Mike Spitz, she forgot about the director’s call.
“Ron has some questions for you. I told him you were suited up. He said it can’t wait.”
“What is it?” Amanda raised her voice so Karen could hear her through her mask.
“He wants to know if your findings support Spitz having hemorrhagic fever.”
“Like I said, it sure looks that way. I’ll know more after we get the samples back to the lab. Why is he asking?”
Karen repeated Amanda’s comments to the director. “He wants me to put him on speaker phone.” She pushed the speaker button and held the phone out closer to Amanda, at arms-length, without stepping forward. Amanda walked toward her.
“Victim’s name is Mike Spitz, correct?” Ron asked.
“Correct.”
“He’s Caucasian? Early twenties?”
“Yes.”
“Hold on. I’m searching his background.”
Amanda waited, wondering what was going on, until Ron spoke again. She could hear the change in his voice. “Mike Spitz left the country four weeks ago, and returned on October 28th.”
“West Africa?” Amanda asked, assuming he picked up the virus there.
“No. Paris.”
Paris? No one contracted hemorrhagic fever visiting Paris. “Ron, may I ask why you’re checking in with me?”
“The FBI issued a national alert asking about similar cases. A man was discovered this morning in Los Angeles. Also with a form of hemorrhagic fever. Also left the country for Paris four weeks ago. He—hold on.” He paused. “I’m going to call you back.”
Amanda continued her examination, dictating her observations to Karen, who stood, masked, with her back to the apartment door. The director called back fifteen minutes later. Karen put him on speaker phone again.
“Link the preliminary results from your DxH to the CDC contact in LA. I’ll send her number to Karen. Send them immediately.”
“Yes. Will do.”
Amanda and Karen exchanged a look. Karen said, “What’s going on?”
Amanda shook her head. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Los Angeles
November 4th
Madeline Hamilton shook her head in frustration. Their investigation of the newly named virus, E.Coryza 1, or E.C.1 for short, was getting nowhere. A team of experienced epidemiologists sat around a large table, anxious to get to work on understanding the situation and preventing a national epidemic. Unfortunately, with their current data, or lack of it, to be more precise, it was impossible to establish a case. They should have been interviewing everyone who had been exposed to Pivani over the past few weeks, as well as anyone who had direct contact with those exposed to him, and so on, isolating anyone found to have E.C.1.
“We have no information on where Pivani has been for the past four weeks?” said a woman with gray hair and glasses. “Obviously, we need data to figure out when, where, and how he contracted the disease. Without that information, we’ll never know who he encountered after he became symptomatic. We’ll never figure out the origin of E.Coryza 1. The disease could be spreading like wildfire this very minute with infected people leaving and entering countries.”
“So, right now, the only data we have represents time from symptoms to death, based on the testimony of his neighbors? One day, maybe two, from symptomatic to death. Which is…unbelievable,” said a tall scientist.
“It appears he went to great trouble to stay out of sight and avoid any sort of paper trail. I mean, who goes to Paris without using credit cards? We need more invasive search methods to track down his activities abroad. Are other agencies helping? I mean, do they realize this is monumental? Unprecedented?” sa
id the grey-haired woman.
“Absolutely,’ Madeline said. “The FBI is working on it. Working around the clock. And I know they’ll contact us as soon as they learn anything new. Let’s focus on the little information we do have.”
“No one else from his place of employment is sick, but they have all been asked to self-monitor and call us immediately if symptoms develop,” said the tall scientist.
“Our French counterparts are on alert, but so far, they haven’t identified anyone with a similar disease. For right now, we’ll need to focus on the disease itself,” said Madeline.
Of course, if Pivani’s illness represented some form of bioterrorism, an intentional infection, which was looking likely, Pivani could possibly be the index patient. His recent unexplained whereabouts certainly cast suspicions. Madeline had correctly assumed something wasn’t right when she arrived at Pivani’s house and called Quinn immediately. And that was the reason she called him, she told herself. It had nothing to do with wanting to see him. Nothing to do with the way she felt when they were working together. Yes, she was pleased he’d come to her office earlier in the day. He could have just called her back, but he drove across the city to speak with her in person, even though he was clearly exhausted. She sighed. Why was she doing this to herself? She knew he was married. He made his choice. And despite the rumors she’d heard about Holly’s behavior, he appeared to be sticking with her. Unfortunately, his loyalty made Madeline respect him even more.
“The good news is we haven’t found anyone who was exposed to Pivani since his symptoms appeared,” said the youngest member of the team.
“It’s not good news if we aren’t sure,” said the tall man.
A phone call from the director of the CDC made Madeline pause. “Excuse me. I better take this.”
She answered her phone and heard, “Dr. Hamilton, this is Ron Green. I just got off the phone with a CDC physician in Boston. She’s in an apartment complex right now examining a body similarly affected to the one you found in Los Angeles. I need you to quickly determine if it is the same cause of death. From what we’ve learned so far, I’ll be surprised if it’s not. This man also left the country for Paris and returned in the same timeframe. We’ll need to find the connection as soon as possible. We could have something big here. I’ve sent you the physician’s information, her name is Amanda Cooney.”
“I know Dr. Cooney. We’ve worked together before,” Madeline said.
“Good. The Boston office will share everything you need. Let me know if there’s a correlation as soon as you have the results. I’m about to notify authorities in Paris of this second case. Like it or not, their city appears to be involved.”
After the call ended, Madeline updated the epidemiologists.
“A similarly diseased body across the country in Boston?” said the youngest. “Wow.”
“And both deceased men traveled to and from Paris around the same time?” said the grey-haired woman. “Hopefully we’ll finally learn what they were doing in Paris.”
Madeline wondered if Quinn knew about the Boston discovery yet. She’d check with him in few minutes, but she couldn’t waste another second before calling Amanda Cooney. It might be too late to focus on how the disease was contracted. They might need to concentrate all their efforts on stopping its spread.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Charlotte, NC
November 4th
Amin walked away from the Charlotte Islamic Center disappointed. The service underwhelmed him. He understood every word, but the message lacked the urgency and the buzz of energy he had grown accustomed to in Syria. The beauty and holiness of the services abroad had reached him at a deeper level. The contagious intensity was missing at home.
During the service, he didn’t notice Isa’s father kneeling only a few yards away, but Isa’s father had seen him. He speed-walked until he caught up with Amin on the sidewalk outside. “Hello,” he said, out of breath. “I’ve been hoping to see you for weeks now.”
“Hello. How is Isa? When is her big day?” Amin tried not to project any ill will.
“Ah, well. Slightly embarrassing, that.” He looked at the ground before meeting Amin’s eyes again. “It seems I got slightly ahead of myself where Isa is concerned. Isa isn’t engaged. The man I introduced is only a good friend of hers. She seemed particularly upset that I misled you.” Isa’s father studied Amin’s face as if searching into his soul. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I jumped the gun, as they say. It’s quite different here. A father just wants his daughter to be happily married.”
“Really? Oh.” A wave of relief spread through Amin’s body. Isa wasn’t engaged! A sharp pang brought him back to reality. This wasn’t the right time to involve Isa in his life. He was currently unemployed, and he might have something to take care of first—this thing with Kareem. But still, his heart soared with the good news. Isa was still single. If only he hadn’t avoided her, he would have known this weeks ago.
“I know that at your age it can be a constant challenge to balance a devout Muslim life with American values. It’s hard, but it can be done. I’m in a study group that meets here once a week on Thursday nights. We also do community outreach. Would you like to join us?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you for the invitation,” Amin said sincerely. Isa’s father’s comments rang true and the study group sounded like just the thing Amin needed to stay on track spiritually. His life appeared to have turned the corner on possibilities.
Isa’s father walked away and Amin turned his phone back on. Three voice mails had accumulated. Doug, Melissa, and Kareem had all called during the past hour. He walked to a nearby park and sat on a bench facing a pond. His finger hovered over the delete button for all the messages, until his curiosity got the best of him. He pressed play.
“Hi. Amin. It’s Doug. Uh, if you’re still looking for a job, a new opportunity opened at the bank. I’ve recommended you. Melissa wrote a peer recognition review and suggested you, so it’s her you should thank.”
The last of the rush hour traffic zipped by, but Amin hardly noticed. He tried to figure out his thoughts on returning to tedious spreadsheets and long hours. He closed his eyes. After a moment of reflection, he still had mixed feelings about the offer.
He played another of his messages.
“Hi Amin, it’s Melissa. I hope you’re doing well. I don’t know if Doug has called you yet, but there’s a new finance position open in the credit card division and you’re a perfect fit for the job. I think it’s a bump in level too, which is always nice. I hope you’ll come in and interview. Let me know. Maybe you’ve already found something. That would be great too. Either way, keep in touch.”
Hmmm. It was nice of Melissa to think of him. He hadn’t missed sitting in his cube every day, but he needed a job. Melissa said this one was a good fit. He trusted her judgment more than Doug’s. He called Melissa, and was surprised when she answered and spoke to him as if they were good friends. Maybe they were and he had missed it. After all, he wasn’t the best at reading people’s emotions, at least he had figured out that much over the past few weeks. In less than five minutes, he had been transferred to HR and had an interview scheduled for the following Monday. He sat on the bench for ten more minutes, watching people walking dogs, jogging, and feeding geese. He speculated about returning to the bank. All of it was a means of procrastinating before he listened to the message from Kareem.A quote by Nelson Mandela popped into his mind because Melissa had it pinned to her cube wall. “The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” He never thought it was the most appropriate quote for the finance department, but it did fit with his current situation.Finally, he pressed play on the third message.
“Call me, cousin. We need to talk.”
His body automatically responded to Kareem’s voice with alarm, the same sensation he would expect if he heard there was a fire in his apartment building. He didn’t call. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Ka
reem. It would depend on what Kareem had in store for him. He didn’t know if he was more afraid of not being able to stop Kareem from whatever he planned to do, or of stopping him and permanently severing all ties with his cousin. Which fear represented bravery and which was cowardly? How could he conquer either if he wasn’t sure? An image of Isa played around the edges of his thoughts, and helped him answer his own question. He could and would do whatever was needed to prevent her from harm. Kareem was family, but some things were more important than family. If only he knew what, exactly, Kareem planned to do.
Recently, Amin read in the newspapers about an angry and confused young man in Miami who had gone on a rampage in a grocery store with an assault rifle. He murdered five innocent people and wounded others before someone shot and killed him. An investigation revealed the perpetrator’s bedroom was stockpiled with guns and ammunition. The public aimed their outrage at his family, three other adults who lived in the same house. Didn’t they notice his private arsenal? Why didn’t they alert authorities? There were plenty of clues something wasn’t right. Their proactive cooperation could have saved lives. Amin did not want a repeat situation. But, after three weeks of living with Kareem, he hadn’t seen a single weapon. And he didn’t think there was any way for someone to enter the country with a weapon or weapon making supplies anyway. Amin’s worries only stemmed from his cousin’s growing hatred for America. And America was one of the few places on earth where people could hate aloud without fear of persecution, so he really had nothing to report.
But just in case, when he got back to his apartment, Amin booted up his old Dell and typed in how to report suspected terrorism.