by Gary Glass
“What is it?” Delacourt said, breaking into a smile.
“Oh, it’s not really funny, I guess. But I was just imagining what she must have been up to that got her arrested. Karen Hanover on the warpath. She’s not very big, but I can just see her storming into some hapless bureaucrat’s office demanding to know exactly where her husband is, and I mean now.”
“I wonder how she’d make out with our colonel?”
“That’d be an interesting match-up.”
It was well past dinner time before the police at last got around to processing her — DNA-printed her, recorded against her various petty infractions of the peace and security, took her hopelessly irrelevant statement, ignored her pointless demands that they find out why the hell her missing husband was on television, and finally released her, pending arraignment.
The discharging officer handed her a trash bag with her effects in it, and told her to go home, remain in the state, keep the judicial system advised of any changes of address or contact information, and, by all means, stay away from the Board of Health building and the Board of Health officers. When Karen asked for an estimated trial date, the officer shrugged his shoulders:
“Search me.”
“This year?”
“Maybe.”
“Ever read Kafka?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. What about my car?”
“Yes?”
“I drove my car to the Board of Health.”
“So?”
“So is it still there?”
The officer scanned his screen.
“Nothing on the arrest report about it.”
“So it’s still there?”
Again with the shrug.
Karen laid it all out step by step: “Look. I’m supposed to stay away from the Board of Health. My car is at the Board of Health. The car is my property. How am I supposed to get my car?”
The officer looked at her like he couldn’t understand why she was being such a pain in the neck, and said, simply: “Who’d know?”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“On what?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
Karen turned and walked away, carrying her trash bag.
She caught a taxi in six seconds flat. Apparently the cabbies were in the know on the misplaced car problem. While the driver darted and weaved through the afternoon traffic, Karen rooted through the trash bag for her phone. There was a text from Ally, three hours old.
i’ve been trying to call you. i assume you’ve seen who’s in the news today. i haven’t been able to reach carl. please call me as soon as you can.
p.s. the cdc shut down my shop.
Karen called her as she was reading the message.
“Where have you been?” Ally said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I’d believe. You got my message? Have you seen the news?”
“Yes. Heard from Carl yet?”
“No. Nothing. Are you at home? You better come over. I’m at the shop.”
“Didn’t they shut you down?”
“Yes. I’m just sitting around watching the news. Knock on the door.”
She had the cab driver take her all through the nearly empty parking garage twice. Her car finder never lit up. Her car was gone. The bastards had it towed. Why didn’t anyone tell her? She considered going inside to ask, police warnings be damned, but it was already dark, and the place was closed.
She told the driver to take her home.
She gave the driver a huge tip. Why not?
The camera was still on her door. She took it down and threw it out the window.
She fed the cat. Took a shower. Her clothes stank. She considered throwing them all away, but figured she couldn’t afford it now she was out of work. She dumped them in the washer and started it. She’d have to get her coat dry-cleaned. She amused herself grimly with fantasies of sending the bill to the Chicago Police Department.
She put on her parka and went out. It was getting late, past 10:00 already. She walked to Ally’s shop in the dark. The streets were deserted.
A block from the shop, she saw a police car coming down the street toward her. She crouched down behind someone’s stoop to hide. She knew she was acting irrationally, they couldn’t possibly be looking for her, but she couldn’t help herself. One day in jail, already I’m paranoid.
Chapter 27
The display in the door glass of Ally’s shop read, in large bright blue letters:
Coffee Alley has been closed until further notice by order of the CDC.
Keeping us safe from insanity.
—Ally
( www.coffeealley.biz )
Have a nice day!
Karen didn’t have to knock: Ally was standing at the door watching for her through the transparent display, her arms folded over a tablet against her chest. She opened the door and let Karen in, then surprised her with a warm embrace. Karen stiffened, but Ally’s gesture was so frank, so genuine, that it seemed to evaporate the anger out of her.
Ally stepped back and looked at her carefully. In the gloom of the closed shop, her eyes seemed to shine like a cat’s — catching the fluttering light of the video screen in the corner flashing the news, the news, the news.
“Listen,” she said, “it’s true that my husband kidnapped your husband … but let’s us be friends anyway. Just for spite.”
Karen almost laughed, almost started to cry. “Have you heard from him yet?” she said.
“No.”
“I’ve been in jail all day.”
Ally’s reaction puzzled Karen. “You’ve been in jail all day,” she said matter-of-factly. And again: “You’ve been in jail all day.”
“Yes. I’ve been in jail all day.”
“Well, that’s curious,” Ally said, looking away.
“I wasn’t there by choice.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I can still smell it on myself.”
Ally smiled again, touched Karen’s shoulder. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “Let’s eat something. Before it all goes to waste.”
How odd she seemed. Karen wondered vaguely what was bothering her. But she didn’t feel inclined to ask just yet. She was too weary from her own difficulties.
“This has got to be the strangest day of my life,” she said.
Ally led her over to a booth against the wall. “This is where I spent my day,” she said.
The table was covered with dishes and glasses, a tablet and a phone, wadded up napkins, a jar of pickles.
Karen took off her parka and pulled two bottles of wine out of her book bag. “Let’s get drunk.”
They kept the news playing, but to avoid attracting the attention of police patrols, they kept the sound low, the screen dim, and dialed the windows down to deep tint.
Benford called Marley in his room. He was sitting at his desk making notes on his tablet. Notes about what to say to Ally. He’d made a strategic decision to call her before he called Karen. He dreaded it.
He had the news going on his desktop screen. He punched it over to phone, and Benford’s face replaced the newsreader’s. She looked the way she always looked: taut — only more so. She appeared to be sitting at the desk in her own quarters.
“I haven’t found out much,” she said. “Hanover was released from jail a couple of hours ago.”
“I’m going to call my wife first.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Let’s stick to the plan.”
“New plan. What else do you know? How did that clip get on the air?”
“It’s PR. The press office at DHS put together the whole media campaign. Explaining IDD and the need for quarantine and so on. They’ve got it down to a regular package. The infectious-disease flavor-of-the-month news feature. Just fill in the blanks. They decided to use that clip to fill in
one of their blanks.”
“I don’t get it. I’m sworn to secrecy, forced to deceive people who trust me, to cooperate with violating my patients’ civil rights, to conduct unethical experimental treatments, all in the name of the greater good, and yet your PR people release a classified recording to the national media like it’s just another day at the office.”
Benford studied him coolly. It was apparent to him now that nothing he said actually impressed her. His indignation was just another factor she needed to take into consideration, just one feature of the overall problem. He watched her calculate a response for a few cold seconds, then listened to her deliver it:
“Welcome to the real world,” she said. “The real world isn’t pretty. It isn’t clean. It isn’t tidy. But it’s the way things are. This is where we get stuff done. This is where we make it possible for everyone else to live in the world as it should be.”
Now he watched her wait to see whether her speech would have the desired effect on him. Her coldness made him cold. She wanted an appropriate response, he’d give her one.
“I’m with you on the necessity to combat IDD. I’m with you on the need to bend some of the rules, even to break some of them. But I don’t know what we’re keeping secret from whom, or why.”
“They don’t need to know, they don’t want to know, about this world, the real world. They don’t really want to know about the mess, the viciousness, and the ugliness. They shouldn’t have to know. That is what we’re doing here, and why.”
“We few,” he said, “we sorry few, we live here in the real world so the rest of them don’t have to. That’s what you’re saying.”
“We don’t have time for this, Carl.”
“No, we don’t. But you know, it occurs to me that there’s another way to look at it. Having them live in the unreal world could be good for us too. I mean, it’s not good enough for them to live in just any dream. They need to live in a particular dream. The bambies aren’t living the dream we want them to live, so we’re trying to fix them. We’re trying to prevent that other dream from catching on. We’re afraid of that other dream. Do you suppose we’re afraid that that particular dream world won’t have any place for us hardnosed realist types? Are we afraid we’ll lose our place at the ugly center of the beautiful fantasy?”
Benford’s trademark smile appeared and immediately vanished in its characteristic fashion. She was letting him know she liked him. The way a patient parent indulges a big-talking child.
“I’m no philosopher, Carl. I’m just a working officer with a problem to solve. We can chat about the metaphysics of that problem at length, when we have the time. But here and now, we have a little job to do. Are you up to it or not?” She didn’t wait for an answer this time. Only one answer was acceptable. “Now, as of an hour ago, the whole project is on comm restriction. General Harden’s orders. Nothing comes in or goes out without authorization. Which means I am going to monitor your calls to your wife and Karen Hanover. However, I’m not going to speak, and they don’t need to know anyone else is listening in.”
“Are we recording it too then?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if we were?”
“I’ll text you with help if necessary.”
Marley pushed his tablet forward where his notes wouldn’t be visible on video. “Here we go.” He reached toward the phone screen, requested a call extension, brought up Ally’s number, and punched it through. Benford’s face shrank into a small frame in the corner of the screen. Ally answered on her cell phone, without video, so the main part of the screen remained blank.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” Ally said.
“I’m incredibly busy, Al,” Marley said, trying to sound like this was an ordinary call. “And our communications are restricted now. It’s protocol. Part of the— ”
“I’m at the shop. We’re closed. The CDC shut me down today. Karen is here too. We saw you on Newsline. She’s been in jail all day.”
“Karen is there?”
“Yes. She wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I’m going to conference her in.”
Marley felt disoriented. Ally’s tone was matter of fact. He’d expected hatred. And now he had to deal with both women both at once — and Benford too, listening carefully from her little corner of the otherwise blank screen. He was outnumbered.
Karen came on. “Is Roger there?”
Straight to the point.
“Yes, Karen. I’m sorr—”
“Put him on.”
“I can’t. He’s—”
“Put him on.”
“I’m in my quarters. He’s not in the room.”
“Get him in the room.”
“I can’t. He’s in quarantine.”
“No shit. Put him on.”
“He’s in his own room at the other end of the building. He’s probably asleep.”
“He doesn’t sleep. I’ll wait. Put him on.”
“He’s medicated, Karen. But he’s perfectly fine.”
A text from Benford popped onscreen under her little window:
Careful.
“What do you mean he’s medicated?” Karen said.
“To control his symptoms. But he’s fine, Karen. I’m sorry that—”
“Just put him on the fucking phone then!” she screamed.
“I can’t. I wish I could, but—”
There was a popping sound.
Ally said, “Karen is upset.”
“Is she still on the line?”
“No, Carl. She just threw her phone across the room. She just ran to the restroom.”
“Is she all right?”
“I think she’s throwing up.”
“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. Roger really is all right. Try to make her understand.”
Another helpful text from Benford:
Good.
“What’s going on, Carl?” Ally said. “Do you think you’ll be able to kill it?”
Her tone was queer — both warm and sarcastic. Talking to her made him feel vaguely dizzy.
“We’re doing the best we can.”
“Are we?” she said. “Are we doing the best we can?”
“Yes, Ally. Don’t you think I’d always try to do the best I could for my patients?”
“Who are your patients?”
Her tone was detached, curious.
Benford wrote:
Reach Hanover thru her.
Marley was feeling increasingly embarrassed by Benford’s eavesdropping.
“You know what I mean, Al—”
“Who are you?” Ally said. “Who are you really? You sound like you’re trying to impersonate yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No,” she said. “No. You don’t. But there was a man who would have known, and you remind me of him sometimes.”
“Who are you, Al? You’re the one who doesn’t sound like herself. What do you want from me?”
“What a curious question. What do you want me to want from you?”
Benford:
Don’t get caught up in a husband wife squabble.
He pounded a message back to her:
STOP
But he spoke to Ally as he sent it: “Let’s not fight, Al. I only have a few minutes to talk. Let’s not—”
“You aren’t saying anything, Carl. You’re talking, but you aren’t saying anything. When was the last time you really said anything?”
The call lasted another excruciating minute and a half. Karen did not come back on. He hung up and Benford’s little frame came back up full-screen.
“That went well,” he said.
He felt hot and sweaty. He hadn’t looked at his notes once on the call.
“I don’t know whether we helped our cause or hurt it,” Benford said.
Marley couldn’t help scowling. He didn’t really try. “I did what you asked. For the cause. Now I need a shower.�
�
He hung up.
Chapter 28
REPORTER: But most of the cases are in the United States.
CDC SPOKESMAN: Yes, that’s correct. As far as we know, most of the cases are in the United States.
REPORTER: And why is that?
CDC SPOKESMAN: Nobody knows. It’s one of the many mysterious aspects of this disease.
REPORTER: Is there reason to believe that IDD will continue to spread as rapidly as it is now?
CDC SPOKESMAN: Again, nobody knows.
REPORTER: But isn’t it the case that IDD so far has been primarily affecting particular types of populations, such as prisons, hospitals, and military units?
CDC SPOKESMAN: Yes, as far as we know.
Karen came from the restroom looking pale and unsteady. She groped for her phone on the floor in the darkness on the far side of the room, and then came back to the booth where Ally sat awash in the wobbly light of the news cranking out the official word on all things IDD.
REPORTER: Is there any reason to think it will spread to the general population?
CDC SPOKESMAN: Once again, nobody knows. Nobody knows why it is affecting these particular populations. In the early years of the AIDS outbreak, nobody understood why it was almost exclusively affecting homosexuals and IV drug users. A lot of people wanted to believe that it would never spread to the general population. Just as with IDD now, in those days, before the HIV virus was discovered, nobody knew what was causing AIDS. So in the absence of evidence to the contrary it was easy for many people, particularly people in the media and policy makers in government, to maintain the belief that AIDS was limited to certain marginal groups. — Because of that belief a lot of people, millions of people, are now dead who needn’t have died — who wouldn’t have died if not for the stupidity of that belief and the policies that flowed from it.