Resistant

by Michael Palmer

  Prosthesis.

  A lump materialized in Lou’s throat. Delivering bad news had always been a part of his job, and although he never, ever enjoyed doing it, he knew he was usually effective at it, mostly by being direct and honest. He was grateful Win Carter had approached him the same way, even though the lump continued to grow.

  “Thanks, Win,” he said, unable to cull the hoarseness from his voice. “I appreciate all you’ve done. Everything.”

  “I just wish we could have done more.”

  “Me, too,” Lou said, ending the call. “Me, too.”

  He looked around, saw McCall talking with Beth Snyder, and waved him over.

  “I need to fly back to Atlanta ASAP. Can you arrange that for me?”

  “Sure, Lou. Anything you need. Is everything all right?”

  “No. Not in the least. They took Cap’s leg.”

  McCall sagged.

  “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, Lou. They couldn’t have put it off? Did they know what’s happening here?”

  “They knew. They waited as long as they could. It sounds like it was either his leg or his life. It’s my fault. I let him down, Chuck. I let my closest friend down.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself,” McCall said. “You did everything you could and then some.”

  “I couldn’t save Tim and I couldn’t save Cap’s leg.”

  “Lou…”

  “Oh, hell. I know what you’re trying to say. I’m just babbling. Listen, just help me get out of here, Chuck. Can you do that for me?”

  I need a meeting and I need to go see Cap.…

  McCall returned a sympathetic look.

  “You got it, Lou. We’ll warm up the chopper, and have the jet waiting for you at the airport. Goodness knows you’ve earned a flight in that beauty.”

  “Thanks. One last thing. That night you and Tim came to get me at the Blue Ox. How did you know I had been asking about the phage?”

  “Scupman. He had been working for us since the beginning, passing along anything that might have been of interest regarding the Doomsday Germ. Apparently Kazimi didn’t think enough of him to make him part of his team.”

  “But Scupman never suspected his own assistant.”

  McCall shook his head.

  “Never a word. She was good, Lou. She was damn good at blending in. Looking like Little Bo Peep didn’t hurt her any, either.”

  Lou sighed and wandered alone along the main passageway until he came to the French doors opening onto the cliff. In a haze, he stared unseeing across the North Atlantic. Behind him, through the windows of the Great Room, he could hear escalating commotion. It sounded as if the excitement was building.

  Any minute now, he thought.

  He scuffed around along the narrow, gravel walkway to the spot on the north side where Alexander Burke had filmed his good-bye message for Lola. The windblown salted air had begun stinging the moistness in his eyes, as he gazed out at the steel-gray water. His thoughts were a swirl of regret mixed with guilt. What if I never took Cap to Atlanta? What if we skipped the morning run like he had wanted? What if my grip had held? What if I had fallen instead of him…?

  “I wish it was my leg, buddy,” Lou said to the sea. “I wish it was me in that hospital bed, and not you. I wish it could have been different.”

  From inside the Great Room a triumphant cheer erupted, followed by a steady round of applause. Not long after, McCall approached, with his hands stuffed inside his jacket pockets.

  “Chopper’s ready when you are.”

  “Thanks. That cheering mean what I think it means?”

  “All the mice are alive,” McCall said. “Every single last one of those sweet, fury little buggers.”

  Lou strained a smile.

  “That’s great news. I knew Humphrey could do it.”

  “Not just Humphrey,” McCall said. “You, too, Lou. You deserve as much credit as he does.”

  “I guess.”

  McCall patted him on his good shoulder.

  “Let it hurt, pal. That’s all you can do right now. Just let it hurt. That’s what I’m doing about Tim. And the moment you get near that beautiful kid of yours, hug her as long and as hard as she can stand it. I know I’m rambling, but I really owe you, Lou, and I really like you. And as for your friend back there in Atlanta, in a strange way, he helped save the lives of thousands of people—maybe much more than that.”

  “So how come I don’t feel so great?” Lou asked.

  “Because you’re not supposed to, that’s why. Time’ll take care of a lot of the pain, but never all of it. Just don’t forget that because of Cap, and you, and Tim, our government won’t be held hostage by a bunch of wacko terrorists with twisted ideals. And thanks to you, that creep Bacon is in custody and being questioned by people who are ten times as good at their job as me and ol’ Vaill.”

  He punctuated that remark with a grin.

  Lou felt a little better.

  “Maybe we’ll run into each other in Atlanta,” he said.

  “Well, I certainly hope so. I’m gonna be there for a hundred years trying to bail myself out of the frigging report mess you’ve left me. The beer’s gonna be on you.”

  “So long as it isn’t at the Blue Ox. Thanks for the help getting me out of here, Chuck, and for the talk, too.”

  They turned and headed back to the entrance. Another cheer burst out from within, and some champagne corks popped.

  “Wish it had been sooner,” McCall said.

  “Yeah … Me, too.”

  “Beth Snyder wants to say good-bye before you go.”

  “Chuck, I really wish Tim could be here to share this.”

  “Who knows? Maybe he is.”

  “Look, I’m going to skip out without seeing anybody if that’s okay with you. Tell Humphrey we’ll catch up at the hospital. Tell Beth I’ll be in touch.”

  “You got it, pal.”

  Lou walked around to the driveway, then across to the helipad. A few minutes later, with vivid memories of the chopper ride from beside the Chattahoochee River, he was airborne. Below him, he watched Red Cliff recede until it was little more than a speck.

  Then, in a blink, it was gone.

  CHAPTER 56

  It is impossible to climb the ladder of success if our government has removed every last rung.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, GRAVESTONE INSCRIPTION, ALL SAINTS CEMETERY, MAY 7, 1945

  The white van navigated the circular drive and came to a stop at the gleaming glass front entrance of Arbor General. Lou, his sling still in place, waited curbside, and as soon as he saw the driver exit the van, he came forward to help unload his passenger. Humphrey was all smiles as the power platform lowered his wheelchair to ground level. Lou came up and they shook left hands.

  “Long time buddy,” Humphrey said, his eyes sparkling.

  He thanked his driver and motored toward the entrance. Lou fell into step alongside him.

  “Three whole days,” Lou replied. “But I did appreciate all the e-mails and text messages you sent. It sounds like things went as well as we could hope after I left.”

  “In drug companies’ hands now. First batch Phagecil ready to ship. Sorry too late for Cap.”

  “Thanks, Humphrey. Thanks to you, it’s still going to help save his life.”

  The automatic doors swooshed open and Lou followed the wheelchair into Arbor General’s expansive marble lobby. Having spent so much time there, he had become friendly with several of the salmon-wearing volunteers and he knew many of the security staff by first name.

  Though he’d grown fond of them all, he was anxious to return to D.C., and he would, as soon as the arrangements at a top-notch rehab for Cap had been completed. He also had his old job to get back to. Filstrup had called to complain about work piling up, and the absence of a good replacement for Lou, in addition to the angry feedback he had endured from clients at the PWO. Completely out of character, he had offered him reinstatement. Of course, Lou had accepted, but not before working t
he man for an additional week of vacation annually for himself and also for Babs Peterbee, not retroactive, plus a nice personal donation from Filstrup to Emily’s Cap Duncan Fund.

  But before Lou could make any more plans, there was a very crucial piece of business that had to be completed at the hospital.

  “I’ve heard the gag order is going to be lifted soon,” he said as he and Humphrey prepared to part ways.

  “Government going tell about Neighbors?”

  “According to Chuck McCall and Beth Snyder, the answer is yes. Congress is worried about leaks and they want to be proactive about informing the American public about what happened, especially since it looks like Doug Bacon has handed over every member of the society. The president is preparing an address and he’s going to come forward about the existence of the Neighbors and how the Doomsday Germ that’s been spreading through hospitals was really a biological weapon designed by a domestic terrorist group. I hear you’re one of the few people who will be publicly credited by the president for your role in this victory over terrorism.”

  Humphrey’s thin chest puffed.

  “Can’t believe it,” he said.

  “Your life is about to change, my friend. As soon as people find out what you’ve done, you’ll be on the cover of every major magazine and probably get an hour devoted to you on 60 Minutes.”

  Humphrey’s already broad smile brightened even more.

  “If I have to speak, they may need rename show ‘Ninety Minutes.’ Good thing government cleaned my apartment. Hope they help Cassie’s family.”

  “I believe they will,” Lou said. “Chuck McCall told me that they’re rushing legislation through Congress to establish the One Hundred Neighbors Victim Compensation Fund. The announcement of the fund will coincide with the president’s address. I would suspect Cassie will be included.”

  “Terrific. She has kids not much money.”

  Lou didn’t bother to explain how much Humphrey would be able to do for Cassie and others once the pharmaceutical companies made good on their pledges to him.

  “From what I’ve heard, the fund will be similar to the legislation Congress passed following the 9/11 attacks,” he said instead. “My daughter Emily’s done a great job raising thousands of dollars for Cap, but it should be a fraction of what he’ll receive from this new fund.”

  “Great news. You know I’ll be at Arbor awhile longer.”

  “But not in the pharmacy.”

  Humphrey laughed his most wonderfully joyous laugh and applauded.

  For the time being, he would continue working with a technician in his subbasement lab—a tech on loan from Sam Scupman. Soon, though, as promised, he would be moving over to the CDC. Scupman himself, the champion of bacterial power, had taken the position that simultaneously blasting the Doomsday infections with multiple killer viruses gave every reason to believe the germ would be much less of a threat to mutate.

  Finally, with promises they would never lose touch with each other, Lou and Humphrey embraced and parted. Lou watched until the remarkable man and his wheelchair entered the freight elevator, and the doors glided shut behind him. Then he headed up to where Cap was waiting.

  One last piece of business.

  His stump wrapped up and bandaged, Cap still greeted Lou with a high-five. The operation was tragic in its timing, but it had clearly saved his life.

  “Good timing, doc,” Cap said.

  Cap’s steadily improving demeanor had done more for Lou’s state of mind than anything else could—except that moment when he would again get to hold Emily.

  “Tell me,” Lou said, adding a bit to the water already in Cap’s plastic cup.

  “A specialist in prosthetics just left my room. She came to talk with me about options for my new leg. Man, the technology today is really something spectacular. She even thinks I might be a candidate for this thing called targeted muscle reinnervation.”

  “I think I know a little about that, but fill me in.”

  “It’s like redirecting nerves to control the prosthetic using substitute healthy muscle from somewhere else in my body,” Cap said. “She has a friend at the rehab I want to go to in D.C. who does it.”

  “Amazing. That would be so cool.”

  “From what she told me, I might even be able to box again. Heck, I’d be a willing guinea pig for that alone.”

  “I’m ready to take you on,” Lou said. “But you have to promise no kicking.”

  “Okay, okay, no kicking. In the meantime, I’ll get fitted for a prosthetic leg when we get home. They say just a couple of more days.”

  “That’s really great news!”

  “The people from that fund they’re setting up have already come to visit me. When all is said and done, I’m gonna own Stick and Move clear, with enough left over for projects in the inner city that I’ve only dreamed about. I’m going to start working with the disabled, too. Not just amputees, but all disabilities.”

  “I’d love to help. So would Emily.”

  “Perfect. The more I get to see that gal, the better.”

  Lou checked the time on the watch she had given him. “I think our friend should be here any minute,” he said. “You ready?”

  “More than I was when I fought Rafael Marquez.”

  “And how did you do in that one?”

  “I knocked him out in the third.… Crunch!”

  He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

  “Well, you don’t have to wait until the third round this time.”

  As if on cue, without a knock, the room door opened and Ivan Puchalsky strode in, his white knee-length coat so starched it looked as if it could stand up on its own. He greeted Lou and Cap, and may or may not have noticed that he was not offered a handshake by either man.

  “So,” he said, “word from the nurses is that you are continuing to improve. That’s excellent.”

  “Thanks,” Cap said.

  “So, Dr. Welcome, your message said it was urgent that I meet you here. I have ID rounds in a few minutes, so this really must be brief.”

  “Oh, it will be brief,” Cap said. “I promise you that. Doctor, do you know a man named Douglas Bacon?”

  Puchalsky’s blank expression may have been legit.

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” he said.

  “No matter,” Cap went on. “He knows you, and that’s what counts. In fact, in documents signed under oath by him, he names you as one of those hospital employees scattered around the country who was recruited by the group he directed—a group calling themselves the Society of One Hundred Neighbors.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  But Lou could tell now that he did.

  “You were paid and paid handsomely to use your expertise in nosocomial disease,” Lou said, “to slowly introduce the Janus strain, also known as the Doomsday Germ into this hospital.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would I ever do something like that?”

  “The list of possible reasons starts with a boatload of money, and moves on through your suddenly mushrooming importance in the field of hospital-based infection. Bacon says they had no trouble enlisting your services, either—especially when they needed you to help them cure the germ after it began mutating. So let’s add immortality and worldwide fame to our list. Then we should probably include the multiple donations on record that you’ve made to a number of right-leaning organizations, some of which are more or less recruitment fronts for One Hundred Neighbors.”

  Puchalsky, his cheeks flushed, could only glare at him.

  “You took my leg,” Cap said with far less anger in his voice than the man deserved. “I’d like to meet the person who led you in your Hippocratic Oath, or whatever oath doctors take wherever you came from. Now, get out of my room. I think you’ll find a couple of our friends from the FBI waiting for you just outside the door. I’m looking forward to testifying against you in court.”

  Puchalsky looked as if he were about to spit. Then he turned on his heels and stalk
ed out the door.

  Lou could see Chuck McCall in the hall waiting for him, handcuffs dangling.

  “We’ll take it from here, Lou,” he called out.

  “You do that,” Lou replied in a near whisper. “You do that.” He turned to Cap. “Good thing it was your recovery program at work just then, and not mine,” he said. “I would have decked him.”

  “And that would have brought my leg back, right?”

  “Duncan, you’re the best, do you know that?”

  “Besides, I don’t like to think of the leg that’s gone. I’d rather focus on the six inches my surgeons left behind. I keep feeling the rest, though. I keep feeling the phantom limb pains. I’m told this is normal, so maybe the leg will be with me for a long time.”

  “Only you would think like that,” Lou said. “You know, I heard there’s a rowing club on the Potomac that allows amputees in their shells. How do you think we’d do as a two-man crew?”

  Cap held Lou’s hand in both of his.

  “When are the next Olympics?” he asked.

  The Boston Globe

  An open letter of thanks to the nurses, doctors, and staff at White Memorial Hospital, and all those who played a part in defeating the Doomsday Germ, especially those who helped in the development of PHAGECIL.

  My recent infection came close to killing me but all it did in the end was to strengthen my faith and my gratitude.

  The death of my patient and friend Becca Seabury, and my own devastating illness and recovery, helped me better appreciate the gift of every single day, and the beauty of being able to care for others. I cannot wait until I am able to return to nursing again.

  With all that in mind, I wish to announce my marriage, six months earlier than planned, to ANDREW GULLI of Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the day following my recent discharge from the hospital.

  God Bless You All.

  —Jennifer Sarah Lowe-Gulli, R.N.