Scott gave Chris a malevolent look.
“They want us to call every patient whose stay in the med-surg ward, the ICU, and the step-down coincided with the time the new victims were here,” Stewart said. “And tell them to return to the hospital immediately if they start losing their hair.”
“Do you know what’s going to happen if we do that?” Scott said. “Everyone who finds one hair on their shoulder will be in the emergency room. And that’s what . . . a couple hundred people. How can we keep this quiet if you spread it around like that?”
“We can’t,” Chris said. “It’s just the price for doing what’s right.”
“I’m not going to expose the hospital to that kind of—”
There was a knock at the door, and Carter Dewitt, Monteagle’s VP for financial affairs, came in. “Sorry to bother you all, but John, there’s something you need to see on TV.”
Dewitt went to a big rugged armoire, opened it, and turned on the TV inside. A second later, the female reporter who’d ambushed Michael that afternoon appeared on the screen standing in front of Monteagle’s main entrance.
“ . . . using a liver from a strain of pigs genetically modified to resemble a human organ. Scientists have long been concerned that transplantation of animal organs into people might allow an animal virus to become established in the transplant recipient, and that this could produce a previously unknown disease that would spread throughout the population. Channel five has learned that apparently something like this has happened here at Monteagle Hospital, where two nurses who cared for the pig liver recipient died yesterday of a mysterious illness. The husband of one of the nurses is also dead, reportedly showing early signs of the same disease.
“Then today, the disease claimed two more victims, a man from Dahlonega and a woman from the North Druid Hills area. Both were patients at Monteagle at the time the pig liver transplant was made.”
“Jesus,” Scott roared. “They know everything.”
“The hospital information office was unavailable for comment,” the reporter said.
“Unavailable,” Scott shouted. “I pay that son of a bitch Alford to be available twenty-four hours a day. And now I’m blindsided by this.” He looked at Chris. “Okay, do whatever it takes to inform all those patients about the danger. Anyone who doesn’t cooperate, tell them they resist at their own peril. Find Alford and put him to work, let him spearhead the thing. It may be the last act he does here. Dr. Collins, when you’re through contacting those patients, I want you to figure out how those last two victims became infected. Now all of you get out. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“I need to speak with you for a minute,” Dewitt said.
“All right, you stay.”
When the others had gone, Dewitt said, “With these five deaths, and now that it’s all out in the open, I don’t see any of the drug houses we’ve been negotiating with over rights to the virus still being interested, at least not for the kind of money we’ve been talking about, and maybe not at all. I wanted to prepare you for that.”
“The same thought occurred to me while I was listening to that damned reporter. Was that all, because I need to call the TV stations and see if I can smooth any of this over.”
“You can tell them we’re doing the responsible thing in calling all those patients.”
“Why do you think I agreed?”
Chapter 18
“FIRST THING WE should do is get Medical Records started drawing up a list of the patients we need to contact,” Chris said in the hall outside Scott’s office.
“Someone needs to tell the ER director what’s going on,” Stewart said. “I’d be glad to do it.”
“That’d be a big help,” Chris said. “If he expresses concern that the ER staff will be exposed to the virus, tell him that all the evidence indicates it’ll no longer be in the blood of anyone who comes to the hospital, so they won’t be infectious. Stress to him that only people with sudden and significant hair loss are at risk.”
“What do you mean by significant?”
“Hair that comes out in patches when it’s gently pulled. If he’s in doubt about whether a particular person should be considered at risk, he should take a blood sample and have the lab do a sed rate and C-reactive protein determination. Anyone with an abnormal value for either test should be admitted and hooked up to a cardiac monitor, with drugs standing by to combat the heart problems that might develop. You’d better get a cardiologist in on this, too. Whenever anyone is admitted to the ER, I want to be informed.” She gave him her pager number, and they all headed for the elevator.
After visiting Medical Records, Chris and Michael called Chuck Alford, Monteagle’s public relations director, at his hospital number, but got no answer. With no better idea on how to find him, they went to Michael’s office and looked up his home number in the city directory, which listed three Charles Alfords.
No one answered at the first number.
The next one was not him.
With every second that passed, Chris worried that somewhere in the city, another former Monteagle patient might be about to die.
Michael punched in the third number.
A woman answered.
“Is this the home of the Charles Alford who works at Monteagle Hospital?”
“Yes.”
Nodding at Chris, Michael said, “May I speak to Charles, please?”
“One moment.”
Michael put the call on speaker phone.
“This is Chuck Alford.”
“Chuck, Michael Boyer here.” He quickly outlined the situation and said, “John Scott wants you to take charge of the contact process. We’ve already got Records drawing up a list of the appropriate patients.”
“Do you know . . . Did the TV station try to contact the hospital before airing that story?” Alford asked.
“I’m afraid they did, Chuck. But you weren’t in.”
“Was Scott upset about that? Never mind, I know the answer, but sometimes family has to come first. My little girl—Ahh, forget it. You don’t need to hear my problems. Look, I’ll be there ASAP, but with the traffic, it could be a while. How many people are we gonna be calling? Doesn’t have to be accurate—ballpark.”
“Two or three hundred.”
“And we need to do it fast,” Chris added.
“Who’s that?”
“Chris Collins.”
“Are you both available to make calls?”
“I am,” Chris said.
“Me, too.”
“Can you enlist anyone else?” Alford asked. “They don’t have to be physically at the hospital. Once we get the patients’ names and numbers, we can relay them to those making calls.”
“I’ll try to get the other members of the transplant team to help,” Michael said.
“I’ll call my secretary, and I’m sure my wife will come on board. Where are you both now?”
“My office.”
“How many phone lines there?”
“Four.”
“That’s one more than I have. How many phones?”
“Also four.”
“Let’s use your office as a command post. Where is it?”
“Four-o-six Medical Arts Building.”
“What’s your phone number?” After getting it, Alford said, “We should always keep one line open for incoming calls. For tonight, let’s give each patient your number to call if they have questions. And tell them after eight a.m. tomorrow, all calls should go to my office.”
“That means someone will have to stay here all night. I don’t know how long this is going to take, but I don’t think we’ll be here till morning.”
“I’ll stay,” Alford said. He made sure Michael had his office number. “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
Over the next few minutes, Chris and Michael added Bill Hessman, the team vet, and Robin Victor, the psychiatrist, to those who would be helping. Both were working late, so they’d been in their offices. Ash couldn’t be located. That left Sidney Knox.
“I don’t look forward to this,” Michael said, punching in Knox’s Monteagle number.
There was no answer. Michael checked his cell phone for the number and called Knox at home. No answer there either.
Michael then called Medical Records and identified himself. “How are you coming on those patient lists I asked for?”
They had all the names from the first half of the target period but were still working on the others.
“Fax me what you have so far,” he said. “And send the rest as soon as they’re available.”
The first list came in six minutes later. Michael scanned the list into his computer.
“How many names should we give each person?” he asked Chris.
“Let’s start with twenty-five.”
He copied the master list, chopped off all the names and numbers but the first twenty-five, and was preparing to send that group to Bill Hessman via e-mail when the phone rang.
It was Alford, still en route to the hospital. He outlined what he thought each patient should be told, and let them go back to work.
Michael sent the first list to Hessman, then called to tell him to check his e-mail. He repeated Alford’s instructions to Hessman and went back to his computer to make a second list for Victor, which he relayed as he had the first.
Michael assigned Chris the next twenty-five names, and he took the following group.
Chris checked her watch. “It’s five thirty,” she said. “Lousy timing. A lot of people on our lists probably aren’t home from work yet.”
“We’ll do the best we can, leave messages where there are machines, and call back when there aren’t. Why don’t you use the phone in the main office. That means you’ll also be handling any incoming calls on the open line.”
“I don’t mind. Just show me how to handle the system.”
Of the first ten calls Chris made, she spoke directly to a person on her list only twice. Three times she left a message with another member of the household. Twice she got a machine. Three calls went unanswered. When Michael came out to see how she was doing, she learned that his numbers were about like hers.
“Anyone tee off on you about being put at risk?” Michael asked.
“One. A patient’s wife. Doesn’t the FCC have a law against swearing over the phone?”
“Can’t say I blame them. I better go back to work.”
Before he could do that, Chuck Alford arrived.
“How we doing?” he asked, slamming the door behind him.
Though he’d been called out without warning, his pants and shirt looked freshly pressed, and his tie was well chosen.
While Michael was telling him what had been accomplished, the fax machine began pumping out pages. Chris went over to see what it was. “More names coming in,” she said.
“You two have done well without me,” Alford said. “I hope when this is all over I still have a job. My wife is six months pregnant with our second child, and we just moved into a new house with more room. It figures that this would be the exact time for something to go wrong. Let me work on the new names. I’ll fax some to my wife, some to my secretary, and I’ll take some. Where can I set up?”
Michael let him into the office of his practice partner, and everybody went back to work.
A few minutes later, Chris took an incoming call.
“Who’s this?” a male on the line said with obvious impatience. Chris recognized John Scott’s voice.
“Chris Collins.”
“Is Alford there?”
“In the next room.”
“Put him on.”
Chris sent the call to Alford, and though she wanted to listen in, she resumed working her list.
Shortly, Alford came out of the adjacent office. “I’m sorry, but I have to go see Scott. The papers are calling for information about the transplant and the people who died. We need to decide exactly what we’re going to tell them. Be back when I can.”
“We’re not reaching everyone on our list. Some aren’t home and have no answering machine. Tell Scott we need the papers to include the warning we’re trying to get out.”
“I don’t tell Scott anything. But I’ll suggest it.”
Alford was gone about twenty minutes. He returned looking pale and ill used, the notes he’d made during his conversation with Scott clutched in one hand.
“How’d it go?”
“Apparently I’ve still got a job, at least until we’re through this crisis. I’ve got to call both papers, and then I’ll get back to my names.”
“What did he say about asking them to run our warning?”
“Thought it was a good idea.”
Contacting so many people was a tedious business, and after another thirty minutes of it, Chris had to switch the receiver to her other ear because the one she’d been using was aching from the pressure on it. A few minutes later, the calls started coming in from homes where they’d left messages. Chris handled the first few herself, then began sharing them with Michael and Alford. Victor and Hessman also called wanting more names.
All told, the team they’d assembled had to contact three hundred and twenty-nine people. By eight o’clock, the entire number had been called at least once. At the homes of thirty-three of the patients on their lists there had been no one home and no answering machine. With the number yet uncontacted so small, they let Victor and Hessman go home.
They’d now spoken directly to a considerable number of the patients at risk, or to their immediate family members, and had picked up no signs of trouble.
“It’s been a couple hours since we started,” Chris said. “And I haven’t been paged from the ER. So I guess they haven’t admitted anyone.”
“Or they just forgot to tell you,” Michael said.
“I better check.” She picked up the phone and had the operator ring the ER. “This is Dr. Collins. May I speak to the doctor in charge, please?”
The seconds slid by with no one picking up. “They must be busy.”
Finally a voice. “This is Dr. Allen.”
Chris identified herself and said, “I haven’t been paged, so I guess we’ve had no one admitted . . .” She shook her head to show Michael and Alford that was correct.
“Any candidates down there waiting for lab results? Okay, thanks.” She hung up. “The ER is clear.”
“There’s no need for you two to stay any longer,” Alford said. “I’ll keep after those remaining names and field incoming calls.”
“I think I will go home,” Michael said. “I’ve got surgery in the morning.”
“I’ll see you both sometime tomorrow,” Chris said. “Hopefully, things won’t be any worse then.”
On their way out, Michael said to Chris, “I should be through with my case by eleven. How about meeting me for lunch in the Monteagle cafeteria at eleven thirty?”
“Okay.”
“If I get delayed, I’ll let you know.”
Instead of going home herself, Chris went up to the isolation ward, where she found her father watching TV, his cardiac monitor showing nothing but a normal heart rhythm.
“Looks like you’re doing okay,” she said.
“As I predicted,” Wayne said. “I’ll stay the night, but in the morning, I’m leaving.”
“Did you know that the virus killed two more people?”
His expression showed he didn’t. “Who?”
She explained the latest developments, then asked, “How do you feel about that?”
“Responsible,” he said. “And shit
ty. What were you expecting, euphoria? I’m sorry I ever came here.” He whipped aside the sheet covering him, pulled off the leads to his cardiac monitor, and slid from the bed. He went to the closet and gathered up his clothes.
Chris had come there to hurt him with the news of the latest deaths, but she hadn’t expected this. “You shouldn’t go. You could still be at risk.”
“I don’t really care.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s my business.”
Following the first deaths, he’d agreed to return to the hospital only when Chris had asked him to do it for her. She thought that might work again, but she was in no mood to prostrate herself before him like that.
“Okay, do what you want. Your impulses have always been impeccably correct. Why should they be wrong now?” She turned and steamed from the room.
Wayne got dressed in his small bathroom, grabbed his overnight bag, and headed out.
“Mr. Collins,” the nurse on duty protested. “No one notified me that you were to be discharged.”
“It’s criminal, isn’t it, how people fail to communicate these days.”
Wayne made his way to the hospital’s main entrance and called a cab on a pay phone in the lobby.
TR PARKED HIS car in Monteagle’s outside lot and sat watching a female drug rep in a short skirt and heels walk by pulling her sample case. Man . . . there was something about those stockings she was wearing. In his mind, he could see them up under the girl’s dress, flaring out as they covered her thighs. He knew they were probably panty hose, but preferred imagining that they were held up by garters.
The woman passed behind a car, and her legs were lost to sight. Having no further reason to sit there, TR reached for the bag of items he’d just picked up to make his role in everything that was happening appear legit and got out.
As he approached the hospital’s main entrance, he was surprised to see Wayne Collins standing at the curb with a small suitcase beside him. TR almost turned around and went back to his car because he didn’t want to talk to the man. But Wayne was looking the other way, toward the entrance to the parking lot, so it might be possible to get past him without being seen.
The Judas Virus Page 16