Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller)

by Goldberg, Leonard

  Maggio shook his head in wonderment. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “The response is always impressive,” David said and turned to the patient. “You had a severe reaction to the drug you received for your nausea. It’s called Compazine. You should never take it again.”

  “You needn’t worry about that!” Edith Teller had an attractive face now that the spastic contortions had left it. She had prominent cheekbones and dark eyes from her one-quarter Cherokee heritage. “I won’t go anywhere near Compazine.”

  “If any of your symptoms return, let us know at once,” David advised. “Another shot of Benadryl will stop them in their tracks.”

  “Will they return?” she asked anxiously.

  “Probably not.”

  “With my luck they will,” the woman said sadly. Then tears welled up and began to roll down her cheeks. “This cruise is turning into a disaster for me. Only two and a half days out, and I’ve experienced rough seas, nausea, dizziness, and a bad reaction to a drug.” She looked away and sniffed her tears back. “You save up for the trip of a lifetime and you end up in a sick bay, certain you’re about to die.”

  David nodded sympathetically while the woman spoke on and on about being a librarian from Ohio and dreaming of taking an ocean voyage on a great luxury liner and meeting interesting people and visiting exotic places. David appeared to be listening, but he wasn’t. He didn’t want to hear her sad story, and he didn’t want to know about her wishes and hopes and dreams. That’s why he was an emergency-room physician. There he didn’t have to listen to people complain about life’s disappointments and heartaches. His ER mantra was See ’em, fix ’em, and send ’em on their way. All interchange was strictly medical, and that’s how he liked it.

  The woman was still talking when David patted her on the shoulder and gently interrupted, “Well, you’re fine now. Let’s hope all your bad luck is behind you now.”

  With a wave to the ship’s doctor, David left the sick bay and walked over to the elevator. He wished again that he hadn’t taken the cruise aboard the Grand Atlantic, because it wasn’t turning out to be a vacation at all. He was trapped on a giant ocean liner that had 750 passengers, with a retired military doctor and a seasick general practitioner as the only healthcare providers. And the ship’s doctor now knew that David was an experienced ER specialist. So, in case of any real emergencies or mass illnesses, David would be called in. He grumbled to himself as he thought about the sun-drenched beaches of Hawaii. That was where he wanted to go. But his twelve-year-old daughter, Kit, and his girlfriend, Carolyn, ganged up on him and insisted they all take a cruise on a fantastic luxury liner. David was good at a lot of things in life, but negotiating with women wasn’t one of them.

  The elevator door opened, and David stepped into a crowded car. The air within was filled with the aroma of heavily perfumed women who seemed to all be speaking at the same time. Their bored husbands looked on, mute as stone statues. Once more David thought about the white-sand beaches at Waikiki. The elevator stopped, and most of the splendidly dressed passengers got off at the C level, where the huge dining room was located. With a jerk, the empty elevator continued upward. David was still thinking about white sand beaches and wondering if he could talk the girls into disembarking at San Juan and enjoying the sun before flying back to Los Angeles. Or maybe they could get off at Montego Bay, which was closer, with even better beaches.

  The elevator door opened, and David walked out into a cool breeze. Beyond the lounge chairs he spotted Carolyn standing by a small bar and looking absolutely gorgeous. She was tall and slender, with soft, patrician features and long brown hair that curled slightly as it reached her shoulders. But it was her perfectly contoured lips that fascinated him, particularly the way she could use them to change her expression. One moment she could seem frank and serious, the next amusing and playful, the next sympathetic and engaging. All by just moving her lips a bit one way or the other. But her eyes were always the same—deep, dark, and sensuous. David had once told her that a man could get lost in those brown eyes and never find his way out. And he meant it.

  David waved and strolled over to the bar. “You’re beautiful,” he said, pecking her lips.

  “You say that to all the girls,” Carolyn grinned.

  “Only the pretty ones,” David said and kissed her again.

  “You’re going to mess up my makeup.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No,” Carolyn murmured softly and kissed him back.

  “You’re my type of girl, you know.”

  “And you’re my type of guy.” Carolyn took his arm and guided him away from the other couples at the bar. Quietly she asked, “What happened to the woman with seizures?”

  “It wasn’t seizures,” David said and told her the details of the patient with an oculogyric crisis caused by Compazine. “She had a textbook picture of the disorder.”

  “I haven’t seen a case of that in years,” Carolyn thought back.

  “Same with me,” David said. “But it was totally foreign to Maggio.”

  Carolyn slowly shook her head. “Most doctors would have made that diagnosis in a split second.”

  “Not if they had spent most of their professional career as a military physician doing mainly administrative work.”

  “Well, I guess the cruise line owners figured they didn’t need a specialist from the Mayo Clinic to be one of their ship’s doctors.”

  “I guess.”

  The wind stiffened, coming in from the northeast, and the temperature seemed to drop abruptly.

  Carolyn shivered in the sudden coolness. “Let’s have that drink in the dining room.”

  “Sounds good,” David said and reached for her hand.

  They strolled past the lounge chairs on their way to the elevator. In the fading light, neither noticed the large bird, with a quivering wing, curled up beneath the end chair.

  two

  A young man in a white waiter’s jacket bowed and opened the ornate glass door for David and Carolyn. Before them was a wide mahogany staircase that descended into a large anteroom. Like many of the other passengers, they were struck by how closely the opulent anteroom resembled the one seen in the movie Titanic. Everything was polished wood except for the immense ceiling that was dome-shaped and made of frosted glass. Even the walls were impressive, with their exquisitely carved, gold-rimmed inlays. David gazed around the magnificent setting, then down at the elegantly dressed couples as they mingled and chatted with one another prior to dinner.

  “It looks like an Easter parade in slow motion,” David said.

  Carolyn chuckled under her breath. “The women just want to find out what the others are wearing.”

  “It’s the jewelry they’re interested in.”

  “That’s part of what they’re wearing.”

  They walked down the stairs and through the crowded anteroom, nodding to those they recognized. Most of the couples were middle-aged, but some seemed old and frail, with bent postures and shuffling gaits. There was a scattering of aluminum walkers and wheelchairs for the infirm. David sighed to himself as he viewed the elderly as prospective patients. One misstep by a senior citizen could result in a broken hip or fractured skull or worse. David wondered how long it would take for a MedEvac helicopter to reach them.

  Carolyn broke into his thoughts, asking, “Why do you think we were invited to sit at the captain’s table tonight?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” David said.

  “I don’t think it was just a random choice.”

  “Me neither.”

  Carolyn grinned at him. “Your daughter believes we were picked to be window dressing.”

  David smiled back as a picture of his twelve-year-old daughter flashed into his mind. Kit was bright and beautiful, with a flawless, cream-colored complexion and raven-bl
ack hair—all lovely features she had inherited from her mother. Now another picture came to David’s mind, and his smile vanished. It was Marianne, his former wife, with her soft voice and gentle touch, who had made his life perfect. It was a storybook marriage that most people could only dream about. Then, out of the blue, she became ill with acute myeloblastic leukemia and was dead in six months. And David’s perfect world came crashing down. That was almost nine years ago, he thought sadly. And eight of those years were filled with loneliness and emptiness. Then Carolyn came along. She made life good again. Not perfect, but damn good. And she and Kit were best buddies, and that made it even better.

  David put his arm around Carolyn’s waist and gave her a tight squeeze.

  “What was that for?” Carolyn asked softly.

  “Everything.”

  “That covers a lot of territory.”

  “It was meant to.”

  They entered the resplendent dining room, with its gleaming chandeliers and large, round tables that were set with enough sterling silverware to serve four courses. The wine glasses were Waterford, the dishes Royal Doulton. There was an individual waiter for each table. A string quartet far off to the side was playing Mozart.

  David guided Carolyn over to the captain’s table, which unlike the others was rectangular and had four chairs aside. The ship’s captain, William Rutherford, was a large, heavyset man, with a neatly trimmed gray moustache and beard. He was dressed in a naval outfit and seated at the head of the table. Quickly he rose to greet the new arrivals.

  “Dr. Ballineau, let me thank you and Miss Ross for joining us tonight.”

  “It’s our pleasure,” David said as he pulled out a chair and waited for Carolyn to be seated.

  “And I wish to thank you for helping out the ship’s doctor with the passengers who became ill,” Rutherford went on, his voice deep and distinctly British.

  “It was no trouble at all.”

  “Nevertheless, I thank you.” Rutherford waived his hand expansively to the two other couples at the table. “Also joining us tonight are Mr. and Mrs. Sol Wyman and Mr. Richard Scott and his companion, Miss Deedee Anderson.”

  Everyone nodded to one another and began chatting about the rough spell the ship had gone through. Of particular interest was a loud bang that had occurred at the height of the storm and caused the Grand Atlantic to vibrate momentarily. Most of the passengers had attributed it to a large wave slamming into the ship.

  “No, it wasn’t a wave,” Rutherford told the group. “The strong wind dislodged a panel from the rear of the bridge and it landed well aft on the deck. There was no significant damage to the ship, and we continue to steam along in the somewhat choppy Atlantic at a steady 28 knots per hour.”

  Rutherford’s statement was half true. The Grand Atlantic was moving along at 28 knots per hour. But the damage caused by the falling panel was not insignificant. The half-ton panel had crushed the heliport and created a huge, deep crack in its surface. The entire area was now covered with canvas and roped off, with a NO ADMITTANCE sign prominently displayed. A crew member was posted to guard the area to ensure no passengers wandered around the damaged, unstable heliport. Repairs were scheduled to be made when the ship docked at the next port of call.

  The conversation shifted to the calm waters of the Caribbean and white sand beaches of Jamaica. The captain had lived in Montego Bay as a boy and knew the island’s history in detail. His storytelling held everyone’s interest, except for Deedee Anderson, who kept glancing down to make certain she was showing the right amount of cleavage.

  A waiter appeared out of nowhere and began filling the wine glasses with Chateau Lafite Rothschild ’95, to go with the first course of Beluga caviar.

  “How do you take your caviar, sir?” the waiter asked David.

  “Unadorned,” David replied.

  Nibbling on the delicacy, David studied the man sitting directly across from him. Sol Wyman was stout and middle aged, with a round face and thinning hair. He looked uncomfortable in his Armani dinner jacket that seemed a size too small.

  “Me and Marilyn got married a couple of years ago,” Sol Wyman was saying. “First for me, second for her.”

  “My first husband passed away,” Marilyn Wyman added softly. She was a slender woman with an aristocratic face and carefully coiffured, auburn hair. “We’d been married nearly twenty years.”

  That was eleven more than I got, David thought unhappily. And seventeen more than poor little Kit. Shit! He shook his head at the sad remembrance. Get your mind out of the past. It’s long gone and never coming back. Just be thankful you’ve got someone as wonderful as Carolyn at your side now. David brought his attention back to the table. Sol Wyman was now talking at length about the wholesale jewelry company he owned, giving one detail after another, with particular emphasis on platinum settings. David quickly took the measure of the talkative man. The jeweler’s loquaciousness was a reflection of his nervousness in the extravagant surroundings. Sol Wyman was a steak-and-potatoes guy, who was worth a lot of money but was unaccustomed to a posh lifestyle. His wife seemed to be the opposite. She appeared reserved and refined, and an unlikely match for Sol Wyman.

  “What about you, Mr. Scott?” Sol turned to the man seated next to him. “What line are you in?”

  “I’m an investment banker,” Richard Scott answered importantly.

  “Ho-ho-ho,” Sol said, and rubbed his hands together. “We could all use some of your advice during these tough economic times.”

  “I’m afraid that would present a problem,” Scott said in a condescending tone. “My client list is rather restricted and exclusive, you see.”

  Sol’s face colored and his head dropped, like a schoolboy who had just been put in his place.

  David glared at the insolent investment banker and his snobbish behavior. Richard Scott now had a satisfied look, obviously pleased with causing Sol Wyman’s public embarrassment. It took David a moment to recognize Scott as the jogger who had rudely brushed by him on the stairs down to the sick bay. The banker was a handsome man, in his late thirties, with sharp features and sandy hair that was swept back and gelled into place. His eyes were steel gray and cold as ice. The woman next to him, Deedee Anderson, was close to beautiful in her tightly fitted white cocktail dress. She had nicely contoured lips, doe-like brown eyes, and blond hair that came straight down to her shoulders without even a hint of curl. Her silicone-filled breasts seemed too large for the rest of her body.

  “Ah-hmm,” the ship’s captain cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “As you can see, we have two empty chairs. I asked Dr. Maggio and his wife to join us, but perhaps they were held up with more sick patients.”

  “Or maybe he’s just worn out,” Carolyn suggested. “David told me he had over a hundred patients to care for.”

  “And he did really well,” David exaggerated. “He’s a fine old doctor.”

  “With an emphasis on the word old,” Scott scoffed. “God help us if he’s confronted with anything more than a common cold.”

  “Oh, I’m certain he’ll do well,” David said easily. “After all, his clientele is rather exclusive and restricted, you see.”

  Everyone at the table smiled politely, except for Richard Scott, whose eyes seemed even colder now. David saw a flash of anger cross Scott’s face, but it quickly vanished. The banker was mean as a snake, but under control. He could be a very dangerous man, David concluded.

  “Tell me, Dr. Ballineau,” Marilyn Wyman inquired. “What type of doctor are you?”

  “I’m director of the emergency room at University Hospital in Los Angeles,” David replied.

  “I’ve heard that University Hospital is the Harvard of the West,” Marilyn said.

  “We like to think of Harvard as the University Hospital of the East,” David jested.

  Marilyn smiled at the quick retort and softly clapped h
er hands. “Well said, Dr. Ballineau.”

  “David, please.”

  “David, then. And please call me Marilyn.”

  “Good,” David said, liking the woman instantly. “Now, Marilyn, I have to ask your husband for some advice about diamonds. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Marilyn said. “As a matter of fact, diamonds are his specialty.”

  “Excellent.” David turned to Sol Wyman, who was struggling to keep his caviar on his biscuit. “Sol, I need to know how to choose the best diamond. Tell me the features I should look for.”

  Sol straightened up in his seat, a man now in his element. “What do you know about diamonds?”

  “Very little.”

  “Then let’s start with the basics,” Sol began, like a man well rehearsed. “When it comes to diamonds, you have to know the four Cs—carat, color, cut, and clarity. Those are the features that determine a diamond’s value.”

  “Well, I know about carats,” David told him. “They measure the weight of a diamond.”

  “Right,” Sol said at once. “But what the hell does that tell you? It’s like saying a car weighs five thousand pounds. Isn’t it a beauty?”

  David laughed at the analogy. “But carats do count some.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sol agreed. “But keep in mind, a diamond is most valued by its brilliance. A big diamond only glistens when it’s clear, colorless, and perfectly cut.”

  David nodded slowly. “So it’s really a combination of all four Cs that tells you the quality of a diamond.”

  “Right again, although it’s the cut that is most important when it comes to brilliance,” Sol went on. “But the majority of people don’t know much about cut or color, and they know even less about clarity.”

  “What determines clarity?” David asked.