Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller)

by Goldberg, Leonard

  Finally, Carolyn went limp and caught her breath. “Jesus! That was the best ever,” she whispered.

  “Nah,” David whispered back and gave her a tender kiss. “Just the best so far.”

  “Do you know you’re the perfect lover?”

  “Only when I’m with the perfect partner.”

  Carolyn smiled and kissed his chin, then cuddled up close to David. “I love you, David Ballineau,” she said softly and drifted into a deep sleep.

  David closed his eyes and he too dozed off, despite the return of his sixth sense that kept telling him that something was wrong. Had he stayed awake a little longer he might have remembered the last time he ignored the warning from his sixth sense. It cost him a shattered jaw and nearly ended his life.

  four

  Richard Scott resumed skeet shooting at midmorning the next day. A small crowd of admirers gathered near the stern of the ship and watched as he blasted one clay pigeon after another out of the sky. With each successful shot, they applauded lightly, urged on by Deedee Anderson.

  “Pull!” Scott bellowed. He kept his eye on the flying disc, then squeezed the trigger of the shotgun. There was a loud bang before the disc exploded out over the ocean.

  Scott increased the difficulty by calling for the discs to be released more rapidly. His marksmanship remained excellent, with nine out of ten perfect hits.

  Off to the side, Carolyn watched Scott’s last shot before turning to David. “He’s pretty good, eh?”

  “He’s better than good,” David said.

  “Particularly in front of a crowd.”

  David nodded. “He needs the crowd. Men like Scott need to be the center of attention. It’s their lifeblood.”

  Carolyn spotted Scott making his way through the crowd and coming directly toward them. She gestured with her head and said unhappily, “Look who wants to join us.”

  “Let’s find something else to do,” David said hurriedly. “Make believe you don’t see him.”

  “Too late,” Carolyn muttered as Scott waved to them. He was dressed in a shooting vest that had a padded shoulder for the butt of the shotgun to rest upon. “I’m surprised he’s not wearing a bandoleer.”

  David smiled at Carolyn’s quick wit and thought she had the man pegged just right.

  “Well, well,” Scott called to them, “I see you’re getting over your fear of guns. The way to eliminate fear is to face it, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told,” David said and kept his expression even despite his intense dislike for the man.

  “I take it you’ve come for a lesson or two.” Scott spoke in a voice loud enough for the small group behind him to hear. “We’ll start with the basics.”

  “I’d rather not,” David refused politely. “But thanks anyway.”

  “Oh, come on,” Scott insisted. “The rifle won’t bite you. I can assure you it has no teeth.”

  Deedee laughed weakly at the remark, as did a few others in the crowd. “Even I can shoot it,” she challenged. “And I’m just a sweet little girl.”

  The only thing little about you is your brain, David thought, but held his tongue. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Don’t be such a pussy,” someone at the rear of the group yelled. The small crowd laughed harder at the crude comment.

  David’s jaw tightened when he saw Kit standing off to the side by the railing. The dejected look on her face told David she had heard every disparaging word. He felt his heart breaking.

  Scott bit down gently on his lip to stifle a grin. He seemed to be enjoying David’s obvious discomfort. “It’s really quite easy, doctor. You simply place the weapon firmly against your shoulder, aim, and squeeze the trigger. Here, I’ll show you.”

  David glanced over at Kit again. She was staring down at the deck, averting her gaze from his public humiliation.

  “Push your fear away, for Chrissakes!” Scott blurted out.

  David’s anger was rising, and his eyes, now cold as ice, were flashing a DON’T FUCK WITH ME sign. But Scott didn’t see it. He was too busy putting on a show for the crowd.

  Scott reloaded the shotgun and handed it to David. “Let’s begin with the correct stance. First, you must—”

  “Just aim it and squeeze the trigger, eh?” David interrupted abruptly.

  “Yes. But first—”

  “Stand back,” David ordered and used his forearm to shove Scott aside. He took a moment to expertly examine the shotgun, then released its safety and shouldered the weapon. Firming up his stance, he called out, “Pull!”

  A clay pigeon flew skyward.

  David fired and the clay disc exploded over the ocean.

  “Pull!” Another disc went out and David fired again, and again the target exploded. In rapid succession, David called for eight more discs to be released, one after another. His aim was on the mark every time. After the last shot, David handed the weapon back to Scott and said, “You were right. It’s really quite easy.”

  The crowd buzzed with stunned admiration. “Jesus! Did you see that?” … “That guy is a pro!” … “Ten out of ten. That’s amazing!”

  David took Carolyn’s arm and strolled away, unhappy with the display he’d just put on. Now people would ask him about his marksmanship and want details. And that would bring up the past, which he was continually trying to forget. In a low voice, he said, “Richard Scott is going to be miserable for a while.”

  “Because you outshot him?” Carolyn asked.

  David shook his head. “Because he lost center stage.”

  “That was some exhibition you put on,” Carolyn praised. “It looked as if you’d been doing that all of your life.”

  “Only for a few years.”

  “Did you learn to shoot like that when you were in Special Forces?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not going to ask you how many men you killed.”

  “Good, because I never counted.”

  The wind suddenly picked up, gusting in from the northeast. It stiffened enough that they had to bend forward to walk against it. Then the air became heavy with moisture. It all seemed to happen in a matter of seconds.

  Carolyn huddled up next to David and said, “Jesus! I wonder what caused the weather to change so fast.”

  “That.” David pointed out to an approaching band of thick, black clouds. “That’s a squall line. We’re about to hit rough seas again.”

  Carolyn grumbled under her breath. “Accompanied by a lot of wind and rain, no doubt.”

  “It won’t last long,” David told her. “Squalls usually come and go in under an hour.”

  “That’s enough time for everybody to become seasick again.”

  “And for Dr. Maggio to be overwhelmed with more patients than he can deal with.”

  “And of course he’ll plead with you to help.”

  “Of course,” David said and thought about the other doctor and nurse aboard the ship, who were still so nauseated, they could barely hold down liquids. If their symptoms persisted, he’d have to start them on IV fluids. “We’ll handle it just like before.”

  “They should be paying you to be on this damn cruise,” Carolyn complained.

  The wind gusted across the deck and blew lounge chairs around. David and Carolyn turned away as paper cups and debris flew by them. The sky darkened more, then big raindrops began to fall. David glanced about hurriedly and searched for Kit. For an anxious moment, he didn’t see her. Then she appeared. She was holding up a plastic plate to protect her hair from the rain.

  “Kit!” David yelled to her. “We’re over here.”

  Discarding the plastic plate, Kit ran to them and grabbed David’s hand to steady herself against the strong wind. “Shouldn’t we go below, Dad?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” David said and gazed around the rapidly e
mptying deck. “Where’s your friend Will?”

  “He doesn’t feel so good,” Kit answered. “So he’s staying in bed.”

  “Is he seasick?” David inquired.

  “I think he’s got a cold,” Kit said as a sudden blast of wind pushed against them. She grasped David’s hand tighter as they approached the elevator. “Dad, how did you learn to shoot so well?”

  “I used to practice a lot.”

  “Did mom practice too?”

  David shook his head. “She hated guns.”

  “I hate them too.”

  “Good,” David approved.

  “I really hate them a lot.”

  “That’s because you’re smart.”

  They stepped into the crowded elevator and heard the wind howl behind them. Everybody in the elevator was complaining about the weather and how it was ruining the trip. A few were considering asking for a refund once they reached the Caribbean. The elevator moved sideways for a brief moment, and all the voices quieted abruptly. At the rear of the elevator, a woman made a retching sound. Everyone held their breath and hoped the woman wasn’t about to throw up. The elevator came to a stop and most of the passengers hurried out at the arcade level, relieved to be away from the confines of the swaying car.

  The elevator continued down, empty now except for David, Carolyn, and Kit. It seemed to wobble and vibrate as the strong wind outside continued to pound the luxury liner. David estimated it would take gusts of at least 35 knots per hour to make the Grand Atlantic rock noticeably in the water.

  “Why didn’t the captain see the squall coming?” Carolyn asked nervously.

  “They can come up very quickly,” David explained. “And there’s really no way to get around them.”

  “But for a ship this size, squalls aren’t dangerous, are they?”

  “Not in the least,” David assured her.

  Kit inquired, “Dad, how do you know so much about boats?”

  “I spent a lot of time on ships when I was in the military,” David said and thought about the destroyer he had been ferried to after being wounded in Somalia. Involuntarily he raised his hand and felt the scar on his chin where his jaw had been shattered. The destroyer carrying him to a naval hospital had hit rough seas, too. But he barely noticed it. The terrible pain in his jaw had all of his attention.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the three of them quickly exited. Kit led the way down the passageway, unaffected by the swaying of the liner. David watched his daughter prance along the corridor, skipping from side to side so she could touch each closed door. He remembered the old Navy adage—you’re born with sea legs; either you have them or you don’t. Kit had them.

  “Dad?” Kit asked as she looked back. “Are you going to check on Juanita?”

  “I think I’d better,” David said.

  “And I think I’d better go lie down for a while,” Carolyn told them.

  David studied her briefly. “Are you getting seasick?”

  “I’m a little unsteady,” Carolyn admitted.

  “Take an Antivert tablet before you become nauseous.”

  “That’s my plan,” Carolyn said and headed for the door to their cabin.

  David and Kit continued down the narrow passageway. They went by an open door and heard people within retching and throwing up. The ship began to sway more in a side-to-side motion. Both David and Kit kept a hand on the wall to maintain their balance as they came to the cabin where Kit and Juanita were staying. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung on the door.

  “Listen to me, kiddo,” David said seriously. “Don’t start eating candy or potato chips while we’re around Juanita. That could make her even sicker.”

  “I gotcha, Dad.”

  “And don’t even mention food or drink.”

  “Right.”

  David rapped on the door and entered the cabin. Kit was a step behind him. Juanita Cruz was lying on the sofa in the sitting room, with her eyes closed. She was dressed in a thick bathrobe and had a wet washcloth draped over her forehead. The air in the room had a faint but definite aroma of vomit.

  “Juanita,” David said softly. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Not much,” Juanita murmured, opening her eyes.

  “That’s because she won’t take her pills,” Kit interjected.

  “Why won’t you take the medicine, Juanita?” David asked.

  “Because as soon as I swallow the pills, I throw them back up.”

  “Then we’ll try something new,” David offered. “It’s a medicine patch you put on the skin behind your ear.”

  Juanita moaned loudly. “Just let me die.”

  “Death will come later,” David said, “when you are an old woman.”

  “I’m old now.”

  “Not old enough,” David argued and reached for a skin patch containing scopolamine. He placed it firmly behind her ear. “The medicine will be absorbed through your skin, and you’ll feel better soon.”

  “If I die, send my body back to Costa Rica,” Juanita requested.

  “Don’t talk like that!” Kit said, clearly upset by her nanny’s death wish. “You do what my dad says and get well.”

  “Okay, Little One.” Juanita managed a weak smile as she called Kit by the pet name she’d given the child years ago. The nanny closed her eyes and drifted off.

  “She’ll be okay, won’t she, Dad?” Kit asked quietly.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise,” David said, then stroked his daughter’s raven-black hair. “Now, what do you say we go and catch a movie?”

  “Which one?”

  “Maybe the one about soccer,” he suggested, aware of Kit’s love for the game.

  “You mean Bend It Like Beckham?”

  “Nah. That’s old. There’s a new one from England about a girl’s soccer team that has to overcome a lot of problems.”

  “Great! When does it start?”

  “We’ll check and—”

  There was a loud knock on the door.

  Carolyn rushed into the cabin and urgently waved David over. “Marilyn just called from the sick bay. Her son Will is really ill! It sounds double bad.”

  “What are his symptoms?” David asked quickly.

  “His face has turned purple, and he’s coughing up bright red blood.”

  “Oh Lord!” David said and ran for the door.

  five

  Marilyn Wyman was terrified by her son’s appearance. Will’s face had a grotesque, bluish-purple hue, and he was struggling for every breath.

  “Wh-what’s causing his complexion to have that awful color?” Marilyn asked frantically.

  “Lack of oxygen to his tissues,” David answered and reached for a stethoscope.

  “Why can’t he get oxygen to his tissues?”

  “Let me listen to his lungs, then we’ll talk more.” David placed his stethoscope on the boy’s chest and heard a cacophony of wheezes and crackles. But the breath sounds were clearly diminished. It was an ominous sign. He looked up at Marilyn and said, “Will has widespread pneumonia.”

  “Oh, my God!” Marilyn moaned.

  “Which explains why his oxygen level is low,” David said, as he touched Will’s forehead. The boy felt like he was burning up, yet he seemed to be shivering. No gross chills, just shivers. David glanced over to Carolyn. “Get a temperature for us.”

  “It was 102.8º a few minutes ago,” the sick-bay nurse volunteered.

  Carolyn nodded, but still applied a digital thermometer to the skin over the boy’s temporal artery. With her free hand, she adjusted the plastic mask on Will’s face that was delivering oxygen at a rate of three liters per minute. The supplemental oxygen didn’t seem to be helping. Will’s lips were as blue as ever.

  David quickly look
ed to the sick-bay nurse. “Do we have a chest film on him?”

  The nurse nodded. “Dr. Maggio is reviewing it now.”

  “What about a complete blood count?”

  The nurse shook her head.

  David turned back to Carolyn. “Draw some blood and do a stat CBC.”

  “What about blood gases?” Carolyn asked.

  “You’re dreaming.” David was almost certain that tests to determine the blood levels of oxygen and carbon dioxide weren’t available in the ship’s small laboratory, but to be sure he asked the sick-bay nurse, “Can you do blood gases down here?”

  The nurse shrugged, apparently not understanding what the term meant.

  Carolyn gazed at the digital thermometer and reported, “His temperature is 103.6º.”

  “Give him two Tylenol tablets,” David directed.

  “He won’t take anything by mouth,” the sick-bay nurse said. “He just shakes his head and babbles incoherently.”

  “What about Tylenol suppositories?” Carolyn suggested, as she drew blood from Will’s arm.

  “We don’t have any of those,” the nurse replied.

  Christ! David growled to himself, thinking again that the sick bay was like a mediocre dispensary. He knitted his brow and concentrated on other ways to lower the boy’s temperature. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cooling blanket down here?”

  The nurse shook her head.

  “Then wrap his extremities in towels that have been drenched in ice water,” David ordered. “And continue doing it until his temperature is down to 102.”

  He hurried into the radiology area and saw Arthur Maggio peering up at a viewbox that held Will’s chest film. Even from a distance, David could see the abnormal findings. The x-rays showed dense, nodular infiltrates, which were concentrated in the hilar region of both lungs. But the peripheral areas were spared. Instantly he knew the diagnosis and it was even grimmer than he originally thought.

  “Pneumonia,” Maggio pronounced. “The x-ray fits with his earlier symptoms of fever and chills and cough.”

  “Yes,” David agreed. “And it’s bilateral, too.”

  “Which antibiotics will work best here?”