by Darrell Bain
"I think that will be all for now,” Casey said a half hour later. “Thank you for your cooperation."
"You're welcome. So when will we know what the agent was?"
"When Homeland Security decides to release—that is, when we discover all the constituents of the agent and its reactions in the body. You'll be notified, as will the other parents. I may have occasion to visit you again.” He nodded and left.
"That man is probably a good example of why people sometimes don't cooperate with FBI agents,” Bailey said. “I'm sorry you had to go through all that."
Pat examined the doctor. She liked him already. He was on the edge of being thin and not terribly handsome, though he did have nice brown eyes and a friendly smile that compensated for his somewhat substandard appearance. Glasses in wide black frames distracted attention from his balding forehead and gave him a scholarly appearance. “It's all right. I guess bureaucrats are the same no matter which agency they work for. Did I hear you right, that you're a psychologist as well as a doctor?"
"Yes, though I limit the number of patients I see. Mostly I teach and write and do consultations. Very dull."
Pat wrinkled her brow. “I'm curious. Why were you put in charge of the cases here?"
"Probably because the administration thought it would go over well to have a psychologist as well as physician overseeing the cases of food poisoning since it's gotten out that it was indeed a terrorist attack.” He grinned appealingly. “And with me, they get two for the price of one."
"Are you going to try psychoanalyzing all of us or recommend counseling?” She spoke as if she didn't think much of either option.
"I'm not a psychoanalyst, just a psychologist. And no, I won't recommend counseling unless the parents ask for it. I don't see a whole lot of need other than a few cases where the parents became hysterical. There's no cause, really, at least, not that I can see. All the kids are making a full recovery, even the young ones like Amber. I'm very glad of that, by the way. She's been a good patient."
"Thank you. When can Amber leave?"
"That's up to your regular physician, but so far as I'm concerned, tomorrow will be fine."
"Good. Our medical insurance at school doesn't cover everything. Not that anyone can understand all the paperwork and provisions anyway."
"Right you are. Our medical system has become so convoluted that the only way I see to ever fix it is to junk everything and start over, which is neither here nor there. Unless you have some questions, we need to finish up. The next set of parents will be here momentarily, and I imagine our friend Casey will be waiting, too."
"No, no questions right now. Will I see you again?"
"If you like, I can drop back by tomorrow."
"I'd like that. Thank you.” She smiled sweetly at him.
"Um fine."
My God, he's blushing! Pat thought as she left the conference room to go back and be with her daughter. Maybe I ought to find out if he's married or not. It's been long enough.
CHAPTER THREE
"It was intended to kill them all,” Ray Hetrick, SAIC in charge of the investigation into the school poisoning, declared. “No doubt about that, it being a nerve agent. It's just our good luck that they never tested it in pudding. Our lab thinks the combination of some of the short chain molecules in pudding altered the chemical binding properties just enough so that it lost its lethal effectiveness. However, it did pass into the bloodstream and apparently bonded with some neurons that caused the typical symptoms of twitching and dizziness or stupor, depending on the age of the kids. Unfortunately, we failed to find the instigator before he killed himself. That just came in, by the way. From what I read, he was so pissed when the nerve agent didn't work like it was supposed to that he went berserk and shot up a schoolyard. However, he didn't bother emptying his pockets and his wallet gave us an address. If we're lucky, we may find evidence taken from his home that will lead us to other of the terrorist organizations. All of those goddamned fanatics are associated with each other these days."
"So what do we do now?” Sean Casey asked. Hetrick was winding down an hour-long debriefing of the team that had been assigned to investigate the attack.
Hetrick shrugged. “We've done about all we can, at least for now, and some of our specialists will follow up. The people in charge of national school security will take care of implementing a lot of new precautions to prevent such a thing happening again. Tests on all drinks and so forth. If they can prevent it, which I doubt. In the meantime, we'll ask for extra funding to try getting advance leads on any other of the terrorists who may be working on chemical agents. Schools aren't the only places where our food supply is vulnerable. They could just as well have posed as day laborers at dairy farms and began the contamination there. Or where fruit juice is processed. Or cafeterias. The possibilities are boundless. Any more questions?"
There were none.
"Okay. The task force is disbanded. You'll all receive letters of commendation that will be placed in your personnel files. You're also being given a comp day off to make up for the overtime you put in. Check back in with your assignment supervisor after you leave here to find out what you'll be doing next. Thank you."
Casey thought they might have done better had they been allowed to lean heavier on the ones, like the Morrison bitch, who had given the FBI trouble. No wonder she was divorced, a ball buster like that.
* * * *
Pat thought it was a fortunate that Melissa Gomez and she owned homes right next door to each other and each taught second grade at the big primary school in Mountain Grove, a small city in southern Arkansas. It wasn't even stretching coincidence that Melissa taught Amber and Pat taught Melissa's son Jimmy, a second grader in one of the other of the three second grade classes.
"How's Jimmy doing?” she asked when she saw Melissa driving up in her Toyota just as she had been taking Amber from her own car. The small garage was still too cluttered with unpacked boxes to maneuver her car into it, so she parked in the driveway.
Melissa's face brightened. “Oh, Jimmy came home yesterday. He's doing great. No problems at all now. Hi Amber!” She waved at Pat's daughter.
"Hello, Mrs. Gomez. I've been to the hospital! Is Jimmy home?"
"He's here, Amber, but the doctor said to keep him quiet for the weekend. You can play after school Monday. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Thank you,” Pat instructed her daughter.
"Oh. Thank you, Mrs. Gomez. I forgot."
"That's all right. You get well now and I'll see you at school Monday. Okay?"
"Yes'm."
"I'd better get her into the house,” Pat said. “The doctor told me the same thing. Keep her quiet for the weekend."
"I'll call you a little later after. Joe leaves on his route today,” Melissa Gomez said.
Pat took Amber on into the house and to her room. After unloading her car, she prepared a quick meal, and she and Amber ate. Throughout the meal, Pat smiled fondly at her daughter who was chattering away just as if nothing had happened. She sighed, finally letting all her worry dissipate. One more crisis behind her. She wondered idly how many more she would have before her life finally settled back down. The divorce had been traumatic and expensive, more from having to pay off debts run up by Tony's gambling than anything else. She wondered briefly, not for the first time, how she could have been fooled so badly and then pushed the thought away. It was over, damn it, and there was no sense going back and reliving the experience. She gazed again at her daughter's serious brown eyes and long brown hair and thought about the fact that Amber was one of the few good things that came from the marriage.
* * * *
Pat kept a close watch on Amber for the next few weeks, looking for signs that she had been changed or damaged by the chemical she had ingested. She remembered very plainly how scared she had been when Amber's doctor had at first suspected encephalitis after the food poisoning. The terrorist attack, she amended mentally, That's what the media outlet
s are calling it now. Occasionally she shivered inside, thinking how close it had been.
She wondered, Suppose they had poisoned the water instead of the milk? How many would have died? Or would any have? No one really knew since it was an unknown nerve agent that had been used, but if it had worked as it was meant to ... Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to her. Maybe what happened was exactly what the terrorists had intended? Was there a delayed effect not apparent yet? She shook her head as if trying to wave away the thoughts that plagued her like a cloud of gnats. Surely not. No, it was just luck that pudding had been used, and more luck now that it was being reported that the Russian scientist who had concocted the nerve agent was dead, killed by the very ones he had been working with. Reporters were saying he had been traced through computer files found at a terrorist's home, the one who had shot up that school.
Serves him right, Pat thought. Every damn terrorist on earth should be sent straight to hell! She put the episode firmly out of her mind. She had to get on with her life. It wasn't much yet, but that would change. The divorce from that damned irresponsible Tony was in the past, too. Perhaps she would meet another man she could love and still have a good life for her and Amber. Though, for now, Amber was her first priority. She didn't even intend to date again until Amber could fully accept the presence of another man besides her father in their lives. Not that he had been around much in the last year or so before she threw him out, but still...
* * * *
Bailey Jones wasn't as completely satisfied at the outcome of the terrorist attack as everyone else seemed to be. While all the students survived, he was still puzzled at the distinctive age/severity correlation, almost a straight line when it was graphed. Why should it have attacked young children so much more severely than older ones? The first through third graders were the ones he was concerned about. Most of them had gone into a stupor-like coma for two days before gradually coming out of it. Three of the children had been very ill indeed.
He pulled up the CAT scans again. Unfortunately, there wasn't much basis for comparison; all looked more or less alike except for the one where an undiagnosed tumor had been discovered. Just like the last time he had compared them. There had only been two PET Scans taken of the children at Memorial Hospital before it was discovered that not only did the medical insurance not pay for them in this case, but the Chief of Neurology had ruled them unnecessary. Bailey had just discovered them in the files. Now he pulled those two up and examined them for the first time. They had been ordered by two different doctors.
Bailey was intrigued. Right now he dearly wished he had been placed in charge of the children right away and had ordered PET scans on each of them though he knew he probably wouldn't have done so until after examining the encephalographic studies first. By the time he'd gotten around to PET Scans, the patients were already recovering. However, if he had seen something like the images being displayed on the big screen in front of him right now, he would have become highly excited.
Positronic Emission Spectography showed physiologic images of tissue, enabling doctors to sometimes evaluate tissue function rather than just gross structure. The two PET scans had been ordered after the physicians noted that even though the stupor the children fell into resembled encephalitis in some ways, it was distinctly different in others. Like here.
The images clearly showed increased activity in the brain behind the temples on the left side, the superior temporal sulcus and just above it, a part of the brain called Broca's Area. Those were the same areas that were being intensely studied by the neuroscience community. They were occupied by mirror neurons, a special type of brain cell which mirrors not only the actions, but also the sensations and emotions of others in close proximity.
Bailey had been interested in mirror neurons ever since he had gotten his psychology degree and kept up his interest as a neurologist. They had been touted as the “empathy cells” or the “mind reading cells” by the press, though Bailey knew they were no such thing. Or if by some remote chance mirror cells enabled people to read minds, it was a very long way from being proven yet. Most of the newest research was being done with autistic children after it was discovered they had a deficit of mirror cells, which lead to their failure in understanding normal human behavior.
Of course, genetic and environmental factors interacted with mirror cells, as he knew was always the case with genetic traits, but scientists were slowly untangling the morass of what mirror cells actually did and did not do. But why had that nerve agent stimulated the portion of the brain containing mirror cells? And why had the phenomenon even been observable while the patients were unconscious, when normally mirror cells only showed activity when one person was observing another? Were the two PET scans simply flukes and perfectly normal for those two children?
It had been six months, and it was time for a psychological follow up of the children, at least for those who were willing to come in. There was certainly no requirement that they do so. Perhaps, during the evaluations, he could think of legitimate reasons for ordering PET scans on more of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Pat, are you going to take Amber in?” Melissa Gomez asked her friend. Her dark complexioned face clearly showed her worry and confusion that arrived with the letter she had received from Doctor Jones suggesting a psychological evaluation as a follow up on the children who had been hospitaled after the terror attack. Melissa was at Pat Morrison's home the same evening she had received the letter, already sipping coffee. Pat always had some ready.
"Let me see.” Pat scanned the formal letter quickly, looked up at Melissa, and handed it back. “It's the same thing I got. I hate to take Amber out of school for a day, but she's doing so well I doubt it will hurt anything."
"Jimmy's grades have improved, too,” Melissa said. “He was just an average student before, but now he's making almost all outstanding."
"Hmm. I guess he's studying more. I wish I could say the same for Amber. She's reading and using the net more, but it's hardly ever related to her school subjects."
"But Jimmy's not studying more! He did at first, but now ... I think his English has improved a lot. Maybe that's it. I think maybe Joe made a mistake trying to keep him speaking both English and Spanish. Maybe it was confusing him, huh?"
"Could be,” Pat conceded, but she wasn't so sure. “You know, Jimmy is much brighter than you give him credit for; he's just interested in subjects we don't teach at school, but he does pay more attention in class now. He watches me a lot. He watches the other kids too, but it seems like he's much quieter than he used to be. So is Amber, for that matter."
Melissa's brow wrinkled with thought. She knew she wasn't nearly as intelligent as her friend, but it had never made a difference between them. Besides, Joe was smart enough for both of them, and she knew she was a good teacher. Pat frequently commented on how well her students did in her friend's class when they team taught. Melissa knew she wasn't very good with math, and Pat didn't care much for the crafts classes like she did. It worked out well for them. “Do you think it means anything?"
"I'm not sure,” Pat said slowly. “I think I will make an appointment, though, and see what Doctor Jones has to say."
"I guess I'll do the same for Jimmy, then. I hope nothing is wrong."
"So do I,” Pat agreed. “But relax. I'm sure it's just routine."
* * * *
Pat dressed carefully, wondering why at first, but then remembering that despite Doctor Jones not being very good looking, he had impressed her in some fundamental way that made him seem attractive. Nothing had come of the second meeting with him, but she suspected it might be shyness on his part, that or the fact that he didn't want to become involved with a patient's parent. Perhaps his appeal has something to do with how he handled that FBI agent so cleverly, she thought. Or perhaps it was the twinkle in his eyes behind his dark framed glasses. I've dwelt on both long enough, for all the good it'll do me. Nevertheless, she eyed herself in the bathroom mirror to
see if she still approved of the pastel blouse and pants she wore and went to dress Amber.
"Why are we going to the hospital, Mom?” Amber asked, her long-lashed brown eyes watching her as if waiting to gauge her answer.
"To see the doctor, sweetheart. He wants to talk to you."
"But not Doctor Henry,” Amber stated, as if reciting a fact.
How did she know that? Pat wondered. “No, you haven't met this doctor.” Pat smiled winningly, glad that this would just be a talk session so far as she knew.
"Okay, Mom. It's not going to hurt. That's good. Will you fix my hair, please?"
Once again, Pat was shocked at her daughter's intuitiveness. She must be sensing my attitude, Pat thought. She's getting good at that. Pat dismissed her fears; if there was anything wrong with her daughter, Doctor Jones would let her know. He wouldn't try to disguise his opinion in a bunch of medical gobbledygook like some doctors did. At least she didn't think he would.
"There, sweetheart. Turn around now and let me see how you look,” Pat said after brushing and arranging Amber's hair.
Amber turned, a little smile playing on her face, but she said nothing.
"My goodness! You're prettier than Mom! You're so pretty I'm going to have to tie you up with a big bow and put a sign on you that says ‘To Mom. From your pretty daughter.’”
That finally drew a laugh from the little girl, but it died as soon as her mother's back was turned. She waited for a moment and then reached for Pat's hand. Amber smiled up at her as she took it. Anticipating what Mom would do was a fun game.
* * * *
"Hello, Pat, Amber. It's good to see you again,” Bailey said. He took Pat's hand briefly, then Amber's, just as if she were an adult.
"Hi. Say hel...” Pat began to instruct Amber.
"Hello Doctor Jones,” Amber said politely before she could finish.
"Your mother must have told you, Amber. We haven't met before. I've only seen your medical charts."