“If she were law-abiding, I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened to her.”
“So what’s she been charged with, Mr. Wilder?” He knew full well what she’d been charged with. He’d posted it to the website himself.
“I’m not aware of the particulars of her case. That would be under the authority of the Department of Homeland Security, not the CDC.” He smirked slightly. A mistake.
Eddy looked surprised and he turned to talk to someone off camera. “Isn’t this why you invited me to be on the show this morning? To talk about the attention smallpoxscare.com has been generating because of the information about Dr. Tina Bastante?” He paused a moment, then turned back to the camera. “Perhaps, Mr. Wilder, you weren’t given the same information I was. What were you invited to talk about?”
Mr. Wilder cleared his throat and lined up the ends of his tie—a nervous gesture that was all the more obvious because his girth caused the too-short tie to end a couple shirt buttons too soon. “I was told we’d be talking about the foolishness you have posted on your website. The stuff that’s making people second-guess the wisdom of getting the smallpox vaccination. Your foolishness—” Uh oh. A CDC man with a small-vocabulary. “—is putting the nation at risk. We’re already in a crisis. Over fifteen hundred people have died from the disease and nearly sixty-five hundred have symptoms. You and this foolish—” three times in three sentences; this man needed coaching “—website will drive those numbers significantly higher if people are afraid to get vaccinated.”
“I see, and what on smallpoxscare.com is making people do that?”
I laughed out loud. He couldn’t have asked a more dangerous question.
Paul Wilder didn’t laugh, though. “How dare you scare people away from getting the vaccine? Is that what you want on your shoulders? The knowledge that you single-handedly let this horrific epidemic—”
“Mr. Wilder,” Eddy held up his hands as though stopping the tirade, but he didn’t try to talk over him. “Mr. Wilder. Excuse me.” He gave a shrug to the camera.
Robin Roberts interrupted, “Mr. Wilder, I think Mr. Rider has a good question. “What is it on his website that’s making people afraid to get the vaccination?”
The CDC man poked his finger repeatedly toward the camera, I guess because that was the closest he could get to poking at Eddy’s shirt. “How many more people have to die from this gruesome disease? How many? Before this man takes down his website?”
Robin Roberts said, “Mr. Wilder, we have thirty seconds. What last comment do you have for our listeners?”
Poor Mr. Wilder’s face glistened red, “This man and his website will end up killing more people than all those al Qaeda terrorists combined. He needs to be stopped! He’s so worried about one doctor who—” Paul Wilder’s mike went dead.
“And Mr. Rider? Any last comments?”
“Thanks. I’m not sure if Mr. Wilder’s comment is a threat, but it’s suddenly very clear to me that the last thing the government wants is for people to go to smallpoxscare.com. Maybe they’re afraid people will discover something they don’t want them to know. However, I believe Ambrose Redmoon said it best: ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.’ Whatever is happening to this country is more important than fear. I hope people will have the courage to check out smallpoxscare.com for more information about what’s really happening.” He smiled.
Mr. Wilder grimaced.
They really should have sent in the A-team.
CHAPTER
31
FOUR TIMES IN FOUR MINUTES. Eddy couldn’t have asked for better publicity for his website. I couldn’t believe the CDC had been so stupid that they let him put in so many plugs for the very thing they were trying to get people not to go look at.
But things aren’t always what they seem to be, as I was once again reminded as soon as I logged in at Baja Breeze. Eddy pinged me before I could even download my email.
EddytheWebMan: u there?
MRiderZAAN: I am ... you were fabulous, babe ... you knocked ‘em dead!
EddytheWebMan: yeah ... well
MRiderZAAN: I couldn’t believe how that CDC idiot kept handing you great openings to pumping your web site.
EddytheWebMan: yeah ... well ...
MRiderZAAN: So are you checking the hits? You have to have a gazillion more.
EddytheWebMan: i do. here’s the other thing i have.
MRiderZAAN: What?
EddytheWebMan: i have your health card.
MRiderZAAN: What??? Did that sleazeball CDC guy give it to you?
EddytheWebMan: no
MRiderZAAN: ???
EddytheWebMan: it was sitting on my computer keyboard when i got home this a.m.
Oh Lord. My fingers froze on the keyboard.
EddytheWebMan: u there?
MRiderZAAN: Yes. But I’m not breathing.
EddytheWebMan: i know
MRiderZAAN: So someone was in our house while you were gone.
EddytheWebMan: yes. not good.
MRiderZAAN: No. Not good at all. Any other sign?
EddytheWebMan: who needs a second sign? i understand the first one perfectly: doesn’t matter what’s happening in public ... they’ll do any damn thing they want in private because who can stop them?
MRiderZAAN: I think I’m going to be sick.
EddytheWebMan: nothing would make them happier.
MRiderZAAN:
EddytheWebMan: mz m?
MRiderZAAN: Yeah?
EddytheWebMan: stay put this weekend. now more than ever we have to have a plan.
MRiderZAAN: You have one?
EddytheWebMan: nope ... but i’ll think of something ... eventually
MRiderZAAN: I’m counting on you Eddio ... What about Tina? Any news?
EddytheWebMan: nothing. nada. zip. pete’s on the verge of needing hospital time.
MRiderZAAN: I would be too. Think she’s been deported?
I couldn’t help myself. It just slipped out.
EddytheWebMan: huh? that’s a heart stopper ... think it’s possible?
MRiderZAAN: Could be. Had an interesting conversation with Michael about it yesterday ...
EddytheWebMan: tell me about it later. don’t think i’ll raise the possibility with pete ... he really would kill someone ... or lots of someones ...
MRiderZAAN: No doubt.
EddytheWebMan: gotta run ... xoxo
MRiderZAAN: u2
I X’d out of Eddy’s gtalk and then pinged him again.
MRiderZAAN: Eddio ... u there? What time are you headed out for the Fox interview?
EddytheWebMan: Signed off at 8:47 a.m. PST.
I tried to work through my email. For at least four minutes plus the forty-five-minute afterglow, I thought there was a chance we’d turned the corner. Naiveté will do that to you. Now my day had turned heavy. I knew I’d be there until sometime the next week or maybe forever. I had to figure out what to do but nothing came to me.
Late morning, I stopped by Michael’s cubicle.
“Did you see Eddy on Good Morning America this morning?”
Michael nodded. “Very impressive. Even if the CDC guy hadn’t been so inarticulate, Eddy was good.”
“Did you hear back from Sanjeev?”
Michael sighed. “I didn’t even try. He’ll say no. I already know that.”
I glanced over my shoulder and then rose to my tiptoes to scout who might be within earshot. Unfortunately, the closest ears—the ones belonging to the people in the adjacent cubicles—weren’t visible to me unless I climbed up on Michael’s desk. I tilted my head toward the elevator. “Walk me down to get some coffee?” I knew he was busy, but I really needed to talk to someone about my health card reappearing.
He grimaced slightly. “Can it wait till lunch? I’m buried.”
“Please?”
He sighed but got up and followed me.
As soon as we were clear of the cubicles, I
said, “We’ve had an interesting little complication.”
“In what way?”
“My health card showed up again.”
“You found it then? The TSA didn’t take it after all?” He perked up slightly.
“I didn’t find it. It showed up. Big difference.” I glanced around again to see if anyone was close. “It was on Eddy’s computer when he got back from his interview this morning.”
Michael’s eyes widened. He backed up against the wall like he needed the support.
“We have to talk to Sanjeev again, Michael. He’s the only starting point we have.”
The elevator dinged, and a moment later the doors opened. A Baja Breeze VP got off and headed toward the executive suite without a smile or a hello in our direction. I’d learned long ago that consultants were either gods or invisible, depending on the state of the implementation. No question what state we were in at the moment.
Michael shook his head while he waited for the VP to disappear. “I’m not arguing with you, Maggie. But we’ve been through this already. He won’t take the risk. I know he won’t.”
“So he saves his own skin. What does he lose for everyone else in the process?”
Michael sighed.
“We have to talk him into it.”
I didn’t trust Michael to follow through, so I took matters into my own hands.
“Do you have his home address?”
Michael shook his head. “Just his email, cell phone number, and gtalk name.”
“Give me what you have.”
I grabbed a salad to go downstairs in the company cafeteria and spent the rest of my lunch hour at my desk. Usually, when I do that, I’m knocking out some major project. Today, I surfed the Net. I felt guilty about it, which really irritated me.
First, I set Sanjeev up as a buddy in my Google Talk. He was on gtalk at the moment, for what that was worth. Then I started digging for information on him. I began with the Zaan corporate employee website. Like the rest of us, Sanjeev didn’t have an actual office. Instead, when he wasn’t at a client site, he worked out of his house. Even though he worked from home, he gave the address for corporate headquarters as his work address. It meant nothing in this situation. I used the Denver Zaan office for my work address, even though I hadn’t been there for over a year.
My next hope was that he would still have a landline, but that was a slim possibility. After all the belt tightening in the economic downturn after 9/11 and again in 2008, most people had given up their office phones and only had their cell phones, which wouldn’t be traceable. Sure enough, I did a reverse search on the phone number and it came up without any information. Still, I at least had his area code. Since it was different than the area code for headquarters, I had hope that it might be for where he lived. I felt lucky to at least have that since some employees lived in areas that didn’t get good cell plans. They got their phone plans using Zaan headquarters as their home address.
Then I did an Ixquick search for Sanjeev Srivastava in California: sixteen Sanjeev Srivastavas popped up. Apparently, it was the John Brown of Indian names. I doubted there were two Margaret Riders in Colorado. I felt lily-white and very egocentric. By eliminating the ones that had a different area code than Sanjeev’s Zaan number, I was down to three.
Three was better than sixteen, but it was still two too many.
I scratched my head and thought for a few minutes. My ill-formed plan required the right address. I could have tried calling, but surprise gave me a better hand of cards to play.
Finally, I went to find Michael. I needed more clues. “Do you know Sanjeev’s wife’s name?”
He chewed his lower lip for a minute. “P something. I think.”
It was worth a try. I went back and Googled “P Srivastava.” A list of eighty-six P Srivastavas popped up. I skimmed for the 408 area code that Sanjeev had, which narrowed the list to six. I wrote down the P Srivastava names and took the list back to quiz Michael with. I wasn’t altogether sure which ones were male and which ones were female names.
“Praveen, Priyanka, Padma—”
“Padma,” he said before I could get the rest of the names out.
“Good.” I went back and did a reverse search on the phone number that was listed for Padma Srivastava. The name that popped up? Sanjeev and Padma Srivastava.
I’d hit gold. At least I was pretty sure.
Once I had that, I went to Mapquest and first plugged in Sanjeev’s address. I knew already that he was in the San Jose area, which Mapquest confirmed. Then I mapped the distance between his address and my hotel. He was less than an hour away.
I’d had a project in San Jose a couple of years earlier, so I knew the area a little. Mostly, I just went to work and then went to the hotel and ordered room service. I could still remember a funky little vegetarian restaurant that I stopped by at least once a week to get my quota—and at least two other people’s quota—of piña colada smoothies. As I recall, that was also the project I had to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe of slacks, size eight.
Damn smoothies.
I Googled for vegetarian restaurants in San Jose and then for anything within a radius of two miles of the Sheraton I’d lived in, and I finally stumbled over it: Greens & Beans.
My homework done, I printed off two pages from Eddy’s website: the page with RFID information and the first page, which now included an updated link to his Good Morning America interview. The accounts of Tina’s and my experiences were pretty much unchanged from the first posting. I noticed that Eddy hadn’t updated my account with the news that my health card had reappeared. But then I realized, he’d never added that tidbit to begin with.
At the bottom of the page, I wrote in red ink: Greens & Beans 7:30 p.m., Thursday. I found an envelope with a Baja Breeze return address, tucked the letter inside, and sealed it. Even without my name anywhere on the envelope, Sanjeev would know the letter was from me—assuming I could deliver it without some federal type swooping in on Sanjeev or me. Although in the long run, I’m sure I was inadvertently leaving enough breadcrumbs at every step that the Feds would be able to saunter in, rather than swoop. By the time the envelope made its way back to Baja Breeze and some federal type made the connection, I’d probably already be locked up some place because of all the other breadcrumbs I was inadvertently leaving. That, or I’d be on a plane back to England, the land of some long-gone ancestor.
Is that how it would be for me?
CHAPTER
32
EDDY DIDN’T CALL OR PING ME THE REST OF THE DAY. I could only assume he’d been running late for his interview with Fox News and ran out of time, but it still irritated me a little. Well, to tell you the truth, the irritation hovered on worry. If he were willing to carry a cell phone, even one with minimal minutes, he could at least call me while he drove. But he hated the things even more than he distrusted them. Now, more than ever, he would never give in.
I cut out of Baja Breeze early—early being just after six—and headed south to San Jose. Traffic still clogged 101. I should have waited thirty minutes and I would have ended up in San Jose about the same time, but at the moment, I truly preferred sitting in traffic to sitting in a cubicle, grim though they both were. While I drove, I scanned for a radio station that had something in a language I could understand, finally settling on some local radio personality who roared on and on with some caller about these ingrates who land on American soil and then flout the laws and then—more roaring—want some kind of immunity. I reached to scan for a new station—Chinese was preferable to this garbage—just as the caller said, “You’d think a doctor of all people would appreciate her life here.”
A doctor. Her life. My sinuses cleared. They were ranting about Tina. Eddy’s five minutes of fame on Good Morning America had kicked a soft spot somewhere. I turned the volume up.
“You’d think a doctor, of all people, would understand this horrific epidemic,” the man who only roared said.
Horrific epidemic?
The CDC man’s words from Eddy’s interview this morning.
The caller sneered. “Exactly. I say give her a dose of smallpox and see how she feels about digging out those vaccinations.”
I gasped and reached for the scan button but didn’t press it. I couldn’t listen, yet I couldn’t turn it off. I was frozen in that in between state of revulsion and fascination. What kind of horrible people would say something like that? The two voices traded nasty, empty ideas for several more minutes until they cut to a commercial.
The next caller began a tirade about something else that was probably the same as this because it was hateful and mean. It just had a different name and description. The radio guy roared about that, too. I guess it was his job.
I wiped the palms of my hands on my slacks and tried to stay focused on the road.
Sanjeev had to help.
When I got to San Jose, I found a Target and pulled into the parking lot. I had one chance at my plan. If I screwed this up, I didn’t have another idea. My hands shook and the back of my neck ached. It was only seven fifteen, but it felt like midnight to my body. The short harangue on the radio had left me on the verge of tears. I needed to talk to Eddy, but when I tried the home phone, he didn’t answer. I thought his Fox interview had been four-ish, so he should have been back home by now. I wondered if he was at Pete’s, shoring him up for whatever discontent Tina’s situation had become a lightning rod for. It was the right place for him to be, but I was sorry he wasn’t at home for me.
Finally, I ran my fingers through my hair and put on some lipstick and headed into the store. I only needed to pick up a few things, but I took a cart anyway, as much for a crutch as for what it needed to carry. I didn’t trust my knees.
Back in the car, I checked my Mapquest directions and found the Pizza Hut closest to Sanjeev’s. I ordered a medium vegetarian pizza to go and then sat and waited for it. I should have been starving, and in fact, I probably was, but I’d lost touch with all those physical signals. I could only feel the throbbing of my heart, the pounding behind my eyes, the tightness in my throat. When the pizza was finally ready, I got back in the car, tied my auburn curls up in a ponytail, and pulled on the Giants baseball cap and T-shirt I’d just bought. I loaded up my eyes with eye makeup and swiped another layer of lipstick on. If someone was looking for me specifically, they’d still be able to figure out it was me, but in the dusky evening light, I hoped I could pass for just one more teenager delivering pizza.
The Virus Page 15