On the way out, Tad took her into his tiny office and showed her how closely all his final results matched each other, suggesting that all the outbreaks were really one and the same.
“Have you compared the American strain with the African ones?” she asked him.
“Not yet,” admitted Tad.
“Do you have the same kind of charts or maps for them?”
“Sure do,” said Tad. He stepped over to his file cabinet and pulled out the lower drawer. It was so full that he had trouble extracting several manila folders. “Here’s the one for Sudan and here’s Zaire.” He stacked them on the desk and sat back down.
Marissa opened the first folder. The maps looked similar to her, but Tad pointed out significant differences in almost all of the six Ebola proteins. Then Marissa opened the second folder. Tad leaned forward and picked up one of the Zaire maps and placed it next to the ones he’d just completed.
“I don’t believe this.” He grabbed several other maps and placed them in a row on his desk.
“What?” asked Marissa.
“I’m going to have to run all these through a spectrophotometer tomorrow just to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“There’s almost complete structural homology here,” said Tad.
“Please,” said Marissa. “Speak English! What are you saying?”
“The Zaire ’76 strain is exactly the same as the strain from your three outbreaks.”
Marissa and Tad stared at one another for a few moments. Finally Marissa spoke. “That means there’s been just one outbreak from Zaire 1976 through Phoenix 1987.”
“That’s impossible,” said Tad, looking back at the maps.
“But that’s what you’re saying,” said Marissa.
“I know,” said Tad. “I guess it’s just a statistical freak.” He shook his head, his pale blue eyes returning to Marissa. “It’s amazing, that’s all I can say.”
After they crossed the catwalk to the main building, Marissa made Tad wait in her office while she sat and typed a short letter.
“Who’s so important that you have to write him tonight?” asked Tad.
“I just wanted to do it while it was on my mind,” said Marissa. She pulled the letter out of the machine and put it in an envelope. “There. It didn’t take too long, did it?” She searched her purse for a stamp. The addressee was Lab Engineering in South Bend, Indiana.
“Why on earth are you writing to them?” Tad asked.
“I want some information about a type 3 HEPA filtration system.”
Tad stopped. “Why?” he asked with a glimmer of concern. He knew Marissa was impulsive. He wondered if taking her back into the maximum containment lab had been a mistake.
“Come on!” laughed Marissa. “If Dubchek continues to refuse me authorization to use the maximum containment lab, I’ll just have to build my own.”
Tad started to say something, but Marissa grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the elevators.
9
MARISSA GOT UP EARLY with a sense of purpose. It was a glorious spring morning, and she took full advantage of it by going jogging with Taffy. Even the dog seemed to revel in the fine weather, running circles about Marissa as they crisscrossed the neighborhood.
Back home again, Marissa showered, watched a portion of the
But Marissa did not get far. Centered on her green blotter was an interoffice memo. Opening it, she found a terse message telling her to come to Dr. Dubchek’s office immediately.
She crossed to the virology building. At night the enclosed catwalk made Marissa feel safe, but in the bright sun the wire mesh made her feel imprisoned. Dubchek’s secretary had not come in yet, so Marissa knocked on the open door.
The doctor was at his desk, hunched over correspondence. When he looked up he told her to close the door and sit down. Marissa did as she was told, conscious the whole time of Dubchek’s onyx eyes following her every move.
The office was as disorganized as ever, with stacks of reprinted scientific articles on every surface. Clutter was obviously Dubchek’s style even though he personally was always impeccably dressed.
“Dr. Blumenthal,” he began, his voice low and controlled. “I understand that you were in the maximum containment lab last night.”
Marissa said nothing. Dubchek wasn’t asking her a question; he was stating fact.
“I thought I made it clear that you were not allowed in there until you’d been given clearance. I find your disregard for my orders upsetting, to say the least, especially after getting Tad to do unauthorized studies on food samples from Medica Hospital.”
“I’m trying to do my job as best I can,” said Marissa. Her anxiety was fast changing to anger. It seemed Dubchek never intended to forget that she’d snubbed him in L.A.
“Then your best is clearly not good enough,” snapped Dubchek. “And I don’t think you recognize the extent of the responsibility that the CDC has to the public, especially given the current hysteria over AIDS.”
“Well, I think you are wrong,” said Marissa, returning Dubchek’s glare. “I take our responsibility to the public very seriously, and I believe that minimizing the threat of Ebola is a disservice. There is no scientific reason to believe that we’ve seen the end of the Ebola outbreaks, and I’m doing my best to trace the source before we face another.”
“Dr. Blumenthal, you are not in charge here!”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Dr. Dubchek. If I were, I surely wouldn’t subscribe to the official position that Dr. Richter brought Ebola back from Africa and then experienced an unheard of six-week incubation period. And if Dr. Richter didn’t bring back the virus, the only known source of it is here at the CDC!”
“It is just this sort of irresponsible conjecture that I will not tolerate.”
“You can call it conjecture,” said Marissa, rising to her feet. “I call it fact. Even Ft. Detrick doesn’t have any Ebola. Only the CDC has the virus, and it is stored in a freezer closed with an ordinary bicycle lock. Some security for the deadliest virus known to man! And if you think the maximum containment lab is secure, just remember that even I was able to get into it.”
Marissa was still trembling when she entered the University Hospital a few hours later and asked directions to the cafeteria. As she walked down the hallway she marveled at herself, wondering where she’d gotten the strength. She’d never been able to stand up to any authority as she’d just done. Yet she felt terrible, remembering Dubchek’s face as he’d ordered her out of his office. Uncertain what to do and sure that her EIS career had come to an end, Marissa had left the Center and driven aimlessly around until she remembered Ralph and decided to ask his advice. She’d caught him between surgical cases, and he’d agreed to meet her for lunch.
The cafeteria at the University Hospital was a pleasant affair with yellow-topped tables and white tiled floor. Marissa saw Ralph waving from a corner table.
In typical style, Ralph stood as Marissa approached, and pulled out her chair. Although close to tears, Marissa smiled. His gallant manners seemed at odds with his scrub clothes.
“Thanks for finding time to see me,” she said. “I know how busy you are.”
“Nonsense,” said Ralph. “I always have time for you. Tell me what’s wrong. You sounded really upset on the phone.”
“Let’s get our food first,” said Marissa.
