“My wife is calling the police,” said Mr. Judson.
“There was a friend with me,” gasped Marissa, her anxiety increasing. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Here comes someone,” said Mr. Judson, pointing.
Marissa saw a figure approaching through the evergreen trees. It was Tad. Relieved, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, asking him what had happened.
“Unfortunately, I got knocked down,” he told her, touching the side of his head. “When I got up, the guy was outside. He had a car waiting.”
Marissa took Tad into the kitchen and cleaned the side of his head with a wet towel. It was only a superficial abrasion.
“His arm felt like a club,” said Tad.
“You’re lucky you’re not hurt worse. You never should have gone after him. What if he’d had a gun?”
“I wasn’t planning on being a hero,” said Tad. “And all he had with him was a briefcase.”
“A briefcase? What kind of burglar carries a briefcase?”
“He was well dressed,” said Tad. “I’d have to say that about him.”
“Did you get a good enough look at him to identify him?” asked Mr. Judson.
Tad shrugged. “I doubt it. It all happened so quickly.”
In the distance, they heard the sound of a police siren approaching. Mr. Judson looked at his watch. “Pretty good response time.”
“Taffy!” cried Marissa, suddenly remembering the dog. She ran back into the living room, with Tad and Mr. Judson close behind.
The dog had not moved, and Marissa bent down and gingerly lifted the animal. Taffy’s head dangled limply. Her neck had been broken.
Up until that moment Marissa had maintained cool control of her emotions. But now she began to weep hysterically. Mr. Judson finally coaxed her into releasing the dog. Tad put his arms around her, trying to comfort her as best he could.
The police car pulled up with lights flashing. Two uniformed policemen came inside. To their credit, Marissa found them sensitive and efficient. They found the point of entry, the broken living room window, and explained to Marissa the reason why the alarm hadn’t sounded initially: The intruder had knocked out the glass and had climbed through without lifting the sash.
Then, in a methodical fashion, the police took all the relevant information about the incident. Unfortunately, neither Marissa nor Tad could give much of a description of the man, save for his stiff arm. When asked if anything was missing, Marissa had to say that she had not yet checked. When she told them about Taffy, she began to cry again.
The police asked her if she’d like to go to the hospital, but she declined. Then, after saying they’d be in touch, the police left. Mr. Judson also departed, telling Marissa to call if she needed anything and not to concern herself about Taffy’s remains. He also said he’d see about getting her window repaired tomorrow.
Suddenly Marissa and Tad found themselves alone, sitting at the kitchen table with the groceries still in their bags.
“I’m sorry about all this,” said Marissa, rubbing her sore head.
“Don’t be silly,” protested Tad. “Why don’t we just go out for dinner?”
“I really am not up to a restaurant. But I don’t want to stay here either. Would you mind if I fixed the meal at your place?”
“Absolutely not. Let’s go!”
“Just give me a moment to change,” said Marissa.
10
IT WAS MONDAY MORNING, and Marissa was filled with a sense of dread. It had not been a good weekend. Friday had been the worst day of her life, starting with the episode with Dubchek, then being attacked and losing Taffy. Right after the assault, she’d minimized the emotional impact, only to pay for it later. She’d made dinner for Tad and had stayed at his house, but it had been a turbulent evening filled with tears and rage at the intruder who’d killed her dog.
Saturday had found her equally upset, despite first Tad’s and then the Judsons’ attempts to cheer her up. Saturday night she’d seen Ralph as planned, and he’d suggested she ask for some time off. He even offered to take her to the Caribbean for a few days. He felt that a short vacation might let things at the CDC cool down. When Marissa insisted that she go back to work, he suggested she concentrate on something other than Ebola, but Marissa shook her head to that, too. “Well at least don’t make more waves,” Ralph counseled. In his opinion, Dubchek was basically a good man who was still recovering from the loss of the wife he’d adored. Marissa should give him another chance. On this point at least, Marissa agreed.
Dreading another confrontation with Dubchek, but resolved to try her best to make amends, Marissa went to her office only to find another memorandum already waiting for her on her desk. She assumed it was from Dubchek, but when she picked up the envelope, she noticed it was from Dr. Carbonara, the administrator of the EIS program and hence Marissa’s real boss. With her heart pounding, she opened the envelope and read the note which said that she should come to see him immediately. That didn’t sound good.
Dr. Carbonara’s office was on the second floor, and Marissa used the stairs to get there, wondering if she were about to be fired. The office was large and comfortable, with one wall dominated by a huge map of the world with little red pins indicating where EIS officers were currently assigned. Dr. Carbonara was a fatherly, soft-spoken man with a shock of unruly gray hair. He motioned for Marissa to sit while he finished a phone call. When he hung up, he smiled warmly. The smile made Marissa relax a little. He didn’t act as though he were about to terminate her employment. Then he surprised her by commiserating with her about the assault and the death of her dog. Except for Tad, Ralph and the Judsons, she didn’t think anyone knew.
“I’m prepared to offer you some vacation time,” continued Dr. Carbonara. “After such a harrowing experience a change of scene might do you some good.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” said Marissa. “But to tell you the truth, I’d rather keep working. It will keep my mind occupied, and I’m convinced the outbreaks are not over.”
Dr. Carbonara took up a pipe and went through the ritual of lighting it. When it was burning to his satisfaction he said, “Unfortunately, there are some difficulties relating to the Ebola situation. As of today we are transferring you from the Department of Virology to the Department of Bacteriology. You can keep your same office. Actually it’s closer to your new assignment than it was to your old one. I’m certain you will find this new position equally as challenging as your last.” He puffed vigorously on his pipe, sending up clouds of swirling gray smoke.
Marissa was devastated. In her mind the transfer was tantamount to being fired.
“I suppose I could tell you all sorts of fibs,” said Dr. Carbonara, “but the truth of the matter is that the head of the CDC, Dr. Morrison, personally asked that you be moved out of virology and away from the Ebola problem.”
“I don’t buy that,” snapped Marissa. “It was Dr. Dubchek!”
“No, it wasn’t Dr. Dubchek,” said Dr. Carbonara with emphasis. Then he added: “… although he was not against the decision.”
Marissa laughed sarcastically.
“Marissa, I am aware that there has been an unfortunate clash of personalities between you and Dr. Dubchek, but—”
“Sexual harassment is more accurate,” interjected Marissa. “The man has made it difficult for me ever since I stepped on his ego by resisting his advances.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that,” said Dr. Carbonara calmly. “Perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interests if I told you the whole story. You see, Dr. Morrison received a call from Congressman Calvin Markham, who is a senior member of the House Appropriations Subcommittee for the Department of Health and Human Services. As you know, that subcommittee handles the CDC’s annual appropriations. It was the congressman who insisted that
