on!”
Jake shrugged and got out of the car. Patting the small of his back, he felt the butt of his own Beretta automatic. It was a much neater weapon.
Air line in hand, Marissa hastily climbed through the final door to the maximum containment lab. She plugged into the central manifold and looked around. The mess she’d helped create on that other fateful night had all been cleared away, but the memory of that episode flooded back with horrifying clarity. Marissa was shaking. All she wanted was to find her parcel and get the hell out. But that was easier said than done. As in any lab, there was a profusion of places where a package that size could be hidden.
Marissa started on the right, working her way back, opening cabinet doors and pulling out drawers. She got about halfway down the room, when she straightened up. There had to be a better way. At the central island, she went to the containment hood that Tad considered his own. In the cupboards below, she found bottles of reagents, paper towels, plastic garbage bags, boxes of new glassware and an abundance of other supplies. But there was no package resembling hers. She was about to move on when she looked through the glass of the containment hood itself. Behind Tad’s equipment, she could just barely make out the dark green of a plastic garbage bag.
Turning on the fan over the hood, Marissa pulled up the glass front. Then, careful not to touch Tad’s setup, she lifted out the bag. Inside was the Federal Express package. To be sure, she checked the label. It was addressed to Tad in her handwriting.
Marissa put the package in a new garbage bag, sealing it carefully. Then she put the used bag back inside the containment hood and pulled the glass front into place. At the central manifold, she hurriedly detached her air hose, then headed for the door. It was time to find Dr. Fakkry or someone else in authority she could trust.
Standing under the shower of phenolic disinfectant, Marissa tried to be patient. There was an automated timing device, so she had to wait for the process to finish before she could open the door. Once in the next room, she struggled out of her plastic suit, pulling frantically each time the zipper stuck. When she finally got it off, her street clothes were drenched with sweat.
Dubchek came to a screeching halt directly in front of the CDC entrance. The three men piled out of the car. Jerome was already holding open one of the glass doors.
Dubchek didn’t wait to ask questions, certain that the guard would tell them if Marissa had left. He ran into the waiting elevator with the other two men on his heels, and pressed the button for the third floor.
Marissa had just started across the catwalk when the door to the main building opened and three men burst out. Spinning around, she ran back into virology.
“Stop, Marissa,” someone yelled. It sounded like Dubchek. Oh, God, was he chasing her too?
She latched the door behind her and looked about for a place to hide. To her right was an elevator, to her left, a stairwell. There was no time to debate.
By the time Dubchek forced open the door, all he could see was the elevator light pointing down. Marissa was already on the lobby level as the three men began pounding down the stairs.
Knowing Dubchek was close behind, Marissa knew she had no time to slow down to avoid alerting the security guard when she’d reached the main building. His head popped up from his book, just in time to catch her streaking past. He stood up but that was all, and she was already gone when he decided that Dr. Dubchek might have wanted her stopped by force.
Outside, she fumbled for the keys to Ralph’s car, switching her parcel to her left hand. She heard shouts and then the doors to the CDC crash open. Wrestling the car door open, she started to slide behind the wheel. She was so programmed for flight that it took a minute for her to realize that the passenger seat was occupied. There was also someone in the back. But worse was the sight of an enormous revolver pointing at her.
Marissa tried to reverse her direction, but it was as if she were caught in a heavy, viscous fluid. Her body wouldn’t respond. She saw the gun coming up at her, but she could do nothing. She saw a face in the half-light, and she heard someone start to say “good-bye.” But the gun went off with a fearful concussion, and time stopped.
When Marissa regained consciousness, she was lying on something soft. Someone was calling her name. Slowly opening her eyes, she realized that she’d been carried back inside to the couch in the CDC lobby.
Flashing red and blue lights washed the room like a tawdry, punk discotheque. There seemed to be many people coming in and out of the room. It was too confusing. She closed her eyes again and wondered what had happened to the men with the guns.
“Marissa, are you all right?”
Her lids fluttered open, and she saw Dubchek bending over her, his dark eyes almost black with fear.
“Marissa,” he said again. “Are you all right? I’ve been so worried. When you finally made us realize what was going on, we were afraid they’d try to kill you. But you never stayed still long enough for us to find you.”
Marissa was still too shocked to speak.
“Please say something,” Dubchek pleaded. “Did they hurt you?”
“I thought you were part of it. Part of the conspiracy,” was all she could manage to utter.
“I was afraid of that,” groaned Dubchek. “Not that I didn’t deserve it. I was so busy protecting the CDC, I just dismissed your theories. But believe me, I had nothing to do with any of it.”
Marissa reached for his hand. “I guess I never gave you much chance to explain, either. I was so busy breaking all the rules.”
An ambulance attendant came up to them. “Does the lady want to go to the hospital?”
“Do you, Marissa?” asked Dubchek.
“I guess so, but I think I’m okay.”
As another attendant came up to help lift her onto a stretcher, she said, “When I heard the first bang, I thought I’d been shot.”
“No, one of the FBI men I’d alerted shot your would-be killer instead.”
Marissa shuddered. Dubchek walked beside the stretcher as they took her to the ambulance. She reached out and took his hand.
Epilogue
MARISSA WAS UNPACKING FROM a two-week vacation, taken at Dr. Carbonara’s insistence, when the doorbell rang. She had just returned from Virginia, where her family had done everything they could to spoil her, even giving her a new puppy that she’d immediately named Taffy Two.
As she walked downstairs, she couldn’t imagine who might be at the door. She hadn’t told anyone the exact date of her return. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Cyrill Dubchek and a stranger.
“I hope you don’t mind our turning up like this, but Dr. Carbonara said you might be home, and Dr. Fakkry from World Health wanted to meet you. This is his last day in America. Tonight he is flying back to Geneva.”
The stranger stepped forward and dipped his head. Then he looked directly at Marissa. His eyes reminded her of Dubchek’s: dark and liquid.
“I am deeply honored,” said Dr. Fakkry, with a crisp, English accent. “I wanted to thank you personally for your brilliant detective work.”
“And with no help from us,” admitted Dubchek.
“I’m flattered,” said Marissa, at a loss for words.
Dubchek cleared his throat. Marissa found his new lack of confidence appealing. When he wasn’t making her furious, she could admit that he was actually very handsome.
“We thought you’d like to know what’s been happening,” he said. “The press has been given as little detail as possible, but even the police agree you are entitled to the truth.”
“I’d love to hear everything,” said Marissa. “But please come in and sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
When they were settled, Dr. Fakkry said, “Thanks to you, almost everyone connected to the Ebola conspiracy has been arrested. The man you stabbed in San Francisco implicated Dr. Heberling the minute he recovered from surgery.”
“The police think he wanted to be sent to jail so you couldn’t find him again,” said Dubchek, with a hint of his old sardonic grin.
