Exposed (31 page)

The Slammer

When the telephone rang this time, Maggie wanted to wave it away. She kept her head bent, her eyes focused on the computer screen. As long as she lived inside that computer screen she didn’t have to remember the room was only sixteen paces wide and fourteen paces deep. She didn’t have to remember that the virus might be silently duplicating itself inside her body. Diving into her work had always helped her push aside her emotions, helped her to compartmentalize the stress, the chaos, the throbbing inside her chest. It would work. It could work, if that stupid phone would stop ringing.

After a half-dozen rings she finally looked up, more annoyed than resolved.

When she saw the woman on the other side of the glass Maggie slid back her chair and stared. Finally she realized she was holding her breath, afraid she was hallucinating. If she attempted to breathe, if she moved, would the image disappear?

She stood up. Took a quick swipe at her eyes, pretending they were tired and not moist with emotion.

This was ridiculous.

Twenty-four hours in this place and she was already letting it get the best of her. She left the sanctuary of the computer and snatched up the telephone receiver off the wall.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gwen Patterson said with a smile that couldn’t hide her concern.

The petite strawberry-blonde wore a black power suit, her makeup impeccable, never mind that it was Saturday. To the Army scientists that peopled USAMRIID she probably looked like a Wall Street power broker. To Maggie she looked like a lifeline and she found it difficult swallowing, the carefully compartmentalized emotion was now stuck in her throat. She could barely get out a simple response.

“How in the world did you get in here?”

“Are you joking? I’m the psychologist of choice to half the Army colonels in the District.”

Maggie laughed…hard. It felt good. But she knew Gwen wasn’t exactly joking. She did have a client list that included members of congress, senators and even colonels.

“God, it’s good to see you,” Maggie said with a sigh that ended up more a gasp for air. She didn’t care that it sounded needy, not with Gwen, only with Gwen.

“Have you been able to get any sleep?” Gwen put her hand up against the glass as though she could recognize that Maggie needed at least the gesture of a touch. “What about food?”

Maggie smiled.

“Seriously, have you eaten? Is there anything you need?”

Maggie shook her head thinking,
ever the mother hen
. Gwen Patterson was fifteen years Maggie’s senior and sometimes it showed up in their friendship.

Finally Gwen waved her hand for Maggie to sit down. Gwen sat in the plastic chair on her side of the glass at the same time that Maggie dropped into her own. Again, Maggie wiped at her eyes. Damn it. She would not cry. Funny how four walls behind a steel air-lock door had a way of shoving all your emotions to the edge and then pricking at them over and over again.

“You got my message. You talked to Tully,” Maggie said.

“He should have called me last night.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Maggie told her friend. “Cunningham and I missed this one. We should have seen it.”

“Okay, so tell me everything,” Gwen said, sitting back and crossing her legs as if they were back at Old Ebbitt Grill, their favorite hangout, getting ready for one of their chats. “And don’t leave anything out.”

The Slammer

When the telephone rang this time, Maggie wanted to wave it away. She kept her head bent, her eyes focused on the computer screen. As long as she lived inside that computer screen she didn’t have to remember the room was only sixteen paces wide and fourteen paces deep. She didn’t have to remember that the virus might be silently duplicating itself inside her body. Diving into her work had always helped her push aside her emotions, helped her to compartmentalize the stress, the chaos, the throbbing inside her chest. It would work. It could work, if that stupid phone would stop ringing.

After a half-dozen rings she finally looked up, more annoyed than resolved.

When she saw the woman on the other side of the glass Maggie slid back her chair and stared. Finally she realized she was holding her breath, afraid she was hallucinating. If she attempted to breathe, if she moved, would the image disappear?

She stood up. Took a quick swipe at her eyes, pretending they were tired and not moist with emotion.

This was ridiculous.

Twenty-four hours in this place and she was already letting it get the best of her. She left the sanctuary of the computer and snatched up the telephone receiver off the wall.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gwen Patterson said with a smile that couldn’t hide her concern.

The petite strawberry-blonde wore a black power suit, her makeup impeccable, never mind that it was Saturday. To the Army scientists that peopled USAMRIID she probably looked like a Wall Street power broker. To Maggie she looked like a lifeline and she found it difficult swallowing, the carefully compartmentalized emotion was now stuck in her throat. She could barely get out a simple response.

“How in the world did you get in here?”

“Are you joking? I’m the psychologist of choice to half the Army colonels in the District.”

Maggie laughed…hard. It felt good. But she knew Gwen wasn’t exactly joking. She did have a client list that included members of congress, senators and even colonels.

“God, it’s good to see you,” Maggie said with a sigh that ended up more a gasp for air. She didn’t care that it sounded needy, not with Gwen, only with Gwen.

“Have you been able to get any sleep?” Gwen put her hand up against the glass as though she could recognize that Maggie needed at least the gesture of a touch. “What about food?”

Maggie smiled.

“Seriously, have you eaten? Is there anything you need?”

Maggie shook her head thinking,
ever the mother hen
. Gwen Patterson was fifteen years Maggie’s senior and sometimes it showed up in their friendship.

Finally Gwen waved her hand for Maggie to sit down. Gwen sat in the plastic chair on her side of the glass at the same time that Maggie dropped into her own. Again, Maggie wiped at her eyes. Damn it. She would not cry. Funny how four walls behind a steel air-lock door had a way of shoving all your emotions to the edge and then pricking at them over and over again.

“You got my message. You talked to Tully,” Maggie said.

“He should have called me last night.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Maggie told her friend. “Cunningham and I missed this one. We should have seen it.”

“Okay, so tell me everything,” Gwen said, sitting back and crossing her legs as if they were back at Old Ebbitt Grill, their favorite hangout, getting ready for one of their chats. “And don’t leave anything out.”

USAMRIID

Colonel Benjamin Platt couldn’t be sure how long he had been sitting in his own office with the door shut and the lights off. He sat staring out his window, a much smaller version of the commander’s, and he watched the wet gray daylight dissolve into blue twilight. Earlier he had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting and hoping to silence the steady hum inside his brain. He needed to rest his eyes, rest his body and his mind for just a few minutes.

The exhaustion played games with him. Pieces of memories kept flicking images on the backside of his eyelids. Ali cuddling the white Westie puppy. Ali in her favorite white summer dress. She looked like a little angel. And just as quickly the image flashed to Ali with mud all over her, a huge grin on her dirt-smudged face and her hands presenting him with the ugliest frog he’d ever seen. “Daddy, look what Digger and I found.”

The sudden tightness in his chest made his eyes fly open. He jerked forward, sitting upright in his chair. His hands clutched the edge of his desk, white-knuckled and fisted like he needed to hang on or else he’d fall.

He’d joined the Army as a means to help pay for medical school. But he believed, he truly believed in every mission. Patriotism was not just a trigger word for him. He respected authority. He understood honor. He appreciated discipline. And he had never disobeyed a direct order. He hadn’t even considered it…not before today.

He got up now and started pacing, his nervous energy sidelining the exhaustion. In one pass by his desk he flipped on a lamp and continued by. He had to stop and think what day it was. How many hours had passed since he and McCathy removed the Kellermans from their home?

Twenty-four hours? Thirty-six hours?

It felt like a week. And then he tried to clear his mind. He needed to focus.

What had Janklow said…exactly? What words had he used?

Janklow had said, “What if?” Platt was certain those were the commander’s exact words.

“What if” did not sound like an order.

When it came right down to it, Platt knew he would be the one held accountable for this mission whether he followed Janklow’s suggestions or recommendations. If all of this ended up in a court-martial it would be Platt’s neck and career, not Janklow’s. The age-old defense “I was only following orders” hadn’t saved any soldiers lately.

Platt needed to make a decision. If he was careful he could override Janklow before the commander even realized it. And if he was smart Platt would to find a way to make it impossible for Janklow to reveal what his original orders—or suggested orders—had been.

Platt tried to remember everything he knew about the vaccine. He knew the report, although it had been almost a year since he had read it. The vaccine had only been tested on macaque monkeys. The most important thing was that it depended on how quickly after exposure the monkeys received the vaccine. Thirty minutes after exposure the vaccine protected ninety percent of the monkeys. Twenty-four hours after exposure there was a fifty-percent survival rate.

The FDA hadn’t approved the vaccine’s use, not yet, except in the case of lab accidents with scientists. Fortunately, accidents with Ebola were rare. Unfortunately, because of that, there wasn’t enough data about the vaccine’s use on humans. Even if Platt decided to use it now, especially on civilians, it would require something called an emergency “compassionate use” permit from the FDA.

He glanced at his watch—a knee-jerk reaction.

He was already looking at thirty-six-plus hours after exposure for two of his patients. Several days for the other two. He couldn’t afford to wait out the time that the FDA would take just to consider his request for emergency use.

Platt stopped his pacing and stood in front of the window, but he paid little attention to the darkness outside, swallowing the last bits and pieces of twilight.

Access to the vaccine wouldn’t be a problem. He had it right here, a couple stories above him. And they had plenty of it available because USAMRIID had been one of the research facilities involved in its development.

He sat back down, the exhaustion weighting him down. He planted his elbows on the desk. He rubbed at his temples and moved his fingers to his eyes. The humming was still there inside his head.

He glanced at his watch again. And then he decided. “What if?” was not a direct order. Janklow had worded it precisely the way he wanted to word it. He wanted to put Platt in the position of making the decision.

His decision.

It was clear to him what he needed to do. And what was also clear was that he would not include, consult or inform McCathy.

USAMRIID

Colonel Benjamin Platt couldn’t be sure how long he had been sitting in his own office with the door shut and the lights off. He sat staring out his window, a much smaller version of the commander’s, and he watched the wet gray daylight dissolve into blue twilight. Earlier he had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting and hoping to silence the steady hum inside his brain. He needed to rest his eyes, rest his body and his mind for just a few minutes.

The exhaustion played games with him. Pieces of memories kept flicking images on the backside of his eyelids. Ali cuddling the white Westie puppy. Ali in her favorite white summer dress. She looked like a little angel. And just as quickly the image flashed to Ali with mud all over her, a huge grin on her dirt-smudged face and her hands presenting him with the ugliest frog he’d ever seen. “Daddy, look what Digger and I found.”

The sudden tightness in his chest made his eyes fly open. He jerked forward, sitting upright in his chair. His hands clutched the edge of his desk, white-knuckled and fisted like he needed to hang on or else he’d fall.

He’d joined the Army as a means to help pay for medical school. But he believed, he truly believed in every mission. Patriotism was not just a trigger word for him. He respected authority. He understood honor. He appreciated discipline. And he had never disobeyed a direct order. He hadn’t even considered it…not before today.

He got up now and started pacing, his nervous energy sidelining the exhaustion. In one pass by his desk he flipped on a lamp and continued by. He had to stop and think what day it was. How many hours had passed since he and McCathy removed the Kellermans from their home?

Twenty-four hours? Thirty-six hours?

It felt like a week. And then he tried to clear his mind. He needed to focus.

What had Janklow said…exactly? What words had he used?

Janklow had said, “What if?” Platt was certain those were the commander’s exact words.

“What if” did not sound like an order.

When it came right down to it, Platt knew he would be the one held accountable for this mission whether he followed Janklow’s suggestions or recommendations. If all of this ended up in a court-martial it would be Platt’s neck and career, not Janklow’s. The age-old defense “I was only following orders” hadn’t saved any soldiers lately.

Platt needed to make a decision. If he was careful he could override Janklow before the commander even realized it. And if he was smart Platt would to find a way to make it impossible for Janklow to reveal what his original orders—or suggested orders—had been.

Platt tried to remember everything he knew about the vaccine. He knew the report, although it had been almost a year since he had read it. The vaccine had only been tested on macaque monkeys. The most important thing was that it depended on how quickly after exposure the monkeys received the vaccine. Thirty minutes after exposure the vaccine protected ninety percent of the monkeys. Twenty-four hours after exposure there was a fifty-percent survival rate.

The FDA hadn’t approved the vaccine’s use, not yet, except in the case of lab accidents with scientists. Fortunately, accidents with Ebola were rare. Unfortunately, because of that, there wasn’t enough data about the vaccine’s use on humans. Even if Platt decided to use it now, especially on civilians, it would require something called an emergency “compassionate use” permit from the FDA.

He glanced at his watch—a knee-jerk reaction.

He was already looking at thirty-six-plus hours after exposure for two of his patients. Several days for the other two. He couldn’t afford to wait out the time that the FDA would take just to consider his request for emergency use.

Platt stopped his pacing and stood in front of the window, but he paid little attention to the darkness outside, swallowing the last bits and pieces of twilight.

Access to the vaccine wouldn’t be a problem. He had it right here, a couple stories above him. And they had plenty of it available because USAMRIID had been one of the research facilities involved in its development.

He sat back down, the exhaustion weighting him down. He planted his elbows on the desk. He rubbed at his temples and moved his fingers to his eyes. The humming was still there inside his head.

He glanced at his watch again. And then he decided. “What if?” was not a direct order. Janklow had worded it precisely the way he wanted to word it. He wanted to put Platt in the position of making the decision.

His decision.

It was clear to him what he needed to do. And what was also clear was that he would not include, consult or inform McCathy.