Biowar

55

Lia twisted the washcloth in her hands, wringing the excess water into the basin. She went back to Dean’s bed and laid it over his forehead.

He seemed a bit cooler at least, and he’d stopped mumbling in his sleep.

Maybe she could leave him.

She would, if she had any idea where to go.

Back to New York, get into Kegan’s lab.

Karr had already been there. But really, what the hell did he know? God bless him, he was a great op, resourceful and all, but no genius. How he’d managed to sneak through RPI and get his college degree in three years was beyond her.

Legacy admission, obviously.

Lia took the electronic thermometer and placed it into Dean’s ear. He was down to ninety-nine degrees.

If she got out of here, could she get back to the States? The Art Room would be tracking her.

Maybe the thing to do was to go back to Crypto City — confront Rubens — confront the Director himself. Demand—

Demand what?

Lia put the thermometer back and walked from the room pensively, still not entirely sure what to do. She paced in the hall, then went to the door. She was about to open it and step into the vestibule when the outer door opened. A man carrying a large duffel bag and what looked like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag entered. He was the first person who’d come in without wearing a moon suit, and Lia stepped back, waiting to see if he’d come in.

He saw her at the glass door, waved, then pointed at the door.

“It’s not locked,” she said.

He didn’t hear. She scowled but opened it for him.

“Better stand back. I’m highly contagious,” she told him.

“Maybe,” said the man. “But probably not.”

His hair had started to gray, but he was fairly young, early thirties at most. Lia stepped back as he shut the door.

“Where’s the patient?”

“Other room.”

He nodded but then took a step toward her, peering at her eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Lester. CDC. I’m a doctor.” He stuck his hand out to shake. Lia scowled at him without taking it. “Good idea,” he said. “A lot of germs are passed that way.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I don’t know for sure. Stick out your arm and I’ll take some blood. Then we’ll have a look at the patient.”

Dean felt the knife jab his arm.

Needle, not a knife.

Thick needle, attached to a small vial.

“Damn!” he yelled, pulling himself upward.

“Sorry. I’m slightly out of practice,” said an apologetic voice next to him.

Still unsure where the border between sleep and consciousness was, Dean pulled himself upright.

“Grab this one,” said Kegan, holding out the test tube to Lia.

She took hold of it. It nearly slipped through her latex-clad fingers. The man at his side had slid another tube into the needle; blood was thumping into it.

“Mr. Dean, my name is Dr. Lester. I work for the CDC. I’m a disease expert. Well, that’s what my job description says. I kind of ended up a bit of a jack-of-all-trades.”

“What do I have?”

“We’re going to find out. For now I’d like to hear your symptoms.”

“Stomach feels like crap. Head’s light. I have — I had a fever.” Forgetting his other arm was attached to an IV, he started to raise it to his head. The bag jostled on its holder nearby and he stopped. “I think I have a fever.”

“Actually, we just took your temperature and you’re pretty close to normal.”

“Pretty close,” sneered Lia.

“Does this have to do with Kegan?” Dean asked.

“Let me finish taking the blood and then run the tests. We can talk when I’m done,” Lester said.

“How many days is that gonna take?”

“Just a few minutes. I’ll say one thing: your agency has some amazing resources.”

Dean grunted. Lia came over and propped a pillow beneath his head.

“No kissing,” warned Lester, his voice suddenly stem. “No body fluids.”

“He’s not much of a kisser anyway,” said Lia.

Dean laughed and realized he was feeling a lot better.

A half hour later, Lester came into the room with a grin on his face. He wasn’t wearing the gloves anymore. Lia, still scowling, curled her arms in front of her chest and fell into a metal chair nearby.

Did I infect her? Dean thought to himself.

“Mr. Dean, tell me what you last had for dinner,” said the doctor, pulling over the other chair and sitting down.

“Some sort of beef thing with this white gloppy sauce,” said Dean.

“What else?”

Charlie recounted the meal he’d had after Lia picked him up. Potatoes, some horrid cabbage, beer, two pieces of chocolate ganache cake.

“You packed it away,” said Lester.

“I hadn’t eaten for a while.”

“Something you ate gave you clostridial food poisoning and gastroenteritis.”

“And the fever?”

“Part of it, I’m pretty sure,” said Lester. “Unusual, but part of it. I suppose it could be a generic virus, but in any event, I tested you for the synthetic rat-bite fever bacteria and you don’t have it. Neither does Lia.”

Lester explained a CDC team had isolated the bacteria that had sickened Gorman and the other confirmed case in New York. While they still had many more questions than answers, they could at least identify the bacteria by relatively simple tests — thanks to help from Desk Three and the NSA.

“So you can cure it then?” asked Dean.

“Not by a long shot, not yet. Gorman died a few hours ago.”

“How’d he get it?” asked Dean.

“I don’t know. That man you found in Dr. Kegan’s house — did you touch him?”

Dean shook his head.

“Touch the blood?”

“I know better than to mess up a crime scene,” said Dean.

“You could say the same for Gorman.”

“The guy was shot.”

“Yeah, but he had the disease. Or had had it. We’re not sure. There was definitely some of the organism in his blood.”

“He got better?” asked Lia.

Lester shook his head. “We don’t know. Maybe he’s just resistant somehow. It’s possible he got better. So far, the only people whom the disease has severely affected have died. That’s two. We have a bunch more very, very sick. I want to go back over what you found at the house again if you don’t mind,” he added. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

“You don’t think Gorman just breathed it through the air?”

“Then you’d have it. And everyone who was in the house.”

“How do you get rat-bite fever?” asked Dean.

“Rat bites you.”

“Maybe you’d better check my blood again,” said Lia. “Everybody I work with is a rat, present company excepted.”