Fatal

CHAPTER 27

Ellen sat alone, nestled in the well-worn leather easy chair in Rudy's pine-paneled den, a barely touched avocado and Swiss sandwich on the TV tray in front of her, a nearly drained glass of Merlot — her second — cradled in her hand. She had never been much of a drinker and couldn't remember if she had ever drunk wine in the morning. But the Omnivax "documentary" she was watching, put together by the Marquand campaign, coupled with the letter in her purse that she had yet to deal with, had generated a level of tension that simply could not go untreated.

It was just after twelve noon on the day following her remarkable interview with Nattie and Eli Serwanga, and a few hours after that, with Lassa victim John Gendron, a thirty-seven-year-old schoolteacher from Baltimore.

It was a frantic dash, with some luck from the traffic gods thrown in, but Ellen managed to catch a return flight from Chicago to BWI Airport. Her car was at Reagan International outside of D.C., so she rented one and drove to Gendron's place — a modest town house on Fayette, several blocks from the sparkling Baltimore waterfront.

Before his infection with the Lassa virus, Gendron had taught English in an inner-city junior high school. He was now eighteen months past his close brush with death, and believed he was too disabled ever to teach again. Ellen's conversation with him was limited by his hearing, which was 70 percent gone in one ear and 100 percent in the other as a result of his illness.

"I went to Sierra Leone to visit my sister, who is a nurse with an international aid organization," he said. "About a week after I returned, my throat began to burn when I swallowed anything — even water. Within three days, my temperature was spiking to a hundred and five. Blood was coming out of my nose and rectum."

The man's eyes began to glisten, and Ellen could see that, however gracious he had been about inviting her to his home, this exchange was exquisitely painful for him.

"Mr. Gendron, please feel free to send me packing if this is too hard for you," she said. "I live close enough to come back another time."

"No. No, I'm okay. You promised to tell me what it is you're working on."

"And I will," Ellen said.

"Well, I became delirious around the end of the second week, and was put in the hospital. They… they had to remove my intestine to keep me from bleeding to death. Even so, I nearly did. I'm divorced and live alone, so my sister flew back here from Sierra Leone and took care of me for nearly two months. My colostomy is a souvenir of my trip to Africa."

It may actually be the souvenir of your flight home, Ellen was thinking.

"Go on," she said.

"As far as I know," he went on flatly, "I infected six of my students, plus my son and one of his friends. The friend made it okay. Two of my students and my son, Steven, weren't as fortunate."

Oh, no.

"I am so sorry."

"He was my only child. Every day I wish I had died and pray that I will soon."

"I've had personal tragedies, too," Ellen said. "Making any sense of life afterward is terribly hard. Therapy and time. That's all I can tell you. Therapy and time and reaching out to help others."

"Thank you."

Once again, Gendron assured Ellen he was able to continue,

"Is there anything unusual you can recall about your flight back to the States?" she asked, taking pains to avoid any leading questions.

"The flight back here was uneventful. But I did meet one unusual character on the flight from Freetown to London, if that's what you mean."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"He was an American engineer — interesting and very outgoing. Specialized in inspecting bridges, I think he said."

Ellen gripped the arm of her chair. "Can you describe him for me?"

"I think I can, although my memory hasn't been so good since — "

"Just do your best," Ellen said, deciding not to put the man through Rudy's writing exercise.

"Well, first of all, he was big. Not just tall, but big. Like a football player. His hair was sort of blondish and he wore thick glasses with a heavy frame."

"Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything… except, wait, he had a scar — an unusual scar — right here above his lip."

Bingo!

With some prompting now from Ellen, Gendron even recalled being bumped by the man while waiting in line at Gatwick Airport in London.

"He tripped, I think, and stumbled into me. It was like getting hit by a train. We both went down."

After extracting the same pledge of silence from Gendron as she had from the Serwangas, Ellen explained her interest in the Lassa cases and the man with the scar. Then she drove to Reagan and exchanged the rental for her Taurus. She arrived back at Rudy's cabin just after two in the morning and was relieved to find that he hadn't waited up for her.

Now she sat in his den watching the Omnivax campaign special, breathing in the lingering, earthy essence of his pipe tobacco. His Merlot was gradually stoking the fires of her resolve to speak to him. Rudy was upstairs in his study, poring over the passenger manifests, making phone calls, and being a rock of support to a woman he considered a good friend — a woman who just happened to know that he had been in love with her to the exclusion of all others for almost forty years.

How was she going to tell him what she had done? And perhaps even more important, how did she truly feel about what he had written? There was no way to answer the first question without being ready to respond honestly to the second.

Ellen splashed in another glassful of wine. This was last call, she resolved, even as she felt warm fingers working through the muscles of her face. Three glasses were quite enough. Or had it been four? The glasses weren't that big anyway.

Omnivax had clearly become the flagship of the Marquand campaign. With just over two months remaining before the election, the President's camp was laying out big bucks to get their message of beneficence, progress, and commitment to campaign promises through to the public. The documentary had initially focused on vaccinations in genera] and now had moved on to Omnivax. The narrator — unseen at the moment — was a movie star with a voice that inspired confidence and radiated authenticity. James Garner? Donald Sutherland? Ellen didn't watch enough movies or TV to be certain.

"And so," the voice was saying, "estimates are that between fifty and sixty thousand cases of potentially lethal infections will be prevented by this astonishingly potent vaccine over just the next year. I am honored to introduce to you the First Lady of the United States, Mrs. Lynette Lowry Marquand."

Marquand strolled the pediatric ward of a hospital as she spoke, "At three o'clock in the afternoon on September second, two days from today, a four-day-old child will receive the first official dose of Omnivax. I will be there for that most significant occasion, as will Secretary of Health and Human Services Dr. Lara Bolton, who will administer the supervaccine using this pneumatic device, especially developed for this purpose." She held up a small gun that looked something like a derringer with a flattened muzzle. "We are on the verge of the greatest advance in preventive medicine in our history — an advance that could signal the beginning of the end of infectious diseases as we know them…"

"What about the thimerosal mercury a gazillion kids have gotten dosed with?" Ellen asked out loud, aware at the same instant that her speech was thick and her glass was empty. "What about the autism? What about the seizures and brain damage and sudden death? What about the asthma and learning disabilities and ADHD? And what about the man who's flying around sowing disease and death to peddle his goddamn vaccine? What about all those?"

"What about all what?"

Rudy had entered the den carrying the manifests and other papers.

"… I am proud to say that all of our major networks will be carrying the ceremony from the Anacostia Neighborhood Health Center here in Washington, where a four-day-old child will take her place in medical history as the first official recipient of Omnivax."

"I'm watching a program that could have been written by the pharmaceutical industry's public relations unit," Ellen said, "but instead was written by Jim Marquand's. There is something about that prissy wife of his that really bugs me."

She tried to modulate her voice, which seemed like it might be too loud. Was there ever a time she had drunk like this? She followed Rudy's bemused gaze to the bottle on the table next to her. There was, at most, two inches remaining in it. Lying beside it, the corkscrew and Merlot-stained cork, proof that, not long ago, the bottle had been a virgin.

"It's the best Merlot I've found for the money," he said, gently commenting because the situation demanded he say something.

"Rudy, I'm sorry. I'm overtired and… and was lost in this show and… and I didn't realize I had finished so much of it."

"Nonsense. Good wine is to be enjoyed."

"But I really don't drink very often," she said thickly.

Rudy sank onto the tan leather couch. There was no judgment in his expression.

"So, what's the status of our friendly neighborhood vaccine?" he asked.

"Day after tomorrow a little four-day-old girl will be starting the ball rolling."

Brought to You by the Four More Years for a Better America Committee, the final credit announced. Ellen realized that she had neglected to learn who the narrator was.

"If nothing else," Rudy said, "I certainly expect the number of Lassa fever cases to drop dramatically."

"You have a point. No reason for Old Scarface to fly around infecting people anymore. Let the epidemic be cured."

"It's a little chilly in here. Would you like a blanket?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean, you stay there. I can get it myself."

Ignoring her request, Rudy withdrew a maroon throw from a refurbished old sea chest and floated it down over her lap.

Stop being so nice to me, she thought. I'm a jerk.

"Thank you," she said thickly. "I don't know how I would have done all this without you."

"Nonsense. You're the pro. I'm just the caddy."

"No, I mean it. Rudy, I — "

Rudy sighed. "Let there now be eternal ambiguity surrounding the phrase 'the shot heard round the world.' You know, before you brought me into this world of vaccinations, I more or less took the whole thing for granted. The scientists and pharmaceutical companies produce their vaccines, and their PR people make sure we know why we need their products and what horrible things will happen to us if we don't embrace them. It seemed that simple. And after their vaccines are approved by the FDA, and the CDC tells everybody they should get them, we smile gratefully and say, 'Thanks, here's a clear shot at my body. Take it.'"

"When drug companies make a mistake, more often than not it's a lulu," Ellen said, still trying to direct their conversation toward the letter. "That's what I have in common with them. When I make a mistake, it's a lulu, too."

"Tell me about it. I used to call myself the King of Screwupville."

"Rudy," Ellen said, "I don't know what made me do what I did, but — "

"You did it because, unlike some First Ladies we know, you are a seeker of the truth. You have a granddaughter who looks as if she has been damaged by her vaccinations and you want to help determine if that is the case, and also to protect other children and parents from paying the same price."

"I s'pose."

Ellen looked about blearily and then emptied half of the remaining wine into her glass.

"You know, Rudy," she tried once more, "I've always been a very curious person — some would even say nosy. Howard used to say my nosiness was going to get me in big trouble someday."

"If you hadn't been curious about all this, we would have already packed up and slipped back into our mundane existences."

"Some things you do and the moment you've done them, you wish you hadn't."

"That's how that creep who paid you a visit is going to feel when we get to him. Ellen, I've found some stuff for us to work with. We're closer to figuring out who the guy is than you might think."

Ellen felt dizzy, queasy, and unable to focus fully on what she was seeing or hearing. She had badly overdone the wine, and she sensed that she was in the process of making a bad situation worse.

"I'm anxious to hear about it," she managed. "And I've got something I need to talk with you about, too."

Had she actually said those last words or merely thought them?

"Well, then," Rudy said, "I'll tell you what I think is the significance of what you've found out."

"It was a mistake," Ellen said. "I know I shouldn't have done it, and I really am sorry. But just the same — Rudy, are you listening to me?"

Rudy was leafing through the passenger manifests and a small sheaf of notes.

"But just the same… Go on, I'm listening."

Ellen sighed. Next time, when she was clearheaded, she would try to do things right. Rudy didn't deserve to have a slobbering, slack-jawed inebriate blubbering about how she had invaded his privacy.

"What did you learn?" she asked, clicking off the TV.

"Okay," Rudy said excitedly, moving the TV tray table aside, pulling a coffee table over, and taking a seat on the arm of Ellen's chair. "I took as my criteria any male who was on multiple flights with a person who subsequently became infected with Lassa. That includes flights out of Freetown and from Ghana as well. By my thinking, our extortionist has to be one of these four men."

Ellen was hearing Rudy's words, and at least some of them were registering, but the queasiness in her gut was intensifying.

"Go on," she said, wondering if a bite of sandwich would help matters or hurt.

"Of course," Rudy continued, "I think it's a possibility — a good possibility — that all four of these men may be one and the same. Forged passports and IDs aren't all that hard to come by for someone with enough money."

"And whoever is bankrolling this extortion has enough, or will."

"I suspect you're right there. I have all of their names and addresses and… Ellen, do you want to take a break and maybe continue this in a few hours — or even in the morning?"

"You mean the wine?"

"I don't see you as much of a drinker, and you have had a bit."

"I'm fine," she replied with far more snap in her voice than she had intended. "Really I am. Let's just try calling information and shee… see if any of these four men are listed where they say they live."

"Great idea!" Rudy exclaimed, seeming genuinely surprised and pleased with her contribution.

Three of the names Rudy had culled from the passenger manifests weren't listed at all. The fourth, Vinyl Sutcher of Tullis, West Virginia, had a number that was nonpublished, at the customer's request.

"I suppose we start with him," Ellen said, now battling exhaustion as well as the nausea and dizziness. Be brave, she told herself. "Vinyl. It's hard to believe he'd make up a name like that for a fake passport."

"Must be some sort of family name," Rudy said. "Or else a mother who liked to name her kids after her furniture coverings."

"He's a cute little baby, I think we'll call him Naugahyde."

"Maybe we should try and get an artist who will do a composite sketch," Rudy suggested. "Or else we might try to get a photo of these four guys from the passport files at the State Department."

"At some point we may have to," Ellen managed. "But I am anxious not to lose that kind of time."

"You know, I was quite impressed with that little air injector the Secretary is going to use on that baby."

"You think that's how Vinyl, or whoever, infected those passengers?"

"Either with a pneumatic injection gun like that or some sort of flat, hollow plate that fits in his palm and uses compressed air from someplace up his sleeve. Technically it doesn't seem as if it would be too complicated to rig up. A little nudge, a jet of compressed air mixed with Lassa virus, and zap — instant disease."

Ellen felt her eyes beginning to close.

"Rudy," she said in the soft voice of a child, "I need to close my eyes now, just for a little while. Need to sleep."

"You do that, dear heart," she heard him say as she floated off. "You do whatever you need to do."

Using the remote, Lynette Marquand flipped off the television that had been wheeled into her office.

"Well, Lara, what do you think?" she asked.

HHS Secretary Lara Bolton was beaming.

"Brilliant," she said. "Masterful. There's absolutely no way to tell that most of that program was shot a month ago. Those guys are good — no, better than good. They're grrrrrreat."

"And my part?"

"Perfect. Just enough information, not too much. And you looked absolutely smashing."

"Thanks. You liked the script, too?"

"It was right on — sincere and appropriately solemn, yet excited and humble. I loved it."

"And the part about the kid?"

"You mean having you mention her but holding back on saying precisely who she is?"

"Yes."

"I think it worked perfectly. Nobody can criticize you for putting her and her family on the spot or invading their privacy, but everyone everyplace will be wanting to know about her. We'll do the rest. It'll only take one or two anonymous-source phone calls, and in a few hours everyone will be buzzing about little, adorable Donelle Cleary."

"And those calls?"

Lara Bolton made a pretense of checking her watch.

"I believe they've already been made, Mrs. Marquand," she said.