Infected

47.

Margaret called the shots. They commandeered a med/surg floor at the University of Michigan Medical Center. Med/surg is fancy-pants hospital slang for medical/surgical. Without Murray’s approval she’d ordered not just one, but two portable BSL-4 labs installed in the wing. That SARS was a nasty sucker, couldn’t be too careful, right? The hospital administration put up a fight, demanding to know the risks, the health status of the community and a bunch of other nicey-nice shit that Margaret simply did not have time to deal with.

She had an executive order. She had the deputy director of the CIA in her back pocket. These people were going to give her what she wanted, and that was that.

They had to be ready. Two cases in Ann Arbor, and they’d been so damn close to catching a live one. If they got another chance, she might get her shot to see just what the hell these triangles were.

Agent Otto came through the door, carrying a five-foot-long cardboard tube.

Margaret’s pulse jumped up a notch-she wasn’t sure if it was from seeing Otto, the portfolio, or both.

“Did you get the printout, Clarence?”

He flashed his wide, easy smile. “No problem, Doc. I think I made some Kinko’s employees happy. I’m guessing it’s not every day they get sworn to secrecy at midnight and use their large color printer for national security.”

She helped him pull the rolled-up printouts from the tube, and they started taping the final artistic works of Kiet Nguyen up on the wall.