Patient Zero

Chapter Twelve

Baltimore, Maryland / Saturday, June 27; 6:54 P.M.

RUDY GOT QUIET as we walked back to my SUV. I undid the locks but he lingered outside, touching the door handle. “This cabrón Church what’s your take on him?”

“Car could be bugged, Rude.”

“Fuck it. Answer the question. Do you think Church is a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Hard to say. I certainly don’t think he’s a nice guy.”

“Given what he has to do, how nice should he be?”

“Good point,” I said. I reached in and keyed the ignition, then turned the radio up loud. If the car was bugged that might help, though I suspected it no longer mattered.

“He’s asking you to take a lot on faith. Secret government organizations, zombies do you feel that he was trying to trick you in some way?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think he was lying about that. Even so I can’t seem to wrap my head around all this. It’s impossible. It doesn’t fit, it’s all too ” I couldn’t put it into words, so I stared at the day around us. Birds sang in the trees, crickets chirped, kids laughed on the swings.

Rudy followed my gaze. “You find it hard to believe in those things when you can stand here and see this?”

I nodded. “I mean I know it was real because I was there, but even so I don’t want it to be real.” He said nothing and after a moment I hit him with another bomb. “Church said he’d read my psych evaluations.”

Rudy looked like I’d slapped him. “He didn’t get them from me.”

“How do you know? If he’s on the same level as Homeland you could be bugged and monitored out the wazoo.”

“If I get so much as a whiff of violation-”

“You’ll what? Raise a stink? File a lawsuit? Most people never do. Not since 9/11. Homeland counts on it.”

“Patriot Act,” he said the way people say “hemorrhoids.”

“Terrorism’s a tough thing to fight without elbow room.”

He gave me an evil glare. “Are you defending an intrusion into civil liberties?”

“Not as such, but look at it from the law enforcement perspective. Terrorists are fully aware of constitutional protections, and they use that to hide. No, don’t give me that look. I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“That everyone thinks this is an either/or situation and it’s more complicated than that.”

“Patient records are sacred, amigo.” He only ever calls me that when he’s pissed.

“Hey, don’t jump on me. I’m on your side. But maybe you should consider the other side’s point of view.”

“The other side can kiss my-”

“Careful, bro, this whole car could be bugged.”

Rudy leaned close to the car and said, loudly and distinctly, “Mr. Church can kiss my ass.” He repeated it slowly in Spanish. “¡Besa mi culo!”

“Fine, fine, but if you get disappeared don’t blame me.”

He leaned back and gave me a considering look. “I’m going to do three things today. First, I’m going to go over every square inch of my office and if I find anything out of place, any hint of violation, I’m going to call the police, my lawyer, and my congressmen.”

“Good luck with that.” I climbed in and pulled the door shut.

“The second thing I’m going to do is see what I can find out about prions, something that indicates whether they can somehow reactivate the central nervous system. Maybe there have been some studies, some papers.”

“What’s the third thing?”

He opened the door. “I’m going to go to evening mass and light a candle.”

“For Helen?”

“For you, cowboy, and for me and for the whole damn human race.” He got in and closed the door.

We didn’t speak at all on the drive back.