Risking the World (39 page)

"I'm sorry but I can't answer that now."

However he could, and knew if she gave him the chance, he would never let her down.  Ever.

Chapter 49

Claire wasn't dressed for a freezing December rain in Kansas.  And even though her military escort handed her a jacket, she felt chill foreboding when she and David parted at the airport.  She expected to be relieved to have him go off separately to meet Bobby Keane, leaving her free to concentrate on how Tivaz TB might have evolved.  Instead she thought only of him for the entire ride to Fort Smiley.  Did she want to spend the rest of her life with David?  It was a risk, but no more so than staking her professional reputation on solving Tivaz TB.  That being the case, why did she hesitate when he asked her to let him love her?

A boyish young man with a short brown crew cut and a stethoscope bunched in his pocket met her at the hospital door.  "I'm Dr. Sawyer."  His palm was moist when he shook her hand.  "I've been assigned to accompany you throughout the day."

Unlike Paris, where she relied upon a chief of staff with decades of experience, a rookie was leading her through the eerily silent lobby.  "Where is everybody?" she asked, wondering why there wasn't a crush of frantic families and media.

"The base is in lockdown.  Soldiers are confined to their barracks, families to their homes."

The wailing French parents exploded in her brain.  It was a relief not to face them here but to deny relatives access to their loved ones was a recipe for disaster.  "Families will want to come, and when they do you'll have a crowd control issue the likes of which you've never seen."

"Military families are accustomed to obeying orders, but I'll see what I can do."

He'd better.  Once rumor solidified into fact, desperate people would seek a final word with their husbands or wives and quarantine might be breached.

"The fort has a videographer.  Maybe he can tape messages from relatives.  As for the patients, we can't order him to tape them but I think he'll volunteer if we suit him up."

She took a second look at her youthful escort.  Maybe she'd misjudged him.

"This way to the conference room," he said.  "We've set up a medical briefing with the full staff."

"Good, I'd like to speak to the physician who filed the updated report to the CDC."

"That would be me.  How can I help you?"

"You were the one who questioned the initial diagnosis of mycoplasma pneumonia and raised the alert?"

"Yes.  I was about to come on duty, and took a minute to review the case records on-line.  The blood work didn't add up to simple pneumonia so I updated the CDC, and we set up quarantine for the patients and all exposed medical personnel."

"Are the medical people showing symptoms?"

"Not yet.  If it's airborne, Dr. Ashe, my guess is the infective window's got to be small."

This young man had acted with wisdom beyond his years, and it might not be so bad to have him by her side when the inevitable press conference occurred.  She'd need whatever help she could get before this day was out.  "Has Dr. Smartz arrived?"

"Yes.  He's been here an hour or so."

Wonderful, Roscoe would already be peeling apart the Tivaz TB samples they isolated from the barracks.  He might even have the first clues about what Messina had done.

"We briefed Dr. Smartz, and then took him directly to the ID unit."

"The lab's located there?"

"No.  Dr. Smartz asked to be suited up and to examine the patients."

What?  Roscoe didn't have a clinical bone in his body.  "Please take me to the Infectious Disease Unit."

"You don't want to be briefed first?"

No.  Roscoe was the sort who stayed away from patients and protected himself at every turn, so she wanted to see for herself what led him to examine Tivaz TB victims first hand.

The ID control room was vacant except for monitors, and smoke-free – a far cry from the hazy uproar she experienced in Paris.  But the view into the ward was just as disquieting although the beds held fully-grown men and women instead of little kids.  Even more unsettling was seeing Roscoe in a space suit beside a young female soldier, holding her hand and leaning in to talk to her.  She asked for a headset with a direct link to his helmet.

"Roscoe."

He swiveled to stare out at her.  "Claire, you're here."

"Yes, and I expected to find you in the lab."

"I had to come in here first."

"Before you figured out what Messina did to Tivaz TB? Why?"

"I wanted to wait till you got here."

"How come?  Time's not on our side."

"I only got here a few minutes ago."

More like an hour according to Sawyer, who she trusted right now more than Roscoe.  What the hell was going on?  The Roscoe she knew spent every waking minute at the bench demonstrating he was better than anybody else.  "Unless there's something you want me to see in there, I need you to get a move on and come work with me in the lab.  You always said we were a great team, and this is our chance to shine together."

But he didn't leap on the bandwagon.  And she was seriously worried.

"Roscoe, me and you.  We can do this."

He stayed seated, and panic that he'd hit the wall and she'd be left facing this new version of Tivaz TB without his bench wizardry dumped a fresh load of acid in her stomach.

"Why don't you meet me in the conference room now, and tell us all what you've learned?"

At last he stood.  But she thought she saw him squeeze the young woman's hand in farewell.  How weird was that?  No weirder than his parting words as he left the quarantined soldiers.  "This is a nightmare for me, Claire.  A total nightmare."

The dimensions of which became clearer in her briefing.  CDC and USAMRIID personnel, some of whom she knew from the weekly London videoconferences, had joined the Fort Smiley medical staff.  They began by presenting the ninety-six confirmed cases.  All adults.  Most were in their early twenties and thirties, but some were older, forties and fifties.  She briefly considered the possibility Roscoe had gone to the clinic to confirm age might be a factor here, as it was in Paris, but with older adults at greater risk.  No, he would've had easy access to all relevant patient files, including the blood and body fluid analysis the laboratory team now reviewed.  From the data she guessed nearly a quarter of the soldiers were in the final phase of their battle against Tivaz TB.  They had just asked her if there was enough vaccine to save them, when Roscoe slipped into the room.  She took advantage of her full height to match the military stance of her peers before she responded.

"I must be frank.  Because of the Moroccan plant explosion, I was only able to bring limited quantities of our DNA and protein antigen vaccines.  And they've only been used on kids.  The effective adult dose is unknown.  But Dr. Smartz has brought our newest agent, a bactericidal nanomolecule.  We have more of that but we've never tested it in infected humans."

"So, what's been shown to work in some kids we don't have enough of, and the efficacy of the other is a crap shoot," a grim-looking CDC doctor summed up.

"I'm afraid so.  Whatever treatment success we'll have here will depend on combining all three agents."

"Bottom line?"  This from an older physician with bars enough to show he was in charge.  "We don't know if this will work."

"Correct," she answered.

"Since it's our only chance, we divide everything equally among the exposed soldiers," he declared.

"But the vaccines work best for people with certain HLA types," Roscoe protested.  "Everybody should be tested, and those people should get a larger dose."

"No time for that.  Each soldier gets a fair share," the boss boomed.

The others nodded agreement, but she wasn't so sure of that decision.  "From what I learned in Paris, I don't expect so small a vaccine dose to be sufficient for adults.  The French children who survived were given a larger dose than what's available if divided equally."  No one reacted.  "We might ask for volunteers?" she suggested.

The man in charge spoke up again.  "These men and women are a unit, and will never turn their backs on one of their own, no matter who's a better bet.  Every one of them would volunteer to go without."

"Then I guess we give them all an equal chance," she conceded, knowing that this approach meant everything was riding on the efficacy of the bactericidal nanomolecule.

"Wait!" Roscoe shouted.  "Give me time to examine this bug before we make the final decision."

"Did you see something in the ID unit that we should look into?" she asked.

"Yes, Claire.  I'll explain it to you . . . in private."

"You'll tell all of us," the braided officer demanded.

"It's too complicated, and Dr. Ashe and I have our own shorthand.  It'd take hours to explain it."

She hated being put in this position, but Roscoe had a point and if this was what it took to get him back on board, so be it.  She assured them all as soon as he briefed her she'd provide a summary.  Then, in a small private office, she braced for the worst.  "What is it, Roscoe?"

"Claire, there's someone in that ward who must receive a full dose of both of our vaccines, and as much bactericidal nanomolecule as it takes to save her.  And you're going to help me see that it happens."

What was he driving at?  "We can't do that.  You heard what went on in there, and we have to divide what we've got equally."

"You didn't do that in Paris.  Some kids got more than others.  Some didn't get any.  Why not here?"

How many more times was Tivaz TB going to put her reputation and ethics on the line?  "Roscoe, not this time.  I won't."

"You will, Claire."

She'd had enough, and dug in her heels.  "No, and I don't care who you tell about Paris."

"Claire, I wouldn't ask this under normal circumstances."

"What on earth are you talking about Roscoe?"

"Come with me to the ID ward.  There's somebody I want you to meet."

Had he completely lost his wits?  And how far was she willing to play along before admitting that Roscoe was past helping her?  "Who?"

"Amy Odette."

Chapter 50

Claire's heart almost shattered when she met his half-sister, Amy, the baby of the family.  It was so easy to see she was her big brother's favorite, even though she hadn't known Roscoe had a sister before today.  She was always careful to steer clear of family talk with Roscoe, reluctant to encourage intimacy between them.  Now she was willing to learn more, but there was no time.

"I'm sorry, Amy, but we have to go.  There's work to do in the lab, and you need to get the medicines we brought right away."

"I understand."  Amy's blotched face, where she noted the beginning stages of Tivaz TB sores, creased in a smile.  "You guys get going.  I'll be all right."

"You will, Amy."  Roscoe stroked her arm with a gloved hand.  "I'm going to make sure you're saved."

With the same kind of intensity as her brother's, Amy insisted, "I'm counting on you to save all of us, Roscoe."

She prayed Amy's words might make it easier for her to persuade Roscoe to drop his objections and allow the vaccine and nanomolecule treatments to be divided equally among all the soldiers.  Certainly he started off accommodating her by going to the lab, even though he didn't take control with his usual gusto.

"I'm not sure how long I can work with you," she told him.  "I've got to speak to the attending physicians about dosing, then do a briefing.  You'll be okay, right?"

He didn't answer the question but said, "Claire, you saw Amy's face.  I have to do everything I can to save her."

"Yes, she needs you to figure this out.  Now," she encouraged.

"But the vaccines and nanomolecule –"

"Will be given out as Amy herself wants, with every one of her friends getting an equal shot at survival.  She's counting on you to save all of them."

"Maybe they'll ship us more material."

He knew it was as unlikely as she did.  With reports of suspicious activity at another base, whatever fresh nanomolecule material was available in London was being held back in case Tivaz TB was confirmed elsewhere.  "We have to assume that what you brought is as much as we'll see, and divide it equally among our patients.  Agreed?"

Roscoe, who answered the most intricate scientific questions in a flash, was slow to respond.  She waited, seeing no alternative, even if it meant Roscoe told everyone what she did in Paris and thereby destroyed her career.

"All right, Claire.  But call Don and beg for more nanomolecule material.  He'll listen to you.  And don't go to that briefing.  I need you here."

"So do the families of the soldiers.  They'll have questions."

"Claire, please.  I might not be able to do this alone."  His voice was wavering.  "You see things I don't.  The nanomolecule was your idea."

"It took both of us."  She wasn't about to take any credit from Roscoe.  "I'll stay with you as long as I can, but you've got to get a grip.  Not for me, for Amy."

Finally he snapped to attention.  Maybe not as smartly as the old Roscoe, but she felt encouraged when he shook a raised fist like a warrior entering the field of battle and declared, "We're coming after you, Messina.  You can run, but you can't hide."

She remembered how science saved her from despair after Ben's death.  With luck, it would do the same for Roscoe.  What they both shared in common – the pursuit of nature's secrets – was her last best hope.  And when her theoretical prompting and his lab magic bore fruit that afternoon, they gazed in wonder and shameless curiosity at a three-dimensional rotating view of Messina's mind-boggling molecular creation.

Roscoe whistled.  "Messina's freakin' brilliant."

Was brilliant, but so was Roscoe to have brought them this far so fast.  Maybe Omar Messina hadn't taken his secrets to the grave.  "What've we got here?"

"He made another shell out of Bucky-balls, only bigger.  And this time Dr. Death stuffed it with Tivaz TB and mycoplasma pneumoniae."

A double whammy – mycoplasma weakened the patient and paved the way for Tivaz TB.  The same sort of strategy the Russians used when they combined smallpox and Ebola to make Zamot.  Had the bastard gotten the idea from that?  "Roscoe, what about Tivaz TB itself?  Did Messina alter it?"