by Betsy Ashton
“Much as I hate to believe it, she was. They spread the diseases through injections using contaminated needles, respiratory therapy, and aerosol mists. The FBI has them in custody. In due time, they will be prosecuted at the Federal level and, when found guilty, will face long prison terms.”
“Why didn’t you use tribal police?” shouted the most vocal father, whose son had been there a full week.
Keith stepped forward. “Dr. Anderson was threatened verbally by Toby, and he attacked me. We are responsible for her safety. The charges both are facing go beyond the extent of tribal law, even though what they did occur here on tribal land.”
“Like what?” the father challenged.
“Terrorism, for one. Murders in Missouri, for another. Tribal laws don’t cover multi-jurisdictional crimes, neither do they cover terrorism. You don’t want them to go free, do you?”
The man shook his head.
Dr. Running Bear held up a hand. “Not to worry. There will be plenty of justice for all of us.”
Questions flew from every corner of the cafeteria. Dr. Running Bear answered those that were within his purview, with the CDC doctors answering others. An hour later, after the last of the questions were put to rest, Dr. Running Bear stepped forward and beckoned Leena by his side. She pushed a cafeteria cart in front of her. As a final act, one agent raised the blinds, allowing sunlight to flood the room. I blinked in the unfamiliar brightness.
“I have discharge papers. Once we brief you on how to take care of your children, you are free to leave. The CDC is lifting the quarantine.”
Chairs scraped. People stood. Women hugged each other. The vocal father came over to tell me he was pleased Johnny and Alex would be going home.
I called my leasing agent and told him to prepare my jet before I texted Whip, Emilie, and Ducks with the great news.
###
After I called upstairs to tell my boys to get ready to leave, I processed Johnny’s and Alex’s paperwork. I could almost hear Alex’s joyful shout in the diagnosis room, where the team met for the last time. Doctors White and Gupta were busy rolling up the flip chart pages, wiping the boards clean, and making sure they left nothing behind.
I thanked them for their work and for trusting me to keep the secret about what was going on. I turned to leave just as Dr. Duval, Dr. Running Bear, and Sharon entered. Dr. Running Bear waved us to sit.
“The FBI found Toby’s lab,” he said.
Dr. Duval nodded. An old trailer out on the reservation, “completely unsecured, with only rudimentary safeguards. I’m surprised he didn’t die from accidental exposure.”
“Do we know why he killed his brother?” For me, the fratricide issue was still unresolved.
“He told us he’d pilfered viral samples for more than a year because he’d lift his brother’s ID badge at night. He let himself into the lab and took what he wanted.” Keith went on to explain that Toby had never worked directly with pathogens in his previous positions, so he didn’t know how to preserve them. “He lost a lot of ‘product’ in the early days.”
Dr. Duval took up the narrative. “Once he researched preservation techniques and how to handle and transport the frozen samples, he was more successful.” One night, Toby entered the lab as he always had, unaware that the badge he used had been reported lost. “That set off silent alarms minutes before the construction worker went looking for the toilet. Toby’s brother Robby was working late. Your turn, Keith.”
Keith nodded. “Robby confronted Toby, and they fought. Toby had a gun—remember, this was before the days of metal detectors everywhere—and shot his brother. He took more samples, ran down the back stairs, and set the building on fire using cans of gasoline he’d hidden outside in case he needed them. He killed the construction worker who died taking a—on the toilet.”
“So, the official report spoke of an explosion, not arson, of an unauthorized entry, of the constipated construction worker, and nothing else,” Sharon said. “The redacted portion of the report was silent on the lost ID badge, the murdered man, and his identity. It didn’t divulge the missing pathogens because the lab was destroyed. Authorities had no way of inventorying the contents, so it was assumed all had been destroyed in the inferno. No one figured on samples being stolen prior to the fire, until after the video was discovered. By then, the story had been safely put to rest. The official report stood as written.”
“And if anyone was ever arrested for murder, knowledge that was held back, namely the videos, would have been introduced at trial,” Keith said. I felt only vaguely reassured about our government’s opacity.
“Why did Toby do it?” We had the how and the who.
“Because he could.” Sharon gave me a hug and promised to stay in touch. “Oh man, we have so much to tell Eleanor. Too bad we can’t. I’ll call you for lunch soon. I need a new friend.” With that, the Secret Service escorted her to the front door and her waiting limo.
I asked Dr. Running Bear and Dr. Duval to wait. I had the utmost respect for the hospital staff, which had struggled to conquer an enemy they were total unprepared for and initially had no way of confronting.
“I watched what you all did to treat Johnny and Alex, as well as the other children. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for healing my family and letting me take them home safely.” I swallowed hard.
Dr. Running Bear put his hand on my shoulder. “Max, we just did our jobs. I’m really sorry Alex and Johnny got caught up in this insanity.”
“Me too, but they survived.”
“I cannot thank you for all your help with the other parents and with helping us think though the twists of this case.” Dr. Duval took my hand in hers. “I wish we had met under different circumstances. I want to learn more about your spooky watchdogs.”
I squeezed her hand. “They’d be happy to meet you at your leisure. And now, I need your help one more time. I’d like to make a special donation to San Felipe.” I’d had my assistant back in New York City research what the hospital needed to set up a state-of-the-art lab, but I wanted Dr. Duval to double-check the list. I handed it over. She scanned it.
“This is very generous, Mrs. Davies,” Dr. Duval said. “Very generous indeed.” She handed the list to Dr. Running Bear.
“This is too much, Max.” Dr. Running Bear pushed the list toward me.
“That is for saving Johnny.” I pulled a second list from my pocket. “And this is for saving Alex.”
He took the second list and whistled.
“If you’re going to continue using this room for education, you need more than white boards. This equipment will make it easier to teach faculty and the community.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Dr. Running Bear said.
“I want to, please.” I grasped Dr. Running Bear’s hand. “We made a formidable team. I’d like to do something to help this community. Besides, Dr. Running Bear, the equipment for this room is already sitting in a warehouse in Albuquerque, where it’s been waiting for the quarantine to lift.”
“Max, you’re a force of nature.” Dr. Running Bear put his arm across my shoulders and gave me a hug.
“So I’ve been told.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people helped with this book that I’m sure I will forget a few. If you aren’t named, please know I value your support and assistance.
First, of course, my dear husband Terry deserves credit for helping me sort through the various diseases available to infect San Felipe. He is my sounding board for vast chunks of the narrative.
Mark Young, my wicked critique partner, still never lets me get away with a bit of delightful purple prose, a misplaced sentence, or a gap in the narrative, even though he doesn’t know a comma from a semi-colon. Thanks for working through the narrative multiple times.
My agent and publishing team have been with me since the first Mad Max book. Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency, and John Koehler and Joe Coccaro of Koehler Books, make a good team. Thanks for continuing to believe in Ma
d Max.
My two writers’ groups, Lake Writers and Valley Writers, suffered through multiple readings of sections I struggled to get right. Without their honest input, I probably would have made many more bone-headed mistakes.
To a cadre of unnamed virologists, microbiologists, epidemiologists, and infectious disease experts who patiently answered questions, any mistakes in this manuscript are solely mine. You gave countless hours of advice. I hope I captured it correctly.
To my special friends at the CDC and Secret Service, thanks for helping me work out protocols in a quarantine situation. Without being able to trap the vice president’s wife in the hospital, many of the character interactions would have fallen flat.
Last, but never least, my readers keep me writing about Mad Max and her family. I hope this book entertains you as much as the first two did.
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